RE: Monarch
Chapter 49: Enclave XIX

I found myself wondering how my father did it. At some point in his life, he must have felt something. Guilt at the very least, if not remorse. Yet, he remained completely unflappable and unconcerned. I could chalk it up to him being a homicidal monster, but in reality, that wasn’t true. He didn’t care for his children, but I’d seen him treat my mother kindly on more than one occasion, when there was no pragmatic reason for doing so. He had sired a few wartime bastards in the early years of their marriage, but there were no whispers or rumors of more recent indiscretions. So it stood to reason that he felt something for her. Thus, reductively speaking, he felt something. Just less.

I didn’t want to be like my father. The very idea of it was nauseating. But if it meant quieting the ocean of turmoil within me, maybe there was something to be learned from him.

“If you’ve recovered enough, try to unsettle the target.” Ralakos’s deep voice roused me from my thoughts, back to the matter at hand. I focused, digging deep for the rage, sending the ocean of my mental landscape into an uproar. I let it flow outward towards the paper construction on a table five feet away—a horse made from folding paper—and felt a slight adulation as the current of air rippled through the hairs on my arm.

The paper horse lifted onto its back legs, as if intending to rear-up, only to suddenly and anticlimactically change its mind. I growled deep in my throat, fist clenching in frustration. I could remember it like it was yesterday, picking up the demons like they were nothing and hurling them to the side. The difference between that night and today was so drastic it was almost painful.

What had changed?

Ralakos was delighted to hear the news of my second awakening, tossing around overly complimentary terms like, “Prodigy,” and, “Genius.” Words that had generally never been applied to me before. His enthusiasm shined brightly, even when he witnessed the paltry nature of my current ability. I didn’t understand why. Compared to the demon-fire, air magic was practically useless, even in its most raw elemental form—which was, coincidentally the only form I could use. I mumbled something along those lines to Ralakos, who just shook his head in that infuriatingly cryptic, sage manner of his.

“You are being too practical by half. What would you say of a miner who discards a gem embedded in stone for the exposed bronze that lay next to it, just because it is less bothersome to trade?” Ralakos asked.

“A terrible miner,” I groused. His expression turned chiding and strangely morose.

“Yes. Because only a fool trades exponential long-term growth for short-term gain.”

In something of a rare series of events, he’d escorted me past the personal library we typically held our lessons in, up the long winding stairs of the foyer, and through a maze of halls to a private training area adjacent to his study.

I took this to mean he was finally taking me seriously.

Instead of traditional targets like straw-men or rings, there were a series of crystal spheres that measured magical output to the decimal point. Some of them stood alone on posts. Others were mounted on the “branches” of something that looked very much like a wire tree. The idea was, when you hit it, it would rotate, forcing you to adjust your aim for movement while measuring the strength mana imbuing the element.

Ralakos admitted to me they weren’t particularly accurate for anything other than measuring raw output of mana. He demonstrated this by casting three spells. A simple fire bolt, a spout of water, and a rock the size of my fist. The level of force exuded by his magic increased exponentially with each spell, ending with the boulder, which sent the iron tree spinning frantically. Yet, each of them showed the same number. The demonic marker for twenty-five, exactly halfway on the scale.

A marker of one was so small even the most recently awakened child could manage it, while a marker of fifty generally only resulted from the type of spells you were better off not casting inside, especially in a warded room.

But even in elemental form, the slight breeze that resulted from my attempt at air magic didn’t even register. In a flash of heat, I sent a simple fireball at the nearest target sphere. It lit up with a dull red, showing the indicator for thirteen.

No matter what I tried, the gust of air didn’t summon a number. Hence, the paper horse. Casting air magic felt fundamentally different than demon-fire. Demon-fire felt like creating something from nothing. One moment it was there, the next, it was gone. Air magic was like trying to access an invisible and intangible network that connected the world. It just felt too big.

I tried everything. Compressing it in my palm down to a single point and using my hands to shape the direction. Putting more muscle into the movement. It felt silly and childish.

Worse, it took significantly more mana than the demon fire. In less than a half-hour I’d tapped myself out, sweat beading on my forehead, my vision graying around the edges.

And the stupid horse hadn’t moved.

With the last drop of safe mana I had, I cast a small bolt of demon fire, expanding the flame at the moment of impact, incinerating the paper construction in a split second.

“Your control of the flame is impressive,” Ralakos said dryly, “But I have to wonder what the poor horse did to you.” He approached the podium and wiped the ash off with a quick swipe of his robe. I watched in a mix of wonder and muted jealousy as he levitated a piece of paper above his hand, completing a series of intricate folds. He constructed a dragon this time. It floated down to his hand, flapping its wings, then crawled from his palm onto the podium.

“Something has changed in you.” Ralakos looked me over and stroked his chin. “I take it this has something to do with what Nethtari mentioned.”

“What did she mention, exactly?”

Ralakos’s smile was thin. “That my house is not nearly as in order as I once thought it was. And that our mutual friend has been building up to a proxy war.”

Nethtari had already talked to him, then. I braced myself for an onslaught of questions regarding the sourcing of our information, and was surprised when none came.

“Funny thing, that. Nethtari made almost exactly the same face.” Ralakos’s lips pressed together. “I’ve known her a long time. She’s not the sort to chase after conspiracies. The specifics are frustratingly vague, but she seems convinced. And it’s been quite obvious there’s more to you than meets the eye after your miraculous recovery from the soul damage.”

That was logical, though the lack of curiosity struck me as bizarre.

“What are our next steps then?”

“Our?” Ralakos laughed. “This is out of your depth, child. If Guemon truly intends to turn the entire enclave against you, there’s very little you can do about it. I’ll be looking into him from my end. He’s been isolating himself within his quarters for the better part of a week, claiming illness. Feigned or not.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” I said. Ralakos’s intent to exclude me was a minor surprise. Nethtari was a lawyer, not a miracle worker. But something about the idea of Guemon hiding within his home didn’t sit well with me.

If I were taking part in a conspiracy of this magnitude, my first order of business would be to make myself as visible as possible. Absence is keenly felt in a situation like this, with thousands of survivors searching their memories for anything out of the ordinary and someone to blame. Keeping my usual routine would be crucial, any diversion from the norm a possible tell. Hiding myself away for extended periods of time before a literal coup would be tantamount to a signed confession.

Guemon was no genius, but I'd at least thought him smarter than this.

“A handful of my most trusted will be watching his abode,” Ralakos said. “I’ve kept the knowledge to a selected few, all of whom took oaths of compulsion beforehand. If he leaves, I’ll know it. If anyone comes to visit him, I’ll know it. It’s practically already handled.” Ralakos shrugged. His words and posture radiated confidence.

As relieving as it might have been to believe this was a problem that could be solved through thorough surveillance, I couldn’t quite buy it. Ralakos wasn't there. He had not seen the casual brutality of the attack. How the demons had swept over everything before them.

My vision returned to normal. Instead of waving my arms in the air like a neanderthal, I reached for the air and attempted to channel, as I had learned to for the flame. A small group of white shimmers and specular dust clustered around my arm, traveling up towards my shoulder before petering out.

I nearly launched another fire-bolt at the new horse before thinking better of it.

“What about Ephira?” I asked.

“What about Ephira?”

“Is she trustworthy? She backed Ralakos in the trial, or at least, she planned to.”

“Things have changed. Back then, you represented a vague packaging of unpleasantness with little upside. Then you demonstrated your value. That little trade deal with the dwarves was a stroke of brilliance.” Ralakos drew water from an octagonal receptacle in the corner. The water flowed around his arms in a diagonal loop. I watched, feeling more than a little envious. Spell weaving was often beautiful to look at, filled with complex motions and intricate entwining of mana and elemental particles—elemental was, by comparison, rather crude. But Ralakos was hadn’t generated this water, he had drawn it, meaning that what I was seeing was pure elemental manipulation. The level of control was unbelievable.

“You’re not worried about her at all?” I asked dubiously. The water jumped from receptacle to receptacle, occasionally reversing or defying gravity altogether.

Ralakos scoffed. “I’m always worried about Ephira. The woman is as attached to gold as she is unbound from reality. There’s no trusting a person like that. Predicting them, on the other hand, is easy.”

I mulled that over, feeling the strange prickling of my pores as I absorbed the surrounding mana from the air. “If material gain is her goal, it’s possible that she is being bribed by an outside entity.”

The water darted at my face, and I dodged, glaring at Ralakos.

“Just making sure you’re maintaining presence of mind,” Ralakos said. “And you’re massively underestimating the amount of gold generated by the sanctum, and by extension, Ephira.”

It was true that I didn’t know much to that end. There was so much nuance to the arcane side of the Enclave that I hadn’t paid much attention to the economics.

“So she can’t be bought.”

He waggled a finger at me. “I didn’t say that. More that the price to buy her is likely so exorbitant that any looking to do so would likely resort to other means. Blood is always cheaper than diplomacy.”

The water hopped towards the container nearest me, directly over the paper horse. I reached out one last time with the air, picturing a sideways cup. The stream of water impacted the invisible barrier and rained in a deluge down onto the paper horse below, knocking it over.

I nearly let out a whoop of triumph before—in a demonstration of insufferable showmanship—the stream of water seemed to move in reverse down to the movement of the individual drips, gathering on the podium and righting the paper horse. I watched, slack jawed, as the constructed paper—once waterlogged and flattened—became as dry as the moment Ralakos had built it.

I glared at him.

“That’s cheating, counselor.”

“Besmirching a respectable infernal’s honor. How crude.” Ralakos said, flicking his wrist absentmindedly and sending the stream of water back into the original stone receptacle “You know, I just realized what you need.”

“What?”

“Accessing a newly awakened element is difficult for any magician, but it should not be this difficult. You have not been classically trained, so that explains the lack of potency. Still, having seen the dantalion for myself, your abilities should not be this deficient. I would wager self-doubt is your primary obstacle. Stress is a factor of course, it always is, but at the moment you are having trouble feeling the element itself.”

“So what’s the solution?” I asked. “It hard to pin down what works when nothing I do seems to result in significant gain.”

“If you yolk an ox, they learn quickly how to make efficient movements to lessen the strain of the load. You need a yolk.”

I suddenly had a vague notion of what he was talking about and shivered slightly, remembering a wooden sword striking the ground so hard it kicked up dirt.

“You need a void magician. And I know just the one.” Ralakos smiled. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the n0vᴇl(ꜰ)ire.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Sᴇarch the N0vᴇlFirᴇ.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.