VI. The Soft Arcane
Fingers softly drew through the air, so distinct from Vahn’s own. Long and elegant, nails dipped in darkness so absolute, they would never shimmer. The fingers drew and drew, weaving tapestries of spells hardly known to the world, and followed the fabric of familiar spells already carried through to create the patchwork around it. Over and over, the patchwork grew with every spell intoned and motioned, and the Wild Magic accepted all that it was. And, in the center of all the weavings and threads, he was there. Magic turning his eyes into spectral hues, ribboning through his once mortal body until it became nothing but the wind, and he stared. Vibrant eyes set upon Vahn so completely, so raw, Vahn could have seen all the way to his beginning and his end, and he could have done the same to Vahn.
Then Vahn blinked and King Elwick of the Wild disappeared, leaving the room around Vahn to come into focus instead. His eyelids fluttered with the sudden light and even they felt weary like he’d been thrown through his university exams again and again until Irius decided to pass him.
The room was simple. Wooden beams made up the ceiling, rich in hue as soft sunlight came through an unseen window somewhere beyond Vahn’s vision. Beside the firm bed—perhaps it was more of a cot—Vahn noticed a rolling cart filled with herbs, pestles, and potion bottles. Vahn’s eyes wouldn’t focus enough to let him read the labels, but there was an awful taste in his mouth, so he’d likely been given something. Terrible tasting was the hallmark of many a potion, however, and Vahn couldn’t use that to narrow it down. Whatever it was, he was alive.
On his other side was a paper screen, erected for privacy, and a stiff chair. It was almost like he was in a healing clinic of some sort.
Oh. Vahn snorted softly, the act sending an avalanche of aches across his weakened body. That must be where I am.
Safe, then. Wild Magic benign and distant beyond far city walls inundated with wards, if Vahn had to guess given how there was such a lack of Wild Magic at all in here. Vahn resolved to doze back off until he heard the lilt of Hawke’s voice beyond the screen. Hearing it made Vahn’s mind fuzzy—sure, it wasn’t Hawke’s voice, but Vahn cherished the sound of it in Hawke’s throat. The corners were softened and words easy. So uniquely Hawke still.
Vahn pushed himself up on his arms, intending to stand, but the motion made the room spin. He collapsed back into the bed with a strained grunt.
There was a clatter of steps, reverberating off the walls as a headache gripped Vahn’s head, and someone yelped as a jar hit the floor. It bounced—didn’t shatter—and for that, Vahn was glad. Hawke raced around the paper screen and practically collapsed at Vahn’s bedside, barely catching himself on the chair.
“You’re awake!”
The shock was a little offensive, but Vahn let it go with a good-natured huff and smiled. “Good morning, Hawke,” he said.
In mere moments, Hawke had Vahn wrapped up in a tight hug, catching him off guard completely, but Hawke’s arms were so sturdy, his chest so warm, Vahn let himself relax into it. No one had hugged him quite the same since he’d left the Floating World.
“Let him down this instant before you hurt him any further!” The voice who had yelped had come closer. Hawke carefully laid Vahn back down and sat in the chair, squeezing himself tight as the newcomer reached around for Vahn’s forehead. Healer by the look of her garb—a white chirurgeon’s coat with vials fastened to it with a leather belt. Magic tingled off her palm as it pressed up to Vahn and once she was content with that, she pressed two fingers to the side of Vahn’s neck.
“There’s no telling what that spell really did to him, so you have to be gentler.” She moved her fingers to the other side. Weak magic sparked and wiggled its way into Vahn’s artery. More of an archaic practice, but not unwarranted given how magic starved Vahn felt. The healer’s magic nestled within Vahn as a warm pulse beside his own, and given enough time, would dissolve as magic to help Vahn’s own to recharge. It felt fuzzy. Like Solar Magic.
“Hm?” Vahn tried to parse words, but his tongue protested the attempt.
“It certainly wasn’t your bracelets that did this.” The healer grabbed a clipboard of paper from the end of Vahn’s bed and glanced through it. “That would have been easy to fix. All right, your vitals have improved. You should have seen what Chel recorded when you came in. Abysmal. You’ve stabilized. Rest until your fever’s gone.” She glanced at Vahn, perking her eyebrows. “Which should be by evening. Then get out of my sight.”
Hawke snorted, rolling his eyes, and the healer took her leave as brusquely as she came. The door’s bell dinged and the healer chirped out a friendly hello before indulging in a conversation Vahn couldn’t parse from where he was.
Vahn tilted his head toward Hawke. The bard was watching him too intently, almost like he would float away. “What time is it?”
“We got here a little past midnight.” Hawke scratched at his stubble and glanced away. Longer than he usually kept it. Actually, he looked absolutely haggard at a second glance. That, the dark circles under his eyes, and mussed hair. “I scared the shit out of the healer working overnight. Then when he got a look at you, I think he thought you were going to drop dead. It’s noon now. We got a few hours before we gotta get out.” He waited a moment to catch his breath given how fast he spoke and his eyes darted back to Vahn’s. “Jerome’s horse is good. At the stable. We’re in Ramvale. Did I say that?”
Vahn hummed ascent, nodding, and wasn’t quite listening as intently as he knew he should. He was just glad Hawke was safe. Hawke nudged his shoulder, bringing him back from the allure of slumber, and Vahn blinked up at him.
“What happened?” Hawke asked softly as he bent closer. “You were in bad shape.”
“Elwick stole my magic,” Vahn whispered and Hawke stilled. “I knew he’d try once the wards ripped into him, so, I had Josie helped me spike my magic. When he took it, the spell we’d set emptied my magic and since he was taking it, the spell did the same to him too.”
The words went right through Hawke and out some window Vahn couldn’t see. He stared, dumbfounded, and kept blinking. As Vahn tried to think of a simpler way to explain it, Hawke got his wits about him. “You can do that?”
Maybe it wasn’t so much not understanding, then. Simple astonishment.
“It was a theory.” Vahn shrugged and stared at the ceiling, allowing his head to sink into the pillow. “But it was the only thing I could come up with.” He winced as he moved his arm to pull open his tunic a little more. He slipped his hand into the new opening and felt for the card still stuck against his skin. The enchantment Josie had used to keep it there peeled right off, tingling as it went, and he pulled it out. “Arcane has a lot of fun tricks, but dangerous if use incorrectly.” Ace of Cups. He handed it to Hawke.
The meaning was lost on him given how he squinted at it. “What did it do?”
“Cups are typically invoked to replenish magic.” Vahn took the card back and gazed at the art. It was his own and he’d used a shimmering prism-like paint to indicate the liquid the cups held. There was a single one there now, two hands grasping it from out of frame, as it overflowed. He hardly recalled painting it like most of his cards, however; to truly put magic into them, make them more than little paintings, magicians had to enact a ritual that resembled a fever dream.
“Usually symbolizes the magic that overflows. When I did a hand at Josie’s place this is the card I drew first.” He turned it and had it mimic the way it had been pressed to his skin. “Arcane deals with inverses too, though. Since this card represents what overflows, the inverse of it is the total absence.” He rested it against his chest, feeling winded from talking so much. “My theory was when he tried stealing my magic, I could activate the reversed card. While it siphoned my magic, it kicked back to him because it followed what he was taking from me. It sapped him of all he had.”
Vahn couldn’t imagine how it must have felt, especially since Elwick was magic incarnate. He hardly recalled the action being played out, except for the sound of blood squelching from torn and broken skin. Magic draining from Vahn was not comparable in the least; he at least had a mortal body to fall back on. Even if it hurt like hell right now.
“Shit,” Hawke breathed. “Shit, shit, shit. You could have said something.”
“It might not have worked.” Vahn giggled and it came out dry and tired. “I didn’t want you to wait for it. Although, if he’s still out there—and I am sure he while he rebuilds himself—that same trick will not work a second time, I’m sure.” He rested his eyes and let out a long exhale. A thrill deep inside his chest hummed at the prospect of Elwick finding them again. He’d have to make sure he was ready with another way to stop him before that came, but therein was the excitement.
For another time, however. Right now, Vahn could hardly piece his thoughts on magic theory together. “I’m so tired,” he admitted slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d hit me this bad. I was so used to my bangles; I was sure I could do this with minimal effects.”
He was empty in a way his bangles wouldn’t have left him. While he was sure they were made with the same idea in mind, they were designed to halt magic and punish those who continued to extend too far. Not necessarily take it away entirely.
“You saved us.” Hawke gently reached over and pushed Vahn’s hair behind his ear. The motion made Vahn smile. A curious reaction to be sure. “No need to be sorry.” As Hawke settled back into the chair, he drew the blankets back around Vahn like he was intent to tuck him in.
“Mind you, I never want to do that again,” Vahn added and Hawke laughed.
“Same. Never again. We stay ahead this time.”
We. The word sent a tingle through Vahn he didn’t outright dislike. He cracked an eye open and found Hawke had pulled his lute to his lap. The plucks sounded heavenly, even if Hawke was simply tuning it at this point. Who knows what the jostling of the horse did to it.
“Do you want your voice back?” Vahn asked once he’d finished tuning it.
“Don’t even remember what it sounded like.” Hawke drew his fingers softly across the strings. “‘Sides, by now it’s been torn apart. There’s nothing left.” Notes sung into the air, soft shy things in the beat of something itching through Vahn’s head, but he wasn’t sure the name of it.
Whatever it was, it was lulling Vahn back to sleep. The world had grown soft and fuzzy around him. “I’ll find a way to save you from him,” he whispered before sleep took hold.
“Yeah?” Hawke’s voice sounded like it smiled. “You think we’ll be able to do it?”
Before Vahn could reply, the soft notes led him into a dream. He dreamt of spells, magic, the way the fingers parted through the air starved of magic until laughter carried on the wind, and then all those things somehow settled on the way Hawke smiled. And that was the image Vahn held onto to carry him through.
🙡🙢
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