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"Adequate job, Mr. Arteus." Dr. Art kicked his feet up on a stool, reclining back in the folding chair he had engineered, feeling the fire that his Orkhan escort had built. One of his favorite inventions to date, by the way. No magic involved either, just sticks, cloth, and a bit of gadgeteering. "I apologize for the common, my Ecitharese is still wanting."
Mr. Arteus wiped his pants off on rough hewn slacks, leaning against the carriage's wheel, across the fire from Dr. Phinneas H. Art. "You'll have it in none time, likely." As Mr. Arteus put his full weight on the carriage, it rocked dramatically on its hinges, and Arteus froze. Dr. Art, unphased, held up his index finger and put his ear to the cool night air.
For a moment the two waited. Ecitharian wilderness is far from quiet, but amongst the buzzing and cooing and coque-ing, there was no rustling of sleeping bag flaps heard. The girl was not awoken. Mr. Arteus placed a hand to his chest and mouthed the words 'I'm sorry', but Dr. Art held up a hand in reply. "Don't bother, she's a heavy sleeper."
"Don't think she's yet beaten me to bed. That's one first." Arteus chuckled.
Art smiled. "She can be eclectic." He bent over, picking up his canteen from the ground. He left it leaning against the rocks of the campfire for long enough that the herbal tea within was a pleasant temperature for such an evening.
The air hung. Phinneas would consider it comfortable if not for the question Arteus had been choking on for the past few days of travel. It was always asked when he took a companion, but Art's current guide was too polite for his liking. He should just pipe up. "A suggestion, Mr. Arteus?" Art took a sip from his canteen, and felt the guide's eyes on him. "Just nut up and ask it." He turned to meet the man's gaze, wide eyed, slightly slack jawed. Didn't mean to scare him, "I won't be cross."
Arteus chewed on his lip for a moment. He had been travelling with him long enough to know that the doctor was... Eccentric, much different than the other Imperium types he'd met, and despite his delivery, was likely genuine. "Meaning no offence, doctor," he peered over his shoulder, making sure she had not awoken and found him speaking of her. Not outside the realm of possibilities with her. "what is she?"
"What is she? She's a girl."
"Right."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Arteus. I have a poor habit of having light skin and playing coy. You meant nothing by what you said."
The Ecitharian guide thought of the little he knew of the girl. "... Right."
"Of course, I'm right though. She is a girl. She's my girl, my daughter. I feed her, i school her in maths and culture and combat, and I love her like family, of course. But a more accurate answer to your question would be that she is a..." Dr. Art bit his lip, searching for the right word. "A survivor." He met Mr. Arteus' eyes and nodded grimly. "Have you been to Sangen often in your travels?"
"A smidge,"
"Extensively?"
"No, sir."
"I'd forgive you for that, Mr. Arteus. Sangen is full of natural beauty and brimming with potential, but there are things there that should remain untouched, by living or dead." He took a sip. "And some things that have been touched, which must then be untouched. Do you understand me, Mr. Arteus?"
He did not. The guide thought of what the doctor could be implying, but it left too many questions. "She... The-"
"Yes, fine, the magic. What do you know about magic, Mr. Arteus?"
"... Nuthin' extra. It exists, it's dangerous on both edges."
"Anything else?"
Arteus shuffled uncomfortably. "It can make abominations."
"Not incorrect. Aya is an abomination for sure. Magic is lethal, and it's lethal to be on either side. You know, the reason why I started working in my field in the first place was to reduce the lethality of magic in its users. Imagine a world where everyone could practice the arcanic arts in relative safety. What a utopic vision." Mr. Arteus cleared his throat. "Well, utopic to most. It's hard for me to impart onto you the age of discovery and progress that could be made if magic were mundane. That is my passion."
"So you are then also a magician?"
"Oh fuck that no it's dangerous as shit are you fucking kidding me?" Art stared at him wide and blank. "I would die, and it wouldn't even be a question. No, I believe that there are discoveries within the field of magical science that have yet to be made, and that is my practice. The thing is Arteus, science is where money goes to crawl up in a neat little ball and die. No trade value, no return on investment, no product to sell. So for me to do what I do, I simply must sell these services. Whether that be my inventions that I make using my discoveries, or, more lucratively, collaborating with more... endowed individuals. On what? Well, whatever they want, really, if it's within my means. One of my first true partners, really the reason my business is doing as well as it is, was a man in Sangen named Allush. Allush and I had a lot in common. A passion for magical research, a similar outlook on the dangers of threshhold sickness and overstepping, a shared penchant for a similar kind of bourbon. By all measures, a good peer and a good friend. Allush and I differed, however, on matters of faith. Before you ask, Mr. Arteus, my faith nor Mr. Allush's specific faiths matter for this story, but what you do need to understand is that they are very, very different.
"Allush was a trading partner of mine, mostly. He would pay me ludicrous amounts of money and a retainer fee to share my research with him under the agreement that he would never release it to the public. What an inspired agreement. And for many years, he was essentially my patron, funding my art. Where he got the money, I cared not ask. And, considering the humble home with the outhouse that I stayed in whenever I visited Mr. Allush, I decided to pay no mind to where the rest of his money went, either. There was one thing that I could not stop myself from wondering about, and it was what the devil he wanted with the research itself, it's not like I was writing Archeoarcanology Monthly!" Dr. Art laughed so hard he snorted. "No, but seriously, it was just unfinished research papers. But he ate them up. Loved them. I had to know why. What was he doing with it." Art sighed and looked up at the night sky. He took a deep breath. "Do you know how often I wonder what my life would be like if I never went looking? What it would look like? If I never had to witness what Allush hid from the eyes of the world?"
"You'd be happy?"
"I'd be rich. But Phinneas H. Art cannot leave a question unanswered, no sir, not ever. At the risk of incriminating myself, I'll reveal to you in confidence that I trailed Mr. Allush dilligently. It began as a simple curiosity, trying to follow him throughout his day, showing up some time prior to my visit and staying longer and never letting him know, but he was too careful. Handed his money to friends, to friends, to friends. It took me the better part of four years of compulsive, well, let's say the word Mr. Atreus, stalking. I know how that must sound, but I need you to trust me when I say that I am no doddering fool, and that I was certain Allush was not to be trusted." Another sip from the tea flask. "His money went to different donation trails, until I followed it to a cattle ranch, where nothing seemed out of norm. Out of curiosity, I continued to return there, and continued to find nothing, for so long. SO LONG Arteus! But then! The lady luck descended from above and fluttered her eyelashes on my nose and I visited that ranch on the second Wraedas of the season, which is, evidently, the very regular schedule by which they send out a mule hauling a season's worth of supply to absolutely no where in the woods."
"What?"
Phinneas held up a finger and took an excruciatingly long sip from his canteen, slurping loudly. "Indeed." He swallowed. "I thought the same thing. So, I marked it on my map, and came back the next year, and I followed those tracks. They lead to this... Compound, I guess. There was a storehouse, and a few cabins, and... I suppose- I suppose you could call it a church. But in the center, there was this mundane seeming spit, clay, and straw cabin, but a dozen people would go in with piles of food and come out hours later with nothing. I had to know. I waited until the cover of night, until they had all shuffled off into their cabins, and i approached that central building. I don't know what lead me to this thinking Arteus but it's a weight off my chest to admit that some part of me knew that whatever went on here was worth stopping. I knew enough about Allush, and his... Interests. I think that's why I didn't care to pick the lock. I broke it instead. Quiet, of course, using two pieces of metal as a chisel and a lever and then breaking the lock with a kick. I dare say, burglary would be the most sensible career choice for anyone with hands if it weren't illegal, good gods but it's easy. Anyway, I digress. I broke in. After kicking in the door, I wasn't shocked to see an unadorned one-room cabin with a kitchenette and no heating. No furniture. Nothing, save for the cellar door. Oh, I could feel it Arteus. Thump, thump, thumping beneath my chest. My research on the arcane arts. It disgusted me, Arteus."
"The-"
"Yes! The intellectual property violation! Clearly this was in direct violation of my agreement with Allush. And thus!" He held up his index finger again, "I had motive for entry. Now, Mr. Arteus, is when I stop being as gratuitous with the details. What I saw there I will never unsee. I had been conducting observations of different newly ordained mages and how their process crossing the threshhold was like, with a focus on mages with two or more available magics. It was good work. But another difference between myself and Allush is that I understood it was never supposed to be an experiment." Phinneas placed his canteen on the ground, took his feet off the stool, and leaned forward in his seat. He stared at his guide from across the now healthy fire, feeling its breath on his tilted forehead. "I will spare you the details, Arteus. Bodies. Dozens. Mutilated ones, shoved off into a corner and used for mulch for the garden. And, likely, salted and used as food in the winter. Each one was inscribed with at least one rune, but many had two. They perished in the turning process. And so many of them were... Well. I later learned that the original occupants of this little rat cage were abductees. The other ones were... Native. To the cellar. And by the looks of the remains in the first room, I would wager they don't wait long before they attempt the first initiation. But it wasn't just making mages, Arteus. I think Allush was running his own little experiments. I think the sick bastard theorized that by forcing overstepping and threshhold sickness in the right conditions, it would allow the individual to potentially commune with... Well, uh-"
"With what?"
The doctor shrugged. "I have no idea. No god whose name you or I could speak. Like I said, a very wide difference in our opinion on faith. I don't know if these people shared that faith of his, but many of them only knew the darkness that Allush had borne them into. Many more wouldn't know anything else. But there was something else. I knew it was my work. The combination of the marks on the bodies, Allush, or whoever Allush was working with were trying to recreate my observations."
"So... The girl..."
"The only one left. Almost hadn't made it. Almost hadn't found her, actually. Found the poor thing in the dark, and only because that cat of hers wouldn't stop yowling. Five years of age, undergoing the process of an animism initiation. Do you know what that's like?"
"No, doc,"
"It's difficult for an adult to survive. I saw half a dozen fatalities from it. The body will snap and contort and it will force your bones and musculature to mimic that of a chosen animal. Of course none of them are particularly comfortable to fit into, but extremely large or small animals, or animals with different extremeties, are typically incredibly painful. And this girl was five. Five. Like rats, the other fools watched her writhe on the floor, waiting to see if she'd live or die. They were all mages, they'd have to be. Surviving mages of different schools that would initiate these poor people like branding cattle. I shudder to think what they would have done to her body if the transformation proved lethal. Luckily, I'm Dr. Phinneas Art, and I have experience in this field. Every time I saw something human, I'd provoke it, to remind the subject of its original form. A toe or a finger or a nose? I'd poke it. And soon, shivering and cold and pale, was an emaciated little creature in my arms, but solidly human. It was then I noticed the first rune. She was strong. Incredibly strong. Too strong for this place. I took her and I never looked back, and didn't even notice her second mark until the next day. I tell you, that girl has never ceased to amaze, not since the moment she was placed upon the dirt. The cat couldn't take no for an answer. I took her back to the Imperium, kept our heads down for a year or seven, filed for emigration to somewhere a bit more understanding of our situation and hence your addition to my payroll here, now, today, Mr. Arteus."
"But what of the compound?"
The fire between them rose up into the night, and Phinneas lost the compulsion to blink. He felt the heat and was unafraid of it. He was unafraid of fire entirely now. What a wonderfully efficient cleansing power a flame possessed. "They will never hurt anyone ever again."
Dr. Art allowed the following silence to grow, and prove his point. It was the most concise he'd ever told the story, but probably only the third time he's ever repeated it. He thought he was clever about it, but as with all things, Dr. Phinneas H. Art was less clever than he thought himself to be. Soundlessly, Aya tuned her ears to his voice, making certain to allow them to believe she had fallen asleep.
"As a favor, Mr. Arteus, please don't mention any of this to Aya."
"Of course, why's that still?"
"I'll tell her when the time is right. She was too young to remember any of it."
He was partially right. Aya couldn't remember any of it. All of her memories were of Phinneas and the places he would take her and the family they made. But she remembered feelings. She remembered how she felt when-...
Do you want to talk about it? Dot's head poked up from his ball, nestled close to Aya's outstretched fingers. She extended her index, just barely able to scratch the tip of his chin.
Not yet, she whispered, inaudible to all but the cat's ears. but soon.
The cat stood, stretched out his front paws, and slowly approached a location closer to Aya's chest. Once he had reassumed the slumberball position, Aya, with that same outstretched finger, sent the slightest of motions to the waves of aether lapping and flowing underneath the folded cover of her sleeping bag by her hips. Silently, moved by not even the wind, it covered her and her cat alike, and she drifted to sleep.