RE: Monarch - Chapter 185: Whitefall XL

I was aware that illusion magic existed. Illusions were divided into two major categories.

The first, soft illusions, were similar to Maya’s glamour, a veneer of mana that distorted the surface of an object or person and altered it to appear as something or someone different. Generally, the closer a glamour was to its wearer in terms of shape and size, the more convincing it was. But if you touched a raging river disguised as a placid one, you’d hear rushing water, feel the spray before you touched it, and plunge your hand into the elevated current before reaching the image of the still current beneath. Soft illusions could be cast by mages with the light element, or enchanted into objects.

Hard illusions were an entirely different matter. My first experience with a hard illusion was so harrowing it still haunted my dreams. They were as real as the mind made them, an aspect that was largely affected by the power of the artifact they were enchanted into. Enchantment being the operative word. To Vogrin’s knowledge, there had never been a light mage capable of casting hard illusions directly.

Until now.

Vogrin continued, still a font of enthusiasm despite the earlier setback. “It’s fascinating, really. As if your mana pathways were designed for one thing, and one thing only. You lack the divine taint that typically plagues the element, which some might consider to be a disadvantage—it’s not—as well as some of the flexibility of the traditional elements. Weaving your light mana into specific spells, for instance. You’ll never be able to use it to launch an element-imbued projectile, nor will you be able to access any of the more utilitarian aspects such as a floating lantern that follows you or an aegis. But it doesn’t matter. Because who needs an aegis when you can simply summon a shield made of dragon scale? Or a dwarven lantern? Or a gods-blasted starfall cannon!” Vogrin grasped the back of his head at the mere mention of the last one, clearly off in his own world.

Annette slowly looked over to me. “I am overwhelmed.”

“Yes, let’s just… taper down a little. Hells, even I’m confused.” I looked down at the circle of grass, that had once been nothing but burnt dirt. While the grass had returned, growing up from the soil with unnatural speed, it wasn’t untainted. It was yellower than its surroundings and the top of the shoots were cracked and dry. I glanced at Vogrin. “If the fire was a hard illusion, why is the grass still there?”

“How strong was your magic when you first awakened?” Vogrin cocked his head at me.

I held my hands up. “Elphion, relax. It was a legitimate question.” At this rate he was going to request a transfer. When I noticed Annette was still watching me, wanting to hear the answer, I shrugged, turning up my palm and summoning a spark no larger than a mite of dust. “About like this.”

“Oh.” Annette looked relieved.

“A mage begins as a fragment of how they end. This is the way of things.” Vogrin crossed his arms. “In your case, I suspect you are struggling with the same barrier any light mage struggles with in an attempt to solidify their illusions. Permanence.” Rather than kneeling, he rotated supine and lowered himself down so his nose almost nearly touching the still regrowing grass. “The fact that the effect even lasted this long is a testament to your potential.”

“That isn’t normal?” Annette asked.

“If you were a hundred-year-old elf, or an aged-out infernal who’d been focusing purely on illusion since they retired to the sanctum, perhaps. Otherwise, it is most certainly not.”

I felt uneasy. My experience with magic had been vastly different. Great power typically came at great cost, and Annette had gone from a talented tactical advisor to an all-around powerhouse in a matter of hours. “This all sounds great. But I have to wonder. What’s the catch?”

Vogrin scowled at me, as if it annoyed him I was focusing on the negative, then returned his attention to Annette. “This is all more or less new, but from my knowledge of light magic illusions, there are two less serious concerns. Range and scale.” He pointed to the farthest in a row of blossoming apple trees in the distance, perhaps a hundred span from us. “If you would.”

Annette stood, going up on her tiptoes to look. “What should I do to it?”

“There’s a twig in your hand. Attach it to the tree.”

My sister looked down at her empty palm, confused. Like it had always been there, the twig shimmered into existence, a green leaf extending from its far end. Her eyes widened. “Oh. I could get used to this.”

“It’s already reflexive,” I realized. As teachers went, I hadn’t seen this side of Vogrin before.

“That can only help you in the long term.” Vogrin nodded his agreement. “But you will need to be careful and learn to discipline your mind, or it may lead to some… unfortunate circumstances.”

Vogrin put Annette through her paces.

First, she tried what he asked. Levitating the twig through the air until it reached the apple tree across the garden. It didn’t make it far, stopping just beyond the shrub wall. Vogrin marked down her current range as around ten span. Then he had her recall the twig and expand it. It grew to around three to four times its normal size, then stalled. After that, he had her raise the twig, then close her eyes.

“That is… more finite than I hoped.” Annette said. I was watching her carefully, and she seemed only slightly winded by the effort.

Vogrin made an irritated noise. “If you only knew the number of would-be illusionist light mages that would strangle you for complaining about contorting a hard illusion so freely. But it is early still. I suspect the limitation is one of psychology and etymology.”

“Etymology?” Annette asked. “I’m not following how language is a factor here.”

Vogrin shook his head and let out a low chuckle. “As a demon, princess, trust me when I say that language is everything. I’ll demonstrate.” He pointed to the twig. “What is that?”

“A twig.”

“And what does it grow into?”

“… Sometimes a branch.” Annette gave Vogrin a dull look.

“So why then, did you not transform the twig into a branch?”

Annette studied the twig dubiously. “Can I… do… that?”

Vogrin scoffed. “Why are you asking me? Try it yourself.”

My sister tried and failed, multiple times to transform the twig into a branch. After the last attempt, her jaw worked. She allowed the twig to fade from existence and created a branch in its stead. She could create a significantly larger branch than twig. “A twig is a twig, and a branch is a branch. Their designations create a mental barrier.”

“Exactly!” Vogrin clapped. “Which is, I suspect, a limitation you’ll overcome with time. The more difficult aspect with this particular example is that you’ve never seen a twig transform into a branch. You’ve seen large twigs, and small branches, but never the moment a twig sheds its etymology and becomes a branch. Similarly, you may find it difficult to create both overly large and diminutively small versions of things you’re familiar with.”

An idea struck me. The detail work of assuming a face or body that wasn’t hers was likely beyond her at this moment, but what if it was simpler? “Cutting in for a moment. Annette. Can you try patterning your dress with similar leaves to that hedge?”

Without hesitating, Annette stared at the hedge. Leaves sprouted from the fabric that adorned her, in stripes, eventually filling in the center. I guided her to stand in front of it and stepped back, putting a hand over my mouth.

It was the best camouflage I’d ever seen. From merely a span away, it looked as if she’d been submerged into the shrub. Immediately catching on, Annette stared at her arms, and the green sprouts from her dress extended, covering them entirely. Last, they covered her head and neck. Those leaves in particular seemed… disturbed. Probably because she couldn’t see them.

Concluding the same, Vogrin held a reflective orb out in front of her, and—giggled—in delight as the upper leaves rearranged themselves, becoming uniform, blending perfectly.

If I moved to either side, I could see a slight outline. But only slight, and my mind constantly skipped over it, as if it wasn’t there. “How’s the mana drain?”

The shrub jostled as she spoke, as if someone was shaking it from the other side. “I feel a little tired. Not exhausted. More as if I ran up a flight of stairs too fast. Does it look convincing?”

“That would be an understatement. I know exactly where you are and I’m having trouble seeing you. Think you could hold it for a while?”

The shrub nodded. Which was as disorienting as it sounds. “The most tiring part was making it. Now that it’s in place, I don’t feel like I’m getting tired any faster.”

A knot of long-held anxiety in my gut, there so long I’d almost stopped noticing it, released. The way Annette died in my previous life had been burned into my memory. I saw it often, moments before I fell asleep. The shock of the violence itself had long since faded. But the revelation of how vulnerable she was had persisted.

Regardless of how permanent her illusions became, or how strong she grew, this was the best I could have asked for. Reassurance that even in the worst situation, she could hide. Protect herself. Survive. Even if I wasn’t there.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve and stepped away.

Vogrin and Annette tried a few more things. First, she successfully—albeit unhappily—summoned the poppet from earlier. Again it mocked her, spouting all manner of drivel. Annette looked about ready to burn it all over again until Vogrin instructed her to look away. The poppet immediately grew clumsy, tripping and falling over itself as it attempted to return to Annette’s field of view.

As it turned out, the poppet wasn’t sentient. It was a simple illusory construct driven by Annette’s subconscious. Even knowing this, she had trouble controlling it. So instead, she banished it and summoned a small pink elephant, which seemed much more pliant. She was able to direct the animated stuffed animal almost twenty span before it collapsed and faded away, exceeding her previous range limitation due to the creature’s form.

At that point, I let Vogrin take over. I still needed to speak to Annette for ideas on the situation with my regiment, but I wanted to let her enjoy what I’d never had. A moment to enjoy and experience her magic with a competent teacher to guide her.

I’d neglected my own advancement for far too long. Kneeling down in the grass, I felt the gentle breeze as it washed over me. I hadn’t done this since I’d left the sanctum, and it had been far too long. Letting my mind wander, I pondered my magic. I could work on my inscriptions, perhaps, but they were easy enough to use.

There was something I’d been avoiding ever since the ambush. I opened my palm, the violet flame of absolution suspended between my thumb, index and third finger.

In desperation, I’d used it to deconstruct myself, escaping through the puncture Eckor had placed in the barrier. Strip myself down to almost nothing but essence and recreate myself somewhere else. The value of that was apparent. But it had almost killed me. And with the maelstrom of emotions that my return to Whitefall incurred, I hadn’t trusted myself to attempt something so volatile. There were still things I needed to achieve. Sera, the regiment, the disappearances. And of course, Thoth.

But there, in the garden, with the sound of Vogrin and Annette’s squabbling at the forefront, the symphony of whispers ceased. Birds chattered from their perches high in the trees. The wind rustled leaves and grass into rhythmic dances. All forming a sightless landscape within my mind.

And perhaps, or the first time since that day in the wagon, I felt peace.

The spark of absolution eroded my fingertips first, then consumed my palm and forearm, erasing all. There was pain, yes, the same as before, but it went more quickly this time, more smoothly, until the sounds of the garden fell away, the sensation of breathing faded, and the sunlight illuminating the inside of my eyelids a warm red faded to black.

Until there was nothing but the spark. I could still see it without my eyes, sense it without my mind. First, I willed it forward, then followed it, taking form once again.

I opened my eyes, safe and whole, several span from where I’d started. There was a sheen of sweat on my forehead. But there’d been no voice this time, no close encounter with the void.

It was an improvement, to be sure. But it needed to be faster, over a longer distance. I closed my eyes and summoned the spark of absolution once more.

Again.