Being a magician is about carrying
responsibilities as though they were not burdens. A magician protects
the universe against threats from the vast wild spaces Outside. One
result of that is that few magicians have ever left the universe for
one reason or another; even fewer have returned. But sometimes there
are no choices that can be made easily. Perhaps part of being a
magician is that no one makes your choices for you, but it has been a
long time since I believed that.
I park the borrowed car beside a closed
service station. The car could barely run, and gives up the last of
its strength in a satisfied rattle. Better this than to sit and rust
to nothing. I could have repaired it more, but had neither the time
nor energy to spare. Sometimes being a magician is just about
choices. But that is life as well, magician or not. All we can
sometimes do is make choices for those who can’t make it for
themselves; given them a nudge, a touch, a push. The magic helps
others; being a magician helps the universe.
This does not. I almost expect
resistance. The universe to bend itself against me, the fae to show
and demand I do not do this thing. That nothing stirs is a relief as
much as anything else. I have enough to bear without that, and the
door opens to the service station as I push it and walk inside.
Service stations tend to be frequented by any magician who lives near
them, often to make sure barriers don’t break down between the
universe and the Outside.
I walk to the centre of the room, the
door closed. I draw up wards from the place. Of travel and aloneness,
of decay and fear, and turn them into a barrier to keep others out.
That much energy I spare. The rest has gone into clothing, pockets,
items I carry and have woven into me. the magic in me is almost
smothered under the weight of the wards and places we’re carrying.
It is afraid, and so am I.
I draw symbols I learned in a bookstore
a decade ago. Reggie let me read anything I wished to in the store.
Anything included books that took me weeks to even begin to
understand. But knowledge is important if one is the wandering
magician of an era, and I learned all I could. I speak words human
tongues aren’t meant to utter, draw symbols that are barely that at
all. The world shudders, presses down against me, resists my
invocation: I bring my will to bear against it, avoid the attention
of Entities meant to guard against such journeys.
There is no door, no hole. A feeling
like bungee jumping without a cord, and moments later I am Outside
the universe.
No reference points. Nothing, none. I
see/hear/feel only by an effort to translate the unknown into the
known. What was once clothing gleams, wards burning in the air and
nothing else holds me together. Not-winds buffet me, but I move with
them. Everything out here survives the chaos by moving with it. I
find balance, let it go. Bounce. Twist. Flow. Shift. I have put magic
from cities and towns and places for over two weeks into the items
about my person. I begin letting them go. Shaping the power.
My body isn’t a body here; it is the
only reason I am surviving this.
I brought as much power here as I could
carry. As much as I could dare without also being a doorway back into
the universe. It won’t be enough. Can’t be enough. I turn the
magic into a seeking, a finding, a knowing I send out across
distances so vast the term has no meaning. I am formless in the
living void, but still a magician, still the magic and I feel the
seeking twist. Caught. Bound by power I did not seek.
There is ground under my feet. I have
flesh again. Blood, and bones as the wild of Outside is shaped into a
solid place for a moment. It is the most beautiful place I will ever
see, because I know the Walker of the Far Reaches who has made it.
“Moshe.”
“Nathen.” I’m not certain he has
ever spoken my name before. And never in this tone. “What the fuck
do you think you are doing?” he demands, and his power drives me
almost to my knees.
I have bound him before, once without
even knowing what he was. The Far Reaches are the only solid places
Outside the universe, the Walkers who serve them the closest thing
the Outside has to magicians. In the universe, I am perhaps more than
Moshe; here the roles are reversed but even so I stand. I have bound
him before, and that gives me an edge even now.
“Finding Jay’s mother.”
“What?” And sounds so shocked it
would be funny anywhere else. Perhaps.
“Jay doesn’t have dreams. I am
pretty certain his progenitor is a key to why and I’d like him to
be able to have them.”
“Dreams. You make a hole in the
universe yourself, you risk –.”
“Nothing.”
Moshe pauses. Stares at me, through me.
He smiles. It’s not Jay’s smile. Nothing else is that, but it’s
warm, and grudgingly impressed. “You’ve left a way back for you
that nothing else can use. I should have guessed, but I never thought
you’d be this – this – foolish. Even you know better than to
play with fire like this, magician.”
“Sometimes being burned is worth the
cost.”
“Not in this.” And for the first
time Moshe almost drops his perfect, impossible beauty before he
recalls himself. “What made Jay is far beyond me. I could not face
her; you more certainly would not survive even an approach to such a
Power.”
I blink. I’d suspected for a long
time that Jay’s progenitor was one of the Far Realms in some
fashion; this seemed to mean she was something else entirely. “I’d
like to give him this much, if I can.”
“I don’t see how.” Moshe returns
the seeking I’d made back to me almost gently. “Return, magician.
This place is not for your kind.”
“Can you do it?”
“I will not.”
“We could make a deal.”
“No. My destruction is not worth you
nor anything you could offer,” Moshe says flatly, and pushes.
I could resist. I could even try and
bind Moshe. Instead I fall back, using the last of the magics I had
stored in tattoos upon my skin to bind the way back into the universe
closed. I land on concrete, my ears ringing. I can taste blood in my
mouth and every bone in my body aches. I sit up slowly, hiss and
realized the middle of my chest were Moshe had pushed me contains a
small burn. A statement, a reminder? I have no idea.
I stand, letting go of the wards I made
here and walk outside to find a ride back into town.
The universe bends itself toward the
needs of magicians. Most of the time. it takes almost five hours
before anyone stops. I wonder if the universe is making a statement,
but I have no idea and I’m too tired to ask. The man who lets me
into the cab of his truck asks what the hell I was doing out here.
“Playing with fire,” I respond, and
he says nothing after the truth in those words. I close my eyes and
fall asleep moments later, and my dreams make no sense to me at all.