Save Me From The Dark

Chapter One

Author's Note: Hey all! This is my first story here on WP. (And yes, I named it after a line from an Evanescence song because I’m a big ol’ cornball. Don’t judge, ‘kay?) Comments are welcome, con-crit too. Please enjoy! 

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Names don’t have power.

It is a widespread myth that finding out one’s true name is the key to unlocking higher forms or magic; to controlling others and binding them to your will. Traditional folklore is filled with references to the importance of a name, and how catching hold of someone else’s gives you power over that person. 

A name is who you are, and everything you are, were and will be is contained within it. It is your identity and the chain that binds you. It is your lifeline and your history. It is also, in terms of interest to those who practise or study the arcane arts...

...as meaningless as a fart in the wind.

There are enough Susans currently living in Europe to populate a small country. More if you count all the Sues and Suzannes and Susannahs. There are significantly less people with the surname Adelman, and as far as I’ve been able to discover, exactly six Susan Adelman currently living in Brittania.

I know four of them.

One has 1000 muin worth of tattoos on her back, is the lead singer in an indie rock band and collects garden gnomes.

One of them is a lot like me, except older, friendlier and fond of daylight. She’s married and has two kids.

One of them died in a freak accident involving a windmill and half a dozen donkeys.

One of them is, well, me.

If my name were my identity, I most certainly wouldn’t be who I am.

I’m trying to explain that to Ezra Finch, who is steadfastly holding on to the point of view that investigating the true names of things is a an area of study that’s worth throwing money and resources at. Technically, we are supposed to be ‘debating’ it in front of the class, but most of it is bored to tears or fast asleep, overseer included.

As far as I’m concerned, Rule Number One of debating has always been this: use many words, use them with conviction, and use them fast enough that whoever you are using them against doesn't get the time to process them, let alone think up a counter-attack. 

“I can’t accept your hypothesis. The Sherman and Periwinkle Experiment all but disproved any claims that words are an essential part of operating magic, and the evidence you found to support them is anecdotal at best and ludicrous fantasy at worst. There are proven correlations between say, visualising an object you are trying to work on and the quality of the result, and the use of words as a concentration helper is well known.” Pause. Breath. “However, as my extensive bibliography on the subject can tell you, you won’t get a better result if you try to turn a potato into a chair by calling it a potato than you would by calling it a terpomo, a batata or a kartoffel.”

"I, well..." Ezra stops, stutters. He doesn't get Rule Number One. For all that he loves language, it takes him far too long to find words, and even longer to find arguments to support his position.

Don’t get me wrong, he is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He’s also  lucky in that he’s one of the few students in our course with the ability to do practical magic. It’s impressive that he's here to begin with, honestly. For some reason, people with the gift rarely go into academia.

However, acknowledging his power and intellect doesn’t mean that I’m about to give him a break on this.

“You are deliberately misunderstanding – not to say, muddling – my point!” Ezra says, drawing out each word as if he’s afraid he’ll stumble on them if he goes too fast. “When I talk about names, I’m not referring to translations of words. I’m referring to the … the word beneath the words. The underlying nature of the object, translated into sound.”