Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 267 The Magician 25

They rammed into some kind of barrier that barely accepted their passage. It scraped and scratched at them. Aside from themselves, that the young mage was holding together with will and a constant exercise of healing power, the only thing to survive crossing that barrier was the over robe and cane. There could have been other things within his space. But it would be some time before it stabilized enough for spirit sight to verify.

Physical memory and even the outer most active spiritual memory were squeezed and battered, leached of color and vibrancy. That is, except for pain. The agony was a fresh, persistent companion for the whole handful of eternal seconds it took to arrive at their destination. Every one of which threatened to undo them.

Although it was hard to tell in the moment, it was very much akin to the feeling of the first few step baptisms in the lower dimensions but ramped up to hellish intensity. It was the first coherent physical thought Orison had as they flopped around in infantile helplessness.

The pain had subsided but the ability to process sensory input or exercise motor skills were scrambled. It could have been mere minutes or days for things to reorganize themselves. But even after things started making sense again, the young mage’s emotions and attention span were like a radio being fiddled with by a person who couldn’t figure out which station they wanted to listen to.

The only fortunate part was, wherever they were, it was a sumptuous and old fashioned manor rather than some wild and inherently dangerous place. The maid who was caring for them was also patient and considerate. Once they were coherent enough to ask questions, she was more than happy to chat away. She didn’t even take it personal when she lost their attention after a couple of minutes.

They were in Rothschild manor. From gathered clues, it seemed that they were in a post Industrial Revolution United Kingdoms. There were some pretty huge differences, though. After all, the world was nearly twenty percent bigger.

This growth phenomenon occurred on a day called the Morning of Grand Summoning. On MOGS day, a slew of powerful supernatural creatures spread to every corner of the dying world, saving it from its imminent destruction. Historical accounts widely differed on the course of events for nearly a year afterwards. A few things were indisputable, however.

There was a lot of collateral damage that took nearly thirty years to recover from. During that time, the world underwent some dramatic changes. Life on the planet was irrevocably altered. Most were in minor ways but some were a great deal less subtle.

Even as some people started sporting non-human features, other creatures and sentient species were appearing in different places. Whole villages or compounds of ‘new folks’ suddenly sprang up wholesale in expanded stretches of land, while examples of ‘exotic variations’ in humanity appeared in the midst of family and friends. Understanding and adapting relied heavily on the ‘natives’ reaching out and heeding the wisdom of the ‘refugees’.

The recovery wasn’t ideal and tensions were a low simmer in every corner of the world but people were pulling together for the most part. The ‘brave new world’ required cooperation. Without it, the variety of challenges faced would have overwhelmed and cowed the world into another dark age.

In one moment of fancy, Orison thought, ���I always wondered what it would take to create a steampunk world. Who knew the answer was merely a little more gravity and a touch of neutralized ‘miasma’.”

On a personal note, crossing over had done a great deal to the young mage. It was as if the world he found himself on was composed of different laws entirely. The solid foundation of concepts he had built was suddenly filled with gaping holes. Consolidating that would take time and only had one immediate benefit. The over abundance of metaphysical resources hidden within the desolate realm had plenty of room to flow into.

Once again, Orison found himself a pseudo tier four. To make matters more complicated, magic was all but busted. It wasn’t simply a matter of relearning models. The essence of magic itself felt too nebulous and weak to work outside of himself.

When he’d ran out of safe things to try, he mentioned it to Dustin. The Rogers man stepped up to an open window and fired off a glowing sigil that didn’t seem to do anything. He tried another that produced a concentrated jet of heat and held the same frown the first result produced but Orison grew excited. Unfortunately, Dustin’s arm started convulsing, putting an end to the trial.

The Rogers man shook his head. “The sigil of repulsion would barely throw a fully armored man off his feet. And the ‘gout of flame’ sigil, it MIGHT permanently blind someone at point blank range.”

The young mage’s laugh was nearly obscene. “You have no idea how important what you just did was. I’m a mage who couldn’t use magic but you showed me how to. In short order, I’ll at least have some novice level stuff to throw around… Here, let me show you something.”

Orison walked over and put his hand on Dustin’s heart point. After having the Rogers man focus his intent inward, the young mage ran a slight touch of eldritch essence through blood vessels. That touch of essence was pulling a train of magic essence like a pack of peaceful and obedient dogs throughout the man’s body.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “I can pack my body with magic and the world around me will hold it in place almost effortlessly. No more slow leaks!”

The young mage nodded. “Let that little dot of eldritch essence bind up the dead miasma and then expel it once you’re done… It’s best of both. The pressure outside holds the magic in place and the magic within keeps the spent eldritch essence out.”

As he wandered away from the meditating Rogers man, he thought, “Who knew? The eldritch essence Dustin brought to my attention is personal ‘miasma’ or chrism in gas state. The stuff has an inert version just like spirit essence does. But unlike inert spirit essence, dead miasma only hinders and traps other essences.

“That’s a deep rabbit hole… I mean, Greater Reality itself might just be a big extra dimensional collection of essence cycling within an immeasurably large, dead outsider. No, it could very much be alive!

“That’s so far beyond me, I can barely begin to fathom. What tier would that be? If tier six is equal to a world god, a creator of realities, would that make tier seven like the managers of entire splays of existence? Since there’s a higher dimension I know almost nothing about, it seems pretty likely that there’s got to be something between the hypothetical tier seven and whatever a holder or creator of a greater existence would be.”

The young mage’s inner contemplation was interrupted by a polite cough. He and Dustin turned in unison to the source. A calm and confident looking older gentleman stood just outside the door of their convalescence room. It took a moment to place that it must be their host.

Giving his best smile, Orison said, “Mr Rothschild, I presume?”

A ghost of an affable smile crossed the man’s face. “Please, call me Nathan. I’ve been informed that your recovery has progressed to a reasonably decent point. Would the two of you like to tour the grounds with me or would you prefer to retire to my study?”

It seemed that Dustin was ready for fresh air and sunshine but Orison was far too filled with burning questions. Nathan was more than happy to provide a guide for the Rogers man as he invited the young mage to follow him. A couple of minutes later, as they sat in a comfortable room that gave off a vibe between clerical office and den, the man offered Orison a little brandy before dismissing the butler.

Mr Rothschild said, “Allow me to be blunt. You were brought here by a ritual that was performed by Rio almost two years ago. We had thought it failed. And in some ways, it actually did.

“He was trying to summon his older brother who had went missing for some time. Rio himself disappeared for a short while after that and was returned a much younger person with little recollection of his previous life here. If you’d like to reunite with him, he currently resides with his eldest son under the guise of his own illegitimate child.”

The young mage said, “That sounds incredibly awkward, possibly even painful, for both of them.”

Nathan quirked an eyebrow, “Indeed.”

“If it’s not private in nature, what was used in the ritual as focus?” Orison asked.

The older man rubbed his chin. “Hair from Zoe’s brush, I believe. Were that she was still around. I’ve gained much from mutual cooperation with her son but he is a flighty and distant person.”

In confused shock, the young mage asked, “Is she deceased!?”

Mr. Rothschild replied, “Heavens, no. The world of men no longer held appeal to her after she gave up on convincing Neil to become an Old One. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he loved her and his sons. But, he had no desire to join our side of things.

“Begging your indulgence on some inquiries of my own, I have much curiosity about your experiences. The greatest of which would be how crossing into our set of realities affected you. I’m also prepared to fairly exchange mystical knowledge.”

A faint intuition warned the young mage not to divulge too much. There was something about Nathan that didn’t sit well with him. He was also fairly certain the man had slipped him drugs in the brandy. But whether it was himself or Dustin, they both had special constitutions that made all but the more lethal poisons and the most potent of alcohols fairly ineffective.

He said, “If I’m not off base about slipping through the border between splays of realities, I can say that a person holding power weaker than the equivalent of a land god shouldn’t. Too much is lost… In the long run, that’s probably a good thing. It probably represents the consolidation of concepts into greater, more universal ones.

“But without enough concepts to retain a semblance of structure to one’s supernatural gifts, it would make most no better than a powerless mortal. That’s assuming they could survive the trip. I was fortunate enough that the thing which caught me in the summoning also adapted me to having some semblance of power here, as well.”

Warming up to the topic, Nathan said, “In inverse, you should possess some knowledge that would make one capable of surviving going to where you came from.”

Orison smiled faintly and shook his head. “Far too many variables in that, I’m afraid. My own inevitable attempt to return is its own set of adversities that hold no guarantees. Given some time and exploration of this world, I’d have more solid information to share.”

The older man’s amicable smile slipped into a slight frown that held an edge to it.

Orison chuckled and added, “I CAN share a few useful kernels of information, however… Your soul is slightly leached of color, indicating a dulling of emotion. Whatever has lead to that loss should be addressed before it becomes worse. It’s not an overly known fact. But, emotion is a key component in the growth of natural strength for one’s soul.

“It’s a sad state of conflicting interest. Cool composure and an ability to ignore the clamoring of irrational desires might make for more convenience in studying the art but it hinders creativity and the ability to garner insight. Without which, all we become capable of is wrote learning. That’s a major obstacle when teachings are rare or difficult to obtain.”

Nathan’s frown turned into a scowl but the man didn’t argue.

Conversely, Orison was feeling a little happier. “It’s a bit of a stretch but it strikes me that you might be acquiring power from an outside source. If part of that pact or a component of what you receive requires the sacrifice of emotion, you are undoubtedly being backed into a corner.

“Over time, once your growth stagnates or you require something like an extension of lifespan, you’ll be primed to make greater and greater sacrifices. Each one will be a devastating compromise to make up for what previous sacrifices hinder you from acquiring on your own. Inevitably, you’ll be nothing more than a tool, an extension of your patron.”

In a low and commanding voice, Mr. Rothschild said, “I’ll neither confirm nor deny another person’s assumptions. But assuming that yours were accurate, how would you deal with that situation?”

The young mage thought about it and said, “If I was to find myself in the situation I have assumed that you’re in, I would analyze my patron to find out what their drives and motivations are. I would attempt to acquire the best bait I could and lure them back to the negotiating table with it. Since you are first and foremost a business man, I would assume that you’ve already began doing so but found it too difficult.

“The cabal that you undoubtedly have working for you would prove a ruinous thing to lean on too heavily. There’s likely to already be members eyeballing your lion’s share and coveting it. Not to mention, your patron already has likely taken one or two of them under their tentacles as replacements if you fall or become problematic to their goals.”

Nathan’s scowl slowly turned upwards into a false and saccharine smile. “So, it’s an unhelpful suggestion and another assumed difficulty? As a benefactor who aided you in your time of need, why would you BAIT me?”

Orison said, “That’s not completely my intention. I outline the potential direness of your current situation for the sake of emphasizing the NEED for swift correction. This isn’t something capable of being sat on and pondered. Every moment allows obstacles to become more difficult to overcome.

“I’m not speaking out of the side of my mouth here. I’ve been ensnared so thoroughly before that an army of powerful allies barely gave me a way out. The outer gods and even the great old ones are mostly made of entities more ancient than humanity itself and far more cunning than we can possibly hope to become. That being said, it’s not hopeless.”

“The easiest and most assured solution would be to safely dismantle your own usefulness to your patron. Pass authority to another cabal member and disburse your assets in ways that would allow you to live out the rest of your days in comfort. Ensure you still have the resources and connections needed to make targeting you more trouble than it’s worth.

Nathan chuckled mirthlessly. “That’s even less useful than your first piece of advice. I hope you are leading up to something of actual merit.”

The young mage nodded. “Of course. Everything I’ve said isn’t untrue, though. The trappings of comfort, pleasure and luxury are OUR bait, our weakness… Before I continue, I need to ask you a question. Is one of the names of your patron the Black Pharaoh or the Faceless One?”

“And if the answer was yes?” Mr. Rothschild said.

Orison sighed. “Then associating with me would earn Their displeasure. Little would please Them more than harming or hindering me in Their name… Make no mistake. It would please Them but they would be forced to punish you and end Their patronage, all the same. It has something to do with old agreements I don’t fully understand.”

With another quirk of eyebrow, the older man said, “Then thankfully for both of us, that is not the case. You’ll pardon me for not revealing any more than that.���

The young mage said, “Good. Then all I need from you is an oath to do me or mine no harm as long as I do no harm to you or yours in return. Fortunately for us, this isn’t a devil’s game. For the most part, alien outsiders are far too removed from humanity to enjoy complex games of treachery… I assume you’re not so bored as to engage in such things for pleasure or sport?”

Nathan didn’t answer the question but he did give the oath and requested it in return. Both of them added a clause of not ‘intentionally harming’ rather than promising no harm.

With the formality out of the way, Orison continued, “It will be costly but sacrifice the things you collected to entice them in the name of clearing your spiritual debts. Make no requests of nor draw upon their power. You have delved enough into the lore and art to enact ritual to cover some of your need for supernatural assistance. A patron is a crutch. If you want to grow into your own power, you need to start by rehabilitating your ability to stand on your own.

“To help you get started, I have a few notes and a few novice models I’ve been writing down as we’ve been talking. They won’t work immediately but a little experimenting and tweaking will get them to functional. You have the means to find sources of this eldritch essence outside of your patron and the ability to draw on magic. Now, the choice is yours. You may not be cut out to be The Magician but you are now aware of the cost behind being The Hierophant.”

He didn’t refuse the offer but Orison could tell that Nathan was feeling bitter and unsure.

The young mage said, “If you need some assistance from an inspirational point of view, look at your situation with The Star and The Hanged Man in mind. I’ve reached the end of how much assistance I can directly give without creating complications and entanglement between us.

“Believe me. That is not something you want. If I find something more tangible to aid you while I’m roaming about, we can enter some good faith exchange for it. “Regardless of your reason for doing so, you’ve been a pillar of support for people I’ve cared about. It helps your case that I’m not a big fan of forced servitude. My brushes with… Them… hasn’t exactly left me with a favorable impression either.”