Solomon: Chapter 2

Jacob opened the door to the house he shared with his mentor and walked in. His clothes were ruined from all the blood Andras had been responsible for. Oh well, at least it wasn’t one of his favorite outfits. Jacob’s mentor was sitting in his study, located just off of the foyer to the right. He was dressed in black slacks and a loose fitting gray sweater. His feet were covered by fuzzy pink bunny slippers. His salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, as if it hadn’t seen a comb for a few days. Which, of course, it probably hadn’t. He was intently studying a large book which was laid out in front of him.
He spoke to Jacob without looking up. “You’re back. Good.”
Well, thought Jacob, it was good to see that he had been missed.
“Yes, Master. I’m back. Glad to see you were worried about me.”
The older man shrugged still without looking up from his book. “You’re still alive, right? Let’s not get bogged down in details.”
Jacob was indignant. “But I was–”
His mentor held up one hand in a “stop” motion and used the other one to turn a page, eyes still focused on the enormous book. “I said let’s not get bogged down in the details. Now go change out of those clothes and get cleaned up.”
Jacob shook his head as he walked from the foyer into his room and then into the attached bathroom. He removed his clothes and placed them directly into a garbage bag. There was no point in even pretending he’d be able to wear them again. He would burn them after he was done showering and changing.
Jacob stepped into the shower and let the warm water carry away the filth of battle. Jacob was surprised at how drained he had felt after summoning Andras. Granted he was one of the more difficult demons to control, but three years ago he could have summoned that demon along with his mount and not have broken a sweat.
Am I slowing down already? I’m not quite twenty two yet; I’m still supposed to be young!
But that was how it went. Magical power flared during adolescence then cooled and leveled off to more reasonable levels as the magician left his or her teens. Jacob had known, at least academically, that this was going to happen. Knowing something would happen and having it happen to you were two very different things. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about this sort of thing again. While magic could be and was physically taxing, no noticeable drop in power level would be expected to happen again. And the physical exertion of his magics would keep him in good shape and sound of mind and body. Well, body, at least.
Jacob shut off the water, climbed out of the shower, and dried himself off. He left the trash bag of clothes in the bathroom for the time being as he moved back into his room to get dressed.
Jacob dressed himself in an outfit similar to most of his others. Slate gray slacks, a white button down shirt. He decided to leave the dark gray silk top hat on its hat-stand, along with the black tie around the neck of that foam head. He put on a pair of black socks and slipped his feet into a pair of well worn, comfortable dress shoes which had started out as black but had since faded with time to become a dark gray color closer to that of his pants and hat.
He briefly stopped back in the bathroom and grabbed the garbage bag containing his soiled clothes. He tied off the bag and made his way to the door. He called out to his mentor before stepping out. “I’m going to go get rid of these clothes.”
“Whatever you need to do, Jacob,” said the older man, his eyes still glued to the book. “You’ve been doing this long enough that I trust you to know what to do and act on that knowledge.”
Well, thought Jacob, that was interesting. Had the old man just shown some actual faith in him? Jacob discreetly pinched himself as he shut the door behind him, just to make sure he was awake. He was. Jacob made his way to the fire pit in the backyard and tossed the bag in. He held his hand over the bag, palm facing downward, fingers spread. He muttered a few syllables in his split voice mode and flames shot up, quickly engulfing the bag.
The magical nature of the flames ensured that the whole mess burned both quickly and completely. Within ten minutes, Jacob was ready to head back inside.
He was still reading. Jacob’s curiosity was finally too great to ignore. “Master, what are you reading?” he asked, as he began to make his way over to the desk.
“I was wondering when you would finally ask that, Jacob.” He gestured to his right side, still without taking his eyes off the book.
Jacob walked over to his mentor’s side and peeked at the book. “Master, that book is blank.” Jacob leaned in closer to see if he was missing something. “Why would you just sit here staring at a blank book?”
Jacob heard a clicking sound from close behind him. He slowly raised and turned his head to find himself staring directly into the barrel of a revolver.
“To teach you a lesson, Jacob,” his master explained patiently. “Don’t go for the ring. I know you can speak the incantations quickly, but trust me, it won’t be quicker than this trigger. Now just be quiet and listen.”
Jacob was quiet and still. And confused. Had his own master, the man who had been like a father to him for almost 6 years really betrayed him? It seemed impossible.
“First of all, you have never been quite suspicious enough, Jacob. I read a lot, but rarely with the level of single-mindedness you saw from me on a consistent basis today. You should have suspected something and discreetly investigated the book much, much sooner.”
Jacob attempted to swallow without moving his throat. He’d never been so nervous in his life. His mouth was completely dry.
“Furthermore, Jacob, you’ve got to keep your guard up at all times, even around me. Especially around me. We’re demonologists, son. Even as long as I’ve been doing this it’s very possible that you could come home one day to find me possessed. If I’ve been in that state for an appreciable time before you encounter me, the demon may well have time to study my memories enough to do a passable imitation of my personality. Furthermore, our particular paradigm oftentimes makes us feared and hated, even among other magicians. I would have thought your little run-in with the Holy Order of the Purifying Flame of the One True God earlier today would have taught you that.”
Was that seriously their name? Jacob was impressed. They had turned out to be even more ridiculous than he previously thought possible. Occurring to him immediately after that thought was another.
“Wait you knew about that?”
“Of course I did. How did you think they managed to subdue and capture you in the first place? You saw how incompetent those idiots were.”
Jacob had been wondering how they’d managed to get him unconscious and how they’d gotten his magic bound even for the short amount of time required to take him prisoner. Jacob chose his next words very carefully.
“I understand. In the future, I will be more careful. I will trust no one.”
“No, Jacob. You must find those you can trust. But never let that trust become absolute.”
Jacob was beginning to get a little upset. “Okay, okay, I get it! Now will you just either shoot me or put that gun away, Adam? This whole situation is making me intensely uncomfortable.”
Adam chuckled and pulled the gun away from Jacob’s head. “Sorry about the extremity of this demonstration, but the point needed to be made in a very real and vivid way.”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Whatever you old coot. Now isn’t this the part where you pop out the cylinder and show me that the thing was never loaded?”
Adam pointed the gun at the wall and squeezed off three shots.
*BAM BAM BAM*
“JESUS CHRIST!” exclaimed Jacob. “What the Hell are you doing? Let’s ignore that you, until recently, had a loaded god-damn gun pointed at my head and just focus on something far more mundane and reasonable: What if the neighbors call the cops?”
Adam casually holstered the gun in a shoulder harness concealed under his sweater and shrugged. “Relax, Jacob. I set up a soundproofing enchantment on this house a long, long time ago. I’ve never really mentioned it because it’s the sort of thing that rarely comes up, you know? Anyway, any sound above a conversational level originating within this house is muffled and prevented from being heard outside of it. No one’s going to call the cops.”
Jacob stared at Adam in wide wonder as he casually walked back to his desk and closed the oversized blank book. The older man placed the book back on the shelf and retrieved something smaller and more reasonable. Adam proceeded to walk over to his comfortable recliner, turn on a lamp, and start reading his paperback.
Jacob shook his head. “Master, you’re absolutely insane. I mean that. Completely batty.”
Adam glanced up from his book and shrugged. “You would not be the first person to champion that hypothesis. Probably won’t be the last either.”
“You had me murder an entire organization to make a point!”
“They needed to be dealt with one way or another. You would have just been killing individuals as they came after you, never removing the source of the problem, if I hadn’t decided to move things along.”
Jacob was livid. “That’s not the point! It makes us no different from them! They were incompetent to the point of being harmless to any real magician!”
Adam sighed and placed his book face down on his lap. “Did you hear what you just said?”
“What?” Jacob was genuinely confused. “Which part? That they’re harmless?”
Adam shook his head. “You said they were harmless to a real magician. What makes you think that despite how they are otherwise incompetent in every other way, they only would capture and try full fledged practitioners of so-called ‘satanic’ magics? What makes you think that everyone they had somehow successfully captured and killed was a magician who was simply too weak to escape his fate? What about normal people mistaken for something more by these people? What about innocents executed for the crimes of our kind?”
Jacob frowned. “But.” He couldn’t think of anything else to add to that.
“Exactly,” Adam picked his book back up and adjusted his reading glasses. “Now why don’t you go take a walk or something. Get out of the house under your own power for a while. And while you’re out, give some thought to what I said.”
“Which part?” Jacob asked, only half-sarcastic.
“All of it,” responded Adam, fully serious.
Jacob slipped back into his room. He put on his tie and a slate gray suit coat. The silk top hat completed the ensemble. He walked over to his bedside table and swapped out the Goetic summoning ring for a more generic one. Now, he decided, he was ready to head out for a while. He had some friends he’d been meaning to visit for a while anyway, so a nice trip out of the house wasn’t a bad suggestion at all.
“I’m leaving, Adam,” Jacob informed his mentor as he opened the door. “If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, feel free to scry on me.”
“I scry on you whenever I feel like it anyway, Jacob. I see no real reason for that to stop anytime soon. But do try not to die. I know the general magician creed is one of survival of the most fit, but I like you well enough to hope that you’re pretty fit at this point.”
Jacob smiled at this as he closed the door behind him. He started walking rather briskly down the road.
He had some house calls to make.

Word Counts
-This chapter: 2065
-Total: 3391

Still a little behind as 2 chapters should me 4k words according to my self-schedule. Will keep trying to make up for the losses slowly in the upcoming chapters.

Solomon: Chapter 1

Jacob was, quite frankly, getting tired of people trying to kill him. A magician’s life was a dangerous one, especially given his specialty. He knew that and had been prepared for it.
Lately, however, it had gotten pretty ridiculous. Killing for a good reason was one thing. Mostly, Jacob included such things as revenge, self-defense, and the protection of one’s family among acceptable reasons to kill another magician. Or any being really.
Killing because of ideology, however, seemed completely pointless. So what if he worked with demons? Magicians already had to worry about demons, angels, and all other manner of supernatural beings. Add to that the occasional deluded “witch-hunter” and what have you, and you’ve got enough problems. There was, Jacob felt, no need to add to that by having to worry about a random magician you’d never slighted shanking you because you said “abra kadabra” and he preffered “alakazam.” it was stupid and petty: The sort of behavior Jacob usually thought of as being reserved for the mundanes.
Besides, Jacob reflected as he was led forth into his cell, it wasn’t as if he worked for any of the demons he encountered. It was a very antagonistic relationship. Most of the time, at least. Normally, though, very antagonistic.
“You guys really should just try to chill out a little,” Jacob said, helpfully.
“I’ll hear none of your filth, heretic. Save your poison words for the Inquisitor.”
Jacob was shoved roughly into a barren cell and iron bars were slammed shut as he stumbled in, trying to keep his balance despite manacled hands.
That was another thing that irked Jacob. These guys weren’t just intolerant, they were downright silly about it. He was in an actual dungeon, for God’s sake. And they had him restrained with iron manacles. Didn’t they realize they were in the 20th century? There were wonderful tools like handcuffs and guns.
Furthermore, they handn’t been quite smart enough to do more than a cursory search of his person, which had mostly consisted of emptying his pockets. He still had, for example, the ring on his right hand. A ring which, incidentally, happened to have a miniature, but fully functional, summoning circle etched into it. Jacob almost felt bad about the mayhem he was going to unleash here. Almost.
Just as Jacob was getting situated, another of the “witch-hunters” came to retrieve him.
“Move it, scum,” he ordered, brandishing a sword in one hand and opening the cell door with the other.
Seriously, Jacob thought, a fucking sword. These guys were just trying too damn hard.
Jacob allowed himself to be led into the “court room.” He took in the scene as he was escorted to the center of the room. There were rows of bleachers on either side of him. He was willing to bet that most of them had gathered to see the interrogation of their latest “witch.”
“Order!” the judge-Inquisitor?-slammed the gavel on the table in front of him. It was things exactly like that, Jacob reflected, that was making him feel conflicted about killing these guys. The more he was exposed to them, the more he just felt sorry for them. It was like they’d gotten ahold of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Anachronistic Religious-themed Cults and followed the instructions to the letter.
The important one–the one who was an actual magician–slammed down the gavel again. “As official Inquisitor–” that answered Jacob’s question from earlier “–I declare this trial to be at an opening.” The Inquisitor stared down at Jacob from the tall chair and table. “You, Landon Burke, are charged with numerous heretical and blasphemous acts, cheif among them consorting and conspiring with demons.”
You’d think they’d be overjoyed at a demon being forced to help a mortal against its will. But no, any contact with a demon that the demon walked away from was evil to these people.
“If you are found to be guilty of these crimes, we shall be forced to take action to save your immortal soul.”
Wait for it. . .
“Namely, you shall be put to death by hanging. Only in this way shall your soul be saved from eternal damnation. However, if you confess and repent you shall be drowned. Your sins will be washed clean in that final fatal babtism.”
Well that put the upcoming slaughter squarely in the self-defense bracket. Jacob strove at all times to avoid hypocrisy.
“You may now confess or attempt to defend yourself.”
“Just to clarify,” Jacob began. “You intend to kill me no matter what the outcome of this trial, right?”
“Yes. Unless you can prove to us that the you have been charged falsely.” There was some snickering from the peanut gallery at that last comment.
“Right then. I do have a few things to say.”
Jacob thrust his still bound hands in front of him, his summoning ring facing up. His voice had taken on a layered quality when he next spoke. It seemed to have split into sixteen separate voices, speaking concurrently. Each voice uttered four syllables, and thus he spoke sixty four syllables in the space of four.
A tiny speck apppeared on the center of Jacob’s ring then leapt forward, growing as it travelled through the air and reaching full size upon landing.
The creature — the demon — had the body of a muscular winged young man and the head of a barn owl. It was epic in stature, standing well over seven feet tall. In its hands it weiled a sword of monstrous proportions which was fully engulfed in flame.
Jacob slammed his body into the floor as the creature swung its massive flaming sword, cleaving each of the two gaurds standing on either side of Jacob in half. The Inquisitor began an incantation, one that — Jacob noted — might have actually had an effect on the demon. That is, of course, if the Inquisitor had not had his head impaled by the flaming sword which the demon flung straight at him midway through the invocation.
The other members of the cult were beginning to scatter, but not nearly fast enough. The demon ripped the head off of one cultist and the intestines out of another as it flew forward and retrieved its fiery sword from the remains of the cult leader. It let out a primal scream of bloodlust as it moved in frenzy through the room, tearing apart the cult members with beak and sword.
As the demon continued its work, a severed head rolled over to Jacob, an expression of fear and confusion still on its lifeless face. The slaughter continued unabated. The screams of terror of the dying mingled with the roars of exultation from the demon, creating a discordant symphony. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were painted in the slick stickiness of blood and gore.
When the slaughter was done, the demon turned its attention to Jacob. Jacob, for his part, stood, slowly getting to his feet. The demon approached diliberately, hefting its sword as it neared Jacob. Jacob stared the demon down and held out his hands.
With a chuckle, the demon raised the firey blade and brought it down. . .
. . .destroying the chain holding Jacob’s manacles together. The demon knelt at Jacob’s feet. “What would you have me do next, my Master.”
A glowing sigil flared up around the monster as it knelt before Jacob. It was a more complex version of the summoning circle etched into Jacob’s ring, traced in light.
“You have done well, Andras,” Jacob commended. “But your use to me has ended for now. Go back to Hell.”
The beast let out a scream as it sank into the ground beneath it, fire and thunder accompanying its departure.
Jacob kicked aside the severed head that had come to rest at his feet ealier.
Fucking amatuers, he thought.

—-
Word Count: 1326. I’m a little behind on this chapter. I’ll try to make it up over the next few.

Sunday Forever

Monday’s Aldain update will be in the afternoon and/or evening. I might put regular Aldain updates on hold for this month due to my decision to participate in National Novel Writing Month. I’ve decided to try and pound out the first draft of Solomon. I’ll post chapters as I finish them to the blog I’ve made for NaNoWriMo here. After NaNo, I’ll probably post the second draft to this site, since I do have a Solomon Saga category set up and all.

Whether Aldain sees diminished posting (maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of MWF?) is discontinued for the month, or is kept to the same update schedule as before will depend on what the comments from the readers say. I’m pretty sure I can handle both NaNo and 3 Aldain Chapters a week, but if there’s no demand, I see no reason to.

While Maguerite heads to the crisis room, I make my way to my Mistress’s chambers.

An attending servant goes ahead to announce me, then returns to show me in.

“The Mistress is ready for you.” I’m expecting him to add a “Sorcerer Aldain” or at least “Sorcerer” there at the end, but it doesn’t come. I walk in, slightly perturbed at the man’s failure to address me by my title.

All of that is pushed from my mind when I see my Mistress. Her outfit is one I’ve never even seen elements of before; she must have had it commissioned especially for our return to the globe. It’s a vision in ivory lace and black leather. A seamless blend of raw sexuality and timeless elegance, perfectly suited to her.

“Sorcerer, I eagerly await what our return shall mean for me.”

Her smile is the very definition of wickedness, but her eyes are stern and cold. That chilly stare wanders briefly as she stands and glides over to me, her gaze finally coming to rest on the rapier on my belt.

“You’re wearing a sword, Sorcerer. Why?”

She’s not angry that I’ve managed to keep the weapon for all these years, merely curious. I expected that would be the case.

“It’s for Maxwell, Mistress,” I explain as she takes my arm and walks with me to the balcony.

“Is this more of your nonsensical Carlisle ‘honor,’ Aldain? I thought we’d driven such foolishness from you long ago.”

“Not quite all of it, my Lady.”

She giggles as she takes a seat on a luxurious chair-throne on the balcony.

From here, the castle and surrounding  villages stretch out below and before me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I prepare to begin the Sequence of Return for what may be the last time.

Hi. Welcome to the newest writing blog by Andrew Blatt. This one is for my attempt at National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). For this month I’ll be trying to get 50,000 words on to the computer for Solomon, the proposed first book in the Solomon Saga, which focuses on the life and times of Jacob Absolom and his son Stephen. My goal is to write roughly 2,000 words a day, which gives me a nice 5-day buffer if I miss one.

Tally ho!

Edit:

Yes I’m doing that thing now where I date this for the end of the month so it stays at the top of the page.

Hi.

This story is in a blog format, so the first chapter is at the bottom. You might want to try the monthly archive sidebar as the posts roll in with the days.

I wasn’t going to do this, but I’ll supply a disclaimer:

I write about very unreal things, but I like to think that I try to capture how “real” people would deal with them. On that note, there will be violence, language, unexpected humor, irrationality, rambling, expected humor, apathy, and many many other themes and features and what have you.

Oh and the story begins in early October of 1987, I think.

You’ve been warned.

Author’s Note: I don’t feel like the last three chapters have been the best writing I’ve ever done, but that’s okay. There will always be rocky parts, especially considering how inexperienced I am. New readers will have no idea (hahaha!) but my current readership will note that I’ve changed the spelling of Magareet to Maguerite both in this chapter and all preceding it. It’s the same character, you haven’t missed anything! For anyone new to the story, the horrible and slanderous idea that Maguerite’s name was once spelled Magareet is both horrible and slanderous. You should be ashamed.
-The Drewcifer

I need to get back to the demirealm soon. It’s time to try what I had in mind at the beginning of all this. Maguerite’s made impressive progress in the few hours we’ve had to work. She can now see the vast tapestry of magic that holds this universe together, though I doubt she could construct a new one yet.

“Maguerite, are you ready?”

“I think so.” She does nothing to hide the nervous excitement in her voice.

“I’m going to slowly unravel part of this realm. You just have to fill in the weave as I undo it.”

And we begin. I start very slowly, both as an allowance for Maguerite and a caution for myself. Some of the hot plasma of creation begins to dim, but Maguerite quickly picks up the process, infusing the realm with her magic to replace what I take. Soon a good portion of this realm is running on her magic. Now I will be strong enough for the tasks ahead in the coming days.

“Excellent job, Maguerite,” I say. “Flawlessly done. This universe has two Gods now.”

Maguerite does another something I haven’t seen in years. She blushes.

“That was. . .exciting. And rather fun. Will you teach me more?”

“Every chance I get,” I assure her. Gods it’s been so long since we spent any real time together. I’ve been missing her without realizing it. Just one more reason to hate the Elders. And Maxwell.

“Maguerite, we need to get back now. You should be able to transport here from almost anywhere now, but don’t. Only come here from our quarters. I have protections in place that prevent someone from following your trail.”

“Of course,” she says, still smiling.

We fade back into the demirealm. Maguerite and I change into fresh clothes and ready ourselves for the return to Earth. Maguerite stands and readies to leave. “I’ve got to head to the crisis room to do the pre-jump checklist and take care of any last minute prep that needs to be done.”

“There’s one more thing I’d like you to see before you go. Something I’m taking with me when I go visit Maxwell.”

I reach into my footlocker and pull out a false bottom, revealing a hidden compartment. Lying there in the dust is an ornate rapier in its sheath. Maguerite’s breath catches as I lift the sword and wipe the dust from it.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks, incredulous.

I nod. “The sword you gave me as a graduation present. The same one I used as my badge of rank in the Magician Corps of the Carlisle Home Guard.”

Maguerite’s familiar fierceness is back, her voice has an edge of savagery as she speaks. “Make sure that blade strikes true. I’ll sleep better knowing the weapon that killed Maxwell,” she spits on the ground after saying his name, the strongest insult to a man’s honor in our homeland, “was made by my hand.” There’s fire in her eyes, a fury that only Maxwell is capable of conjuring within her. “Show him what becomes of traitors, Aldain.”

The look of horror on Maguerite’s face tells me she has misinterpreted my intent.

“I have no plans to use this technique anytime soon, Maguerite,” I reassure her. “At least not for anything that I didn’t personally create. Do you really think I’d be so eager to unravel our very universe?”

She frowns at me. “Then how is it significant? A technique that can’t be used might as well not exist.”

“Traversing the aether to travel between one’s home realm and the demirealms is not difficult if one uses the proper techniques. However, travel between true realms is incredibly difficult. There are no methods guaranteed to work, and a trip is almost always one-way. The Elders are an excellent demonstration of this. Their universe was near the end of its life cycle, so they moved to ours.”

Maguerite shakes her head. “What does this have to do with anything, Aldain?”

“As a universe grows older, the magic it is built on develops. An old, cold realm on the verge of being reabsorbed into the aether is brimming with magic. There is much power to be gained from ending one of those. I’m trying to find a way to easily travel back and forth between proper realms. If I can do that, I’ll gladly end the realm that the Elders abandoned. Unfortunately, it will probably take much more study and experimentation. I haven’t even been able to detect any other realms apart from ones I’ve created, much less travel to them.”

Maguerite sighs, but she’s smiling at me.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You remind me of-” a pause, “-better days. I remember when we were in school you’d always get so wrapped up in explaining every new concept you learned to me. I never quite realized how much I’ve missed that.”

She looks around, taking in my realm. Now that the shock of my so-called blasphemy is fading, she seems to be enjoying beauty of watching a universe form firsthand.

“You know,” she say. “I can see why you spend so much time here, Aldain. It’s peaceful. No Gerran, no Mistress, no duties.”

And now comes the time I’ve waited for.

“I can show you how it’s done, if you’d like.”

A look crosses Maguerite’s features that I haven’t seen in years. It’s an impish little smile that she hasn’t had call to use since our school days. Back in the castle, such a moment would only fuel my hatred for the Elders and the life they stole from my people and me.

But here, in this void with matter rushing to fill it, I can experience a little happiness. The anger is still there, but it’s background, distant.

“I don’t think I could do anything like this,” she says, at length. “I’m just an enchantress. A creative act of this magnitude is far beyond me and outside my specialty.”

That look is still there. She’s willing to try. I just have to convince her. “I have every ounce of faith in your abilities,” I say.

Her expression changes to another that I haven’t seen in years. “That’s reason enough for me to try.” She extends her hands, palms up. It’s a gesture from our homeland, a symbolic act of submission and trust one directs toward a mentor.

I begin to teach.

The Updatening

So how about a word on how the world of the Solomon Saga intersects with the world of Aldain and why they’re both on one website?

Aldain’s world is the same physical Earth as the one that the Solomon Saga occurs on, just later in that universe’s life. In the aether, the multiverse, of Aldain’s story (and, therefore, the Solomon Saga) a realm has magic over the course of its existence. However, for roughly the first half of its being, a universe will be configured as such to only allow more “low magic” effects. As a universe grows older the magical underpinnings it is built on grow more complex. This allows, for roughly the second half of a universe’s existence, the production and use of “high magic” effects.

Yeah. Isn’t that interesting?

Stephen’s unique and flashy powers are a result of the increased complexity of the magic weave of the universe. Individuals experience high-magic abilities long before magicians at large do.

Aldain 13 goes up sometime tomorrow afternoon.

“Maguerite, how much do you know of demirealms and their creation?”

Wonder and horror are still mingled on her face; her answer is slow in coming.

“Enough to know that this is a blasphemy that even the Elders are unwilling to commit.”

“Unable, actually,” I correct. “But put that aside for now. Tell me what you do know.”

She shifts uncomfortably within the bubble shield protecting us both. “Not much, really. You know I had only completed one year of schooling before the. . .invasion.” The last word is thoroughly coated with venom. “After that, I focused more on practical applications, both during and after the war.”

I nod. “That’s about what I expected. So, let’s start with the absolute basics. What were you taught from the scriptures?”

“At the Beginning, the One spoke the myriad universes and the aether into being. In the First Realm, the Ancients arose. They were closest to the One in both time and power. It was they who perfected magic. They walked with the One and knew the One’s ways. The Ancients emulated their creator, peppering M-space with their demirealms–small imitations of the grandeur that was the One’s First Realm. Though the First Realm was perfect and infinite, the Ancients grew hungry for power. Together they conspired and committed a great atrocity. Their blasphemous crime was to make a true realm, to usurp the One’s place. By committing the act of Genesis, the Ancients dishonored the One. They were cast out of the First Realm and doomed to the lesser realms, each of which would eventually grow cold and fade back into the aether in time.”

I smile at her and nod. “A good summary, Maguerite. I’ve been working with demirealms for over ten years now, and I’m going to tell you some things that aren’t taught in the Temples. First of all, I have my doubts about the nature of the First Realm, given its near-mythical attributes and status. However, it is unmistakable that the Ancients did exist and did populate the aether with their demirealms.

“Over time, an unused demirealm fades into the aether, becoming almost indistinguishable from any other bit of M-space. Mages of our time lack knowledge of the techniques needed to fabricate new demirealms. However, they can coax a particular coordinate of M-space into “remembering” an absorbed demirealm. This is a relatively easy process requiring little energy on the part of the caster.”

I look at Maguerite trying to gauge her reaction. “Okay so far?”

“Yes. I think I remember reading something about that once, a long time ago. Please, go on.”

“I have always had a gift for manipulating the aether. A few weeks before graduation, I developed a way to synthesize new demirealms as part of my research. Unfortunately, we were invaded before I could finish up final testing and make my findings public knowledge. Since then, I’ve found a way to reverse the process, a way to undo a demirealm and absorb the magic invested in it by its original creator.”

I smile at Maguerite. “Recently,” I say. “I’ve been experimenting with full-fledged realms.”

“I knew it!” Her voice is loud and echoes within the tiny bubble of magic. “You have committed Genesis! You’ve repeated the Original Sin, brazenly defying the One’s will.”

“Maguerite.” My voice remains calm and level. I expected this from her, but I need to make her understand. “That’s the point I’m making to you. The One did not save us from the Elders. Neither angels nor demons have been interacted with since the early days of our realm’s High Magic period over 500 years ago. I have committed Genesis seven times and suffered no divine retribution. Either the One is gone or never existed. Either way, we’re on our own here.”

Maguerite just stares at me for a few long minutes, then speaks very slowly. “Seven times?” She radiates disbelief.

“Seven times, Maguerite,” I say, smiling. “Which leads me to this: Learning how to create demirealms led me to understand how they could be deconstructed for power. In the same way, knowing how to ignite a realm has taught me how to snuff one out. I can harvest magic from the death of a universe.”

I spend the day sleeping and eating meals at regular intervals. Finally, I am released from the ward. Maguerite comes to retrieve me.

“Come, Aldain. You have lost much time. We return to Earth tomorrow.”

I follow her out of the room, eager to change out of the plain white clothes of the medical ward.

“Your concern for me is touching.”

She lets out a little “hmph.”

“That reminds me. I have a message from our Mistress for you.”

I open the door to our quarters; we walk in; I secure the door.

“Well, what is it?” I ask as I begin changing clothes.

“She wanted me to let you know that your recent indiscretions merit punishment. Whether that punishment is carried out and to what degree will depend on how you deal with Maxwell.”

I’m not surprised by the news. Our Mistress is fond of using pain as a motivator to do better. I have as many scars from not learning one of Poxen’s lessons fast enough as from insubordination. Even Maguerite has felt our Mistress’s lash on occasion, though she has no scars to show for it. Maguerite is allowed to receive magical healing as soon as her punishments end.

“So is that all you have to say to me?” I ask as I button my shirt. Maguerite is silent. I fasten my cloak and am ready to leave the room when she speaks again.

“They wouldn’t let me see you.”

My hand stops just short of the door’s handle. “Excuse me?”

“While you were recovering, the Mistress kept me busy. The whole time. Coming to get you today was the first time I’d seen you since you left to go fight.”

She doesn’t need to say anything more than that. I turn to find her staring at me. Her face is flat and expressionless. Suddenly, a realization hits me, and hard. Over the last six years, I haven’t had a single real, meaningful conversation with Maguerite. Between my research, training, and official position and her duties, we’ve barely seen each other, even sharing the same room. I know what I have to do.

“How long are you free now?” I ask.

“Until we return to Earth. I’ve done everything that needs doing.”

I slip into magesight for a moment to ensure no scrying has penetrated the wards of our room, then to check that Maguerite is running on enough magic for what I have in mind.

“Maguerite, give me your hand. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

She reaches out to me and I transport us both into my infant universe.

She gazes wordlessly upon the fruits of my forbidden study. Finally, Maguerite finds her voice.

“Aldain, what have you done?”