Page 81 of The Devouring Time

The part of my mind that still clings to rationality tries to balk at the idea of learning magic. But the world isn’t what I believed it to be, not an orderly, predictable place, but a thin skin over a void of howling madness. I’m in the body of a creature utterly foreign to me; why not become a sorcerer as well?

“Then I’ll do my best to learn,” I tell him.

54

While Khephnes attempts to tutor me in magic, Bianca spends most of her time among our fellow captives, feeling out who might be a trustworthy ally and who might turn us over to the guards for whatever small favors they might glean.

After Khephnes explains a bit about the types of spells he might teach me, I consult with Bianca, who suggests I concentrate on frost and cold.

“The Swarm are a bit like woodlice,” she observes. “Perhaps the cold will slow them down.”

Her words alarm me. “We aren’t going to fight them, are we?”

“I certainly hope not. But we should be prepared, just in case.”

“I vowed not to kill anyone after the—after a war I was in.” Does that apply to inhuman creatures that remind my friend of woodlice and me of lobsters?

The idea of pacifism seems to take her aback; it was likely no more popular in Renaissance Italy than it is in 1926 America. But she only says, “What makes you think we could manage to kill one of them?”

Her words don’t exactly relieve me, but I throw myself into learning the sort of magic she suggested. Unfortunately, I’m far less adept at magic than at language.

“You don’t have a natural talent for it,” Khephnes agrees one day, when I’ve failed yet again to conjure frost on the small rock I’m practicing on. The stone is unevenly broken, with carving on one side, and looks to have once been part of a bas-relief. “But don’t fret—very few do. It tends to run in families, particularly those with inhuman blood.”

“Inhuman blood?”

His trunk flashes pink with amusement. “There are many things in this world that are neither humans nor the Swarm, my friend.”

Of course there are. Why do I even bother to be surprised at this point?

“But with enough study and hard work, most people can learn to cast spells,” Khephnes goes on. “I had no natural inclination myself, only the desire to succeed. Never fear, it will come to you eventually.”

I don’t know how long it takes—months, I think—but the first time I conjure a skin of frost on the stone, I want to shout with joy.

I made something appear from nothing with my will alone, guided by a few words. The feeling is heady beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.

I did this. Me.

I practice every day from then on, careful not to let the guards notice what I’m doing. Though their primary concern seems to be preventing us from injuring the bodies we’re in, I don’t know how they would react to one of us learning sorcery.

In the meantime, I keep a sharp eye out on the signage every time the Swarm take us out of our room for our periodical trips to the top of the ziggurat. I don’t see any handy arrows labeled This way to the archive, but the building we’re held in seems to have begun life as a sort of barracks for soldiers. The writing on the papyrus the guards gave us speaks of warring factions, so perhaps the barracks were emptied once peace descended and fighters were no longer needed.

Thanks to the signs, I eventually begin to learn the layout of the ziggurat—and realize the guards seldom take us the same way twice. Either because individual guards have their own preferred routes, or so we don’t memorize the floor plan and try to escape, I can’t say. Whatever the reason, it means I can gradually build a map of the immediate area in my head, adding on to it a bit each time we’re led out.

And then, one day, I see it. A small, simple sign, almost lost amidst the crumbling murals, that reads Hall of Records.

My excitement is such I have a hard time remaining calm in front of the guards. As soon as we’re returned to our room, I hurry to Bianca’s side and tell her what I’ve found.

“At last,” she says, her trunk strobing with colors. “Stay here. No, wait, go over and tell Khephnes, and I’ll get the others.”

I do as she asks. Khephnes turns all five eyes on me. “Well done—I didn’t notice the sign at all.”

“It wasn’t as prominent as the others.” If I’m right about this being a barracks, soldiers would have had little need to go to such a place, and the sign had been intended more for lost scribes or whatever the Swarm equivalent was.

Bianca joins us with Titus and another captive I don’t recognize. “This is Yrsa.” Bianca gestures to the newcomer. “Yrsa, Sterling and Khephnes. They’re helping us.”

I expect Khephnes to disagree and remove himself, but he doesn’t. Perhaps the months spent teaching me first language, then magic, have changed his outlook.

“Now that we have a destination, our first hurdle is to get out of this room without any guards,” Bianca says. “We need to lure them away from the door so a few of us can slip out while they’re distracted. The question is how to do that.”