Sorcerer's Shadow - Chapter 56: The Liberation

A flash of intense white momentarily blinded me, my ears filled with an indescribable roar, and the fresh scent of parsley wafted into my nostrils. Then, as swiftly as it came, it vanished, leaving behind the pulsing rhythm, the glowing rune, the odd scenery, and a sense of accomplishment.

The connection was made.

Preparing myself for the next stage, I tried to steady my thoughts.

The stiletto embedded in the ground began to quiver, which puzzled me. Shortly after, a deep hum became discernible. Focusing on it, I managed to identify the rhythm.

Rhythms…

That sparked a thought.

I extended my left hand, palm facing upwards, while concentrating on the rhythm. Doing the same with my right hand, I focused on the hum. Slowly, I brought my hands together, flipping them so that the palms were touching. Behind me, I could sense Opal expanding and retracting his wings. My eyes seemed to close automatically. A wave of exhaustion hit me, causing unease considering the tasks still ahead.

Suddenly, the hum synchronized with the established rhythm.

I wondered how I would transcribe this process in a spellbook if I ever decided to do so.

The object I sought was over there, and I needed it here. Most of the connections had been made: “there” was symbolized by the trembling knife, “here” was the glowing rune. But beyond that, I had to shatter a spatial barrier and conjure something that didn’t exist while eliminating something that did—though in reality, I was merely initiating a spatial rearrangement.

As complex as it sounds to hear, imagine executing it.

I had become a nexus of rhythm and vibrations, vision and noise, of an oscillating landscape, a resonating knife, a shining rune, and a pulse.

They were unified by my will and the symbols in front of me. Picture a metaphysical balancing act within the mind to get a semblance of what it felt like.

The most challenging part was yet to come.

I guess if I had more time, I might have concocted a chant, but I’ve never been skilled at that. Time was a luxury I didn’t have. Opal fortified me, and I directed this newfound power into the enchantment, amplifying the tension. The rhythm intensified, and the candle before me suddenly burst into brilliance.

It was alarming.

My focus narrowed on it, morphing the sudden brilliance into a cascade of sparkles, which burst into a globe of shimmering void. I collected it again, surrounding the candle flame with a halo of multicolored lights. I didn’t have to instruct Opal to seize control of it; my desire communicated itself and he complied.

My breath stilled and I felt my eyes sharpen. I was at ease, part of the flow, no longer on the periphery. I was in a transient phase that I could exploit while it lasted. Now was the moment to connect the origin and the destination, to map out the trajectory for reality’s alteration.

The knife trembled as if indicating, “Begin here.” Alright then, commence there, but what next? I shifted my gaze from the knife to the rune and back. Stretching out my right hand, with my forefinger extended, I drew a line. I replicated the motion. And again.

I maintained the process, always moving from knife to rune. Eventually, a flaming line materialized between them.

It felt appropriate. I lifted my gaze. The scenery continued to ripple as if reality was a mirage, threatening to engulf me. That could be daunting if I permitted it.

My left hand seemed paralyzed, a fraction of my consciousness aware that it was positioned over the rune. My right hand drifted aimlessly until it, too, came to a halt. It hovered directly over the shivering knife.

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Clenching my right hand into a fist, I gradually moved it towards my left. I encountered a non-physical resistance. It felt as if I comprehended what needed to be done and yearned to do it, but actualizing the action meant battling an overpowering lethargy. I recognized it—it was the universe protesting against this manipulation—but that realization didn’t make it easier. Despite the resistance, my hands began to converge. Once they met, the rupture would occur, and I’d surrender everything to it.

Failure, in a way, was out of the question now. My only outcomes were triumph, or insanity and demise.

My right fist made contact with my left hand.

The world seemed to cradle in my palms. A wave of profound clarity washed over me, the horizon became steady, and I found myself unaffected by the surrounding pulses. The universe appeared to suspend its breath as my thoughts pierced reality’s facade. Opal’s consciousness intertwined with mine, vibrating in perfect unison. At that moment, I realized that besides my grandfather, Opal was the only being I genuinely cherished.

What was compelling me to do this?

The scent of Cedar needles permeated my senses, infusing everything with a feeling of purity and freshness. It stirred a well of emotions within me, eliciting tears, yet also endowing my hands with vigor.

My grandfather, during our fencing lessons, used to make me hold my stance for minutes, anticipating the flicker of his blade that would provide an opening. I suspect he knew he was imparting more than just fencing skills.

When the pivotal moment arrived, I was prepared.

In that instant, it was as if I heard Vost-pa’s voice whispering, “Now, Viktor.”

“Now, Viktor.”

That phrase seems too elaborate for the fleeting moment when I knew I had to act, but that’s what I remember, and that’s what spurred me into action. It exploded.

There was no room for hesitation, no space for regret; doubts became vague and remote. All energies had been funnelled towards this point in time, and I was more alive than I ever was except at these defining moments. The rush, the liberation, the leap into the unknown, it was all there. And the best part, there was no longer a need to doubt. If destruction was my fate, it was now too late to avert it. All that I had conserved and withheld gushed out. I felt my energy drain as if a stopper had been removed. It poured out, and in that moment, I was far too disoriented to know, or even to ponder if my timing had been precise. Death and madness, or victory. The moment was upon me.