《Knowing Myth: Immortality in Death》 Ch 1 - The Blight The Blight Alabaster diligently searched the blighted forest. It was not the first and he expected it wouldn''t be the last blighted forest he searched. Rumor said he would find someone cleaning up the blight, trying to fight the abnormal disease that slowly wiped out hundreds of acres of forest. Superstition said she was spreading it, but Alabaster knew better than to trust superstition. He had been here two weeks, nearly three. He expected he would be another two before giving up. The last took about that long to drain his hope. Decades ago, the first he swept through quickly. A week and a half before he returned to civilization, not from lost hope. He simply had not been prepared. He had lost count of how many he had searched. But every two or three years another town near the wild forests would report blight. Fire too. He helped more directly to fight those. There was much more an experienced mage could do. His stamina and preparations could now last him months if need be. Yet his search methods had also improved, so a few weeks was usually all he needed to determine the mythical figure was absent, or didn''t want to be found. As he came across a seemingly untouched tree stump, he decided to rest. Setting down his pack, he began to loosen his armor and footwear. The old leather was stiff, its once deep browns faded to grays and tans. He knew how to use just enough force to prevent the leather from creasing or cracking. He still oiled it, of course, but his preferred oil was less effective in keeping the material soft and workable. Instead it had almost no scent, burned poorly, and was surprisingly cheap to make. He didn''t even need to get it from an Alchemist or tannery. He had had the armor for almost two decades, having commissioned it exclusively for blight trips. His clothes underneath he replace more often. Burning them after his blight expeditions. They were much harder to clean. To keep costs down he chose undyed linens that had been previously used and washed, softening the fabric. Comfort was important. His pack was similar to his clothes, washing the blight out of a leather pack had proved difficult. He didn''t need the durability and cloth was lighter and cheaper anyway. His footwear was the exception to this ensemble. Expensive and soft leather, fitted well and broken in for at least a month for maximum comfort. Then enchanted for durability. He probably could have hired a small team of scouts for what his shoes cost. But money wasn''t really a factor. His penny-pinching more of an old habit. He rummaged through his pack for trail rations and his waterskin. The waterskin showed another expensive enchantment. Clean water was important. As he ate and drank he worried his hands through his hair. He had cut the white hair very short before he left, and now he regretted it. It grew unevenly, the left side much faster than the right. He wasn''t sure how bad it looked, but it felt bad to run his hands through. He had preferred it long, he could tie it back to make the length difference unknown, but that wasn''t the popular style anymore. It had gone gray unevenly as well. From stress, he was sure. An expensive magic treatment had returned its color, brown instead of red. Then black when it went gray from age. Now it was white and he wasn''t certain it would stand up to another treatment. His third major expense was the silk handkerchief he pulled from his shirt pocket. The fine cloth had been enchanted with a cleaning spell. Keeping it perfectly sanitary. He removed his shoes and wiped the sweat from his feet and inside the shoe, doing so quickly in case he needed to be back on the move suddenly. Cleanliness was important, and in the blight, it was vital. Before packing up his brief campsite he made one final adjustment to his equipment. A flat piece of metal on a leather harness sat over his right shoulder blade. The harness was under his shirt, the metal contacting his skin, it was inconvenient and often chaffed. Yet, he needed it to further protect his clothing and gear. He lifted his shirt and ran the cleaning handkerchief carefully along the edges of the plate, his expression all stern focus. He examined the handkerchief, checking for damage and contamination. Satisfied, he returned to clean under the leather straps, starting at one sore spot where a buckle had been digging in. The magic in the silk stinging his tender skin slightly. As he finished the tedious task, his focus wandered. His eyes glanced out into the field of dead and dying trees. Some hundred meters out, his unfocused eyes passed over a small ball of dark green magic. It floated three meters off the ground drifting lazily east deeper into the forest. Its height kept it up among the lowest branches and canopy, some of which still held the odd green leaf. As his mind cataloged the ball his calm snapped. He stood swiftly, knocking his pack to the ground and leaning into a run. He moved with the speed of someone at least third of his apparent age. Parts of his loosened armor fluttering ineffectually. The brigandine vest lay discarded on the tree stump. He made it to where the mana orb had been, only to find it nearly as far away again, this time slightly south. Further away from his pack and armor. He had only slowed to a jog to get his bearings, so renewed his sprint in the new direction. This was not the first time he had abandoned camp to chase a mana wisp through a dying forest. He hoped it would be the last. The wisps were not the pixies or fairies of myth, they were not tricksters as far as he knew. He had sometimes believed they could be testing him, or simply directing him away from their masters. Yet still, he chased them, hoping for a different outcome this time. The mana wisp led him off in a slightly new direction a second time. The third he lost sight of it among slightly denser trees. The fallen branches and uneven terrain forced him to slow for the final third of his sprint until he burst into an open clearing. Casting his eyes around the upper canopy he almost missed the statuesque figure facing a tree some 20 meters off from him. He was quite sure the figure now stood in the direction he had come from, but for this encounter he could not be certain. The humanoid form he had been led to looked like a rough sketch of a short woman, carved from stark white cloth. She was a head shorter than him. With thin limbs, a white belt at her waist accented her form, pulling the cloth in and causing it to puff out above and below. Alabaster identified that as the core reason he mentally described her as female. Secondarily a larger bundle of cloth had been gathered behind her head. Not hair but the allusion to it. As he examined her more, he noted the cloth was pulled tight and left baggy in several places. Baggy around all the joints, so the cloth could move freely without binding, and tight on either side of a joint to prevent large sections of loose fabric, stopping tangling and snags. Any womanly figure she might have was hidden under those baggy sections. No he had identified her as female out of bias, because the being he was looking for was female. All dryads were female presenting. As he drifted closer to her, the wisp appeared again, from behind a tree to his left, some ten meters away. He slowed down. His carefully prepared introduction caught in his throat. This wasn''t quite what he expected to find. "You are quite persistent, I''ll grant you that. Yet, why would you bring that antipode, into my presence, into my forest?" He looked around uncertainly at the dying trees, "Uh, I didn''t-" "Yes, I know you didn''t cause the blight. I''m not an idiot. We would not be speaking if I thought that." She repositioned slightly, shifting her body around the tree, her right hand moving to a higher position on the bark. As she moved it, the glow of bright green life magic shone, so dense it nearly dripped off her gloved hand. The nearly blinding magic was like looking at the sun to Alabaster. He squinted reflexively though it did not hurt to look at. Her interruption reminded him he was here for a purpose. "I apologize if my condition offends you. My name is Alabaster Lions, and I have been seeking your persons for decades. I would like to consult with you on a somewhat delicate matter." His words were carefully crafted, he had done his research. Firstly, he needed to entice her to ask follow up questions. "Decades? You do know that there are correct ways to contact my people? A few seasons should have sufficed." "Your people are hard to find. I have tried the old ways, the flower circles. The stone doorways. Nothing I did even trembled mana as much as a new apprentice sneezing. I have many human contacts but none were able to arrange proper meetings." After a short pause he added. "I feel entitled to nothing, and make no demands." The tone around the white figure changed briefly, the tree she was in contact with trembled and one of the branches snapped, falling to the ground. Unlike the rest of the tree, it was dry and free of green leaves. A second wisp emerged from the trees on the right side, flanking both of them. The figure leaned into the tree, her hands moving more, but now in a more gentle circular pattern. It reminded Alabaster of someone consoling an upset pet, or mother consoling a child. He thought she might even be whispering to it, with how her face was near the bark as well. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. The new wisp interrupted his thoughts. "One moment, please remain silent." It was the woman''s voice, but sounded slightly hollow. To himself, he thought ''A direct request? How odd.'' He waited silently for the woman to finish her task. He would be patient, he had already waited so long. Some time later, she shifted and withdrew her hands, drawing out an impossible amount of life mana from the tree. Alabaster shifted in surprise, his stiff knees and spine popping from the change. The tree itself was far more withered and clearly dead now, though Alabaster could not say exactly when the change had occurred. The woman in white lifted both glowing hands before her, and began to compress the life energy into a ball. As it shrank, a point at the center stayed bright, nearly white. The light shined out even to those without mana senses. Yet the outside grew dim and dark green. Finally, with care and motions that spoke to ritual, the woman withdrew a small packet of cloth from the front of her suit. The packet and spark of life slowly moved into the same space in front of her. The mana slowly being absorbed into the square of cloth. Alabaster could tell that it wasn''t being absorbed by the cloth itself, but something inside it. He shifted uneasily at the sight of dozens of the packets stuck to the front of the woman''s suit. The life mana in just that one packet was dangerous. Not in the way that fire or ice mana could be dangerous. Life mana had its own set of unique threats. Finished she turned to observe him more directly. Yet her body language didn''t match what Alabaster saw was possible, as her suit had no face mask. No openings for air or sight. It was clearly one whole piece of continuous cloth. The only opening bunched up behind her head to tie it off while giving the aesthetics of a hairstyle. A bolt of nostalgia ran through Alabaster as the suit brought forth his own attempts at something similar. Hiring out scouts or messengers to search the blight would have been cheap if not for the need to protect them from the blight itself. It was not as deadly as any human disease. Hardly toxic at all really, since it fed only on plants. Yet, its nature meant that it could be easily brought to other locations, going unnoticed trapped in fabrics, or hair, or even the small folds of skin around the eye. That was only the main difficulty with the outside of the body. Enchantments like the one on his silk handkerchief were expensive and impossible to make to the scale required for proper decontamination. So he had attempted to design, and then commissioned a design for a sealed suit. A full body covering that could prevent direct contact with the blight then be removed and disposed of without cross contamination. It had been an expensive foray into the limits of modern tailoring and manufacturing costs. The need for sight, air, and food for those in the suits making the task nearly impossible. The woman''s white suit was possibly the perfected design, he closed his mouth before asking about it. She must have been using suits like it for far longer than he had been alive. She had been staring at him for two minutes. Alabaster assumed she was trying to take a measure of him, a test of wills to see if he would suddenly break. He chose not to. "Thank you for remaining silent." She finally said, her voice wasn''t dismissive, she clearly meant it. Alabaster nodded in return. "Unfortunately, it is possible you have made an error that has wasted a lot of your own time and a little of my own. My sisters have spoken of how lost humans have become. Their knowledge of history has grown corrupted and is collapsing in on rumor and ghost stories while ignoring obvious truths due to misplaced faith." Alabaster shifted uneasily under the criticism. To some degree it was a direct attack on his research efforts. He remained silent. The woman in white sighed loudly, the sound echoing through the two wisps around them. "Your earlier language, and now your choice to not ask for clarification suggests you are looking for a Fae. A creature of myth from long dead history. So tell me directly, who or what are you looking for." She delivered the question like a command, which Alabaster found much easier to reply to. "I seek any ancient being, any who has lived so long as to see the forests she planted die of old age. One who-" "Speak plainly and properly, you fool." She interrupted, irritation plain in her voice. He nodded in apology. "I seek a Fae dryad. Which I believe you are." She shook her head, "Dryads are not Fae. All of the Fae left this word thousands of years ago. They left at the same time as the gods and demi-gods. Yes they are also gone, yet we hear that you still pray to them. They cannot hear your words, and could do nothing even if they did hear them." Her tone was blunt and shifted towards bitter. Alabaster froze still from the first statement. Clearly he had failed in his research. The one solid truth about Fae was that they did not lie, which meant... "So I ask again. Why did you not try more conventional means of contact? My sisters might be hard to find but surely your own ghost stories spoke of their oneness with the forests. You could have wandered the wilds shouting at the trees and found one of us after a few years." This conversation was not going as Alabaster expected, he let his tongue react before his mind. "Would I have found you specifically, or would another dryad really meet with someone carrying my burden, you clearly sensed it immediately." "Your burden," she said viciously, "A stockpile of death mana is not a burden, it is a weapon. Why would you bring it with you?" Alabaster stood calmly, yet he could not prevent his frustration and anger from coloring his voice. "It is a burden because I cannot bring it anywhere else. It is a part of me, fused into my very being, impossible to remove." The woman in white did not react to his anger. She paused briefly before walking towards, then around Alabaster. Tilting her head to survey his form. "Hmmm, I had thought you were simply trying to hide it. That metal plate would probably prevent most creatures from intuitively sensing it, even without trained mana knowledge." He remained calm, trying to restrain his anger and frustration. His research had assured him she would know and understand his curse. Not simply assume it was a weapon as most people did. "Remove your shirt." She directed. "Then the plate, assuming it is stable." He was shocked by the request, so complied slowly. Pulling the garment over his head. In doing so, he found he was still holding his silk handkerchief, clutched firmly in his left hand. He decided himself lucky today, that he had not discarded it during his run. "It is stable." He spoke as he loosened the leather straps to remove the plate. "It is not to hide it, but to protect my clothes and armor, the death seeps out, inevitably rotting anything over my back." Carefully he removed the plate, ensuring the leather straps did not touch the once protected skin. Then he used his handkerchief to wipe it down, it was a rare opportunity to clean it properly, and he had not finished with his earlier attempt. As the plate cleared his body, the dryad sharply inhaled a mirror of the sound coming from the trees all around them. He heard her step closer. She was behind him and he chose to trust her, even if many mages would think that foolish. "Hmmm." She considered. "Yes, I can see how you wouldn''t leave that behind. I assume you know that removing it will cause your death?" He nodded, "Yes, of course. Even draining it weakens me significantly." "Yes, as it should, antipodes are a careful balance. We dryads usually consider the quality of an antipode equal to how much of it you can draw off before it becomes unstable, preventing further use. Have you tested its limits?" "Not really. The few times I''ve drawn more than a hundred units out of it, it begins sloshing around, making me queasy. And I cannot tell what percentage that would be, the mana is too dense inside it." "Hmm, yes, I suppose that doesn''t matter anyway, you can''t really sell it off to a passing merchant. Well then, if it is stable, and you don''t want it removed now. Find me again when you do, I can safely end your suffering." With that, she walked past him, back to the cluster of trees she was tending to before he arrived. "Bwhu?" He stammered. "What? Wh- Why would I want that?" Seeing she wasn''t stopping, he called out "That is not at all why I came to you." She slowed, turning slightly. "Me, specifically? Yes you did mention that before. Indulge my curiosity then, what do your people call me these days." He heard an air of humor in her voice, if it had been anger or warning he wouldn''t have shared as much. "Usually it is The Spirit of the Blight. While reliable sightings are few, the stories survive. Tales of the twilight witch, or the mourning crone are also common, but they are less tied to the blight itself." "Hmmm, and how do you think of me, what fearsome title comes to mind when hearing a branch suddenly snap while you search the blight?" "I do not think of you simply as another scary title. I believe you have a proper name, as most beings do. So I think of you simply as the dryad." He coughed. "Or in my more dramatic moments, the dryad who chases the blight." "Hmmm.." She considered, while turning to face him properly again. "I feel you know that truth a bit more than most. So what is your scary title, and why have you sought me out for so long." He stiffened at the accusation, but pushed forth to accomplish his goal. "By necessity I am one of Her Majesty''s Royal Mage Knights: The Black." He paused. The dryad tilted her head, Alabaster could imagine her mouthing the words, like most did when hearing his title. "Huh, excellent wordplay, my compliments to the chef." She replied. He continued without missing a beat, he had heard every possible reply to his name and title. "I have come to you, who has seen the last fall of man and gods. I seek guidance, the wisdom of the aged, for I am burdened with immortality." She shook her head and spoke in sullen denial. "Immortality is a myth. Go talk to a therapist."
Ch 2 - The Myth The Myth "Immortality is a myth. Go talk to a therapist." Alabaster was dumbstruck by the bluntness of her response. His own response of "What?" stuck halfway out his mouth, which hung open in shock. The lady in white carried on as if her statement was the most reasonable thing to say. "Ah, but I should introduce myself properly, since you did. I am Forestra Willow, though I do prefer Foss, or Miss Willow if you must be formal about it. Since your local tongue adopted forest from my name, it has become somewhat awkward to be called by my full first name." Alabaster had recovered from his initial shock, but the implications of what she said held his tongue. Even having expected to meet a being as old as he suspected she was, the reality that was presented, and shoved in his face, was not to be taken in stride. Foss turned and began moving towards another nearby tree. "Follow along now, I only have so much daylight to work with and if you insist on sticking around you shall not waste my time." Alabaster quickly caught up, she hadn''t moved particularly quickly, or far before stopping again. Placing her hands on another sickly tree, Alabaster saw the faint pulse of life magic begin between her and the tree. "Like all dryads, I also possess a title representing my purpose in nature. It is: Gardener of Worlds." "Worlds? Plural?" Alabaster managed, in the silence she had left. "Yes, though it is mostly honorary at this point in history. As we only have the one world now." She spoke over Alabaster''s attempt to ask the obvious question. "Yes, before the Fae left, we could also access their... world. A place where plant growth overwhelmed everything around it, growing somewhat out of control. The natural magic in that place was much more nurturing to plantlife. Myself and many other dryads were regularly employed to clean the place up a bit, earning me that title." "Were there others?" He asked, his curiosity piqued. "Hmm, other gardeners or other worlds? Yes to both. Though most other places did not require such careful tending that the dryads would provide, as they were the domains of gods. And gods don''t generally let outsiders handle their problems, it makes them look weak. Most other gardeners... one moment." She stopped and repositioned her hands on the tree, the dense liquid life magic showing on her palms again. Her slow movements seemed to require much concentration and care. This close, Alabaster felt the density of the magic as a heavy, almost sickening force upon him, catching his breath in his throat. "Hmmm, there." the gardener said. "Many dryads chose to stay in the Fae wilds once it was common knowledge that they would be losing contact with our world. The gardeners that did stay took up other roles, earning them new titles. I believe that I am the last to properly hold the title." Foss gave the human a moment to digest the information before continuing, "You had questions about what I said earlier, about immortality, yes?" Alabaster startled briefly at the reminder of why he was here. "Oh, yes. You say it is a myth? How can you deny it, when you yourself have lived so long. And what is a therapist?" She glanced over at him at the last words. Her face a mask, "Surely you jest- ah! It is the word that catches you out. Therapist is a healer of the mind, your people must still have those, even by another name." After a brief thought, he inhaled sharply "Ah, of course, we call them Counselors, yes I have tried many of those. Early on, they helped, but more recently, well. It is hard to take advice from someone a fourth your own age." "Hgmm." Foss grunted in disapproval, then nodded in understanding. "Well it is good you tried that. As for myth, it is a word with multiple meanings, as most words are. Firstly, I mean it the way you understood it, immortality is a false name for a very long life. We cannot truly prove that you or another would ''live forever''. We can only say that you have lived longer than many others of your kind. Compared to me, you are still a child, and even I would not claim to be immortal." "Truly, you would not?" the man asked in surprise, "but even our old stories say the dryads cannot truly be killed." She bounced her head back and forth, considering, then her attention snapped to the tree in front of her, she carefully shifted her hands around again, moving with them to the far side of the tree. Alabaster remained silent, schooling his breathing to not disturb her work. With something like a sigh, she resumed her stationary posture and replied to his questions. "This time, your corrupted legends do not lead you astray. Though our life cycles are quite complex, destroying a dryad''s body does not kill her. We still prefer to preserve ourselves, like how I wear this suit to protect my own form from the blight." Alabaster nodded slowly, considering her words. "You have some way to make new bodies, yes? How do you survive without one?" She shook her head. "We do not talk about that with others. It has cost us too much grief in the past, many thinking it the key to immortality. With the passing of the gods it has faded into lost history, and I should hope you would keep it that way." She glared at him, her seriousness apparent even through her suit''s mask. "Of course." He gave a slight bow. "That does bring us to the other definition of Myth. Of history, a tale of the past. Immortality was much more common during the age of the gods. Easier to obtain, catered to among society, immortals had the support and community they needed to handle their burden, as you put it." "And now, there are no others?" "The gods and the Fae took their immortals with them, which was most of them. Others lost their connection to what made them immortal. Others simply chose to die, knowing that their world was essentially over. Why live on in a destroyed and diminished world." Alabaster held the silence as a moment of respect. He could not fully understand that line of thinking, but his own experiences did shed some light on the matter. "I think... no, I can hardly imagine that. Yet what you say rings with truth like none I have heard before." "How many human lives have you put behind yourself already?" "Three." his head hung heavy with grief. Foss shook her own head. "So young." Indignity spiked within the mage knight, but he held himself, knowing she was correct. "If you would stand back?" She asked. Alabaster''s reverie shattered as he first failed to understand the request. "Oh!" He withdrew from the tree she worked on some distance, finding one of the wisps to wait beside. The odd ritual proceeded much like the last. Leaving Alabaster with a litany of questions that he suspected the dryad would not answer. As it came to a close, the tree withering up before his eyes, an oversized branch broke above Miss Willow, falling directly onto her. Alabaster gasped and stepped forwards quickly, as if to help, knowing he would not reach her in time. The Gardener of Worlds was unconcerned. Her free hand quickly moved to bat the bough to the side as though it was a simple twig. Alabaster froze at the display, further recalibrating his measure of her power and ability. Finished, she waved to him to follow her to the next tree. "What you are missing is community and stability. Age tends to compress time, meaning the fluctuations of mortal life are too unstable for you, more so for us, which is one of the many reasons why we don''t involve ourselves with humans." She arrived at the next tree and hesitated as she went to put her hands on it. "You must decide how powerful your burden of immortality is. You could associate yourself with a whole family, not a single generation, but the line as a whole to maintain a connection to your mortal roots. Or seek out others who can live as long as you." Alabaster shrugged, "I am here with you, am I not, is that decision not clear?" "Yet I am quite old, there are many other dryads closer to your own age, which you might better connect with." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "Connect with? Would they truly? With my burden''s magic, would they not fear me? Hardly something to build a personal connection on." "Fear you? The youngest would be cautious, for certain. Most would be at first. No, I do not think my people truly fear very much anymore, but perhaps you still have a point." She paused and tilted her head in thought. The gesture warding him from speaking. "Very well, mage, show me what you can do." She motioned with a hand to the tree. He began to protest, "I''m no life mage.." but swallowed his complaint and stepped up, placing his hands in imitation of hers. He still held his silk handkerchief which now got in his way. So Foss plucked it from his hand before he could stow it away. "Hmmm, nice material, fairly well crafted, good use of the lesser enchantments. How long does it last?" Distracted from his task, he answered "It can last a full blight expedition, so long as it is kept free from the death magic. That is usually their undoing, a snag under the metal plate touching off a slow chain reaction." She nodded in understanding. "Yes, I can see how it would fall apart. Why not-" She cut herself off mid sentence. "Nevermind. Another reminder of how much knowledge has been lost, I suppose." She motioned back to the tree, encouraging him to get started. He suspected she knew of much better enchantments, but that could wait for later, if she was even willing to share. He stared at the tree, trying to see the magic within. Seeing beyond was not one of his strengths. Mana Sight was limited in that regard. With some concentration and meditative breathing, he relaxed and let his senses wander into the tree. He slowly felt the shape of its magic, its life force. He had done similar before, whenever evaluating a complex enchanted item, or trying to learn a spell from another mage. Feeling out the magic was the best way to do so, simply seeing wasn''t enough. As his knowledge of the tree expanded, reaching into its roots and leaves, he also felt the edges where the blight had set in. The rough edges where the tree was being slowly poisoned. The next step would be to bring the magic into his mind''s eye, to fully perceive it. "Don''t" The gardener commanded. He stopped, his sense of the tree falling away. "Do not even think to do that. To rip the magic out of a tree in front of me, in my forest." Her voice lacked anger but left no room for argument. He looked around, at the dying forest. "Yes, ma''am. It wasn''t..." he stopped his own whining excuses. "What should I do?" "Good, asking questions. You should have done that before you stepped up to the tree. I assume you''ve never learned to talk to a tree- did they teach you any magical communication tricks?" "Talk to it? I didn''t think- didn''t know they could talk." "Yes, anything with its own magic can communicate, to some degree, though exactly how varies quite a bit." "I''ve learned a few message spells in the past. Most mages don''t use them, encoding and decoding is quite tricky and mana intensive when mistakes are made." "Encoding, ah, no, no special code or language here." She shook her head and waved a hand. "Trees do not have language, they understand intent and sometimes feeling. Hmmm." She paused to think. "If these are new concepts to you, I must pity what is left of human''s grasp of magic. We should grieve for what has been lost. Not now, however. Place a single hand on the tree and just feel while I work. Push a small amount of your own life mana into the tree, just the surface, to hold a link. They will cut you off if you pull on theirs." He moved a hand to place it on the tree. "I- I don''t have much life mana to spend so freely, given my condition." "Firstly, you have far more life mana than others, given your condition." She said, a mocking tone just barely detectable over annoyance. "Secondly, you are not spending it, you are giving it to the tree, freely. That part is important. If you do somehow weaken yourself, I will restore your reserves." "Creatures cannot share life mana, that is-" "Ah, yes, please do explain life magic to me." Her mocking tone was quite clear now. Alabaster opens his mouth to actually start one of his memorized lectures, reflexes from being a university professor kicking in, then he freezes briefly. "... Right, fine. I am coming to understand even the Royal Mage Knights are lacking in this field. I must ask you to nurture my comprehension." Foss nods in response, then simply gestures to the tree. While slightly annoyed by her, the royal mage knight was still in awe of the way the dryad talked about magic. There was clearly so much more to it than what he knew, what all of humanity knew. He did as asked, trying his best to sense the magic without grabbing at it. Their previous conversation set aside for this new task. He slowly pushed a little of his own life mana into the tree''s bark. The gardener of worlds stepped up to the tree, a quarter of the way around the tree, and behind the human. He kept his back turned away, focused on mana sensing instead of mana sight. Both stood silent and motionless, one performing a rote transplant of an at risk plant to a new pot that was free of disease. The other simply trying to watch the transplant occurring, or even the slightest shadows thereof. Alabaster was the first to move, shaking his upper body like he was trying to dislodge an uncomfortable burden, then relaxing himself and his grip on his mana, letting it flow freely into the tree. A few minutes later, Miss Willow moved her hands to new positions. Mr Lions tilted his head slightly at the end, faintly sensing the change. The two returning to their stilled silence. As the ritual ended, Alabaster inhaled sharply and pulled his hand away as if burned, shaking it out once then flexing it to relieve imaginary strain. He turned to watch Foss draw out the large ball of life mana. Again, he squinted reflexively and briefly moved his hand to shield his eyes before remembering it was both futile, and not actually the same danger as staring into the sun. "So, what did you learn?" Foss asked afterwards. "Mainly that my understanding of magic, and my mana senses are woefully pathetic." She shrugged, exaggerating it to make the gesture clear through her white coveralls. "I didn''t expect you to catch the whole thing. Did you sense the end approach?" Considering, he answered slowly. "There was certainly a connection there, something like an emotion leaking through at parts. The last, if I had to name it, could have been contentment? Yet in the moment, I could hardly place it properly." "Contentment is a reasonable descriptor. Leaking through is a poor frame of thought. That might be like saying that the wind is dripping on you. And I don''t mean spitting like it is trying to rain, hmmm, alright poor choice of metaphor." She waved a dismissive hand. "Dryads do have names for some of the common intents that trees use." Her hand gesture changing to a wobble of uncertainty. "I thought you said it wasn''t a language?" She dropped her arms, shook her head, and set off for the next tree she had planned on rescuing. "It is not. The trees do not use the exact same intents every time, they do not learn specific intents from each other even as shorthand. Our words are broad and encompassing, so as to not corrupt our own understanding of intent. Ah, but this is really getting too far into the weeds. I could lecture you for hours and you will learn less than simple observation." "I can''t say I am getting a whole lot from observation, deep sensing isn''t my strong suit." "You learned mana sight first then?" He nodded and she continued. "Both sight and sense, or mana touch are failed versions truly learning magic." "You are saying I''ve still not learned magic properly." She wobbled her left hand again. "This is a language issue, you don''t have the proper words to accurately name the completed version of mana sense. The closest that I have heard is knowing magic. I do not look for magic, I do not feel for it, I simply know where it is around me." Alabaster considered her words carefully. "I feel that I do not quite follow your metaphor, yet I get the impression this complete mana sense is quite powerful." "It wasn''t a metaphor. Yes it is considered a strong and very important skill to learn properly. Even during the time of Gods, many failed to learn it properly. But we are straying into lecture territory again, and truthfully, those who fail initially were considered a lost cause, so we should not dwell on this subject." They had arrived at the next tree, and Foss gestured at it. Prompting Alabaster to take the same position to observe the ritual again. "I will skip the futile language lesson of trying to teach you our words, but I would describe what you felt last time as a combination of contentment and ennui. It will be different next time, and every time after. Do not expect to sense anything, that will taint your perception of it." She sighed again, in the same unnatural way. It sounded like a sudden gust through branches and leaves. It emanated not just from her, but also her wisps, just the three of them making it sound like the whole forest was exhaling suddenly. Alabaster found it distractingly beautiful. Unlike her speaking voice, he noted, which was almost too normal. She continued, "Now, to combat potential overthinking, I want you to focus less on sensing. So to distract you, tell me how you learned of me. Who exactly sent you to me?"
Ch 3 - The Past Ch 3 - The Past The old office smelled of dust and old leather, hints of rare inks and rarer cleaning products lingered. The older professor had opened a window, trying to get some fresh air into the place. There was no path for ventilation and no breeze to force it. Simon thought that might have been for the best, the city air was sometimes worse. "Well, you''ve certainly a wealth of experience, Mr. Simon White. And I do believe I''ve come to a decision regarding your appointment as full time lecturer." The professor meandered through his words like someone with more time than responsibilities. "Yet, I must ask.. about your... injury? If I may?" "Of course, Professor, ask away, I do not mind." Simon replied. "Well, if I recall, you mentioned earlier that it was a war injury? Yet, you seem a bit young to have fought in the last war." Simon smirked at the question, his middle age face was a split of old and young, his older right half bearing nearly white hair, and scarring that could be taken for are spots and age-wrinkles. "Indeed, it did not occur in the last cross wilderness war. I did gain it serving the crown, however. Which is why I refer to it as such, a bit cheekily of course." His younger side bore black hair that was just starting to gray above the ear. Bright blue eyes and a clean shaven face that was a few years too young to have expected any gray. "Ah, well, I can''t begrudge you such a claim, not being a military man myself. Never was fit enough for basic training." The professor spoke with an air of regret, yet bounced away from it as quickly as the next words started. "Truthfully, you wouldn''t be the first with clear potential medical issues. The faculty''s main concern would be if it impares or affects your ability to lecture regularly. Not a deal breaker, necessarily. We would just like to know if we need a replacement on hand regularly." Simon picked up the lack of a direct question as a bit of political maneuvering. The professor clearly considered it a faux pas to ask directly, and Simon really didn''t mind answering. "Not at all, I suspect. If my surgeon is to be believed, I should recover quickly, even the artificial aging should fade. Well, except the white hair, I''m stuck with that until I can find a good bottle of ink." "Hah!" The professor exclaimed, then broke into a hearty chuckle. "Excellent news, then! And you say surgeon? Tried one of those new procedures, did you? I''ve heard they are quite painful for us mages." "Yes, quite a successful surgery if I might claim. Surprisingly painless, especially compared to the old methods. In fact I was a bit of a guinea pig for a whole new procedure that we developed." "We? You had a hand in your own surgery?" "Well, mages always do, to some degree. The old way was through reinforcing the flesh to reduce trauma damage and stem blood flow, as you might know." "Yes, I''ve... well I''ve been briefed on it, but never had the will to suffer through it." The prof admitted. Simon nodded in understanding, "An awfully common story. Worse when a patient backs out part way through. For this," he tapped his right shoulder, "it was quite the foreign infection, requiring significant removal of the offending tissue. A thoroughly torturous experience using traditional mage surgery." "So you found some alternative?" "Yes, through a bit of trial and error, my doctor and I were able to tweak the reinforcement, and find a local numbing agent that didn''t directly fight the mana reinforcement." The professor leaned forwards, "Well, what was it? What changed?" "Ahh, it was quite simple, in fact. Forcing ice mana into the area worked better on most counts, and synergized perfectly with the numbing agent, even lengthening its effects. Ah, well, I can''t share what the numbing agent is specifically. The surgeon demanded secrecy from me so she could capitalize on her new specialty." "A monopoly on life saving surgery? How distasteful." The older man frowned, only just visible from under his white mustache. "I argued the same, yet that is not quite the case. The specific surgery methods are not being withheld, they are not even new, Simply the patient''s pain management is different. No healing is being withheld, simply comfort, which my surgeon can provide, with a small added cost for the additional numbing agent involved." Simon stated all of this flatly. Clearly he himself wasn''t convinced of the argument. The professor shook his head. "Well, perhaps I shouldn''t begrudge her her due. Many researchers are never properly compensated for their discoveries." A brief silence passed between the two men as they acknowledged this fact. "So, if my wife hears about this she will be twisting my arm to get me under your friend''s knife. How soon could you set me up for a consultation?" "Ahhh, is this a condition of my employment?" "What? Oh, no! Not at all. As I said, I had already made my decision." The professor waved a hand dismissively at Simon. "Hired with the requested salary, can you do office hours?" "Ah, well yes, office hours are no problem." "Good! I wish more of our staff felt that way. A ten percent bonus so long as you maintain acceptable office hours, or otherwise make yourself accessible to your students." "Ah, well, thank you, Sir." He waved the younger man off again. "No need for thanks. Your qualifications speak for themselves. Why just your recommendations could get you a position nearly anywhere, possibly even usurping my own role, please don''t do that, not right away at least." He broke into a chuckle again. Simon forced himself to go along with the humor. "But really, I must ask, Mr White, why here of all places, really why did you choose to apply to this department, this lecturer position?" The old prof gave Simon a steely gaze from across his cluttered desk. "Oh... well, to be honest, I was quite interested in your research, Sir." "Truly? I hadn''t thought the new stuff that interesting, especially not to the younger generation." Then, quieter he complained, "Can barely get an undergrad to stay on for a whole semester." "No! I mean the old research, of the old wilds. Piecing together the old tales of forest witches, dryads and even Fae. It is fascinating, so much myth and fantasy just outside our borders. You are still working on it, yes?" Simon''s excitement was clear, his final question hopeful. The old professor went still at the proclamation. With a sigh he deflated back into his chair. "Haaaa. What a shame, really. I would have loved that kind of enthusiasm a decade ago." He shook his head while looking down at his desk. "I''ve come to realize that path is a fool''s errand. Even if any of it were true, it would likely be more dangerous than helpful." "But... it''s just research, surely-" The prof held up a palm, "No... do you know Why I was doing that research? or why are you truly interested in it?" "I... no, I''m not sure. I thought it was mostly just old history and children''s tales." "Not history. Myth, myth about immortality and the path to obtaining it." Simon''s eyes grew wide. "What? How so? Why would you stop researching immortality?" "Because it''s all false, obviously. Plenty of folk tales, stories of people searching, yet not even a single recorded instance of success. And deals with the Fae prove more deadly than not, best case your wish gets you turned into a statue or a stiff breeze." The old prof shook his head morosely. "No, if there is anything of the Fae to be found, it is best left hidden." Simon swallowed his complaints, appearing disappointed. "My apologies, Simon. Does this change your attitude towards employment here?" Taking a second to regain his composure, he stated plainly, "Not at all. This was not some elaborate ruse to access your research. I am truly seeking a career as a lecturer." "Well then, welcome to the team." ~27 years later~ Simon found the funeral to be quite tastefully done. The speeches kept his attention. The gathered crowd of family and friends showed just the right amount of grief. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He had helped with the preparations where appropriate. Electing to avoid giving a speech himself. The professor''s retirement had rekindled many long friendships, his own a brief footnote to the well respected man''s life. As the reception wound down, he made one last pass towards the widow to bid farewell. "Simon!" She exclaimed, with slightly too much enthusiasm for the environment. He suspected she had had a drink or two. "My favorite miracle worker! So glad I caught you near the end of the night." "Haha." Simon forced a chuckle at the old joke and continued his part, "Time and again I''ve said, I wasn''t the surgeon, and-" "-he could have lived at least as long if he had stopped smoking and drinking." They said together, ending in a nostalgic chuckle from them both. The old widow recovered first, "Now, before you say any goodnights, I first have something for you, directly from the old codger himself." She dug into the side table drawer. Within reach from her home''s comfortable living room furniture which she had spent most of the evening in. She handed Simon a letter, "To be hand delivered, sealed and unopened. And do read it right away, I suspect you''ll have questions for me afterward." She winked conspiratorially at him, in that way that only cheeky grandmother''s could. Seeing the old man''s handwriting on the envelope caught him off guard, "Thank you." He managed before wandering off to investigate the letter. While it was addressed to his residence, lacking postage since it was hand delivered. On first glance he missed the envelope was addressed to Sir Black.
Dear Simon White, Thank you, old friend. I don''t believe I ever said that enough. Your presence in my life granted my wife and I far more time together than I thought possible. Given your initial enthusiasm for my past research, I had never really considered bequeathing it to anyone else. Truly I might have shared it much sooner, yet there are some secrets that are hard to part with. Dear Alabaster Lions, Royal Mage Knight: The Black. Yes, your secret was found out. Really your miraculous recovery gave you away right out the gate. Initially it was just a hunch, of course. Yet it just fits far too well to be unthinkable. My wife and I never felt it appropriate to call you out on your secret. Who am I to complain about how someone uses their retirement, ha ha ha! Yet it was that lack of trust, that failure to build a bridge to us, that prevented me from sharing my old research sooner. Were you actually trying to secretly get into my good graces? What possible motives could you have for such an elaborate ruse? You could have arrived at my doorstep in all your knightly splendor and simply asked for the damnable research, and I would have gladly handed it over. Worst of all I feel we could have had an even closer friendship if you had just opened up a bit more. Alas what time we have lost to things that shall never pass. So now you have it, if you ever really wanted it. My wife will give it over when you ask for it. If you were only really interested in the history, as you once said. Or have no interest anymore. Burn it when you are finished. I fear what danger someone might walk into with what little knowledge is there. Or archive it away in the palace library, if that was your true goal. Whatever the case, it is yours to do with as you choose. The fears of this old man have died with him, no need to carry that burden forwards. Lastly, please indulge a final request. Watch over my wife. Truly I believe she is more capable than I and could even outlive you. Yet, what a fool I would be to forgo the opportunity to ask a Royal Mage Knight to be her savior, ha ha ha! Thank you again, very old friend who is very old. Prof. KN~~ (AN: illegible signature)
"So?" Foss asked. "Hmm?" "Did you stay with her?" "Ah? The widow?" Alabaster questioned. "I kept an eye on her. The prof was correct, she was fine. Lasted a whole 6 years before drinking her way to his side." "What? She didn''t!? Why didn''t you stop her?" Alabaster shrugged, a confused, morose expression on his face. "She kept saying she needed to catch up to him. Seemed she really wanted it, especially after her next closest friend died." Foss shook her head, "Idiot." "That''s how she wanted to go, clearly." "Not her, you. She was lonely, why didn''t you do something?" "What was there to do? Arrange a playdate with the senior next door?" "Ugh! No wonder you are out here looking for guidance, you are so... detached." Foss criticized, venom clear in her words. The Mage Knight stood, considering her words. "Hmmm." He absentmindedly scratched at the leather straps across his shoulders. Foss shook her head, trying to dismiss his ignorance. "How did you get that thing in you anyway?" "Hmm, oh, fairly simply. Fluke really. Oh! First I need a clarification. I am dissatisfied with your previous answer of why immortality is a myth? Just being in the past isn''t enough." "Fine. Your own story has already set a prime example." Miss Willow lectured coldly. "Immortality is generally considered to be Living Forever. The obvious contradiction in Forever is just semantics so we will ignore that. The Living part is what I take issue with, and is time and again demonstrated by those who achieve some form of immortality." She paced towards the next group of trees that still appeared alive in the blighted forest. "What is Living, really? How do you lead a fulfilling life when it is suddenly endless? Humanity especially, they start young and rash, learn, grow and change, get old and pass on. A full cycle of Living, we could say." She paused to see if Alabaster would respond. "Hrm, so... I''ve not done the last part? thus I haven''t Lived, yet?" Shaking her head, "Not quite. The actual dying is just a clean endpoint. There are many ways to end a life without death. You yourself have lived, but you have lived several times. Your life as Simon was one of those, yes? Or was it truly just an elaborate plan to get your prof''s research notes?" Alabaster grimaced. "Initially it wasn''t so elaborate. It was convenient even, I needed to retire from my courtly duties. Then having done the research and setup to apply for the lecturer position, I found myself earnestly looking forward to the career. Such normal mundanity compared to my past lives." "Aha! And there you''ve said it. Lives, plural. Immortal humans, and many others, don''t simply live one life forever. They live many lives, back to back. Letting their individual lives shadow their new friends and associates, and letting those lives pass on as expected. They don''t truly Live Forever. Thus it is a Myth." Alabaster took a minute to process the information. "So, your guidance is to live one single, very long life? Meaning the correct way is to let everyone know I found immortality and will outlive them all?" "There is no correct way to live. Never has been, never will be, that is one of the many beautiful parts of life. My advice is to go find out what living means to you. Do not seek other''s guidance. They are not you, their perspectives are not yours. I won''t tell you what to do, it won''t teach you enough." Alabaster frowned a question, gesturing to his hand on the tree and back to Foss. "This isn''t what you expect. It is not the start of a student teacher bond. It is not the first step into your grand adventure with the hidden immortal world. I am simply humoring a child." He grimaced at that last line. "While you were a royal knight, especially the later years. Imagine a lower noble or someone approached you requesting you apprentice their child. And then they present a 3 year old. Do you accept." Alabaster opened his mouth like he was considering it, then closed it and shook his head completing the rhetorical question. "You even said earlier that you could not deal with younger therapists, or... counselors, was it? Perhaps after a day or two of instruction and considerably more independent practice, you will not embarrass yourself in front of my sisters." He raised an eyebrow, "Sisters?" "Yes, the other dryads. We''re not actual sisters, just a cultural term. You should seek them out, especially the younger ones. You will find much more common ground than I will. But until then, consider your relationship with humanity. What do you see yourself doing for them in a hundred years? In a thousand? How many more short lives do you wish to lead?" He remained silent for several minutes, considering her wisdom. "Is immortality real for your people?" "Dryad lifecycles are complex, but at their simplest, and since I''ve already said we do not explain this to outsiders. Our bodies start young, grow, age, scar, and die. Then we get new bodies. This may seem similar to your own multiple false lives situation. However, the main difference is in our culture. We do not pretend to be new dryads, we stay the same person, everyone knows us as the same. "Culture is what sets immortality in the past." She continued, "There used to be many more immortal humans and other sentients. It was not common, yet neither was it rare. It only takes a small number of immortal beings to form an everlasting community around themselves. A place where they can be themselves, where they are accepted." Alabaster had become wide eyed during her speech, something resonating with him. Yet he maintained silence while digesting her words. "So, care to share the creation of that antipode now?" "Ah," he blinked and shook himself out of his reverie. "Bit of a short story, that one. It was during the war. On reused battlefields, where weapons are discarded and reclaimed fairly continuously. Cheaper than making new ones. I think it was an arrowhead, possibly even an old flint thing. Probably took dozens of lives before it got to me. Even went through one last poor bastard before stopping just short of my heart." Foss nodded. "Right, that tracks. I would guess hundreds. Not a lot of death mana right at the moment of death, surprisingly." Alabaster nodded, "Our early research said it should have been impossible." An odd sharp noise came from Foss, "Research? You didn''t...?" "No, nothing like that. Just paperwork. Even the best reports of death mages said they wield very little of it, since it is quite hard to come by. We could never decide if that was ironic or not." Foss made another noise, almost like a clicking tongue. "Well, that''s enough for today then." She looked back at the mostly dead forest behind her. "If you need something to do, clear all this out, would you?" "Ah, what?" "I''ve little need for an apprentice, but a reaper or lumberjack could be useful." She handed him back his silk handkerchief then walked off, escaping the stunned mage knight almost immediately.