I reached out with my good arm and gripped the ghost by the neck. The surprise on Deko's fat fucking face was worth it. The ghost thought he was beyond the mortal world. He was wrong. Necromancy, my innate magic, raised the ghosts around me, drifting reminders of my guilt in their deaths. Well, it was time to stop feeling guilty over Deko's death. Rarely has anyone deserved it more. Necromancy made my ghosts, and I could use the magic to unmake them, too. I heard gasps, a few hushed whispers. Caught in my grip, Deko's ghost became visible to everyone. Most of those in our little community recognised the Pit kingpin. They recognised, too, the fear on his face as I unravelled his ghost. Lightning crackled around me, summoned by my anger and hatred, and Deko thrashed and flailed, but he had no form and could do nothing but fear the end as I crushed him for a second time. I could have done it in an instant, but I didn't. I drew out Deko's second death long enough that I felt the satisfaction of it. Long enough that the satisfaction turned to guilt and disgust. Eventually I let him fade into oblivion. In truth, I wish I hadn't done it. I gave Deko's ghost a few moments of terror, and then nothing. It would have been a far greater punishment to bind him to the world for eternity, forced to witness everything and never again affect anything.
When all was done, the people dispersed back to their work, and my friends came to comfort me. There is no comfort for the guilty. None of them could see Horralain staring down at his own body, or the confusion on his brutish features. None of them could see the sadness in the eyes of his ghost.
Chapter 19
Josef was always the patient one. Where I would run off and attempt something with barely a thought of a plan, Josef would consider it from every angle, and plan for every possibility. Of course, I often dragged him astray. I would brook no argument, rushing headlong into my schemes and adventures. Josef would simply rush to catch up, dragged along in my wake. Some tutors named me a good influence on my friend, and others damned me as a bad influence. They were all right. We all influence everyone we touch, sometimes for the good, sometimes not. That is the nature of life. Heroes and villains are for stories. In the world outside of songs and books, we are all just people.
Months of study and experimentation passed. Thousands of deaths weighed heavily on Josef's conscience. I would say it was not his fault, that he was forced into it every time. He didn't want to take a single life, yet he was made to take two hundred and sixteen over and over again. Every time, the experiment failed. Every time, something was missing. No matter how many tweaks the Iron Legion made to his plan, there seemed to be no resolution. Of course, that didn't stop him from trying, and Josef's conscience paid the price along with all the innocents that he was forced to kill. He saw them all, every man, woman, and child. Every screaming face contorted in pain, and every weary acceptance of an end long in its coming. It broke him. Again. How could it not?
In my arrogance, I always thought myself the stronger of us. I never broke. Well, almost never. Josef was broken time and time again, through actions both his own and those done to him, and the consequences of those actions. But every single time he put himself back together again. I might have the strength of conviction, but Josef always had me beat in resolution.
These are not my memories. They are Josef's.
Josef sits at the desk and pulls a new book in front of him. Loran is gone for now. He regularly leaves for a day or two, and during those times Josef is free to do what he will. There's no trouble he can get up to. All the Sources are hidden away, and the entire complex is underground, sealed by Geomancy. There's nothing for Josef to do but read. Which is fine because he enjoys reading.
He reaches across and picks up the pasty the tahren steward, Inran, has brought him. He takes a bite and grimaces. It tastes of nothing. No, that's not right. It has flavour. It used to be a flavour Josef enjoyed, but not anymore. He neither enjoys, nor detests it. It is flavour without taste. It's not the pastry's fault. It's his fault. Something is happening to him, something he doesn't want to admit, doesn't want to think about. He's changing. He cares less, feels less. At least when Loran drugs him, he can blame the Sweet Silence. He can hide in the fog. At times like this, he has no drug to blame. Something is happening to him. Something bad. Something he can't contemplate. Read the books. A distraction.
Josef flicks open the cover of the book and stares down at the words. This is not an encyclopaedia or Sourcery manual. It's a journal. It's Loran Orran's journal. It had been hidden away on the shelves, just another book. Only it wasn't. Maybe with this he can understand the Iron Legion a little better. And maybe if he understands the man, he can escape the monster.
Year 607-O 12th of Raneese
Progress! After years of experimentation and dozens of lives, I have finally succeeded in implanting Sources into two separate subjects. Josef Yenhelm and Esk. I can't do it. I can't refer to them by name. Not after what I've had to do to them and not after what I am going to have to put them through. They don't deserve it, I know that. But I don't have a choice. This must be done. It's the only way. If I don't bring back the Rand and the Djinn, there is no way to close the portal, and if it isn't closed, there is no way to prevent the second cataclysm. No names. They are Terran 24 and Terran 25, and they survived the procedure.
Terran 24 is male, roughly 12 years old. From the Orran side of Isha, though I'm still certain that makes no real difference to acceptance ration. Fair skin and no previous major injuries. His attunements are Biomancy, Geomancy, Empamancy, Kinemancy, Morphomancy, and Aeromancy. He is a 5th tier Sourcerer.
I injected Terran 24 with a Biomancy Source mixed in a plasmatic solution of 1:3. Bleeding occurred around the eyes and ears, and the subject had to be restrained to control the spasms.
Terran 25 is female, roughly 11 years old. From the Orran side of Isha. Fair skin and suffering from extensive previous injuries to the abdomen and arms. Biomancy has been used on Terran 25 repeatedly to heal the previous injuries. Her attunements are Pyromancy, Impomancy, Portamancy, Necromancy, Kinemancy, and Arcmancy. She is a 5th tier Sourcerer.
I injected Terran 25 with a Necromancy Source mixed in a plasmatic solution of 1:3. Bleeding occurred from the mouth, eyes, and nose.
They both survived and appear to have retained their faculties, unlike the failure of Terran 22. That poor boy. I can undo the damage he does to himself, but I cannot undo the damage the injection of Sources did to his mind. Maybe the Rand can help. Once I bring them back.
I have locked their memories of the procedure behind an Empamantic command. Further observation will be needed to determine the level of success. If they survive and retain their faculties, I will need to fashion scenarios for them to achieve the Auguries.
It did not sound like the same mad man Josef had come to know. The passages in the journal speak of a man wracked by guilt over his actions but determined all the same. He flicks through the journal, looking for more entries, and finds one without a date. The handwriting is messy, as though scrawled in a rush or in anger.
Idiots and fools. They call themselves tutors as though they have any knowledge worth teaching. They know nothing, and rather than take the opportunity to learn, to expand the boundaries of Sourcery, they bury their heads in the earth.