A Practical Guide to Sorcery

Chapter 282: The Price of Power

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 26, Sunday 5:15 p.m.

The indistinct being kneeling before Siobhan answered her question like a drowning man grabbing hold of a rope. “I will give you all my power, all my cunning, turned willingly to your purpose.”

“I don’t believe you,” Siobhan replied simply.

“I will promise it thrice! And I am useful. I can take you into the spirit realm to travel in ways unknown to mortal man. I can give you knowledge of magics in your surroundings and warn you of dangers. I can build dreams or spirit-realm spaces for you and act on your behalf as your shadow. And all of that and more, I can do even better than what you’ve seen, if you provide me power. I will make whatever vow you want and wear whatever binding you offer. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, I promise this. I vow that I shall not harm you before the sun has risen thrice more upon this land, on my magic. I vow that I shall not harm you, on my memories and dreams. I vow that I shall not harm you, on my future. I have thrice vowed your safety, Siobhan Naught. Until three days pass, you are safe with me.” It paused and added, “You can be safe with me after that, too, if you let me live.”

Siobhan could tell that this being did understand her somewhat. It knew, at least, how resistant she was to being forced. The last time it had made this kind of vow, it had indeed kept its word, though that might have been as much out of self-interest as any concern for her. She sensed no overt deception in it now, though that didn’t mean she actually trusted it.

Oliver stared at the same place she was looking at, then around at the walls as if something might jump out to scare him. “What is happening?”

“I am speaking to the being. It’s fine.”

He still stepped back toward the wall and aimed the tip of his battle wand at the floor in front of her vigilantly. His face was twisted in frustration.

As she looked back toward the being, Siobhan didn’t allow her expression to change from one of vague disinterest mixed with a hint of bloodthirst. “I wonder if you could possibly be as useful as you say, if it was this easy to defeat you. Maybe I should just trap you somewhere and hand you over to the Red Guard in exchange for a favor. I am sure they would be fascinated.”It shuddered, releasing a roiling mix of confused helplessness and fear mixed with defiance, but didn’t speak. However, underneath all of that, she sensed the faintest hint of melancholy, or perhaps longing.

Siobhan already knew the path she was going to choose. Controlling the power of an Aberrant—or even this strange remnant of an Aberrant—was indeed too enticing to give up in her current situation. It would make her a threat—and thus a target—to the Red Guard, but it wasn’t as if being weak had kept her safe from them until now. All the caution and precautions she’d taken until now had only kept her from complete destruction by the skin of her teeth, and even that was based on a large helping of pure luck.

Being able to travel through the spirit realm had almost allowed her to escape from Thaddeus Lacer. Knowledge of magic in her surroundings was something she could utilize in a myriad of ways, especially because the being seemed to be able to tell what someone was about to cast. She suspected this ability was something Myrddin had also developed, or at least something similar, seeing as the man had been able to quantify the application of Will well enough to bind into her transformation amulet. And she couldn’t even imagine what might come of its ability to build dreams and spirit-realm spaces for her, but the possibilities sparked her greed.

She knew that allowing it to live was a risk, even if it agreed to these vows. But after Thaddeus had torn into her mind, and then Analyst Hite had come to sniff around and threaten her, and finally the return of her lost memories, which still ached like an open wound… Siobhan felt like something inside her had snapped.

She still wanted to be safe. However, it was no longer her most important goal. ‘I’m willing to take risks that I would have previously considered unacceptable if those risks might be rewarded with power.’ She needed power to stop the loss and violations she’d experienced from happening again. Her fingers trembled with the desire to reach out and grasp, as if control over her life was something tangible that she could seize by force.

All of this was true, but there was one more reason that she could not—would not—kill the being.

“Who are you?” she asked softly. “You cannot vow properly without a name, and I know you are not Claudio—or at least not entirely Claudio.” Her throat tightened as she waited for its answer.

The being stared up at her, becoming slightly more coherent and tangible to her senses, in a way that she knew came from her brain and whatever part of her was attuned to magic, not her physical body. “I am a shadow of the thing that called itself Claudio. I am six weeks of Siobhan Naught at the age of thirteen.”

Siobhan thought some of the childishness that had shown through in their handful of interactions. When she was thirteen, she hadn’t felt like she was immature.

“And I am a warped moment of frozen time and intent from a woman who has forgotten her own name, but still remembers yours.”

She stared at it, not daring to ask her question aloud.

It seemed to understand that she wanted confirmation. “That last part of me is the least mentally coherent, but I still have a memory of you at the age of six, when we wove flower crowns together and danced to bless the hunt.”

‘Mom.’ Siobhan did not say the word out loud. It wasn’t her mother, after all. Just a small piece of her mother’s Aberrant, liquid mirror torn out and forced into Siobhan’s eye.

“That part of me does have some useful abilities. After all, I did say that Miakoda was almost perfectly designed to support and assist…me.” It paused, then corrected, “To assist Claudio. As for your own memories, you never experienced a break event, so it offers no anomalous effect, while also not being considered enough of a human for me to be able to cast spells. Mostly it’s just personality, thought, and memories.” The being lowered its head. “I’m not sure if it’s the part that came from you that has kept me glued together for so long, or if it would have been kinder to leave that out.”

Its voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “Maybe without it, every moment wouldn’t have been so painful. It is a very human thing, to go insane.”

Siobhan rolled over this knowledge for a bit, trying to discover if she felt any sympathy for the being. The thought of Mom trapped in a small dark space like that with something like Claudio hurt her heart. And no thirteen-year-old child deserved such a sentence. But the thing in front of her wasn’t really Mom or herself anymore, either. And it had caused Siobhan so much pain over the last seven years.

‘I don’t love it, and I cannot pity it, but I think I cannot hate it, either. If I were trapped like that, I, too, would turn the entirety of my being toward destroying my captor.’

“How is it possible for three beings to become one? Will you split apart again now that you’re free?”

“I don’t believe I can separate cleanly anymore. If I truly break, it will be because I am destroyed. As for how this was possible, I do not know. Magic has few limits, but I wonder if this is the other side of the Naught coin.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Naught bloodline. My Claudio-part had some blood of the People, too, so it’s possible all three of my constituent sources had a bit of the original bloodline.”

Siobhan narrowed her eyes. “Tell me about the Naught bloodline. Why would it be relevant here?” She knew that the bloodline apparently carried some measurable amount of magical talent, causing the Will to grow faster, but she’d never noticed the effects. Grandfather had once hinted that the bloodline was why Mom had taken so long to succumb to the effects of casting through her own flesh, but obviously it hadn’t been enough to save her.

“Oh, well, you know about the brillig, right? In humans, the bloodline does cause some predisposition to pluralism. At least according to the original Claudio—the human one’s—notes. I read them when I returned to his house. As for me, I don’t properly have an identity of my own any more, in the same way I don’t have a shadow. Sometimes, I’m not even able to retain new memories and thoughts, like my brain is some kind of leaky sieve.” It laughed humorlessly. “But at the same time, this is a little like being able to split your Will, isn’t it? Like an opposite version of that.”

It sounded horrifying. Being half something else would mean that she was no longer fully herself. And what was that, if not a form of death? “Do you know anything more about the bloodline? Where did it come from? Does it have some actual connection to the brillig?”

The thing grew frustrated at the line of questioning, but held itself back from complaining and answered with false patience. “I don’t know, but human Claudio suspected that whatever the bloodline actually was, it affected how much ‘attention’ magic would pay you, and that this could be because your ‘anchoring’ or ‘weight’ in the spirit realm is stronger than other people. Supposedly, some ancient shamans with the bloodline could walk through the spirit realm with no special protections and still not be driven insane.” It paused. “Let me remind you, however, I’m not actually a trained shaman or historian. I’m just someone who read a shaman’s research notes and journals, and who happens to have a magical ability that is connected to the spirit realm. I do know that Raaz was interested in this topic, so perhaps his notes would hold some clues? This shared interest is probably how Raaz and Claudio became acquainted.”

Siobhan waved her hand. “Nothing from my grandfather remains. Ennis went there after I left. The whole village and surrounding area were a flat patch of ash and glass. Any research was destroyed…or taken by the Red Guard.”

She shrugged her shoulders to set aside the thought. “A thing like you needs to have an identity. I will give you one, if you are willing to accept a name with inherent restrictions.”

It hesitated. “I am.” Its emotions revealed that it wasn’t entirely willing, in the true sense of the word, but it had genuinely yielded and didn’t seem to be scheming against her. It was desperate, fearful, impatient, and had surrendered.

“Take us safely into the spirit realm.” She held out her hand and caught its own in a firm grip. As long as she didn’t let go, even if it had deceived her completely, she could not be abandoned, and from her own experience and the clues she’d picked up from Grandfather’s fight with the Aberrant Claudio, its touch would also stabilize her physical form.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Wait, what?” Oliver said.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back soon,” she replied.

“That is not reassuring!”

“I need your shadow,” the being whispered shamefacedly. “I’m not strong enough to make a door on my own.”

She allowed it to enter and sensed its relief as soon as it had the protection of darkness around it, as if it were a woman who had been running naked through the cold and suddenly found a warm cloak. She formed the shape of a doorway without waiting for it to try to control her shadow again.

The being used its ability, and the doorway became a portal to a place of mist.

“Keep watch,” she told Oliver. Still holding the nameless being’s hand, Siobhan stepped through.

It was dark on the other side, and foggy, but there were cobblestones beneath her feet and the impression of white stone buildings beyond the haze filling the air. Her eyes caught the occasional movement, and faint sounds that reminded her of people, but no one and nothing came close enough to make out clearly.

“It’s like Gilbratha,” she said.

“It is. Like Gilbratha,” the creature replied. It had a form again, a body that seemed almost like flesh and blood. It stared into her eyes for a long moment, its emotions so ambiguous and fluid that she couldn’t label them. Then, it turned and led her through a low, wrought-iron gate, to a small garden with a swing underneath the tree. The flowers planted in the garden beds and the exact shape of the tree itself kept changing every time she looked away, but the place gave her no sense of danger.

She took its other hand, looking down into his eyes, as it had shrunk slightly and grown slightly more youthful as they walked. “I bestow upon you the name Legion, servant of the one called Siobhan Naught, Sebastien Siverling, and the Raven Queen. Do you take this name as your own?”

This kind of name and label was one of the ways that shamans distinguished and called upon friendly spirits. Beings in the spirit realm came into being and faded away regularly, with only the strongest being able to hold themselves together in concept. Part of the reason spirits were willing to contract with shamans was the stability this connection created.

The being hesitated, but nodded. “I take this name as my own. I am Legion, servant of the one called Siobhan Naught, Sebastien Siverling, and the Raven Queen.” As the words made it so, Legion’s form seemed to solidify a little more, their colors brightening like a washed-out painting undoing the damage of time. Legion shuddered and grew slightly, settling on a body an inch or so taller than Siobhan. They looked quite like her, but distinctly androgynous, with hair cut shorter and messier than she had ever worn hers.

Legion’s hidden antipathy toward her lessened, as it rolled its shoulders and looked around, wide-eyed.

It seemed the name—and someone who remembered and acknowledged their existence—were effective.

Siobhan tugged them down to the ground, and they both sat cross-legged, knees touching and holding each other’s hands. She had asked them to come to the spirit realm because magic was closer to the surface here. In the mundane plane, two people could make a vow with different perceptions of what that vow meant, and could then use loopholes in the wording to wriggle out of it or comply maliciously.

In the spirit realm, a piece of binding magic that bound two people to an agreement needed to match in more than word alone. It required agreement of intent—and clarity—for the binding to take.

This was why it was actually safer, though often less useful, to make a contract with a spirit than a being from the mundane plane or the five Elemental Planes.

She didn’t know how long the negotiations between them lasted. The sensation of time was as unstable as everything else here.

Legion was willing to agree to what she considered a rather unequal deal. It—or more accurately, they—wanted confirmation that they would get to live within the seal in her mind, but not be trapped there, and that she would use them. They needed her to interact with them and call upon their magic. She guessed this was partially a bid against loneliness, and partially the drive of an Aberrant to propagate its anomalous effect. Beyond that, Legion required only a promise that she would not attempt to kill them unless they became a threat to her, and would take actions to keep them from being killed as long as doing so did not place her in danger.

She could accept all of this, though she refused any specific requirements, like talking to them every day or using their magic once a week. They wanted to argue, but had little position to bargain from, and were forced to concede.

Siobhan put a lot more restrictions in place, such as Legion not being able to use their magic without her permission except in defense of her life. They must serve her willingly and fully. Their actions must always be guided by Siobhan’s best interests as they believed she perceived them. Any changes in Legion’s own identity could not come into being or continue to exist unless they were also bound to the vow, and the vow would remain in effect for all of Siobhan’s names, physical forms, and outward identities. The particulars could be modified or expanded in the future, with agreement from both parties.

If Legion broke their word, they would be destroyed.

If Siobhan failed to keep her part of the bargain, she would lose her right to cast magic for one year and one day. She almost refused, but Legion reminded her that their own penalty was death, and she felt she didn’t really have an excuse. Their vow had so few requirements of her that it would be hard for her to break it unless she was actively trying. It was more like a leash, to which she held the handle and Legion wore the collar.

When they were agreed, they both vowed on their names. Unlike in the real world, where Siobhan would need a spell array, power, and some components to seal the magic, here she only needed a strong understanding of the magic and pure Will.

Their surroundings seemed to bend toward them, as if they were a stone dropped on top of a tight-stretched sheet. Somehow, in a way that made no sense and that simultaneously couldn’t be more natural, part of the stone and tree and even the air slipped away and wrapped itself around their wrists.

Siobhan took a deep breath, and Legion smiled at her, flooded with relief. “It’s okay to let go of my hands now, I think.” It lifted its wrist, showing the red thread reaching from its to hers, binding them together.

That red thread didn’t seem particularly loose, but she knew that it could stretch to the moon and back. Legion and she might separate until the sun died, but as long as this binding magic remained, they would never truly part.

Siobhan’s bracelet was made of little shards of mirror framed in bone, but when she stared into the shards, they reflected nothing but the void.

Legion’s bracelet was feathers of dark smoke bound together by a swirling cord of light. The red thread that connected them pierced through Legion’s wrist several times, creating holes that leaked no blood.

It pierced only once through her own. It was an apt manifestation of the harm that attempting to break the vow would cause each of them.

“Oliver’s waiting. Let’s return,” she said.

“Oliver? That man?” Legion, still the same relative height and body shape, but wearing a slightly different face, pursed their lips with reluctance and a hint of embarrassment. After making a doorway, it peeked at her shyly as she passed through, almost petulant.

Back in the real world, they immediately became a being of shadows, but didn’t try to fight her for control of them, instead sinking back to the ground and then flowing into her mind. She couldn’t watch them very clearly without the Crown of Madness spell to open her senses, but she could still feel their passage. This was her own mind, after all.

Legion hesitated outside the broken seal, then entered and sent out an almost tangible sensation of relief, as if they were setting down a burden.

Siobhan hadn’t realized until that moment that they were afraid that the seal would no longer protect them.

She got a faint impression of great weariness and a flashing daydream of a bear preparing to hibernate for the winter. Legion needed to rest.

“Your shadow—that was the Aberrant?” Oliver asked, peering down at the mundane darkness suspiciously.

She flopped back onto the bed like an unconscious squid, then lay there barely breathing. “I’m fine,” she mumbled again before Oliver could panic. “Just…tired.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more use. Are you sure—” He cut himself off before she could reply. “It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about me, just rest.”

She let herself lie bonelessly for almost a minute before opening her eyes again. “Everything is okay. I bound the Aberrant to my service.”

Oliver stared down at her, his dark blue eyes inscrutable. “I think I would like the full story. The short version is a little too shocking. But you should eat and drink something first. Is it safe to lower the wards?”

She grunted her assent, and he returned soon after with sustenance. The first bite released a ravenous hunger that surprised her, until she learned that she’d been unconscious for three days, surviving on potions and caretaking artifacts. Unfortunately, she grew full almost as quickly as she started eating, and then had to take a stomach-soothing tincture that Liza had hidden away in one of the cupboards upstairs.

Despite having been unconscious for three days, she didn’t feel rested at all. After cleaning up the blood and other fluids that she’d spat out with a shedding-disintegration spell, Oliver helped her hobble up to the floor above. “I’ll tell you everything in a bit. I need to get my bearings first.”

After some light stretching, she began to cast the light-refinement spell, moving slowly while basking in a beam of light shining through the western-facing window. Refinement of the nine heavens could help to fight against intrusive mental forces, but was also a good way to soothe the faint mental wounds she could feel from the broken seal and the return of her memories. It wasn’t Will-strain, exactly, but she had still been hurt.

With three branches to her Will and so much practice with this gesturan spell, it was easy to continue thinking while she practiced and Oliver watched. She had acted cocky toward Legion, saying that they were so easy to deal with. But privately, she admitted that she couldn’t have overcome it earlier, let alone been able to create a contract with it.

Today would have gone very differently without three branches to her Will, without so much practice with the shadow-familiar, and without all the light-refinement that had made her mentally strong. If she had tried to do this a long time ago, letting the nightmares overtake her rather than fighting against them so desperately, she probably wouldn’t be the one standing here today.

Or “she” would be, but it would be something else wearing her skin.

‘I’ve gotten strong,’ she realized. The person she’d been before coming to Gilbratha wouldn’t stand a chance against the current her—not in magic, and not in the influence brought by gold and personal connections.

This should have made her happier, but she was too aware of the opponents she faced. Her enemies were so much stronger than her not only in magic, but also in gold and connections, too. ‘I must seize power.’ The words echoed within her, almost like a brand on her mind.

After a few rounds of light refinement, her physical pain had eased somewhat, and her agitated thoughts had settled. She explained everything she had experienced and the pact she had made to Oliver, who was gratifyingly engaged in her storytelling and shocked in all the right places. However, she glossed over many of the details of the horror she had experienced at thirteen. She didn’t even want to remember them, let alone share them.

She’d thought Oliver would scold her for recklessness, but after some silent thought, he nodded. “I understand.” He gave her a small, wry smile. “You’ve become a little more like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re willing to sacrifice more than just time, effort, and resources to achieve your goals. This is a real risk, and if it’s successful, it will bring you real, substantial rewards that are commensurate with the danger.”

“You…approve? I just made a contract with an Aberrant!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

He chuckled. “A lucid Aberrant,” he corrected. “I’ve never even heard of such a thing. Yes, it’s incredibly, almost unfathomably dangerous. But so is casting magic. There’s a chance, every time, that your Will will break.”

“But the chance of something going wrong here is much higher.”

Oliver shrugged, his eyes sparkling. “But maybe nothing goes wrong. Or it goes wrong in ways you can handle. Think of the good you could do with that kind of power! The Verdant Stag will definitely be hiring your services. I’m not sure what it costs to hire an Aberrant, but you can give me a discount since we’re friends, right?”

Siobhan stared at him blankly. “I don’t think you can afford it.”

“That’s what Liza said the first time we met, and look where we are now.”

“The first time you met, when you were a child in Osham?”

Oliver paused, taken aback. “She told you about that?”

“Liza told me all of your embarrassing secrets.”

Oliver’s expression didn’t change, but a red flush crept up his neck.

Siobhan’s eyes widened and her eyebrows rose. “Wait, really? Liza knows your embarrassing secrets?”

Oliver coughed and looked away. “So, while you were unconscious, Thaddeus Lacer came to confront me at Dryden Manor.”

She knew this was a distraction, but she couldn’t help latching onto it. “What happened?” she asked gravely.

When Oliver mentioned the accusation of impropriety, she couldn’t help but groan aloud, covering her face with her hands. “When is that rumor going to die?” she wailed.

“It’s too juicy to die,” he said, completely unsympathetic. “You’re going to have to handle Lacer soon. With both of your names.”

Siobhan almost started hyperventilating at the thought and had to use Newton’s humming spell to forcibly calm herself.

The free part of her Will left her enough room to think again—something that she could already tell would be immensely convenient—and she mulled over her interaction with Legion. ‘Did it pick up another power?’ When it attempted to escape, it had taken over her shadow. But her shadow hadn’t been detached, and beyond that, hadn’t even been actively controlled by her magic.

The thought sparked an idea, and she dropped the calming spell, her eyes shooting open. ‘When I fought with Legion, I free-cast the shadow-familiar spell for a bit.’