“On the day of Thibur’s liberation, the city’s lords and their families were dragged to the center square by the legionaries. One by one, each of the nobles was crowned in iron, each given the chance to prove their humanity before the cheering crowd. Many failed, their impure blood burning at the metal’s touch, marking them as halfbreeds and mutants. Those branded by their own curse were struck down, cold steel ending them and fire erasing them. Some withstood the pain, letting the crown do its grim work until those they once lorded over asked for mercy. These worthy but tainted ones were welcomed back into the fold. Declared still human despite their ancestry.” - Papyrus scroll documenting the Imperial conquest of Magusbor (later known as Zaubervald)
Ever since becoming the Seventh Alukah, Natalie Striga had been slowly developing a dislike of dreaming. When the sun or something else forced her into torpor, Natalie much preferred hours of empty silence over whatever fantasia her unconscious mind might produce. It wasn’t even the threat of nightmares that fed this distaste, as those were an old friend, having first come with her mother’s death. No, what really bothered Natalie about dreaming was the distinct possibility she wouldn’t be doing it alone. Entities, both friendly and… not had made a disturbing habit of infiltrating her torpor-bound mind; with even the benevolent ones rarely bringing good news.
So when Natalie found herself standing atop a stone tower overlooking a storm-tossed sea as lightning danced overhead despite the last thing she remembered being Cole wishing her a good day’s rest; a healthy sense of dread filled the young vampire. Staring at the sea, watching the waves crash against the rocky outcropping the tower was built upon, Natalie really hoped this was just a nightmare, not a visitation by something far more tangible.
The sky above and water below were mirrors of each other, both roiling masses of furious darkness lit up by bolts of sky fire. Trapped in the strange surreality of dreams, Natalie couldn’t move only watch the storm despite how nerve-wracking it was. With every gust of the screaming wind she feared tumbling off the high tower, and even without the threat of falling the height itself was a source of stress, as anyone from a mountain town knew being high up on a peak, natural or artificial during a lightning storm was a very bad idea.
Slowly, like she was moving through muddy water, Natalie felt herself turning from the tower’s edge and examining the chamber she stood within. Circular in shape, the spire’s apex was practically open to the elements, with a ring of ornately decorated arches, each a few meters in diameter forming the edge, with nothing stopping someone from simply walking through an arch and plummeting to their death.
Trying not to think of her ill-fated ‘flight’ off Vindabons’ walls and the fear of heights it spawned, Natalie looked up at the metal chains crisscrossing the chamber's apex in place of a roof. Attached to each arch’s keystone, the chains overlapped, forming a many-sided and many-faceted sigil that hung overhead like an occult tent. At the center of this looping pattern was a massive gemstone, easily a meter in length and possessing myriad facets. Held taught by the surrounding chains the gem sat at the lowest point of the sigil, sparks of impossible color spurting off it in regular intervals.
Eyes tracking downwards, Natalie saw what lay below this ritual sign. A great glass flask, large as any cistern sat upon a ringed dias, its insides marked with a wrinkled and whirling pattern of etched gold that Natalie quickly realized were minute but fantastically complex runes. Within the flask was a churning fluid, murky and vicious, the substance hid something, something large. Surges of magical power flowed along the chains and toward the central gemstone, consolidating into crackling bolts that would leap down into the flask’s mouth and set whatever lay within the fluid spasming.
Watching this occult dance of power as the storm roared its fury, Natalie felt a strange mix of mad anticipation and pure terror as the thing in the flask stirred. Before either emotion could triumph over the other the world exploded into screaming white as lightning struck. Blinded and deafened, Natalie lay on the rain-slicked stone, feeling the ritual marks carved into the stone beneath her hands. Eyes clamped shut, she gripped the carvings like they were all that kept her from falling into the sky; which maybe they were, as reality convulsed around her. Existence spasmed like a corpse’s final twitches and a steady drumbeat reached Natalie’s ears. Something was beating on the flask, something on the inside. Fighting down her terror, Natalie tried to open her eyes, to see what awaited but before she could muster the force of will a familiar taste bloomed on her tongue.
Relief filled Natalie along with the familiar blood as the dream fell away. Luxuriating in the warmth that flowed into her mouth, the Alukah whispered a name.
“Cole” Natalie rasped as she blinked away sleep and tried to get her bearings. Eyes darting around the dark stone room she realized she was still in a tower, but this one far underground, not on some unknown sea. Sucking in a useless breath Natalie calmed slightly realizing she’d woken up exactly where she’d entered torpor. Soon her gaze fell upon the source of the blood that awoke her. Cole kneeled over her, his scarred face a mask of concern.
Every time Natalie saw his new burns a throb of sadness went through her. She had long practice in looking past his scars so the new layer didn’t disturb her, what did was what they testified to. Cole had suffered terribly in the battle and his inability to save Isabelle yet again had opened up internal scars to match his external ones. When Natalie had faced the Reaper alongside Mina; Cole appeared in her mindscape as a titan forged of steel, a perfect manifestation of his strength. But now, she could see cracks in that steel, places where more and more the mutilated multi-limbed horror she’d wrestled with shone through.
Licking her lips clean of her lover’s blood Natalie asked. “What’s wrong?”
Gently, Cole helped her stand, his expression grim. “Dwarves have arrived from Azyge, the town is under attack by the undead.” Then after a pause he added. “And I told Alia what I am.”
Blinking slowly, trying to decipher two very large and very distinct revelations, Natalie let out a long exhale. “How’d she take it?”
Cole shrugged as they both packed up what little they’d allowed to spread around the small room they’d been sharing. “Better than I feared. I think Alia is still too jagged from the attack to process what I shared properly so time might tell. But at least she and Mina can now talk about everything that happened”
Lips pursed, Natalie checked over her much-repaired leather armor. “Is that… a good thing? Mina isn’t doing well, especially when you’re involved.”
Rubbing at the short stubble of hair that had regrown since the fight, Cole grimaced as he headed for the door. “I don’t know, but my gut tells me my secret isn’t going to stay that way for long. Best to let those I trust know before it's revealed… like it normally is.”
Stopping Cole before he could leave the room, Natalie half-whispered. “I assume Kit doesn’t count as one you trust?”
A jerky nod escaped the Paladin. “He’s been a good ally, and despite myself I even like him; but…”
Natalie got what he meant, even Isabelle with all her arrogance hadn’t wanted the Lych of Vindabon anywhere near Cole’s secret. Kit was one of that ancient undead genius’s students and anything he learned would inevitably filter back to his mentor. But that was a worry for another day, for now, she had to just get through whatever current crisis had just wandered into the cave.
As the couple headed downstairs, Natalie set her jaw, fangs pricking her bottom lip. Experience told her not to ignore her strange dream, but too many other things were piling up. She’d been unable to fully process all the revelations brought on by her Uncle Wolfgang’s attack, keeping herself and everyone else together had taken all Natalie could muster over the past few days.
Just thinking about the cold-hearted creature who shared her blood (or at least originally did) sent a spike of rage up through Natalie. She’d decided to spare him when Kit and Yara’s trap rendered him helpless, her hopes of helping Mina leading to a cascade of disasters ending with Isabelle’s abduction and the near-death or capture of everyone else. Not long ago guilt and shame might have drowned Natalie after a mistake like that but now, now she was just fury. Wolfgang had hurt her loved ones, taking what was hers, she’d rip his fucking heart out and drink his soul the next time she saw him.
Natalie forced herself to relax as they reached the main chamber and the waiting discussion, her presence was likely to cause problems enough without her fangs putting a hole in her lips. She and Cole found three dwarves in deep conversation with Nokin, and Deborah while the others were outside helping the saddle the aardigs with their belongings. As one, all three of the below-folk reached for their weapons upon seeing Natalie, only letting go of hilts and hafts after a second's hesitation.
Deborah gestured for the newcomers to sit while saying, “It is as we feared; Harmas has been split open, and a corpse-tide washes over the lands of Alidonar. Part of the swarm has found Azyge and is trying to break into the fortified town. The defenses are holding for now but that could change within days, the plague is among the residents and taking a terrible toll.”
Natalie bawled her fists, this felt too much like the calamity that killed her mother. Old anger welled up like blood from a wound as she remembered the plague and ensuing attack of the undead that took so much from her. Silently the Alukah swore she’d stop a repeat of that tragedy. No, not tragedy, that was a word saved for misfortune and sorrows without malice. What had happened to Glockmire and now faced Azyge was a crime; a violation of laws both natural, mortal, and divine. Simply preventing this crisis from escalating wasn’t enough, a reckoning was due.
One of the dwarves, the eldest of them with a beard grey as soot, addressed Cole then in Dwerick. Even across the barriers of languages and species, Natalie could hear the desperation in the old dwarf’s voice. Cole responded in the same tongue, clutching his amulet as he did. Again, even without understanding any words, Natalie knew the meaning. She’d seen that look in Cole’s eyes many times, first when she’d asked him to kill the Varcolac, and ever since whenever he was called to help someone. The Paladin of Master Time stood ready to protect the living and the dead.
The discussion continued for a few more minutes, Natalie only catching the smallest snippets of conversation. Deciding her presence wasn’t very useful, she grabbed her and Cole’s pack, hefting both without ease and heading to the waiting aardigs. Yara materialized from somewhere and tried to take the luggage but Natalie shook her head and said. “I know you learned a little about saddling those creatures from Nokin and Olkar; help our new companions if you can and let me do the heavy lifting.”
Nodding, the thrall left, and Natalie followed after, trying to figure out which aardigs had room for both her and Cole’s gear. While her own pack was light, the scraps of the armor Emma of Stonebone made for Cole weren’t. A surprising amount of the plate was still usable even after the unholy beating it was put through; just not enough to wear properly, so into the luggage, it went. Cole had hoped to find a smith capable of at least replacing some of it at Azyge but that was seeming rather unlikely now.
Thinking of the armor brought up unpleasant memories. Of how she’d helped Cole clean the mix of ash, grime, and himself off the worn metal. Deciding a distraction was in order Natalie helped anywhere she could. While her blood supply was low after all that happened, she was still unnaturally strong without using more than a drop or two. Frowning as she worked, Natalie hoped they could find something for her to eat soon; Cole and Yara needed their strength but she needed to refill her cistern. Bitterly she almost hoped they ran into a troll or those mimic creatures from the Vault; sure they would both probably taste horrible, but better them than her friends.
As Natalie worked she noted the dwarves hadn’t reacted with the usual panic and horror her presence provoked. She guessed this reaction had less to do with her companions’ glowing (literally in Deborah’s case) endorsement and more with the utter stress the caravaners were all under. A vampire's senses were primed to any sign of weakness and Natalie could literally smell the fear and exhaustion wafting off the dwarves. They’d been pushing themselves to the very limit trying to get help and would have probably kept going right past the refugee offered by this cavern if it hadn’t encountered Natalie’s group. Things must be bad back at Azyge and soon enough the sage stone’s bearers would be in the middle of that mess.
Cole, Deborah, and the dwarves left the tower then and a few final arrangements were made. The caravan would split, the small portion continuing onto Turul’s Tomb with the faster members and beasts, bringing with them word of the disaster along with the remains of Olkar and Masga. The rest would double back towards Azyge, hopefully making it within a day or two. Once there, the transubsitanted cure could end the outbreaks within the town’s walls while those tasked with delivering the cure might help beat back the ghouls beyond said walls.
Reaching Cole’s side, Natalie gave the cavern where everything had fallen apart one final look and decided if she lived another century without being in the Deeps it wouldn’t be enough. A large hand whose new scars she’d yet to memorize took Natalie’s own. Meeting Cole’s gaze, the Alukah asked. “Do you think all of us will be enough to turn the tide?”
Staring down the long dark tunnel, Cole simply said. “We have to be.”
Yara slipped between the aardigs, watching her mistress from a few steps behind as she conversed with her paramour. Skulking in the couple’s shadows, the thrall considered her options. They’d been traveling for three hours without incident but Yara was convinced that peace couldn’t last; some new attack or betrayal was inevitable. Yet inevitable didn’t necessarily mean right now, and Yara was weighing leaving Natalie in Cole’s sole protection for a time. Glancing behind her, Yara looked towards her other charge, biting her cheek as she did. This shouldn’t take long, but disaster always strikes whenever you let your guard down, so Yara was convinced that everything would fall apart the moment she strayed from Natalie.
Eyes flicking around the gently sloping tunnel they marched through, Yara’s gaze settled back on her mistress’s other protector. While she’d always had mixed opinions on the Homunculus, knowing what he was had only added fuel to that complex fire. At the forefront of the blaze was radiant awe and crackling fear, but further in was a simmering respect tempered by ashen jealousy. Cole was a monster, maybe not the type she’d been raised to respect and serve, but one fanatically loyal to her mistress which counted for a lot in her book. This was a creature that fought and killed her previous master, probably dying multiple times in the process but still emerging victorious. Thinking of the battle she’d witnessed and his twisted regeneration, Yara shivered and let her eyes fall to the cavern floor. Her mistress had the perfect servant in Cole, how could Yara ever compare?
Lips pursed, the thrall came to her decision. She’d be close by, and if anything happened, Cole would be present. Skulking away from the couple, Yara approached her other charge, finding him shuffling forward with an empty look in his eyes. If Kit noticed her approaching he said nothing, simply trudging on, both bandaged arms dangling in slings. Despite her initial dislike of the Magi, Yara now felt a sense of responsibility for him; he’d saved her life and helped tip the battle in their favor multiple times. Feats he’d paid a heavy price for, his arms broken and something deeper damaged. The talkative musician was gone, replaced by a haggard victim constantly lost in his own thoughts. Yara wasn’t like her mistress, she couldn’t fix whatever was wrong with Kit, but she could help him in other ways.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Kit’s eyes focused slightly as Yara approached and he offered an almost shy smile. Without speaking, the thrall unbuckled the magi’s waterskin and helped him drink from it. Even with all Deborah’s work, Kit’s hands were far from healed. Rethreaded muscle and reknitted bone refused to answer the call of ragged nerves with anything other than pain. He’d been the last to awaken from saint’s healing coma, unconsciousness protecting him from shock until Deborah could get his forearms out of a state of constant agony and into mere dysfunction.
Nodding his thanks, the magi licked chapped lips and rasped. “Any idea how far we have to go?”
Yara shrugged and let herself fall into step next to Kit. Taking her non-answer for the admission of ignorance it was, Kit let out a tired sigh. “Do you think they’ll have comfortable beds in this town? Or better question, will we be there long enough to enjoy them?”
Memories of the plague that swept Glockmire nearly four years ago touched Yara’s mind. She’d been in service to Dietrich by then and been spared both the sickness and the monstrous attack that came afterward. Still, in helping her former master she’d seen some of the devastation left behind; she also knew that plague had been a relatively minor affair, more dangerous to livestock than people. Comparing that to her few encounters with the pestilent screamers, Yara replied. “Unlikely.”
Sighing, Kit tried to brush a strand of greasy hair away from his forehead. After three tries, Yara did it for him. Wincing at his impotence, the magi said. “Thank you, for helping me.”
Watching Natalie and Cole a little ways up the caravan, Yara muttered. “I’m just repaying what’s owed.”
Something close to a smile touched Kit’s lips. “Then let me repay your repaying. Can I do anything for you?”
Nodding, Yara started to say. “If my mistress asks anything of-”
Kit shook his head. “No no, I owe her a separate debt. What can I do for you?”
Hesitating, Yara mulled this over and an idea struck her. It was such a potent idea it spilled out of her before it had any time to brew in her brain. “Teach me magic.”
Kit nearly tripped over his own feet and stared at Yara for a second before looking away sharply. Surprised by her own forwardness and Kit’s reaction, the thrall quickly said. “Forget I said anything. Whatever you can do for my mistress, that will be enough.”
Eyes downcast, Kit looked at his forearms and replied. “I’d like to, but I can’t. Only a Magus, can take an apprentice and I’m far from that.”
Pulling one ruined arm from its sling, he held it up with a wince. “Even if I was of that rank, I’m… I’m unable to work any magic myself let alone teach another.”
Head cocked to the side in confusion, Yara asked. “How can your injuries stop you? Magic is manipulating the Aether, not moving muscles, right?”
Staring pitiously at his forearms, Kit snapped. “Do you think spellweavers use words of power and arcane gestures just for dramatics?”
Startled by the jagged edge in the magi’s voice, Yara said nothing, simply pulling in on herself and hoping his anger would pass. Looking at her, Kit’s hard expression instantly softened. “I’m sorry. It’s… it’s painful and hard to explain to one uninitiated.”
Shrugging, Yara started to speed up her pace, ready to return to Natalie. “Forget I said anything.”
To her surprise, Kit reached out with one bandaged arm, catching himself before he caught her. “If I can’t teach you then I at least owe you the full explanation.”
Hearing the self-recrimination in his voice and seeing his momentary panic at her leaving, Yara nodded. “I’m listening.”
A thankful smile split Kit’s face before fading away like campfire sparks. “Okay, let me start over. The Aether responds to thoughts and emotions, but generally, a single person’s mind is too unfocused and scattered to do more than bleed vagaries that dissolve without any real effect. Magic is the art of influencing the Aether with enough intent and power that it listens and by extension, so does reality. This is hard, and even if someone can draw upon a spirit, god, or something else to help them, they still have to keep focused and press their intent into existence. So to make this easier, spellweavers develop techniques, mental aids, and tools to ease the process. Eventually creating a personal formula that acts like a mental shorthand to evoke a specific magical effect; which are spells.”
Hearing Kit describe magic like it was any other craft was both fascinating and unsettling. Like everyone raised in Glockmire, Yara had only vague outlines of the ideas he shared, all of them layered in superstition and secrecy. Not long ago, the thrall might have scurried away from this knowledge, fearful for what it might bring upon her, but now… now she needed to help her mistress and so far ignorance hadn’t proved particularly useful.
Kit became more and more animated as he talked. “Arcane words and gestures don’t have any innate power, but gain it through association and focus. This is how a priest can create a literal miracle by just chanting a prayer or I could twist reality with a gesture and whistle.”
The little energy that entered Kit’s words faded then and he continued morosely. “With my hands damaged I can’t cast nearly all my spells. So even if I was qualified to teach you, I couldn’t demonstrate any workings or help you in any meaningful way in shaping the Aether.”
Tenetievely, Yara asked. “Couldn’t you learn new ways to do your spells?”
Glancing at the dim glow farther down the tunnel that marked Deborah’s presence, Kit answered. “If it wasn’t for her, I’d have to try. With time and a lot of effort, I could maybe alter my spells, but it would be like learning to write with your non-dominant hand or to speak a language with a different grammar structure. Not easy to do, especially with everything happening and what’s expected of me.”
A shuddering breath escaped Kit then. “So… so I just have to hope Sera Deborah can heal me enough before we reach Harmas, or I’ll be worse than useless.”
Yara was starting to understand why Kit had been so grim since the battle. The Lych of Vindabon had given Kit a task, one he couldn’t complete anymore. She knew full well the self-loathing that went with being given purpose and then being unable to fulfill it. Silently, Yara promised herself she’d help Kit heal and serve his own master. Well, as long as Kit didn’t get in her mistress’s way, but that seemed unlikely; at least if Cole’s secret didn’t get out, that could change things. Rubbing her forehead, Yara wished matters would be less complicated. She missed looking after Cuff and Clout; horses were so much easier to help than people.
The awkward silence that was starting to form between the two was ended by Kit suddenly asking. “Why do you want to learn?”
Yara hesitated, before answering. “When we were attacked, the spell you cast on me was useful, I need to be able to do that myself.”
To her utter surprise Kit’s face brightened. “Oh! Why didn’t you start with that? I’ve actually been meaning to talk with you about what happened.”
Glancing around, he added. “But let’s wait for when we stop for the night, oh, and bring Natalie along she might be helpful.”
Pausing, now a little worried, Kit added. “We will be stopping for the night, right?”
They did indeed stop to camp, but only when one of the dwarves fell asleep mid-step. Utterly exhausted, the caravaner had fallen face-first and broke his nose with a snap Yara heard from the other end of the convoy. Thankfully the cave they were in was reasonably flat with an almost tubular shape, likely carved by some long-gone river if Yara had to guess. So with what little energy that could be mustered, tents were set up, food prepared, and aardigs unharnessed. Again, Yara was somewhat useful, having learned a few things watching Olkar and Nokin. Then as she was want to do, went to her mistress, giving blood to the weary vampire.
Some learned intuition or true sixth sense told Yara whenever Natalie was hungry, so she offered her veins to the apologetic vampire and enjoyed the little bit of sting permitted her. Natalie refused to fill Yara’s bloodstream with that wondrous substance like Dietrich once did, but after nearly dying from withdrawal, Yara was content with what she could get. Besides, Natalie never took as much as Dietrich did, so it was fitting Yara’s reward was lessened. But that might be changing, when Natalie first helped Yara she’d been unwilling to drink more than a mouthful while supplying the sting; now she was regularly feeding.
The change started when Isabelle, the second mistress first took control, she’d fed freely from Yara while curing the plague and provided enough sting to have the thrall in ecstasy. Now, even with the second mistress kidnapped, Natalie was still drinking more, clearly trying to replace every drop spent in the fight to survive. Yara was eager to help, as was Cole but the two of them wouldn’t be enough, more blood was needed if Natalie was going to recover her strength. Of course, the homunculus could in theory provide dozens of thralls worth of ichor, but strangely both he and Natalie refused to even acknowledge this option. So for now, Yara would offer all she could and maybe start thinking about other ways to aid Natalie.
Which naturally led her to Kit’s magic and whatever he felt needed time and privacy to explain. With the camp set up, Cole left to do a final perimeter check with Grettir, so Natalie didn’t object when Yara asked her to come speak with the odd magi. They found him lying on his bed roll, staring at the cave ceiling, muttering to himself while an odd… weight hung in the air around him. It was an almost sticky static charge like humidity before a storm except felt on something deeper than the skin.
Arms crossed, Natalie glanced at Yara. “I thought you said he can’t use magic?”
In between muttered words, Kit spoke up. “Use no; sense, yes. Give me a moment.”
Yara noticed his arms then, they lay at the Magi’s side but twitched constantly, reminding her of a sleeping dog chasing prey; muscle memory at work when the flesh itself didn’t. Eventually, Kit’s incantation, if that was what it was, ended and he sat up to face them, a frantic smile on his face. “Sorry about that, not easy to taste the Aether while in this state.”
Shrugging, Natalie plopped down onto the ground next to him and Yara joined a second later at a gesture from her mistress. Eyeing Kit, the vampire asked. “So what’s this about”
Shaking his head, Kit replied. “The Ivory Tower’s documents on you, Natalie say before your death you were an untrained blood savant, is that accurate?”
A slight twitch went across the mistress’s face and she nodded. “Yes, it’s why I can survive on so little blood.”
Kit slowly nodded in understanding. “That is interesting, but perhaps not as impactful on this situation as I suspected. No, I think this has more to do with the nature of vampires and their thralls. Especially vampires with your… pedigree.”
A warning tome crept into Natalie’s voice. “Kit.”
Seeing the look of mild annoyance on her face, the Magi smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve gotten a little farther down this path of thought, and it's hard to retrace one’s steps when the open road awaits.”
Gesutring at Yara, he said. “We’ve learned from your missing friend that Yara has been subtly mutated by your venom, becoming an ancilla which are to thralls what an ancient vampire is to a fledgling vampire. It’s granted her some physical enhancements, like greater endurance, fine muscle control, and obviously more active bone marrow; while also imbuding her with a minor but surprisingly useful subtlety spell. When everything went to shit, I improvised and pumped a huge amount of magical energy into that spell to keep both Yara and myself alive. This worked far better than expected and I’ve been thinking about the applications and implications.”
Shoulders a little hunched, Yara felt a little overwhelmed, like what did bone marrow have to do with being a thrall? Deciding it was better to stay silent and let Natalie do the thinking, Yara listened as Kit continued his barrage of words.
“See, having an enchantment like that bound to a person isn’t easy; especially one that’s simultaneously both stable and flexible. Yet it's not without precedent, just not in the direction most people would look. I think ancillas are actually an artificial version of an already existing magical phenomenon.” said Kit, waiving his bandaged arms in excitement.
Yara kept glancing at her mistress, silently hoping she was keeping up with this. If Natalie was or wasn’t she hid it behind a face of neutrality. “Go a little slower and with more simplification. Yara and I are but humble village girls lacking in education.”
Feeling both glad she wasn’t the only one being left in the dust and simultaneously worried that Natalie was getting lost as well, Yara watched as Kit paused and visibly recalibrated himself. Gesturing at the thrall, the Magi said. “I think this ‘humble village girl’ has become something like a savant.”
That got thirty seconds of silence from the three before Yara and Natalie broke it in unison. “What?”
Frowning, Kit spoke with methodical slowness. “Savant is the word used to describe spellweavers with a form of natural and specialized magic. How don’t you know this, Natalie? Didn’t you just confirm your own-”
Kit paused mid-sentence clicked his tongue at catching his mistake and changed course. “Ah, you’re surprised, not confused.”
Yara and Natalie exchanged looks, they were both, but just not to the extent Kit assumed. Restarting his lecture the Magi started a slightly less condescending explanation. “Okay, you know the basics of this but like anything there are more layers. Savantism isn’t a distinct type of spellweaving like channeling divine power or manipulating spirits but instead is a broad category where all forms of innate, instinctual, or poorly understood magic gets tossed. This can range from elemental affinities to beneficial magical mutations or even the ability to cast an innate spell or two.”
Glancing around noting everyone else in the camp was either busy or bone-dead tired, Kit continued. “This also means there are myriad causes to being a magical savant; including lineage and mutation. Descendents of powerful magic users or those exposed to very potent spells are more likely to become savants but it's still a very unpredictable factor. Sometimes this magic lasts a single life, other times it's passed down to offspring, growing, changing, and diluting due to more factors than I have hair.”
Uncertain if Kit was meandering through topics or if this was actually important, Yara just listened trying to process it all. Pointing at Natalie, Kit then said. “Like I’d bet some coin one of your ancestors was present for a monstrously strong and equally jagged up blood rite in the Duchies. With their offspring and the offspring of others like them selectively bred over generations to-”
Natalie cleared her throat and shifted the topic a little away from what was clearly a sore spot. “Were the members of House Louon savants? With their dragon-slayer blood?”
Without seeming to notice or care about the redirect, Kit started to clap his hands in excitement but stopped before hurting himself. “Yes! This is what brings me back to Yara and… other members of this group. See, the children of hybrids like Seraphilim, Hellbloods, and… other groups often display abilities that are counted as savantism.”
The meaning hidden in the words was plain to see if you knew where to look. Kit was a changeling, a very distant descendant of a Sidhe and capable of using arcane relics of that long-feared people. Seeing they understood what he meant, Kit continued. “So my working theory is long-term exposure to vampire venom and the metaphysical properties of their feeding can turn mortals into savants. But considering the usual… lifespan and prospects of vampire thralls this process and all the factors involved isn’t well known or studied.”
Natalie flinched at that, while Yara didn’t; she knew what became of most thralls and how eventually one bad feeding or the simple cost of so much blood loss over years would kill them. Somehow this didn’t bother Yara, it was almost comforting to know her eventual fate and that it would have a purpose. Better to die in service to her mistress than wither away unwanted and useless.
Ignoring the young vampire’s discomfort, Kit got to the meat of the topic. “If my theory is correct this would also mean some factors related to savants apply to ancilla, like how their powers can be refined. So despite my own inability to teach Yara magic, I can still help her use what already belongs to her. Or more accurately, what you, Natalie, have gifted her.”
Eyes widening, Yara felt a surge of excitement go through her. If she could master this gift, then… then she’d become even more useful to her mistress. To both her and everyone else’s surprise, a small smile started to soar onto the thrall’s face. An expression that lost its wings as quickly as it gained them upon seeing Natalie’s own reaction. A deep concerned frown was etched onto the vampire’s heart-shaped face as she said “Would this further alter her? Worsen her addiction to the sting?”
Kit shrugged. “I have no real idea. But if I had to guess, Yara here is well past the point where that’s something to consider.”
Jaw set, Natalie hissed. “What do you mean?”
Sucking on his teeth, Kit offered. “The sort of mutation that makes someone a savant of this type isn’t exactly reversible. I’m no expert but I’d guess Yara isn’t simply addicted to the sting, she requires it to survive and will do so for the rest of her natural life. Bluntly, Natalie, we aren’t talking about diving deeper into a situation to maybe reap benefits but simply taking advantage of what’s already happened.”
Yara’s mistress twitched, physically recoiling from his words. A pit of cold ice filled the thrall’s stomach and she looked at her feet, not entirely certain of what to expect, just nothing good. A heavy sigh escaped Natalie and to Yara’s surprise, a cool hand rested on her shoulder. “Well, I said I’d be there for you as long as you needed.”
A smile both tired and sad sat on Natalie’s face as she did the strangest thing and pulled Yara into a side-hug. Bristling at the act of affection, Yara felt tightly wound as a clock spring. Gently, Natalie asked. “Is this what you want? To learn to use what… what I put upon you?”
Wordlessly, Yara nodded and another sigh escaped Natalie as she got up. Dusting off her leathers, the vampire said. “Well then, I best leave you to it.”
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