Bereft: Demise

43 | Of Sunlight and Tundras

I sat on the floor of the library with my back to a shelf of wordless books and my legs crossed beneath me. The primer of translated text that had been given to me by Cage was propped open on my knee, the ink of the printed letters shining in the light of the gas lamps as I flipped through the pages. The quiet shush of papers coming together was soothing. Nothing written caught my interest. 

Sighing, I popped another spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth and continued reading. I'd stolen the jar from Mattie's kitchen in the early hours of the morning. It kept trying to escape, so I had strapped it to the floor with half a roll of tape. The jar wiggled in earnest and I jabbed the spoon back into its innards to quiet it. 

Another week had passed since Darius's departure. Peroth hadn't heard from him and nor had I. Sloth assured me Darius was fine, as he was certain Balthier would have sent some sort of gloating message if he'd finally managed to eradicate the Sin of Pride. I hated to admit it, but Peroth was right. For now, the cliché adage of no news being good news was true.

I rapped my fingers along the book's spine, trying to pull my thoughts back to its pages. Though I was exhausted and would have loved to barricade myself in the Sin's room, I knew I needed to study and to practice. I needed to move forward in order to advance in my quest.

On the floor before me was a basic construct, made with a protractor and compass. Cage would tell me I was cheating, which was the main reason behind my decision to do my studies in the library's seclusion instead of in the dungeons. I was also inclined to believe using outside tools to forge my constructs was cheating and lacked substance, but I was also determined to have one of my spells work—even if I had to fudge my ability with a mockup.

I was familiar with most of the spells in the primer, having flipped through it often enough over the last month or so. Many of the constructs and procedures translated within were well beyond the scope of my ability, even if I'd had years to study them. They needed a veritable power house to fuel their machiavellian design and my mana—or ether—simply didn't have the strength.

The constructs within my range was mostly useless. There was one I'd hoped had potential, though further study into its creation proved to be too difficult for a novice. The construct was supposed to be applied to the palm of the user's hand. The spell caused micro-explosions and was useful for manual labor such as digging small holes, breaking through stubborn tree roots, or loosening boards in carpentry. It could also be used for nefarious means, like picking a lock or causing some serious bruises. 

I'd tried replicating the construct, but—needless to say—the nuances of the design were beyond my limited prowess. It was comprised of two overlaying rings with a system of inner whorls I found utterly impossible to recreate on the inside of my hand. I kept smudging them. 

I set the book aside and looked at the construct on the floor. It was just a beginner's model, made of the three circles nesting within one another, and it held no purpose outside of holding a smidgen of energy inside its bonds. I'd kept it small, so even if it malfunctioned like the one in the dungeons had, I wouldn't be thrown back and nearly kill myself with my own stupidity.

Rolling my stiff shoulders, I muttered, "Here goes nothing."

I laid my hands on opposing sides of the construct with my fingers aligned to its edges. I shut my eyes so I could concentrate on the meager swell of my own power, but I also forced myself to relax and to be patient. I waited and counted my breaths as I did so. I waited until my arms felt dead from holding up my own weight.

Like the first strand of thread unwinding from its spool, my magic began to find its way into my hands. Exhaling, I gave it a nudge in an attempt to coax it into my construct. Nothing happened. I tried again with more insistence, but it only bent away from my presence, like sand molding around my fingers.