Apparatus Of Change - Chapter 114 (Patreon)

More of this.  I'm trying to make chapters ~4k words this time, instead of shorter ones that feel like they're not... enough, really.

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Unnamed - Apparatus Of Change

Available Power : 0

Authority : 7

Bind Insect (1, Command)

Fortify Space (2, Domain)

Distant Vision (2, Perceive)

Collect Plant (3, Shape)

See Commands (5, Perceive)

Bind Crop (4, Command)

-

Nobility : 6

Congeal Glimmer (1, Command)

See Domain (1, Perceive)

Claim Construction (2, Domain)

Stone Pylon (2, Shape)

Drain Health (4, War)

Spawn Golem (5, Command)

Empathy : 5

Shift Water (1, Shape)

Imbue Mending (3, Civic)

Bind Willing Avian (1, Command)

Move Water (4, Shape)

-

Spirituality : 6

Shift Wood (1, Shape)

Small Promise (2, Domain)

Make Low Blade (2, War)

Congeal Mantra (1, Command)

Form Party (3, Civic)

-

Ingenuity : 5

Know Material (1, Perceive)

Form Wall (2, Shape)

Link Spellwork (3, Arcane)

Sever Command (4, War)

Collect Material (1, Shape)

Tenacity : 6

Nudge Material (1, Shape)

Bolster Nourishment (2, Civic)

Drain Endurance (2, War)

Pressure Trigger (2, War)

Blinding Trap (5, War)

-

Animosity : - -

Amalgamate Human (3, Command)

Congeal Burn (2, Command)

Trepidation : -

Follow Prey (2, Perceive)

White and orange blossom petals mix with the fresh green of broken boughs as the galesun sends ripping winds through the woods.  Twists and eddies in the air that I cannot see, but that tug at the branches and threaten to uproot the lesser plants, form into thicker currents.  Sometimes, the winds simply stop; their temporary sources dried up as the galesun turns its bitter celestial attention elsewhere.  But the reprieve is never long, and we can never know when a new wellspring of pressure will appear.

So it is during one of these brief breaks that a foraging party assembles and hurries to try to bring in some extra food.  Food is the breaking point for my people.  Water, we have two wells that won’t run dry.  Shelter, the fort is remarkably sturdy against the winds even with its battle damage, and I have been patching cracks with Form Wall and Imbue Mending.  The latter, I’ve made a quartet of Stone Pylons to keep up the use of, even when my attention moves elsewhere.  So the fort will hold, and no one will go thirsty, which leaves our main problems as ‘everything else’, and also the nature of the living to need to eat.

I cannot solve much of everything else.  Clothing is wearing out and replacements won’t come easily.  Social tension is still high and I can’t make these refugee denizens of my territory like each other.  There is precious little time for relaxation or play, and when there is, there is a lack of activities to take part in, which leaves boredom as an ironically dangerous enemy.

But all of that falters in the face of starvation.  Authority and Tenacity are marked for an infusion of power when I have it once more, simply to try to make use of the escalating scale of my magics when I improve my souls.  Because the fort has enough food stockpiled for everyone for less than half of storming, and Bind Crop is only a tiny measure of relief to our daily costs.  And that’s if we ration harshly.

I need to experiment more with Bind Crop to see what I can do.  But experimenting might ruin food that we can’t afford to lose.  But not experimenting could simply cause a collapse anyway.

Out of all of my old lives, all of them learned to deal with the stress of hard choices in different ways.  Survive it, run from it, break through it, all these sentiments etched into their memories don’t really give me the knowledge of what it feels like to know that if I don’t do something, everyone will die, but if I do make a change, everyone might die quite a lot faster.  I am, I think, not much of an enjoyer of this particular style of self induced emotional punishment.

Of course, if starvation and the storming season don’t kill us, the monsters closing in on all sides will.  The one advantage of the winds is that it cuts off travel opportunities for anything too light, or especially too airborne.  My bees may be grounded and forced to huddle inside or cling to heavier companions, but that means that the dangerously altered blade-winged birds that I spotted yesterday on the edge of my Distant Vision do too.  Along with who knows how many other similar creations.

All of these thoughts are intrusive, and I do my best to keep them walled off as I speak with Lutra.  The other apparatus, nestled in the silt and sand at the bottom of the nearby lake, is easily connected to my mind with Form Party.  The magic’s supply of fluid nothingness is refreshed back to its current maximum, which is roughly one third of the potential reserve.  Much of it is tied up in keeping the speaking people linked to companion bees in duos or trios, or in binding foraging parties together, or in making sure that Yuea and Kalip have a tether to any of the combatants they might need to call upon in the event of an attack.  All of these are connections I have deemed needed, and so I do not have the luxury to actually speak as often as I would like.  But I have some, and that is enough.

Lutra is in a fine mood today, which brightens my own immediately.  “It is Lulling Day!”  They greet me as Form Party solidifies between us.  Their voice has a vibration to it, layered into the words, and it is not a pleasant one.  Like the whine of glass being pulled apart.  Sometimes, Lutra speaks with the tone of a grown elf woman, other times they have the higher pitch of a child, and other times still they flicker to a different voice I don’t have time to come to recognize.  “Did you get me a gift?”  Their children’s tone greets me enthusiastically.

From anyone else I might find this frustrating.  From Lutra, I make allowances.  I have no real theories about what makes an apparatus emotionally whole compared to those that seem maddened or splintered.  I count myself lucky for having a clear belief about myself and my place in the world.  But Lutra… does not.  Lutra feels as if they are two, sometimes three, people, sometimes fighting for control, still struggling to overcome the terror of being born into oppressive crushing darkness with no hints as to how to escape it.

I also do not know how to address their question.  “What is Lulling Day?”  I ask back patiently.

“The first break in the winds!  We celebrate now, before it is too late!”  Their words layer the elven voice onto the last part of the sentence.  It brings out a small swell of pride from me; we’ve talked, in the small chances we’ve had, about what they are now.  About what they want to be.  And I’m happy to see them trying to pull themselves into a whole person.  “Lulling Day is a time for gifts.”  They add, slipping back into a younger cadence.

I send them a small laugh.  “I am not sure what would be a good gift.  What would you like?”  They return only silence, and the implication that they are deep in thought.  “It might take a whole year for either of us to come up with a good gift.  I’ll surprise you next Lulling Day.”

“Yes, next time.”  They are suddenly sounding exhausted.  “Something to look forward to.”

“Are you doing alright?”  I ask abruptly.

Form Party’s connection strains as they fill it with a cascade of emotions.  “I am still here.”  They tell me.  “Still this.  Still… these people.  I hear my own voice, and I am scared, and it is still dark sometimes.”  Lutra sends the impression of a person firming up, preparing themself.  “But I am still here.  And so are you.  And the others.  They seemed so far away at first.  I still have not apologized for my lovelies hurting… hurting… I cannot grasp his name…” Lutra starts to panic.

“Dipan.”  I fill in for them.  “And you do not need to worry.  He does not hold it against you.”

“But I want to apologize.”  Lutra says vehemently.  “But I cannot reach out.  Except to move the sand.  And I cannot… I do not know the words.”

“The sand?”

“Shape Sand!”  Lutra tells me excitedly.  “I have added it to Vibrancy!  I can do what you do now!  Writing!”  And then their enthusiasm evaporates, like it is scoured away by the winds.  “But I cannot write.  Not what they know.  I know farmer’s sildar, and I know… I know… another one.  The words hurt.  I don’t like that one.  You can’t make me use it!”

Their reply is coming faster and faster, their frantic words pouring over themselves.  So I keep my own reply calm, and try to retake the tempo of the conversation.  “It’s alright, Lutra.  We can teach you a new language to write.”  I say.  “Perhaps one of your eels can attend Seraha’s classes with the children?”

“…I would like that.”  They sound very small, very much the child side of their old memories.

Lutra is a challenge for me to speak to.  Sometimes, their emotions come through Form Party so intently that I almost lose myself in them.  Other times, their words are confused and jumbled.  But at least, right now, I know for a fact through the tether that they are healthy and undamaged.  And they have spent their growing power on a new spell, too.  “Lutra, would you tell me what magics you have?”  I ask.  “Shape Sand sounds…” I think briefly; all magic is a tool.  Sand is not something we have in abundance, but shape-style spells are flexible and useful when used well.  And, really, discouraging Lutra at the juncture sounds like the worst idea I could have.  “It sounds wonderful.”  I say.  “And I am curious what else you can do, now that we have the chance to speak of it.”

“I… I… am not to share… secrets…” Lutra sounds uncertain.  “The chieftain said so.  And my mother said secrets were important.  And this is… is this a secret?”  Their confusion radiates through.  “No.  No no.  Things are different now.  It’s all different.  What changed?”

The question is so starkly different from their other speech, it takes me a moment to realize they are actually asking it of me.  “I don’t know.”  I whisper across the link, my voice carrying all the frustration and despair and anger I’ve been unable to write into the words I share with my living companions.  “Everything, maybe.  Or nothing.  Us, though.  We changed.  We used to be other people, and now we are something new, and I think you have already seen that there are so many like us that are hurting the world and the people in it.  Something about what happened broke them.”

“And me.”  Lutra whispers back.  “I can tell, you know.  I know I am wrong.”

“You aren’t.”  I say firmly.  My insistence cuts across their suspicion.  “You are scared, but you are no longer alone or in the dark, and you are trying.  You are far from broken.  And I will extend the same chance to anyone we meet.  But there are some that are… beyond repair.”

Lutra’s thoughts pulse against mine with a ferocity that I find unexpected.  “I will fight them.”  They declare, childlike passion coming through strong.  I start to form a question, but they are already forming an answer.  “It is in my blood.  For three mothers, my family were heroes.  I will be too.  I will stop the bad people.”

It’s so… innocent.  So perfectly naive.  I don’t have the crystallized heart to tell Lutra that they aren’t far off with their earlier guess, and that the people who have turned to killing and ravaging the land might only have been a few days buried in the dark removed from either of us.  “I believe you.”  I say instead.  “And when the time comes, you may need to.”  I add, with disgust, as the person I have been thinking of as a child offers themself up as a soldier.  “But hopefully our magic can keep it from coming to that.”

“Oh!  Magic!”  Lutra exclaims happily.  “Secrets are a gift!  Here, for Lulling Day!”  They launch abruptly into a list; words that carve deeper into the conversation signifying souls and spells that the other apparatus holds at the ready.

Lutra - Apparatus Of Change

Available Power : 1

Empathy : 4

Bind Fish (2, Command)

Shift Water (1, Shape)

Move Water (4, Shape)

Hear Intent (3, Perceive)

Spirituality : 3

Congeal Mantra (1, Command)

Drain Purpose (2, War)

Small Trade (3, Domain)

Vibrancy : 3

Form Sphere (1, Shape)

Shape Sand (2, Shape)

“I… am impressed.”  I say, honestly.  Lutra has done quite a lot, with quite a little.  “But a question, if I may?  How did you make the beach around your lake a field of Drain Purpose?”

Lutra gives me the feeling of smugly tilting their head up.  “I am very smart!  I taught the mantra how to do it!  Then I put them in the long fish, and told them to use it on anything approaching!  If they are mean, they need to sleep then, and we are safe!”

I… had not considered this at all.  In fact, I had thought the mantra were sealed in the collected rock spheres that Lutra created around their lake.  Their eels, though, have the same altered capability that many of my own bees do.  And then the scholarly part of my brain catches on a different part of the reply.  “You taught the mantra?”  I ask.

“I did!  Otherwise the long fish teach them the wrong things.  They teach them about swimming, or biting.  But they already know how to swim and bite!  They don’t need to swim and bite better.  But they are fish, so I am not mad at them.”  Lutra abruptly becomes defensive and withdrawn.  “Please don’t be mad at them.  They are good long fish, and I love them, and they didn’t do anything wrong!  It’s not bad to be good at swimming!  Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, don’t… don’t…”

My voice is my best attempt to place a soothing hand on them and stop their near-sobbing.  “Your eels are very good fish.”  I reassure Lutra, even as I am thinking over their words.  The ability to teach my mantra my own spells on purpose, to prepare them to hand out, would be a use of the magic I had not considered.  But I already see an error; either the eels will not target the children that approach, or something about how the mantra were ‘taught’ made them ignore children in some way.  Made the young ones immune to the magic.  So there are gaps in the method, even if it is something to explore.  “We would never hurt the eels.  Would you like a secret in return for your own?”  I attempt to distract them.  “I know some of the things, I think, that you could reach for with your own magics as you continue to grow.”

“Yes!”  Lutra cheerfully takes the distraction at face value.

I spend some time with the younger, or at least less developed, apparatus.  Sharing what I know of the souls of Empathy and Spirituality, telling them about options that I have available from the source of our arcana.  We talk shortly about what they want to do, what they hope to be able to contribute.  Lutra is not as close with many of the survivors as I am, but they still care.  Especially because their long fish… their eels… care.  The growing intellect of the bound animals making them more and more capable of forming bonds, their minds unfettered by social norms or expectations.  Instead, they just happen to enjoy the people who swim with them and bring them snacks, even if magic does somewhat replace their need to eat.

All too soon, my reserve of Form Party is low enough that I feel the need to pull the tether apart.  I say a happy goodbye, knowing that we will be able to speak more and more often now that my magics are setup and do not require me to expend myself so fully to maintain them.  Lutra says a more frantic goodbye; I hope they know this is not the last time we will speak, but I also fear that they are terrified of being left alone again.

As the conversation ends, I turn my attention back to my central room, and begin using Shift Wood to write down Lutra’s magic in a record I can share.  Yuea, lurking near the map I have been keeping, notices and appears in the vision of one of my inkrats like a grim specter emerging from nowhere, attracted to the prospect of some new crisis.

The fact that there is no crisis, just the handful of small spells of a scared child, doesn’t deter her.  “Huh.”  Yuea says.  “I kind of expected more from that one.”

I am partway into my reply before I remember that Form Party would never let me speak to Yuea without killing her.  I switch to Amalgamate Human instead, but the cost of pushing even base emotions through our connection is absurd when they aren’t commands.  So it is back once again to Shift Wood and carved letters.

Yes, well, Lutra has adapted.  I write.  Their use of mantra especially I believe I can make use of.

“Oh good.  You still churning those out?”  Yuea quirks an eyebrow at the table she thinks the inkrat is hiding on.  I see her do it, but she is still wrong.

Indeed I am.  I have gotten rather adept at writing blindly.  A few responses I could do even without being able to see at this point.  Shift Wood is a poor tool for fine manipulation, but it is the tool I am mastering.  The more elaborate ones, slightly more expensive to make, but I believe they will be more useful for surviving.  I will keep some back tomorrow to play with myself, if I have the time.

Yuea gives a bitter laugh.  “Why wouldn’t you?  You’re everywhere all at once.  I’m the idiot who has to run everywhere.”  My explanation of how I do not actually have infinite attention to split goes unread.  “Hey, did you talk to the kid about going out to fight our neighbor?”  Yuea says instead.

No.  I reply.  Not in so many words.  They want to protect us, but I do not think they understand what they are saying.  I do not know if they would make an effective fighter, and I am certain they would be a poor killer.

“Well shit.  What do we do then?”  Yuea asks.  “Because if it’s gotta be us, that means you’re gonna crack again, and if you go, we’re fucked.”

She isn’t wrong, though I hate to hear it.  No one person should be indispensable to a community.  But I suppose if it must be someone, it can be me, for at least I will do my best.

Fortunately, or perhaps worryingly, I do have a backup plan, and I outline it to Yuea.  Now that my odd form of debt to Lutra is repaid, and all my magics are back to being mine, I can begin creating power again.  Once I have enough of those little stars, I think that I could take damage, and repair it.

Yuea growls at me as she reads.  Or maybe that’s just a thing the woman does when she thinks no one else is in the room.  “Stupid fucking idea, Shiny.”  She says.  “You need that to improve.  Which means we need that to not starve.  If you’re not getting new spells…”

I would get new spells from slaying my kin.  I reply, frustrated that I cannot pour my bitter anger into that sentence the same way as when I speak.  Though you are correct that it is not perfect. Regardless, I believe taking the rest of our easy time under the galesun for me to accrue a stockpile of power would be for the best.  If it is to keep me alive-

I am required to stop writing as I run out of wood.  Inside my mind, in the place where my magics turn like abstract machinery and the small windows of light to the outside world show me glimpses of things both near and far, I sigh.  Bringing out an inkrat, I direct Yuea’s attention to one of the larger boards.

“Just fucking yell in my head.”  She is saying as I restart my sentence.

-to keep me alive, then so be it.  If that never comes to pass, then I can continue to bolster myself.  But there is one thing we must also consider.

“That you get the most power from killing, so we should be finding as many monsters as possible for you to off?”  Yuea asks.  “I bet there’s what’s left of an Empress’ Batallion out there in the Green somewhere; you could kill them, no one will care.”

No.  Well, maybe.  But no.  What we need to remember is that Lutra, too, is an apparatus of change.  They may be hurting and scared, but they can grow the same as myself.

“Feeling and believing aren’t the chunks of your magic that’re keeping us alive, Sparkles.”  Yuea reminds me.

Perhaps not.  But they have more uses than you think.  And Vibrancy… I feel something like a wince in my thoughts as I almost carve through the map’s wooden surface with the word for the new soul.  It is still new, and I have not spoken to them about what is available yet.  But I will.  And in every new elevation…

Yuea folds her arms, fingers picking at her lightly tinted green skin.  “An opportunity.”  She mutters.  “Okay.  How’s your oathbinding?”

Full, as of this morning.

“Then I’ve got an idea.”  She says.  “And you’ll hate it.  Ready to get to work?”

Of course.  Sometimes I feel I’ve never stopped.

“Yeah.”  Yuea stares out the broken patio door to where the galesun has kicked up a chorus of distant howls.  Hundreds of lengths away, a spiral of wind flings broken branches and panicked birds into the sky, and I see it through her eyes as she pokes at me without thinking through our bond.  Out there somewhere, twenty people are scrambling to collect every berry and root they can find, as the winds begin to blanket our part of the Green once again.  “Maybe take a nap sometime, huh?”

I’ll take that under advisement, I think, but do not bother to say.  Yuea is already stalking out of the room, and I follow along with her, ready to put my magic to the world.