The Games for Nihon (BOOK THREE)

Chapter 12 - The History of Magic

Where do things originate? Where does the air come from? Water, earth, fire?

And what about magic?

It is there, Orì had one time tried to explain to Sofia when she had been struggling once again with accepting that whole unwanted being-a-sorceress-business. Magic is like a natural element. And you can use it. Really use it to do whatever you want. The rest of us (and here, Orì had looked particularly unhappy to have to include herself in that shapeless group) can imitate. And since magic is there, it helps us, in a way. We are like fish who are able to breathe the air inside the water. But you are like a fish that can also breathe on land. Or just create your own air.

It had been a strange metaphor. But somehow, Sofia had understood. Only, she hadn't wanted to understand, and in the end, unsurprisingly, her conversation with Orì had turned into a fight, until Ami had told them to let it go. They were grateful for Ami's calming presence. Sofia had thought more than once that without him, she and Orì probably wouldn't have been able to get close to each other again.

The vault was fully illuminated now. The illusion of emptiness had fallen away from it like a veil. The dust was gone, yet the room didn't appear to have been visited in a long while. It held artefacts, books and paintings from all over Nihon, from all the centuries it had existed, and even from times earlier than that. Remembering Orì's analogy, Sofia thought that her comparison had not been completely accurate. After all, there was little necessity for a history of the air, or of water. Magic was (had to be!) something else, still. Maybe she would learn more here. She felt strangely at home.

"Do you think the queen knows that this is here?" Ami asked. "Or Master Whit, or any of her people?"

Sofia shook her head. She was certain that they didn't.

"I don't know," she said, regardless. She didn't trust her own certainties.

There were paintings on the walls that moved as if they were alive. They depicted scenes that kept unfolding in a loop or portraits of people who were still talking. The room appeared alive and inanimate at once.

"It feels like there are people in here," Orì said and shuddered. "It's creepy."

"I don't think it's creepy," Ami said. He was fascinated. "At the mask makers', I had just been starting to learn how to make masks that can move as if by themselves. But then -." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. But then you came.

"Moving masks?" Sofia remembered the Singing Mask that Brother Ionne had shown her. It could adapt to the movements of the face that was wearing it, and help with the singing. But Ami seemed to be talking about something else.

"You could still learn it," she said because he looked sad. "You could teach yourself."

Ami nodded. But he didn't look convinced.

"Look at this!" Orì exclaimed. She had started to explore the room and had come to a halt in front of a portrait. Her eyes were wide. She pointed at the person depicted as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "It's Three-Head!"

"Three-Head??" Ami repeated. His reverie was forgotten right away. He joined Orì in front of the painting. His expression was much the same as hers.

"I thought he was just a story," he said.

Sofia was confused. She had never heard that name. She wasn't sure if it even was a name. She went to them. The painting they were gaping at depicted the head, neck and shoulders of a man. Nothing about him looked in any way contemporary, on the contrary. His hair was twisted into little knots on his head, like the riders of yore, his skin was weathered and leathery, and his eyes were deep and white. He looked like a figure from a picture book, a figure who was meant to belong to an age long, long gone.