Chapter 44 - Null and Void

I made Orville a promise. I made myself a promise. And now, the only way I can keep from being swallowed by this emptiness is to pursue my purpose. 

My theory about ambient mana, could be the scaffolding needed to build out and expand my purpose in this world. My only issue is that I lack any real knowledge to begin with. Clovis must have something I can find a foothold on. 

I stand up from the kitchen table, wiping away the crumbs of bread from my mouth. But my eyes are still drawn to my clothes still wrapped in a bundle. Clean, mended, and folded with a care I never gave them myself.

I can’t find the will to unpack them or put them in my room.

A hard lump forms in my throat that I try to wash away with what water I have left in my cup but it remains regardless. I bring the bundle to my face, but it doesn't smell like Elara anymore.

I don’t deserve to wear them until I’ve done something to honour the kindness woven into every thread.

The door at Clovis’s house is already ajar. I poke my head through to see if I can see Clovis.

The cottage is in a state of peril. Baskets of soiled bandages are piled by the door, and every available surface is covered with bowls of murky water, half-mixed poultices, and stained cloths. An assortment of small empty glass bottles are strung around the place. 

Clovis is standing by her workbench, packing a leather satchel with salves and clean dressings. She looks depleted. 

Her erratic nature has been superseded by a state of exhaustion leaving behind a woman who looks brittle. Her white hair is tied back messily, and the skin under her crimson eyes is bruised with fatigue.

She looks up as I push my way through the clutter, her expression flat and unreadable. “Shikara.”

“Clovis,” I begin, my voice sounding unnaturally formal. “I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you about the attack.”

She continues packing her satchel, her movements economical and devoid of any wasted motion. “There’s nothing to talk about. The Kingdom Guard is handling it.”

“Well it’s not really about the attack.” I insist, taking a step closer. “It’s about why the attack happened to begin with? Me and Orville were talking about it and I put forward a theory that ambient mana could be affecting monsters in the forest in unforeseen ways.”

I can see she isn't really listening, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

I press on, desperate to make her understand. “Orville didn’t really get it either but what if there are different kinds of mana? What if my affliction is connected somehow? It could be changing them, rewriting their mana stones, driving them into a frenzy…” My explanation tumbles out in a rush as I can see she is finishing packing her satchel. 

The buckle on her satchel snaps with a final click. 

“Shikara, I can’t…” she says, her voice quiet but absolute. “I can’t focus on this right now. There are a dozen people with wounds that are starting to fester. I have to go out and treat people. Real people with real, immediate problems. Your theories will have to wait.”

“But this could be the cause of it all!” I urge, my voice rising with a note of desperation. “If we understand it, maybe we can stop it from happening again. Just… listen. Just point me in the right direction. What can I do to look into this on my own?”

Clovis reaches up and rubs her temples. When she looks at me again, her expression has softened from dismissal to a deep, aching concern.

“What you need to do,” she says, her voice gentle but firm, “is get some real rest.” She moves towards me, placing a hand on my chest. 

“You haven’t taken a single moment to stop. You haven’t allowed yourself to properly grieve those you’ve lost. You’re trying to solve the world’s problems so you don’t have to face your own.”

I’m briefly taken aback by her perception. How does she know how I feel? 

She saw straight past the diligent apprentice to the terrified actress underneath, improvising desperately to avoid the truth. But admitting that feels like surrender, and if I surrender to the grief now, I’m afraid it will consume me whole.

“Please.” I insist, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Just a book. Anything you have on mana.”

Clovis studies my face for a long, silent moment. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the healer warring with the pragmatist. 

Finally a small sigh of resignation forces her head to look down. She knows she can’t win this argument, not when I’m this desperate.

“Alright,” she relents, her voice laced with weariness. “On one condition.”

“You cannot, under any circumstance, cast any magic. Your body and soul are at their absolute limit. Do you understand me, Shikara? I am not asking, I am telling you. The damage to your arm might never repair itself already.”

I don’t want to cast any magic, the condition isn’t as much of a restriction as she thinks it is. “I understand and I promise you I will follow that rule.”

She seems to accept my word as she turns and walks to her bookshelf. She pulls out a small scroll wrapped in twine and a small blue book.

She hands them to me. The book’s cover is blank, its leather is cracked with age. “This is a primer on written magic.”

I stare at her, confused. “Written magic? My theory is about the nature of mana, what does that have to do with written magic?”

She meets my eyes, and I see the true motive. “It will force you to be slow. To be meticulous. It will engage your mind without taxing your emotions or your mana. It will give you time to rest and heal, even if you’re too stubborn to admit that’s what you need.”

She has given me a task with a leash. I feel a little demeaned but she’s my teacher and this is what help has been offered to me..

Clovis slings her satchel over her shoulder and heads for the door, pausing on the threshold to look back at me one last time. Her face is grim, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“I mean it, Shikara. Do not cast any magic.”