Chapter 31: Path

Learning magic from Mores was different from learning from Symphon.

Symphon focused on trial and error, while Mores preferred theory. There was a lot of magic theory beyond reading books and saying the right words the right way.

Mores confessed that until he read The Last Word, his power reserves had always been limited. Duke Praetor preferred his subordinate controllable rather than powerful. He had learned to use magic efficiently.

Symphon had a larger power reserve, and while Mores confessed that Symphon was an excellent Speaker, he wasn’t very efficient.

Shiori had balanced a pebble on her hand with a spell, but Mores wasn’t interested in whether she could cast the spell or not. She had to keep the pebble hovering.

Initially she could managed seconds, then tens of seconds, then nearly a minute.

Mores kept his pebble hovering over his hand without losing control endlessly.

“I don’t get it.” Shiori tossed her pebble after her last attempt lasted five seconds.

“Match your thoughts to the word. Make your mind supple to the true word. For reality to bend to your command, bend into the right person to make the demand.”

“I don’t want to be what magic dictates. I want to be who I chose to be.”

The pebble over Mores’ palm fell. He frowned and was quieter than usual.

Shiori realized what she said. “I didn’t mean that to sound like it did. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Mores said, standing. “You’ve done well. I’ll gather firewood.”

He stepped away.

Shiori thought about how she’d apologize more fully when he came back. But she was tired, and a moment resting her eyes turned into a deep sleep.

She woke once to find Mores’ outer tunic draped over her like a small blanket. In surprise she sat up.

Fast enough that it startled her, Mores reacted to her movement by sitting up, angry red light in his palms. He blinked once at her in confusion, then looked around.

“Sorry. I woke you,” she said, pathetically.

“It’s nothing.” He tossed more wood into the fire. Before she could return his outer tunic he turned over to sleep.

Shiori faded back to sleep with images practicing magic floating through her mind.

She awoke again to Mores’s voice. “Princess?”

Shiori groaned.

“Princess, I think that’s enough practice.”

Shiori opened her eyes to see the sun rising. Kryptopeda believed it was time for her to wake. Shiori’s eyes went wide as she realized what she was seeing.

As far as the eye could see, every pebble in the forest floated above the ground.

“Ah, Princess, what dream were you having?”

“I went to sleep thinking about practicing magic,” she said, sounding pathetic. Was she doing this?

She felt outward and realized she was willing the pebbles to float. The instant she felt that magical command, it destabilized. Countless pebbles fell to the earth in two second cacophony.

“I think,” Mores said understatedly, “you’ve mastered the pebble trick.”

They gathered what little they had and continued walking. Shiori held The Last Word like a lifeline to her old world.

Mores pointed out the mountains and their names, a pretty stream that came down from a valley of green grass. He also continued teaching her about magic.

“Potesne me intellegere?” he asked.

“What?”

He smiled. “Speakers can use magic for communication. I’ve been speaking Morenan, but using magic to help you understand. Focus on the magic in my words.”

He tried again. “Potesne me intellegere?”

Shiori shook her head. “No good. I don’t know that language.”

He helped her across another creek. “Can you feel the magic in these words?” he asked, and her skin practically tingled with magic he was Speaking.

“Yes,” she said, patiently.

“And these words?” he asked. They were empty of magic.

“No,” she answered.

“Good. I used magic for the earlier ones.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

He raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything. The magic fizzled out without purpose. It was just a demonstration.”

“To demonstrate what?”

“You’ve learned to feel magic in some words. There’s a little magic in every word.”

“Really?” she asked, skeptical.

“Food,” he said.

“What?” Shiori asked, suddenly aware she’d only had a few apples for dinner yesterday and breakfast today.

“Did the word ‘food’ evoke any feelings?”

“Hungry,” she asked, “but that’s not magic.”

“What is magic if not making a person feel or think something? Words have always been magic, Princess. Always. They transfer ideas between minds. Isn’t that magic?”

Shiori considered this.

“Yawn,” Mores said.

Shiori made a funny face, then yawned. “That’s not fair.”

“My words made you act. That’s like Speaker magic. It’s just smaller.”

“Okay, but I’m a person that understands words. Speaker magic can move pebbles and summon deadly spikes. Reality isn’t a mind like mine to be convinced to think or do things because of words.”

Mores glanced at her sideways.

“It isn’t!” Shiori insisted.

“How would you know?” he asked, stopping and turning to her.

Shiori paused.

“Can you understand me?” he asked.

“Of course I can.”

“Good.” He smiled. “I was speaking Remoran without magic that time. You didn’t understand me the last two times. You’re learning to hear the magic in all words. Soon you’ll be a master.”

Shiori considered this. “You’re not a bad teacher.”

“I’m the best,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Shiori thinned her lips at him. “Yawn.”

He struggled, then gave in and yawned. “Not fair.”

They laughed, then Mores stopped. His face was sad.

“What’s wrong?” Shiori asked.

“I want to thank you for your kindness, Princess.”

Shiori frowned. “That sounds like a goodbye.”

“It is.” He pointed back the way they had come. “The Path to Felthal is back that way, up the valley I showed you earlier, with the large creek coming down from it.”

Shiori looked back, then at him with confusion. “You’re coming with me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You’re abandoning me, Mores Praetor?”

His smile was sad. “Don’t call me that. I liked it when you called me Masahiro Motohara instead.”

Shiori frowned. “You’re not Japanese. It’s an odd name for you.”

“What does it mean, Motohara?” he asked.

Shiori thought about this. “Like, origin place, or perhaps one’s own source? It can mean the root of forgiveness, or a fundamental foundation. The characters we Japanese use for names can have complicated meanings.”

Motohara’s eyes sparkled and he blinked quickly. “A starting point for forgiveness?”

Shiori considered this. “Maybe. Perhaps not the most common interpretation.”

He turned from her and cleared his throat while blinking away tears. “I like it.”

Shiori was quiet. What had the Duke made Motohara do in his service?

“The Duke calls me Mores Praetor. He knows my name.”

Shiori paused, then realized what he meant. “He knows your name. Your true name.”

“It’s how he controls us.”

She could feel Symphon by thinking his name. It granted her power over him. The Duke had subjected all his vassals and scions to the same control.

The Duke knew Mores, or Motohara, was. “We can’t escape.” Shiori paused. Since when had she started thinking of him and her as ‘we’?

Motohara’s sad smile grew wider, and more sad. “People fear a Princess because she may have children, a King or Queen that wouldn’t just be powerful, but almost godly. You must run somewhere safe.”

“No,” Shiori said, struggling to find an alternative, “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“I don’t think the Duke knows you’re here, but he’s coming for me. I escaped before he killed me, but I’m always on his leash. I’m heading to a safehouse. He’ll find me there and never know you ran to Felthal. Go.”

“No,” Shiori said, but she had no other ideas. She felt petulant. She might as well stomp her foot and whine like a child about not getting what she wanted. The right thing was to run away. He was right.

“I’ve got a plan,” he said, “don’t worry about me.”

His smile faded. “I think Symphon is waiting for you. He’s a better man than me.”

Shiori stood there, heart aching but frustrated that she didn’t know why. She had hated him hours ago. Her love for him had been coercive magic, right?

She tried to speak, but couldn’t. The Duke was coming. The thought made her blood run cold. What could she do?

She turned to walk away.

Each step hurt. First one step, then two, then three.

“No,” she said defiantly. The ground shook as she spoke and she hoped it hid how she trembled.

She turned back to him. “We can…”

An Umbrae stood behind him, unnoticed and ready to kill him with an assassin’s blow like Ribald’s death in Symphon’s memory.

She tried to scream. Motohara was going to die.

Motohara saw her eyes widen and reacted, turning around too late.

But the Umbrae didn’t stab its claws through his stomach.

It screamed.

Not a battle cry, but a death rattle.

Its chest tore open, revealing a portal like how Motohara had expended an Umbrae’s life to make a portal to Shiori, to the real world.

The portal opened as the Umbrae died.

Motohara turned as the Duke walked through the portal and smiled.

“Children, a fine day,” he purred.