Hermione was lying on her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her right forearm on her forehead. The sun was falling over the horizon, belatedly at this time of year. Illuminating the interior of the room with an orange hue, stretching the shadows of the few pieces of furniture.
She sighed softly, not wanting to make too much noise, fearing to disturb her new roommate, also trapped in Ulthar's walls. She was currently carving hundreds of tiny symbols, signs and complex figures on a piece of wood. Her mechanical arm? Magical? Working the small metal point that Aster had found, she didn't know where, on the soft wood. Her right eye glowed strangely, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Seriously, Aster was one of the weirdest people she'd ever met (including cat peoples). She had a magical arm made of some unknown material neither metal, wood, cloth nor flesh but seemed to take on properties of each and covered in strange symbols some of which seemed to move on their own. Her eye was no better, her left eye was normal, but her right eye... When Aster stared at her she felt as if she was being stripped naked, defenceless in front of something undefined, terrifying, much greater. In those moments Hermione felt even smaller and more insignificant than she knew herself to be. The first few days it had bothered her, but now she was more fascinated than anything else.
Aster also had a strange way of thinking, acting and talking, as if she was far too old for her body. For the first three days Hermione had shown Aster around the manor and explained everything she would need to know. Aster had been receptive and listened attentively, but the rest of the time she seemed to be in a particularly bad mood muttering incomprehensible things in a low voice, (in the few things she had managed to understand, Aster was bemoaning the loss of a sort of staff and raging against the 'insane and absurd waste of time' as she put it, that was her punishment. Hermione rather agreed with this but preferred to think of less depressing things. Aster also spent much of her free time observing, clutching or caressing the strange little vial containing a blue flame that hung by a small silver chain around her neck. Their relationship had been cordial so far, although distant due to the time Aster spent in long silent reflections. For all intents and purposes, despite the strangeness, there was no real discomfort between them, but Hermione wouldn't say no to discussions deeper than the bare minimum.
Looking away from the strange other girl, so young looking yet far too mature for her age, she thought back to the ten days that had just passed. The craziest, most horrible, strangest ten days of her life. Her parents finally decided to abandon her. She couldn't say she didn't see it coming, but it still hurt like hell. She never thought she was hated that much. Then here she was in a magical kingdom populated by Matagots and many unknown creatures, punished for crossing a border she didn't know existed without permission. Her introspection led her to reflect on all the strange things she had seen in the city and around the mountain, but also on the way the Matagot guard had said "sorcery" when she had shown them her power to make small flames appear. In this place where everything screamed magic, was she too? This was the explanation for all the strange things that had happened to her. That and not psychic powers or a science enigma? She hadn't really had a chance to ask the question, and when such an opportunity had presented itself, she hadn't dared take it. Too intimidated by the Matagots and her new ... colleagues? But was she a witch? A magician? Something else?
Her gaze turned back to Aster. She seemed to have finished carving the piece of wood and was now examining it with a satisfied smile. Turning it around and around, running her fingers over the various symbols. Hermione heard her mutter something too low for her to understand before she pricked her thumb on one of her canines (Hermione hadn't noticed that Aster's small canines were so sharp.) and then let her blood run down the piece of wood. The writing on it briefly glowing before returning to normal.
Hermione's curiosity was piqued, what Aster had just done was clearly magic. Maybe she could ask her new roommate about everything that was going on here, about what she was, about the different creatures, about all of it... But before she could decide to speak, Aster had crawled into bed, apparently unwilling to talk. Not daring to disturb the young witch ? Magician? Fast asleep in the bed on the other side of the room.
She would ask her later. When Aster was in a better mood. After all, the obvious anger that had so obviously plagued her for the first few days was slowly turning into recalcitrant acceptance, or so she felt. The fact was that Aster was becoming more and more accessible.
Hermione's resolve strengthened. She would try to get answers from Aster. Unlike the scary Matagots and the intimidating other staff members. (Except maybe Nailla. The wood nymph. She was by far the nicest and least intimidating of the other servants).
Tomorrow, she thought. She would find a moment to really talk to Aster and ask her questions. In the back of her mind a voice whispered that this was not the only reason. That her hopes extended beyond a simple discussion and exchange of information. When in this unknown and unsettling place Hermione wished she had someone with whom she could stand. Someone she could rely on. But Hermione chose to ignore that voice. Knowing inwardly that to hope would leave her vulnerable to a deception, a betrayal that she would not be able to endure in her fragile state. Drowned in an ocean of uncertainty.
oOOOo
Hermione and Aster were currently in the kitchen, they had been chosen to cook the evening meal. Since the Cateris were away today, the head chef had taken the day off, and Aster had offered to do the evening cooking for the other servants. They had accepted without too much trouble. They were probably curious about what the young-looking girl could do with her hands. Hermione had offered to help her, taking the opportunity to ask her questions.
The preparation of the meal had quickly turned into a cooking lesson, Aster patiently guiding Hermione through the concoction of the dish. Stir-fried vegetables with roast chicken or something like that. In the last half hour Hermione had learned more about the anatomy of the chicken than she could have imagined. The joints, how to cut it up, what to do with the skin... They had left the chicken stuffed with various herbs on the table, and had set about peeling the potatoes, when Aster surprised Hermione by abruptly changing the subject.
"So, how did you get to Ulthar Hermione?" Aster said without looking up from her task.
Caught off guard, Hermione took a moment to answer. "I... why?"
At this, Aster raised her head to stare into her eyes. She shrugged. "We're both in this together. We might as well stick together. No ? "
"Why now?"
"This moment is as good as any other. And anyway, peeling potatoes is not one of my passions, so we might as well talk at the same time."
"I mean. Why not earlier?"
"I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to deal with my new social prerogatives I suppose."
At this Hermione let out a small laugh. That was one way to put it. She sighed. Maybe telling her story will take a weight off her chest? Madame Louise had often told her not to keep everything inside. Besides, it wasn't as if Aster could use what she was about to say to hurt her. Hermione gathered her courage.
"Where do I start?"
"The beginning seems like the natural place to begin," Aster replied with an amused look on her face.
Grabbing another potato to peel, Hermione said. "I can do things. Weird things that no other person I knew where I lived could do. I was different. I thought differently, acted differently."
Taking advantage of a short pause in Hermione's story, Aster asked, looking particularly curious and interested. "Show me."
Hermione nodded, she had already shown this to the first matagots she had met and at this point, in the midst of all this magic, showing it to someone else didn't make much difference. She put the potato down and turned the palm of her hand upwards. She closed her eyes, concentrated, pushed the energy from her heart, tore it, shaped it. She moulded it with all her will, until she felt the customary warmth envelop her hand. She opened her eyes and smiled as she saw the little yellow-orange flame dancing in the palm of her hand. Aster stared at her motionless, her eyes wide with surprise. Blushing, Hermione waved the flame away. Wasn't Aster a sorceress or something? Someone with magic like her? Why was she so surprised? Had she been wrong? Yet she hadn't dreamed last night when Aster was carving the wooden piece and made it glow.
Hermione stammered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." But she was interrupted by Aster's normal hand resting on hers and squeezing reassuringly. Hermione hadn't expected this touch, but at this moment, any sign of affection was welcome. Even from a sort of stranger. She would probably have reacted differently had she been touched by someone else, but Aster, though strange, was anything but threatening or intimidating. She looked up from where her eyes had rested on Aster's hand touching hers, to meet Aster's large green eyes riveted on her, as if contemplating one of the great mysteries of the universe.
In a soft, but authoritative voice, Aster said. "Please continue your story. I should just explain some things to you later, when we're in a more private place. Important things. But for now, just please continue."
What had happened? Why had Aster reacted like that? Hermione wanted to know right away. But she decided not to rush things and to keep talking. "Because of these different things I had a pretty bad relationship with my parents. I think they just didn't like me. I wasn't the little girl they wanted, too different, too strange. A few days before I came here, they decided to get rid of me. I don't really know what made them make this final decision, what pushed them over the edge. But the result is there. I found myself alone, in the middle of an unknown forest. I did the best I could to get out, until I met some Matagots. They took me to Ulthar, and you know the outcome." Telling her story, even if she had chosen to leave out most of the details, had done her good.
Her vision was a bit blurry, Hermione couldn't understand why. The reason only became clear when Aster walked up to her. She was handing her something. By reflex, Hermione grabbed it. A handkerchief? Why? Ah, she brought the handkerchief to her cheeks and wiped away the tears she hadn't felt herself shed.
Aster pulled out two chairs, and indicated for Hermione to sit down. She filled a glass with water and handed it to her. Hermione accepted it gratefully, not realizing how dry her throat was after talking so much. But now she felt lighter. As if opening up had cleared her mind.
Aster sat down in the other chair and simply looked at Hermione for a moment. "It's no wonder. This kind of reaction from the humans you used to be around, I mean. I'll explain all of this to you in more detail tonight, and please don't do anything like what you did with a flame again before I've had a chance to explain the problem to you okay?"
Hermione nodded, glad she wasn't facing the pity she feared she would receive. "Alright. But what about you?"
"Hm?"
"I mean. How did you get here? And I've been watching you a bit. I know you're a witch? A magician? Something like that? And that young? You don't look a day over nine!"
At the mention of her age Aster frowned and made an adorable pout. "I'm not that young! And yes, I am a mage. Just anything to do with magic will wait for tonight. And tell me? How old are you?"
"I'm eleven, why?"
At this announcement, Aster looked particularly smug. "Well, I can tell you that I'm more than certain that I'm much older than you.
"How?" The wording hadn't escaped Hermione's noticehow could Aster don't know her own age? But she chose not to dig. Not right now. Maybe Aster would tell her. One day.
"A particular medical condition. Nothing serious, but I'm growing much slower than normal."
Aster seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he said. "Since you told me your story, it's only fair that I tell you mine."
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Curious to hear the story, or at least what Aster would say about it, of the young (or not so young) sorceress with whom she would spend the next ten years of her life.
"A long time ago, I lived with bad people. They didn't like me at all. Kind of like you and your parents. One day I did something they didn't like and the head of their family decided to get rid of me. So I managed to run away. When I was at my lowest ebb, my mother saved me. She looked after me and adopted me. Since then I have lived with her, an uncle and an aunt. My uncle and aunt taught me magic and my mother everything else. Unfortunately, a few days ago. Some people, resenting my mother for the mistakes she made when she was young, attacked the house and killed my mother. My aunt and uncle could not be there. I, as you can imagine, managed to flee. I wanted to go to France to find a place to stay and eventually contact my uncle. But I came across a Tourmentine. And then my story is quite similar to yours."
"A Tourmentine?"
"A cursed plant, a cousin of mandrake. It has a habit of losing people or sending them to places they'd rather not be. If I'd understood that I'd ended up in Ulthar... I would have been more discreet."
Hermione knew that Aster wasn't telling her everything. The story was far too vague and literally smelled of omission. But Hermione decided not to try and get more out of her and incur the wrath of the young witch in front of her. Besides, Hermione too had been content to tell the broad strokes, omitting the details.
"My condolences, about your mum," Hermione said in a low tone.
"Thank you, I...I'm trying to move on."
"I've never lost anyone I really cared about, so I can't know what it feels like, and I don't want to know. But I hope you get better."
Aster's hand went to the vial with the blue flame around her neck. Caressing the glass gently. She seemed lost in thought.
"A souvenir from your mother?" Hermione asked.
Aster seemed to realise what she was doing, clenching her fist around the vial. After a few seconds she nodded. "Yes, it's something important to her."
Deciding to change the subject to something lighter and less uncomfortable, Hermione said. "You knew Ulthar?"
Aster seemed pleased with the change of subject and replied with a slight smirk that didn't reach her eyes yet, haunted by the thoughts of the previous minutes. "Yes, my mother had told me about it in her geography lessons. It's the largest anti-statutory free magic kingdom in Western Europe. We've been unlucky, it's the most restricted in the world and has the strictest isolation laws. I don't know what they told you when you got here, but unapproved entry into their territory is seen as an act of aggression and contempt for the sacrifices Ulthar made during the war to remain independent."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "So, there's no way out of this other than staying here for ten years?"
Aster looked around the room, looking a little frightened before telling her to be quiet. "Not here. Later."
Were they being spied on? Hermione hadn't noticed anything. Was Aster just being paranoid? In doubt she decided to listen to the not so young girl in front of her. Hermione cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Otherwise, I mean. You cook really well. I know the basics, but you do it so naturally."
Aster laughed softly. A certain sadness visible on her features. "Yes, me and my mother used to cook together. It was a habit, a familiar ritual to do together."
"That must have been nice." Hermione said dreamily. Her mother had never taken the time to do activities with her... a pang of jealousy appeared in her heart for a moment, but it was soon stifled by the thought that Aster had just lost her mother."
"Yes, it was."
The discussion continued at a slower, sparse pace. Hermione was deep in thought, mechanically doing the remaining tasks. But soon she was drawn into the conversation in a deeper way. Hermione was quite pleased. She had managed to teach Aster some facts about the medicinal and aromatic herbs used in cooking, which despite Aster's undeniable culinary knowledge, had managed to surprise her. Hermione had gushed about the antiseptic nature of oregano and its medicinal qualities in cooking. Apparently Aster was almost completely unaware of modern medical techniques. Hermione had then enjoyed launching into an impassioned rant about the scientific vocabulary she had learned over the past few months and was delighted that for the first time someone in her age group seemed to be interested in her remarks. It was the first time she had talked about something that really interested her to someone other than an adult. Someone she could relate to. It was the first time that Hermione got on well with another child. And that alone was a little heartwarming at a time when, in the back of her mind, Hermione felt completely torn from her roots, lost and confused.
The chicken was a success! It wasn't often that the servants of the manor ate anything other than the family's leftovers and had the opportunity to have a full menu. And today was one of those times. Hermione had feared that she and Aster would not be up to the task, but the reaction their cooking received that evening proved her wrong. Throughout the meal however, apprehension gnawed at her. Aster had made it clear that she would explain the details of what she had not said in the kitchen, preferring surely to wait to discuss it in a more private place where she would not risk being overheard. She had to keep her gaze from searching Aster's throughout the meal, eager to learn the truth.
oOOOo
Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, nervous. Aster would be back soon. After dinner, Nailla had taken Aster aside and asked her to come and help her with something urgent in the garden. It was going to be an hour soon, and Nailla had said that it shouldn't take too long.
To tell the truth, Hermione was starting to worry. What if something had happened to Aster? What if she had had an accident? Would she have to go and see? But the rules were clear. She was not allowed to leave the room after curfew. And this one had passed about ten minutes earlier. Hermione was not used to worrying like this. Maybe it was the fear of losing her first friend. Friend... when had Hermione started seeing Aster like this? Was it earlier today, after opening up to each other (with reservations)? Or was it earlier? The first week? After all, Hermione, although she had always found Aster strange, her presence had never really bothered her, and she even enjoyed the occasional quiet moment with her. And things had been getting better and better since Aster had stopped brooding in her corner and started talking more than the bare minimum and opening up a little more.
Today had been a big step in the right direction. She and Aster had finally had a real long talk. And a very pleasant one at that. Who would have thought that Aster would be so interested in the principles of vaccination. She had apparently found the idea of defeating evil by training the body's guardians against a weakened evil or something just in the form of it, so that when the real enemy came along the body would know how to defend itself almost poetic. She had made a comparison with the boggart's training. Hermione had asked for clarification, not knowing what a boggart was she didn't understand the comparison. Hermione shuddered, Aster had told her that a boggart was a minor form of demon (whatever a demon might be...she would have to ask more. Perhaps the discussion Aster had promised her would be the occasion. ) feeding on the energy that people release when they feel strong emotions such as in this case fear. The demon would take the form of its victim's greatest fear to feed on its dread. Aster had described boggart training to her as a vaccine against fear. She had to confront a boggart until she had tamed her fear. The training was only finished when the person was strong enough to resist their fears, brave enough that the boggart could no longer take form in their presence. Hermione had been outraged! This method of training seemed extremely brutal and inhumane! But Aster had seemed to not understand why, as if it was perfectly normal.
Aster was still not there... Damn the curfew! Hermione stood up and stomped towards the door. What could be taking Aster so long? Was she hurt? She was about to put her hand on the door handle when the door opened suddenly and Hermione was surprised to feel a sharp pain on her nose and fall backwards, her bottom hitting the floor. She could not help but let out a small cry of distress and pain, feeling her sore bottom and a warm liquid drip down to her upper lip.
She heard a worried voice. "Hermione! What were you doing behind the door? Wait, don't move."
Through her foggy vision she saw someone who from her height and eye colour could only be Aster kneeling before her.
"Here, take this handkerchief in your hand and press it to your right nostril. It should stop the blood flowing too much. I'll be right there." Hermione's vision cleared a little and she saw Aster crouch down and do strange things, like pierce her thumb with one of her canine teeth before collecting the blood on one of the fingers of her mechanical hand to draw on her normal hand while muttering strange things. Then, before Hermione could protest, Aster placed the palm of her hand over her nose. The fading sunlight that lit up the room seemed to dim for a moment. Then Hermione winced as she heard a slight crack in her nose and the pain disappeared completely.
In front of her Aster had risen and was holding out her hand. Without thinking Hermione grabbed it and Aster helped her up with more strength than she would have thought such a small person could possess. Her head was still spinning and she could only obey when she heard Aster's calm, gentle voice again.
"Sit on the edge of the bed I'll be right back." Hermione nodded, it had been a hard fall, and Aster hadn't missed her when she opened the door. She massaged her nose. Strange... strange, she could have sworn it was broken.
True to her word, Aster returned armed with a tin basin and a flannel. She closed the door behind her, turned the lock. Then she sat down next to Hermione and put the basin on her lap before she went straight to wiping the blood from Hermione's face with the damp cloth. The coolness of the flannel, helped her to calm down and come to her senses completely.
"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be right behind the door. Are you feeling better? You had a broken nose..." Hermione heard Aster say in a guilty voice. At least she had confirmation that less than five minutes ago her nose had been broken. How... after, first of all more important.
"What happened?" Hermione asked Aster looking her in the eyes.
"Ah, uh I was coming back, I opened the door, but you were right behind and I..."
"No, not that." Hermione interrupted Aster.
"Excuse me?" Aster asked, taken aback.
"I mean. What were you doing with Nailla? You've been out for over an hour, it's past curfew."
"Well, um. Nailla's been... Wait, were you concerned?" Aster asked, looking as surprised as she was amused.
"Um... not important. Just tell me please." Hermione replied, blushing. Why did she have to react like that to such an innocent question? Why was she so embarrassed to show even an ounce of weakness? She put it down to lack of familiarity. Aster was the first person of her age for whom she had any affection.
Aster sighed. "To make a long story short, Nailla had a snake infestation problem in one of the Matagone grass plantations on the estate. I happen to be able to talk to snakes, and find a solution."
"You talk to snakes? What do you mean, "talk to snakes"? Is that normal for a mage? But that means animals can talk! So all this time we've been eating sentient creatures! This is horrible." The stream of questions escaped Hermione but she couldn't help it.
"Calm down, calm down! No you don't have to go and throw up the chicken in the toilet, it wasn't sentient. It's more complicated than that. I'll explain the details later, just tell yourself there's no reason to panic. And the ability to talk to snakes is nothing too unusual in people who are blessed by nature. Rare, but not too far out there. And for some reason, Nailla realised this and asked me to come with her to negotiate the snakes' departure. The little rascals were particularly vindictive and recalcitrant and it took me a while to find an acceptable middle ground."
"Wha... What?" Hermione stammered.
"I finally convinced Nailla to leave the snakes alone by telling her that they were there because of the profusion of rodents on the plantation. She was especially worried about the safety of the Matagots working there because of the venom of some of these snakes. After talking to them the solution was to leave the plantation to the snakes at night and the workers during the day."
Hermione nodded. She had many questions about the existence of normal-looking animals with consciousness, but she swallowed them for the moment. Now was her chance to find out what Aster had stopped herself from saying earlier. "Aster, now can you tell me?"
Aster seemed to be pulled out of her thoughts abruptly. "Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Wait a minute." At these words she stood up and began to clear a space in the centre of the room, rolling up the old carpet. Then she jabbed herself in the forearm with her tooth, opening a wound that dripped a little blood. Hermione winced, wondering if it was normal where Aster had come from. Was her late mother abusive to let her daughter do such things? Hermione wondered seriously, boggart training was already unethical, and to see a girl younger than her open her arm without batting an eyelid only reinforced her increasingly dark opinion of her new 'friend's' family.
Aster had written some strange symbols on the door, muttering something, and then she stepped back a few paces, stared critically at her work for a moment before nodding her head in satisfaction. Then she traced new symbols forming a large circle on the floor, still muttering her strange litany. Finally, Aster sat down in the circle and motioned for Hermione to join her.
Hermione sat down in the circle opposite Aster. "What have you been up to?" she asked, curious, but not daring to ask about Aster's apparent and disturbing detachment from her physical well-being.
"On the door, runes of unbound locking magic, and on the floor, a circle of unbound soundproofing, anti-scrying and stability magic.
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "I didn't understand a thing, I mean, you drew things on the floor and on the door that are supposed to guarantee us a private discussion. But, runes? unbound magic?
Aster sighed, "Let's start with the easy part. What do you know about magic?"
Hermione gestured with her hand all around her. "Well, that it exists, cat people, and a lot of the things I saw when I came here are proof enough. That people can do things with it. And that the things I can do, which is why I've always been weird, are probably magical."
"That's a start." Aster said, nodding. "Now, you may or may not have thought that since you got here. But I might as well state the obvious while we're at it. You're a white witch Hermione. Or a white mage. Or both, depending. But in any case you're one of the lucky few to be gifted with magic."
Hermione had never thought of it that way, and to be told so came as a slight shock. Yes she had started to think about her situation. Yes, she had thought about the possibility of being magical herself. But to hear it said so bluntly... that was different. It opened a new door for her that she had not accepted existed.
"Now, listen carefully to what I say and then you can ask all the questions you want. It is after all awful that you should find yourself in a world of magic without knowing anything about it. And I doubt the Matagots will be inclined to play instructor."
Hermione nodded, shivering under Aster's icy gaze and at the seriousness in his voice.
"Don't ever do again, what you did earlier with your flame. Making fire appear like that out of nothing. Not without an instructor. Not without someone serious and knowledgeable nearby. That's what we call free magic. Magic is a violent and chaotic raw energy. To use it, mages and wizards need tools to shape it, to give it form and to make it act on reality according to the will of the caster of the spell. It is controlled magic, the most used, safest and strongest form of magic. What you have done is free magic. A simple metaphor, the mage is a sculptor and his magic is the stone he wants to sculpt. Controlled magic, is when the sculptor has his hammer and chisel to give shape to the stone. Free magic, is when the sculptor abandons his tools to give shape to the stone with his bare hands. This is immensely more difficult and the sculptor risks destroying his hands. Doing free magic is extremely dangerous and can destroy you. So don't do it anymore."
"Why?" Aster looked puzzled. "Yes, it's difficult, I know that, but why is it dangerous?
Aster sighed. "The role of the supports that mages and wizards use to do their magic is not only to help them shape the magic. They also serve to restrain it, to prevent it from being unleashed and unleashed. Magic is a chaotic force, when you do free magic, you set no limits, you have nothing to keep your magic under your control other than your fickle human will. And if your magic breaks its chains, anything can happen. In the best case it simply destroys you. No one is foolish enough to entertain the search for the worst that can happen."
"I showed the little flame to some Matagots the day I arrived, but they didn't say anything. Isn't it dangerous to do that?"
"Yes, it is. But I suspect the Matagots thought you had an elemental affinity with fire or something. If that were the case, no, it wouldn't matter. But from what I've seen you don't have an elemental affinity of any kind."
Hermione nodded, frightened, a drop of cold sweat sliding down her forehead. What would have happened if she had lost control all the times she had summoned miracles by force of will? She preferred not to think about it. However, her sharp mind noticed a flaw in Aster's speech. "But when I was little, my magic did things on its own. Like protecting me, helping me, or getting back at those who had been mean to me... Is that free magic? And if my magic could do such things without supports, why couldn't I just train and replicate what I did as a child?"
Aster gave her a big, almost frightening smile. "That's a deep question you're asking me there. Fortunately, my aunt is the greatest expert in the field. To put it simply, it's about the nature and origin of souls. How they are formed, where they come from and their intrinsic relationship with magic. Our universe is not a stable, square, determined place. It has many dimensions, some more connected, some more distant. But here we are going to talk about the one true constant between all the dimensions of the universe. A passageway between them all, where a large proportion of unborn souls are formed and which dying souls pass through before dissipating or being devoured.
The edges. They are the edges of the universe, a place common to all its dimensions. A place as unstable as it is dangerous, where reality slowly begins to become tenuous. In newborns and young children, their souls are young, at the dawn of their existence, not yet out of the shadows, not fully in the light. A time when their magic is unstable, a time when they can still see those who wish to remain hidden. A time when their magic still retains some of its primordial sentience, a time when the soul is not stable enough to integrate its magic properly. Thus, the magic has a pseudo consciousness linked to the emotions felt by the child. This allows it to act on its own. It is at this time that most soul illnesses and parasitic pseudo-consciousness are likely to form... but I digress."
Hermione was stunned, she had been speechless throughout Aster's long and passionate speech about the origin of her uncontrolled magical behaviour in the period before she turned ten. It was as terrifying as it was exciting. Hermione stopped tinting.
"There are other dimensions?"
"Yes."
" Souls exist? "
"Yes."
" So life after death... heaven... hell... all that stuff religions say about it? "
"Nonsense, when the body dies the soul drifts to the edges, then to the afterlife where it dissipates or ends up being devoured by soul eaters... Are you religious?"
"No, my mum is, my dad isn't, but I'm not. But just... Why do you say stuff like that to me? It sounds really important, I mean, are there any religious mages? Is that common knowledge?"
Aster shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't really know what the wizards and mages of the land know about it. My mother and I lived in great isolation. However, I have good reason to believe that such knowledge is not common. I took precautions of confidentiality," she pointed to the rune circle with her hand. "I'm telling you this because I don't know enough about Ulthar's traditions, culture and religions to know if what I'm saying could be taken as serious blasphemy or something like that. I'm telling you this because I think it's important to know the why of things. Most of all, I'm not risking anything by telling you this, and it makes it easier for you to understand the rest and to give a framework." Aster seemed rather uncertain as to why she was confiding such things to Aster, if her evasive look was any indication. Aster, as intelligent as she seemed to be, still had a strange lack of spontaneity and social ease... was this her way of reaching out to her? Hermione would never know for sure, but the idea was appealing.
Hermione was a little reassured by this declaration of goodwill. But she suspected that it was a great favour that Aster was doing her here. A favour that she would have to return at some point. Hermione did not know the standard knowledge of young wizards and mages, but she doubted that such precise and profound information on the nature of the soul was commonplace. But this led to another equally important question, should she believe Aster? Maybe not... But for the moment she was her only source of good information about the world she was discovering.
"I see, in another topic, you seem to think of mages and wizards as two very different things. But aren't they the same thing? And at first you said I was a white mage or witch? What does that mean?"
"A direct question about magical classifications, I see," Aster replied, looking highly amused. "Sorcery and magecraft are two different ways of practicing magic. Here, I'll use my sculptor metaphor.
Wizards and witches are sculptors with a hammer and chisel as their tools. In reality a focus for their magic. Whether it's a wand, a gem, a piece of jewellery, a staff or whatever. They use their focus, movements, incantations and their will to give their magic the desired form. They may also use runes or potions, but in all cases, the symbolism and meaning of the symbols of the ingredients or words used are crucial in shaping the magic and making it work in the desired way. Like the sculptor, they carve the stone to imprint their will on reality.
Mages, however, do not really carve. They make moulds. They study magic in a deeper way, disregarding the symbolic. More like a hard science than a philosophy. Then they make an array, a specific shape out of a magically compatible material that when the right amount of magic is applied to it, applies the desired change to the real. They let the magic flow into the mould and let it naturally take shape that way.
I'm mainly a mage, but I do some sorcery, mostly runes, as a supplement. Magecraft and sorcery both have their advantages and disadvantages, so it's useful to know a bit about both, but my mother told me that most people specialise in one or the other…"
Hermione understood most of it, though the detail was still unclear to her. Aster seemed to love being able to let loose and explain the basics of her art and Hermione wasn't going to hold it against her. More information for her in the end. Aster had gone on a long diatribe about the benefits of each practice. Hermione could sum it up much more simply with fewer words and examples (although the anecdote about the mage who blew up his house trying to make an array to automate the cleaning of his windows had been amusing. ) In short, Hermione could sum it up like this. Magecraft, harder to set up and understand, also not very versatile, but much more powerful, less energy loss, more efficient and quicker when used. Aster had even made a tiny array on the wood floor (with her blood... yes according to Aster blood was the only type of magically conductive liquid at her disposal but still! Hermione would have to teach her to stop constantly slitting her wrists for no good reason. As bad habits go, she'd rarely seen worse). The array had looked terribly complex for a really simple result: to make a small glowing orb appear exactly twenty centimetres above the array. Hermione understood why magecraft had to be difficult in everyday life and to do in the moment. Which explained why Aster had apparently chosen to do her confidentiality magic on sorcery runes rather than in magecraft arrays.
When Hermione had pointed out that magecraft seemed terribly complicated and dangerous for not very much, Aster had pouted and gone on and on about how Hermione was wrong. How nice it was once the array was done to simply push in the right amount of magic and let the spell take shape on its own. How convenient it was to be able to do multiple spells simultaneously because of the low concentration required to simply let your magic flow into the array. Hermione had acknowledged the argument in hindsight after having fun making the little ball of light appear and disappear simply by touching the array.
The question of security had naturally followed. What if Aster had her arrays stolen? What if someone could reproduce them? To that Aster had said that this was a big problem, but one that had been solved by mages long ago, thanks to the existence of techniques to bind an array to the magic and soul of its creator, thus preventing their use by someone else. She added that there was a sort of basic 'language' for shaping magic, and that all mages of any skill had their own version of this universal language, modified so that it could only be understood by those to whom it was explained. Finally, there were techniques that disturbed the way people visually perceived an array, preventing them from seeing it. But above all, all of these techniques were mainly auxiliary safeguards for the cautious and paranoid, because the really useful and complex arrays that one tried to prevent other mages from seeing were mostly fractal in structure and far too small and complex to be easily decoded.
Hermione could see why Aster was so passionate about magecraft, but on a practical level it seemed so much less useful than sorcery. When she had given this opinion, Aster had taken offence and pointed out that in most cases, once an array was made, it could be easily reused again and again without any problems. Hermione had preferred not to argue any further and simply remained sceptical as to the real point of the thing until she knew more, and saw it in practice.
She managed to change the subject to a question that had been on her mind since the beginning of the conversation. Aster had called her a white mage. What did she mean by that? Was it in opposition to black mages? The Manichean terminology of white versus black did not bode well with her.
Hermione was speechless. Aster looked at her, dumbfounded, as if she didn't understand what could have shocked her so much. Didn't she see how serious it was? Hermione replayed all the information she had just learned in her head in a synthetic way. There were black, white and grey mages. Aster was a grey mage. White mages are people born with magic, using the magical energy in them to do magic. Black mages are normal people, born without magic, but having made one or more pacts, with demons, entities, deities and other oneiric creatures to obtain the ability to absorb magical energy and life energy around them to make magic, as well as to gain, 'gifts' from their 'patrons', at the risk of losing their humanity. And the grey mages, mages who were born white, but still decided to form black mage pacts. So Aster's mother, subjected her to boggart training, (Hermione couldn't understand how Aster didn't seem more traumatized than that after something like that had happened to her.) must have encouraged her somehow to think that slitting her wrists to do her strange magic was perfectly acceptable behavior. And now she was learning that the same woman had let her make a pact with one or more higher entities... Maybe it was for the best that Aster was separated from her family. They definitely couldn't be a good influence on her (understatement of the century.) if they did things like that.
Hermione had chosen not to broach the subject having witnessed during the discussion the immense respect and attachment Aster had shown for her adoptive mother. Hermione could not expect Aster's aunt and uncle to be more reasonable. Instead, she spoke of the man with insectoid legs and tentacle arms that she had seen on the day of her arrival, questioning Aster about the possibility that the man was a black mage. Aster thought for a moment before saying that he was indeed surely a black mage, explaining that some of the 'gifts' offered by the beings with whom black mages pacted could be physical deformities of the sort. But they could also be oaths, curses or other more subtle things. She also explained the possibility of having such physical deformities through blood alchemy but that in this case it was unlikely. Seriously, who would make the conscious choice to have tentacles instead of an arm?
She regained some hope in the existence of Aster's sanity when she warned her not to accept pacts of any kind, and that if she wanted to do so, it should be under the protection of an expert. Hermione couldn't help but shudder when Aster looked sad and said that it was not uncommon for young wizards or mages in search of power to make pacts with minor entities or deities, who inflicted numerous mutations and horrible curses on them in order to bear their name and strengthen their hold on a material plane while offering them almost no power in exchange.
All this before taking the example of the infamous (well, infamous among people like Aster.) D'Ashog, minor deity of bad luck, depression, false paths, and lack of self-esteem. This one preys on young, inexperienced and naive humans by taking the guise of an apollo presenting himself as a solar deity and offering them his help. This kind of story ends all too often with the suicide of the poor victim. Good to know.
This discussion went on for hours and hours, drifting from subject to subject, neither of them dwelling on their family or their life before Ulthar, preferring to think about the future. In any case, the existence of magic was far too exciting for Hermione to let the discussion drift any further than necessary into more mundane matters. Hermione was surprised when the first rays of sunlight caressed her face, morning was already here. Aster was in a similar state of surprise.
Neither of them had seen the time pass. Hermione grunted, rising to her feet before staggering off, having to lean against one of the walls, her legs aching and sleepy after spending hours cross-legged on the floor. It would be a long day.
oOOOo
Two weeks had gone by in a fairly normal way. Well, as normal as serving in a cat people's manor can be. The other employees had gradually become accustomed to her and Aster's presence. Most of them were cordial but kept their distance. The only person who really seemed to like them and spent time with them outside of work hours was Nailla. She seemed to have taken her and Aster under her wing. As a result they spent a lot of time looking after the garden. The young nymph had proved to be a valuable source of information for her and Aster about Ulthar and life here in general. Apparently she could thank a translation magic linked to the foundations of the manor allowing her to understand and be understood by the matagots and other locals. This explained the strange fact that she had not faced a language barrier since her arrival. After discovering this she had suggested to Aster that she ask Nailla to teach them the local language, but Aster had explained to her in a few words that it was not worth it and that it was better for her to learn the language of international trade in such places. A bit like English in the rest of the world. The name of the language in question was 'adapted Fahri Yujul'. (A more than odd language, Hermione could find no root that would indicate its origin or even similarities to other exotic languages. Also, many of the sounds seemed rounded, adapted to human vocal organs, though some were still really hard to make. Like the kind of click like sound that Aster could make), and she'd told her that the language was a good one. ), and she had told him that knowing this language could take her very far, with a mysterious expression. Hermione had been tempted to question Aster further but over the last few weeks she had realised that Aster could be terribly stubborn, and that it would be a waste of time to push this kind of thing. To thank Aster for spending time teaching her a language that would surely be more than useful. She also spent some of her free time explaining various non-magical subjects to Aster. Especially the basics of physics and chemistry that she had learned from Teacher Helene. For some reason Aster seemed to be passionate about these subjects.
About Aster, in fact. Since their discussion in the kitchen and the night that followed, they had slowly grown closer. Aster became more and more accessible. Signs of friendship were few and far between but they were growing in number and Hermione was excited to maybe finally have a friend her own age. A week ago, Hermione had had a panic attack of nerves, where the whole reality of her situation had crashed down on her at once and she had collapsed in hysterical sobs. And surprisingly, Hermione hadn't expected it at all, Aster had taken her in her arms and stroked her head reassuringly until she calmed down. Then, as if nothing had happened, she had gone back to her duties. Aster was really strange...
Besides, she too seemed to have her moments of distress. With the loss of her mother it was not surprising, Hermione thought. What intrigued and worried her was the way Aster dealt with moments like those. No collapse, no tears, nothing. Hermione was only aware that something was wrong because Aster didn't respond to any stimuli and could spend hours staring into space with a cold, almost frightening intensity. Hermione didn't know how to help her friend in these moments. Life had become a kind of routine, punctuated by household chores. But Hermione was worried, for the last two or three days Aster seemed to be slowly falling ill. She, who was already pale and did not skimp on measures to protect herself from the sun, looked even paler. She also seemed at times almost feverish. Hermione had insisted on going to talk to Nailla about it but Aster had refused, saying that it would pass soon enough.
That night, after a day spent in the garden working with Nailla on the medicinal herbs in the vegetable garden, a day in which Aster had looked particularly bad with large dark shadows under her eyes. Hermione was lying on her bed, her eyes glued to the darkness of the ceiling. She couldn't get to sleep. Her mind was filled with thoughts and hypotheses to explain Aster's apparent ill health. The hurricane of thoughts in her skull prevented her from finding sleep. What could she do to help her new friend? The only person sharing her misfortune. Her first and only friend. (Adults don't count.) The most frustrating part was that Aster steadfastly refused to ask for any kind of help. Nailla had realised that something was wrong for a long time and even other servants were starting to give Aster worried looks.
She had to do something. But Aster kept saying that everything was fine and that it didn't matter, that it would pass. Hermione didn't want to betray her friend's patience but could she trust Aster to take care of her own body? The same girl who two weeks ago had used her blood to draw intricate runes without any hesitation? The one who had confronted a group of trolls face to face with an explosive. (Hermione hadn't quite understood the theory behind the supercharged marbles Aster had explained. Apart from the fact that her friend didn't see any problem with walking around with highly unstable magical explosives in her pockets). When Aster had told her this anecdote in gory detail and in flowery language (yes, according to Aster, an encounter with trolls was an anecdote), Hermione thought that from where Aster had met the horrible creatures, that is, at the edge of the woods, near the Umbellifor Plain, these trolls were the same ones she had met and must have been scouring the woods looking for her. Anyway, how could she trust Aster to take care of herself after such demonstrations of lack of judgment and respect for her own physical integrity. This kind of behaviour was perhaps what had cost her an arm... Tomorrow she would go to Nailla and ask for help. If Aster was not capable of looking after her own health, someone had to do it. How had she been brought up to do such things?
Hermione was deep in thought when she heard the floor of the room creak. Intrigued Hermione glanced towards the darkness of the room just in time to see a dark figure jump out of the open window. Had someone broken in through the window and fled? No, it couldn't be, she would have heard the floor creaking earlier. She stood up abruptly and ran to Aster's bed. The bed was empty, the sheets unravelled but the mattress cold. It was true that during the rare cuddle Aster had given her she had noticed that her friend's skin was cool, but to leave the sheets cold? She must have gotten up a while ago, she thought. Perhaps a hesitation before going out as slowed her departure, leaving time for the mattress to cool? She approached the window and leaned out to observe the garden. Just in time to see the movement of a small shadow leaping gracefully over the four metre high metal fence surrounding the manor and its garden. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes? Was Aster mounted on a spring? How could she? Such a jump. In her condition. Sick. And then wasn't their room on a floor? To get out she had to either de-escalate or jump at least five metres. Aster had just left the manor. Should she warn someone? But despite their rather normal domestic work, they were still prisoners. She could not put Aster in danger of having her sentence increased. But there was nothing she could do alone.
Aster must have had her reasons... but ill, outside, in the middle of the night. Hermione was sick with worry. She was bound hand and foot. The only thing she could do was wait for Aster to come back. Hopefully safe and sound. She began pacing the room. Unable to stay still, or her nerves would prevent her from holding still. When Aster returned she would hear from her.