Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Don't They Look Like They're Crying? (Part I)

The journeys taken with Balam usually involve speaking with specific people to trade goods, gathering ingredients in remote locations, and on occasion: find a remote space to practice spells that would raise a brow in polite society.

It would be a lie to outright say that Balam was teaching Tom the Dark Arts...But it wouldn't be a very big lie. Tom's magic is naturally dark (but polluted, Balam had called it. Black, Ximena had called it.) It doesn't mean he sacrifices innocent animals, bloodlets, or summons malevolent spirits. Dark magic is more versatile than that, he's learned. Far reaching and faceted. Though that might be because magic isn't as categorical as he was originally led to believe.

"Humans like organization. Witch or Muggle, they want everything to have a label or binary." Wáng lectures Tom as Balam prepares a potion in his molcajete. "I'm sure you've heard of light versus dark magic in Hogwarts, right?"

When Wáng talks of Hogwarts, it's always with a slight edge of contempt. Tom hasn't commented on it, but he certainly doesn't like it. "All magic falls into one of those two categories. Except when it doesn't."

"Aiyah, so typical." Wáng shakes his head, "That is a school of thought there. In other places, there is as many as twelve categories of magic."

Tom nods, remembering a third and fourth category mentioned in Wáng's writings. "Is it more of a spectrum?"

"Something like that." Balam chimes in, brushing the crushed ingredients into a small cauldron. "A spectrum is too...flat. Two-dimensional."

Tom remembers the first time he felt Wáng's magic. Paz's magic. The magic of the Basilisk. He drums his fingers, "How do you both categorize magic?"

"Harm and healing. It's less complicated than ordering around twelve sections." Balam shrugs, "Though I'm sure there's a better word for the latter... It's not applicable to things like household charms."

"Beneficiary?" Tom offers.

"Good word. Exactly."

Tom preens. "And you, Wáng?"

The man hums, his voice warm and low, "If I had to pick...Three categories. Magic that sacrifices from the body, from the spirit, and from both."

Tom raises a brow, "What about magic that doesn't require either?"

"All magic requires sacrifice.[1]"

Wáng didn't say those words with any malice. Any heaviness or seriousness. Nothing that would make Tom still and shutter. And yet, it happens anyways: deep in the pit of his gut, he feels trembling. Like he had crossed paths with a tiger. A dragon.

"You see?" Balam cannot see Tom's expression, but he reads his silence anyways, "That school of his is ridiculous. Not teaching that sort of thing is shit."

"They probably do, just differently." Wáng pauses. "Hopefully."

Tom presses his lips together, "The closest thing... I've been taught that magic takes away from stamina. That using too much leads to exhaustion, and even death."

"That's called your qi." Wáng explains, "In other places, it's called mana."

The concept of qi was explained in one of Wángs books, and Tom did not take it to mean magic... "Qi is magic?"

"Not...quite." Wáng opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the right words in English before saying something to Balam in Mandarin.

Balam nods, "Everyone has Qi, it's life. But it's also what fuels your magic."