Shadows & Sorcery #126
Greetings and salutations and hails and hullos from this one hundred and twenty sixth edition of Shadows & SORCERY SORCERY SORCERY
That’s RIGHT this week is a triple bill of SORCERY. We’re diving DEEP into a world of blood-red living magic.
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This week we learn what lies under the old sands in the Desert of Sorcery, we glimpse the secrets of a Forge of Sorcery, and we find the frightful results of a failed spell of Eternal Sorcery…
Desert of Sorcery
Few have delved so deep into the desert that they can hear it. The sound comes some several leagues into the parched expanse. That depth, they say, is a price. A commitment. For those with the will, or the resources, it comes softly at first, but perceptible above the whisper of wind, the hush of sand, and the solemn crunch of feet upon the long dead earth. And then, there is the thrum, almost a drone, until it becomes something more.
A heartbeat.
There is a truth that few sorcerers accept, and that almost none outside their circles even know. You're in a rather privileged position here, you should know that. The evidence is abundant for all to see, and yet it is too strange, too terrible, and too enticing. Perhaps it is a lack of ambition that draws blindness over their eyes, or perhaps it is some shackle of morality. Regardless, know here and now that all signs point towards the gods of the world being nothing less than the sorcerers of old.
Yes, and they left something behind. For us? I cannot say, all we know is that something of them remained here. Are they that beat in the deep desert their hearts? Maybe. Or perhaps their even more ancient sources of power.
We scrabble about in their ruins, feeding our minds the scraps of their fathomless knowledge, thinking ourselves learned. I have drawn a heart from those most ancient of sands, and it came readily when beckoned. The hearts wants to be found by worthy hands. The deep desert is a test, and a heart is the reward. The first reward, I believe. Some believe they, too, are a test. More than possible we are both right.
Forge of Sorcery
[From a worn and well-used Smith's manual, the yellowing of the parchment in several places speaks to much referencing of its passages.]
You can feel the beat set your very being atremble, can't you? Yet it is, how should I say, out of tune. Out of synch. With what? Ah, well, that is up to you to decide.
...
This heart beats a life—a power. The beat is deep but distant, draw it out into clarity. It is the tools of the smith's art which may do this. Much like the base ore which must be smelted, and then hammered, tempered, a heart must too go through a process of refinement, which at last translates the tumultuous thrum into a clear and vibrant beat.
...
Each tool matters, each one has a profound impact, their material and their usage. Take first, the tongs or the brace which brace the heart—the grip, the strength, think of it almost like trying to squeeze aught from a ripe fruit. Hold it too hard, well, you'll make a mess, won't you? You need something to hold it firm while other tools do their work. But maybe you need a more than firm grip, for hearts, in the process of forging, may become...resistant.
...
Consider the fire, and what is feeding that fire. Curious thing, the reactive—that is to say, "magical"—nature of many things only comes out in fire. Some fires linger, some exhibit intense heat but quick dissipation, and still more kinds exist. Our world, it does seem, has little in it that is naturally reactive. But the gods, the wizards of old, being the gods of the very world, I believe we have them to thank for these reactive elements we now employ.
Consider now the hammer—or rather, set of hammers. Think of these like the tuning of an instrument. A small strike here, a heavy blow there, a series of knocks, increasing in either speed or force, somewhere else. The rhythm of heat, hammer, heat, hammer, and the types you must use to fine tune the beating of the heart. Notice it rise in swiftness until it is almost uncontrollable.
Temper it then in water, or ice, or oil. Or blood. A heart reacts most strongly to these, for they solidify its very form—the power it shall express. Think long on this. What do you want to give final shape to? Not everyone has given this the due consideration in the past, and has learned far too late that spells will perpetuate into eternity.
Your first beat may be your last.
Eternal Sorcery
Aluah was a veteran of desert expeditions, and unlike many would-be sorcerers, she had never come back empty-handed. Her hearts beat in vigorous union, and they were all of her own forging. Verimas could almost feel it in the air as he walked beside and just slightly behind her. She was an intimidating yet compelling presence, and an icon to the ambitious youth.
"One day, Veri," she said, affecting her usual effortless familiarity that was, in just three words, so casual and commanding, "you will hammer a heart of your own. But I dare say old Kemmer's work is something you should be proud to bear. It's the only thing I'd trust against that old heart beating down here. Aside from my own work, of course." He could hear the smile in her words, and he agreed.
He'd been inducted into this cabal three months ago. This mission, he understood, was something of a celebration, and a rite of passage. Real wizardry. Aluah had taken a liking to Verimas and his fellow initiates, and from the moment of their first meeting, he knew she was in charge. Tall, bronze hair with, he swore, an actual metallic shimmer in certain light, dusky skin, slender oval features. But there was no softness to her roundness, it swooped, it curved. Her face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty. The angle of her dark eyes and brows accentuated a sharpness of form that pierced you from across a room. Often she needn't even speak to silence someone.
The old college town was riddled with a thousand secret undergrounds that over the centuries had collapsed in on each other, turning long sections of honeycomb into voids. Such a thing had happened in what was suspected to be a smuggling route, though it could just as easily have been a rogue sorcerer's nest. Either way, it had been a sorcerer that had taken up residence there some decades back under everyone's noses, and finally had the beat of the heart been felt in the wake of the collapse. Verimas could feel them clearly, even though he lacked his idol's particular sensitivity. Singular, gong-like heartbeats spreading from miles beneath them, like an exhalation.
She had been lighting the way for them for about two hours now. Dum-DUM went one of her hearts, pushing back the accumulated shadow, and then filling it with a misty radiance. But there came a point when Aluah's light fell not on warped old stone, but a beet-red, ribbed substance that utterly covered the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Verimas looked down with a start when he stepped onto it.
"Say hello to Master Dymac," said Aluah, also looking down. "Don't worry," she exhaled with an every so slight hint of exasperation, or perhaps even unease, "he won't mind your tread."
"You knew what was down here, of course," Verimas tried his best to sound collected, but the truth was, and he knew she heard it, he wasn't sure what to make of all this, except that he didn't like it one bit.
"Well, it could be only one thing after initial reports came back. Veri," she began with a mock accusation that well hid any growing discomfort, "you have read his book, yes?"
His stammering betrayed him before words could come out.
"When you do read his Collected Treatises, which you will...make sure to read them as a warning."
"What was he doing here, Aluah?"
She allowed the mild insubordination.
"He was...his heart was not tuned properly. Perhaps you can hear the slight discord in its thrum. This was supposed to be a spell of immortality." Verimas' eyes went wide as he looked at the uniform carpet of hard flesh that covered everything. "He had odd ideas about becoming a living chronicle, or something. A figure sorcerers would have to seek out, you know? It's all in his book. You know how these older fellows get taken by fancies."
"Are we here to...meet him, is it?" said Verimas, confused.
"No, Veri. We're here to kill him." Something like a tinge of sadness coloured her words.
The closer they got to it, not only had it become louder, they could feel it. This was a masterwork of a spell—or would have been, had it not backfired. The error within its beat might never be known, and after they were done, it certainly never would. Maybe that was for the best. Dum-DUM went her heart. The light flooded over the final chamber. Something almost humanoid stood out from the receding darkness. A free-standing shape with head and shoulders, but featureless, and covered entirely in that same rugose skin. The flesh spread from where feet ought to be, and all throughout this sunken series of passages.
"Verimas." She didn't look at him, but he looked to her. Her gaze was stuck on the motionless form of Master Dymac. "It's been three months to the day since you became an initiate. Today you become aught else." Dum-DUM. Her heart lit the room again. "These hearts are a responsibility. They're a legacy. They're a connection. To the gods." She looked up for a second before returning to the flesh pillar. "They are gods because they were better than us, and we scrabble about in the ruins of their wonders. You're here, with me, because I like you, Veri, and because of all your fellow initiates you chose something very interesting, and horribly dangerous, as your spell. A heart’s power will perpetuate. Forever. You needed to see this. Show me you can control you heart." She turned to him with that dagger-point stare. "Set your flame upon Master Dymac."
Verimas stared for a bare few seconds as thoughts of every passing moment being a test bombarded him. He trusted her. That was all he needed. He took a single step forward, and let his heart beat.
With a singular DUN, an ember appeared in his palm, he caged it with his fingers. It was small, and a searing white.
DUN-DUN.
The ember flew into the flesh pillar, leaving behind it a lingering trail of small lights that faded from white, to red, to nothing after a few seconds.
DUN-DUN. DUN-DUN.
Every double thrum sent dim waves of red through the pillar that used to be old Master Dymac.
"Had he a tongue to do so, he would thank you," said Aluah.
Verimas was quiet for a moment as he stepped back and watched.
"What if I hadn't been able to control it? What if I had failed?" He looked to her.
"I didn't think you would." She smiled and knew he could probably guess.
But no more of that, she thought, now it was time to truly celebrate.