Celestial Hymn 24 (Patreon)

Celestial Hymn
Chapter 24

-VB-

“Peter.”

“Y-Yes, master?”

He was now a magician, according to Lord-Master Marris. To be truthful, though, he wasn’t sure if he was. Oh, he’s studied the “primers” his master provided, and they were … wonderful things. To know that there was so much more to the world than just what met the eyes? How small the world could be and how vast it truly was beyond his understanding…

The sun alone confounded his mind with its true size and the distance between it and the world, but he understood that it had to be far away lest it burned the world and him within it much like a bonfire burned those who got too close to it. This was merely the physical knowledge, the facts, of their world.

The magical parts?

He … wasn’t sure.

One of the sections about the world that the primer stressed was the re-emergence of blatant magic and the White Walkers.

He didn’t like that. He really didn’t like even the possibility that the Long Winter could have been real and that it will return. It actually made him appreciate the fact that his lord was doing something to prepare, even if he wasn’t doing more. Could Peter ask his lord to do more, though?

Considering how the villagers in his town reacted, he didn’t think so. Hell, this wasn’t the Reach, either, and their smallfolk was sure to be more fanatical than that of his village. So was this a blessing in disguise? Even if his lord was the Voice of the Seven, would it matter if he openly displayed magic that was definitely not of the Seven’s - or more likely, the septons and septa’s - orthodox teachings, then would it matter in the long run?

It didn’t matter to Peter, because his lord showed that it wouldn’t, so he accepted his lord’s offer because his family’s prosperity was on the line. He would gladly keep his parents, siblings, and future children in line if it meant that they would never starve nor live in poverty.

Except it wasn’t prosperity on the line but survival.

Again, Peter made a great decision, but he wished that he hadn’t known about the White Walkers coming back to life.

“Lord Marris…?”

“Yes, Acolyte Peter?” his lord asked while hunched in front of an enchanted shortsword. It glowed dimly, and Peter knew from personal experience that the sword was capable of slicing through castle steel plate armor.

“Did I do this correctly?”

It’s been a month since he’s been inducted into his lord’s personal service, and it’s been a wild month. He spent the first three days doing everything from running to writing because his lord wanted to know the breadth of Peter’s capabilities. Lord Marris determined that he was a “fine specimen with the institutional education of a primary schooler,” whatever the latter meant. Since then, he’s been charged with two duties: to learn with both the mind and the hands. The former came in the form of being educated by the lord himself alongside a few others who had been selected like he had been, and most of this was spent learning to read and write better as well as “higher” levels of arithmetics. The more he learned, the stupider he felt for not knowing before. Was this why all of the lords and their kin looked down on him and the other smallfolks? It … hurt him to admit that it made sense. It felt unfair but reality didn’t care.

Learning with his hands was what he was doing right now.

Lord Marris stopped and turned around.

Peter was told by his lord that he lacked the intuitive ability to grasp magic to wield it on a personal level, and that if he were to continue his education, magical education included, then he would need tools to do it for him.

And now, he held his first fully constructed hanging lamp. It wasn’t just any old lamp, however. Instead of a wick with oil held by a saucer suspended by three chains, it held a saucer embedded with tiny gemstones - each worth his family’s annual income - in such a way that they would channel, store, and expel magic and topped off with a glass “focus” that would absorb “ambient mana” for him.

He didn’t need to understand the how right now, just the bare minimum know-how to use magic.

The glass focus wasn’t there yet; his master would have to enchant a clear glass of his own making so that it would take in command words from Peter.

“You decided to use the whirlpool pattern,” master said as he looked down at the bronze saucer.

“Yes, master,” he replied. “You provided me with five patterns, but what I read about the whirlpool pattern’s ability to store more strength than the others got me to choose it. Just like men and women with food, magic cannot work without strength, as you said.”

“That is true,” master chuckled as he reached to his work table’s drawer and pulled out a single round glass piece from one of the neat columns of the stuff stacked front to back. He held it up to his face and frowned. Peter watched the glass piece glow orange dimly and briefly … and didn’t shatter or turn to ash. “In one-go. Must be a sign that you’re lucky,” master hummed as he set the piece on top of the bronze saucer. There was a click, and the glass piece was stuck.

“Well, I was chosen by you, so I guess I am lucky…” Peter laughed.

“Cheeky,” his lord scoffed before handing him the lamp back. “It should have just enough mana stored to pull off a spell.”

Peter’s heart thundered within his ribcage.

“Try ember shot.”

He remembered the instruction for a focus lamp of this kind’s use. He took a deep breath and began to spin it like a sling. Then he aimed forward and imagined fire as he shouted “Ember Shot!”

He watched in complete disbelief as an ember shot out from the lamp!

… Just not in the direction he wanted.

He watched in horror as the ember flung backward and landed on a pile of enchanted wooden training swords. The swords promptly caught on fire.

“Well, there goes my day’s worth of work.”

“Yes, milord.” He was glad he wasn’t beaten to a pulp.

“Work on your accuracy.”

“Yes, milord.”

There was a pause from his master; he usually liked to leave three advice at a time.

“Huh.”

“... Master?”

“Nothing. I just … missed something. Let’s get back to work. You’ll make five more of those lamps before you go to train with the master-at-arms.”

Peter felt blood drain from his face.

“B-But that’s only three hours away, master!” he panicked as he stared up at the “clock” that master had installed in all of the important rooms of the tower and castle. And what about his lunch hour?!

“And it took you exactly forty minutes to make that. This sounds like you’ll be improving your speed as you make those lamps, which is wonderful, right?”

“... I’ll be a happy man once you have more of us to torture, milord.”

His master laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be sure to pick on you more often.”

This was revenge for the burning enchanted swords currently being put out by the “servitors.” He just knew it.