Chapter 156: Nine Light Filters

Chapter 156: Nine Light Filters

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 29, Monday 10:00 a.m.

Sebastien attacked the archives like an extremely respectful hurricane, careful not to do any damage as she familiarized herself with its contents at top speed. She explored methodically, starting from the shelves on the far left of the room and moving right. Many were either translations or copies of the originals, with notes left by the translator in the margins, but at least half remained in their original language, and thus incomprehensible to her..

Sebastien quickly found that everything was organized incomprehensibly. “All the different types of magic and thaumic requirements from Apprentice to Grandmaster are all jumbled together.”

Professor Lacer explained, “Information on these spells is organized by location of use and time period, respectively. This room is meant for historical and anthropological research, not to conveniently supply young thaumaturges with instructions to lost spells.”

‘That...is going to make things harder.’ Sebastien sped up her search, quickly discarding any texts written in a different language, or that dealt with farming, community rituals, warding against pests and other common threats, or that did something so simple that the convenience of an esoteric spell didn’t make much difference—like creating a candle-sized flame. She also discarded anything that was obviously beyond her thaumic requirements. Unlike with modern sorcery, which contained the written Word as a spell array, it wouldn’t be so easy to adjust an esoteric spell to be less magically demanding in exchange for time and preparatory precision.

She set aside a few interesting options, like a spell that enhanced the five senses, and one that purported to turn the user’s bones to steel over the course of seven years of repeated casting. One scroll described a spell that could allow one to turn the tip of their finger into a burning coal, useful for lighting fires...or burning symbols into things. She was a bit dubious about how literal such a thing might be, as charring off your fingertip in exchange for a spell that could let you draw out a single other spell array without writing implements seemed a costly exchange. Even worse, the scroll seemed shoddily translated. ‘How horribly wrong could attempting to cast with mis-translated instructions go?’ she wondered ironically.

Still, with a peek at Professor Lacer, Sebastien read through the instructions twice, committing them to memory as best she could without seeming suspicious. There might be a time when she was willing to sacrifice a finger in exchange for her life or freedom.

As she went along, she found a spell that allowed the user to mold their own flesh, though it was unclear to what degree or whether this effect would be permanent or not. Another offered to open the third eye and allow the caster to take one step closer to the “perfection” of the prognos. Yet another claimed to give a self-blessing, but was so vague as to be suspicious. As far as Sebastien knew, “good luck” magic didn’t actually exist, though a fraudster hag might tell you differently when trying to sell one of their charms or talismans.

Several more powerful texts contained intriguing attacks, like calling forth lightning or causing bones spikes to explode from the caster’s fist after a hard enough impact—like a punch. Those, however, required a capacity well beyond hers, and were obviously incredibly dangerous, as well.

No, she was looking for something more like her shadow-familiar. Something innocuous, but with flexibility and wider utility.

A very interesting spell allowed the caster to step down into the earth as if descending into water, but the thin book it was written in mentioned a range of additional spells the caster would need to know to further mold the earth once submerged—and to keep from suffocating or being crushed. Instructions for those additional spells were not given, and so the whole thing was useless. The capacity requirements weren’t mentioned, but she probably didn’t meet them, anyway.

One spell supposedly allowed the caster to communicate with aquatic creatures, but not understand them in return. Another allowed the caster to leave an invisible mark on something that they would be able to find forever after, which seemed like an early foray into modern sympathetic divination. That one, she also read twice, as unlike the fingertip burning spell, it actually made sense and seemed fairly easy to cast, though with admittedly convoluted requirements that would take a long while to complete.

Professor Lacer had moved to sit at the room’s only table, and was reading a yellow-paged book whose title was written in a looping script she couldn’t read, but vaguely recognized as originating from the tribes of the Tataroc Desert. He may have said that he would check any spell she picked up for safety, but he didn’t seem concerned that she might be able to memorize more than one during her hour of access.

As she made her way through the shelves, time wore on and she became increasingly anxious. While the magical knowledge was fascinating, she didn’t feel that she’d found the perfect option yet. ‘If only I’d been able to research what was available ahead of time!’

However, she eventually found one spell that stood out from the rest, two scrolls bound to each other—the original and the translation. Unlike most of the options contained in this room, this spell was based on what seemed to be fairly complex physical movements. A preface by the translator noted that it required abnormally high amounts of both physical and mental control, but there were no specific thaumic requirements. Even the weakest thaumaturge could cast it, hypothetically.

It drew Sebastien with its frankly ridiculous benefits. The spell was called “nine-light filters” and allowed the caster to absorb sunlight to heal and repair the body, but more specifically, the mind. It sped up mental recovery, reduced the need for sleep, and improved mental strength, clarity, and defenses. Over the long term, it was supposedly able to reduce the chances of Will-strain.

She blinked a couple times, remembering the length of the scroll. If made into a book, it would probably contain at least a hundred pages of dense instruction. To translate something like that in three days, he would have to spend his time on little else. She swallowed hard past a sudden lump in her throat, looking away. Ennis would never have gone to such trouble for her. Not without expecting her to somehow repay him tenfold. No one since Grandfather had been willing.

But there was nothing Sebastien Siverling could do for Thaddeus Lacer, wealthy and powerful Grandmaster. And he must know that as well as her.

She blinked again, more rapidly, turning her eyes to the ceiling to nip any watering in the bud, and nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”

He made no comment, turning to the door and waving over his shoulder for her to follow.

It was hard to reconcile this kind of decision with the callous way Professor Lacer had responded to notice of the Moore family’s mental tampering. ‘But people are nuanced,’ she reminded herself, ‘and there’s a lot I don’t know about the hidden side of this world. A lot I don’t know about him.’ It might not be safe to put her fate in his hands, her deepest vulnerabilities laid bare, but he was proving, again and again, that at least she could trust him with any possible responsibility a Master held to their Apprentice. She smiled wryly. “Best three hundred contribution points I’ll ever spend,” she said, her voice only a little hoarse.

He snorted, but neither turned nor replied.

She redoubled her determination to learn the spell. She might not be able to repay him, but she would, at the very least, prove that his investment in her wasn’t in vain.

Professor Lacer led her back to the library’s ground floor, then waved her off with a reminder to stop by his office in three days.

Her strange but pleasant mood was somewhat ruined when she picked up a discarded copy of that morning’s newspaper on one of the benches outside, left behind by some careless student.

Her message to the High Crown had outlined the method and timing of his response—a coded ad in one of Gilbratha’s most popular newspapers, three days hence. It was the safest method she could think of.

The High Crown had responded to her sooner than she had expected. But his intent was clear. Her tentative offer of negotiations toward some form of cooperation was rejected.



High Crown’s Pledge of Justice!

Lord Pendragon Vows to Catch and Execute Raven Queen



The words were stamped large and black at the top of The Daily Sun’s front page. Rather than agreeing to any sort of meeting, he had called for her to turn herself in before the might of the law, that she might be judged, for the Crowns—and especially Lord Pendragon, greatest of the Thirteen—did not submit to fear-mongering and would never let “evil” go unpunished.

Sebastien stared at the flimsy paper and the arrogant, unbending words spread across it. Her eyes unfocused until the letters looked like little more than squiggly black bugs ready to be crushed under her thumb. ‘How strange and foolish it is, for him to respond like this,’ she thought. ‘It must be impossible to keep an organization of any type running smoothly when pride becomes more important than effectiveness.’

But perhaps there was something she was missing. Some plan that she didn’t understand. She forced her jaw to unclench and read the article once more, searching for any clues in the message. In the end, she was forced to concede that it was merely a straightforward denial of her overture.

It was a shame, but it wasn’t as if this left her any worse off than she had been before. After all, she was already putting her other idea into motion. This had always been Plan B.