“Mastering the School of Pyromancy is easy. Even children can do it. But if you want to master fire itself, then you need to understand it. You need to blur the lines between your soul and the flames.”
“Where does this come into it?” asked Fionn, holding the book before the old mage.
“The Simians are not the only ones to use mathematics to study the world. This volume covers everything a trainee Firemaster needs to know about the nature of fire and the energies that dictate its movement through the air. You are adept at manipulating the flames, but can you command their heat? How much does it take to turn wood to ash? To turn water to steam? To melt iron and stone? These are things you must learn to calculate before they can be attempted and mastered. These equations must fill your mind and possess your soul. Ranach’s Twelve Theorems of Heat Transfer must be on the tip of your tongue at all times, as familiar as your own name.”
Fionn glanced down at the textbook.
“I am to read all this? Over the course of my year here?”
“No,” said Conleth, removing the glasses from his face. No longer magnified by the thick lenses, his eyes now seemed like little black beads. “You must memorize it, cover to cover, and be capable of producing it blind within twelve moons.”
You were right, said Sir Bearach. He’s mad. The Academy left him alone too long, and he’s been driven insane by the solitude. We should leave. We better—
“I’ll do it,” said Fionn. He closed the book and tucked it under his massive arm. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Chapter 11:
The Beggar’s Flame
What was created by the Lord cannot be undone by Man, for magic lets one only manipulate the earth and Her fruits. The extent to which one can take control over an element is proportional only to the power of one’s soul, or whatever fraction can be accessed.
These are the limits that Seletoth has set upon His Gift to us, lest those with as much hubris as the Simian try to usurp the Lord Himself.
An abridged version of Ranach’s Twelve Theorems of Heat Transfer, transcribed by Foalín the Grey, AC344.
***
The air of the Steamworks was every bit as thick as its name suggested, with pillars of dense smoke billowing from factory chimneys up towards a blanketed grey sky. Farris walked slowly between the huge buildings, taking in the strange splendour of their forms. They appeared like twisted, Simian-made monstrosities against a backdrop of chaos, with plumes of swirling steam in constant motion against eruptions of flame.
No wonder the Humans rarely come here. If I were a little more credulous, I’d believe I was walking along the shores of the Holy Hell itself.
In truth, Farris had seldom come to this sector of the city. Those who worked in the mills had long since become adjusted to the smog-filled air, but Farris had to make special effort to stop his lungs from convulsing as they took in soot. Like a traveller in a storm, he went onwards with a forearm raised over his eyes. The few other solitary Simians who shared the streets walked without such apparent effort, as if they were strolling through the countryside. Often, the Humans who conquered Alabach would complain about the Simians of Penance, who were apparently poisoning the land Seletoth promised His children. But the Simian people rarely paid much mind to the waste that Penance produced.
As sure as Sin, this is our land, not theirs. We can do with it whatever we wish.
He carried on, taking a swig of thainol from his pocket flask. The liquid singed his tongue, but he welcomed the taste: back in the Human capital, Farris had often been forced to be content with their stouts and ales. His own supply of thainol had been running low when King Diarmuid forced him to leave.
Perhaps the Lord does look over me. Another week in Cruachan, and I would have run dry.
The footpath carried Farris towards his destination, a huge square building nestled in an obscure corner of the Steamworks. The surrounding structures dwarfed the Simian, but he never felt intimidated by their size. As unsightly as it was, the skyline of the Steamworks was every bit as Simian as he. Whereas Humans looked upon the pollution of Penance with disgust, many Simian artists and poets created wonderful works inspired by the steel behemoths, and the pillars of fire they threw into the sky.
The square building came closer. Farris hesitated. This was to be his first trip of many into the depths of the Steamworks, at the behest of the Silverback. It was a welcome change from accompanying Ruairí on his business for the Sons of Seletoth, but at least the Human didn’t balk at the sight of Farris.
The great building stood before him, its huge, shuttered door as high as the walls themselves. Only one Simian invention would require an entrance as grand as that: an airship.
At the bottom of the gargantuan steel shutter was a smaller door, large enough for a Simian to enter. Its outline was almost invisible against the steel, and perhaps would have gone unnoticed by someone not looking out for it.
Farris pulled an iron key from a coat pocket. As long as a finger and as slender as a needle, the key slid easily into a thick lock holding the door’s cross-bolt in place. Farris would have expected a building as old as this to be stiff with rust and negligence, but the mechanics of the lock worked with little effort. Once unlocked, Farris pushed the door open and stepped in, hesitantly.
“Hello?” he called, not quite sure what else to say. He found himself inside a huge room, as large as the building itself, with a ceiling a hundred feet overhead. Once used to manufacture airships, the factory had since been cleared out, and its contents replaced with several smaller workstations scattered throughout an empty floor. At the far side of the floor, Farris saw two figures standing very close to one another. He began walking towards them, his footsteps echoing throughout the large, empty building.
“Ah Farris!” cried one of the Simians as he approached. “I was hoping to see you before I left!”
It took Farris another few steps for him to recognise Garth, standing with his arms stretched outwards. The second figure was Nicole, kneeling with one knee on the floor as she fussed with something at Garth’s hips.
“Glad to see you, too, brother,” said Farris. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Not at all,” said Garth, nodding towards the female Simian at his hips. “Nicole’s just taking a few more measurements before I head out to the Clifflands. She’s hoping to be finished with the Reaper by—”
“You speak as much as your brother,” said Nicole, standing, and rolling a stretch of measuring tape about her wrist. “I don’t wish for everyone to know about our work before it’s complete.”
“Ahh,” said Garth, glancing at the floor. “I take it that this is all you need?”
“Yes. Your brother requires my attention, too, apparently.”
Garth turned to Farris. “This will just be a routine scouting. It shouldn’t take too long, and I’m sure I’ll come to no harm.”
“Ah now,” said Farris. “You were never quite as good a liar as I was. I know well that Argyll has you spying on mages to the south now. Boars and beadhbhs won’t compare to a battalion of Geomancers in a fight.”
“Relax,” said Garth. “I’ll be armed with one of Nicole’s little gifts, and I’ll be sure not to be seen. We need to know their numbers, and I’m the best Simian for the job.”
“Sure,” said Farris. “Just, be careful out there.”
Garth snorted and patted Farris on the shoulder. “You worry too much, just like Mother did. I’ll be fine.”
With that he strolled away, leaving Farris and Nicole alone in the empty factory floor. Farris’s heartbeat quickened, ever so slightly.
“What was that about?” he asked, ignoring the excitement rising in his stomach. “Something about a… Reaper?”
“Argyll sent you here to help, not learn,” said Nicole. “Though I doubt there’s anything you can help with. What do you know about the basics of metallurgy?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Farris. “But I’m sure you could use the extra hands.”
Nicole laughed abruptly, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth, with sharp fangs framing her smile.
“Extra hands you have, sure,” she said. “But they’d be likely to do more harm than good if they were put to use. Have you ever operated a blast furnace? Have you ever alloyed steel from iron? Skies above, do you even know what that means?”
Farris did not respond straight away. He knew very little of the science of material, and Nicole certainly didn’t seem like the type of person one would lie to. Of course, Farris was well used to lying to women just as attractive as her. When he spoke to tell the truth, the words felt strange on his tongue.
“I know as much as a Simian child would,” he said, “and no more. Carbon and iron make steel, and it takes a blast furnace to make it so. That is the full extent of my knowledge of metallurgy. I’m in the dark just as much as you are as to why the Silverback assigned me to work with you.”
Nicole smiled, and for once it didn’t seem to be at anyone’s expense. “I may not like it,” she said, “but at least now we have a starting point. I guess Argyll didn’t give either of us a choice.”
She walked past Farris and beckoned him to follow. Long wooden tables stood in the centre of the room, with an assortment of twisted steel and iron-ore laid upon their surfaces along with some scatterings of paper.
“Geomancy is the manipulation of the earth and Her fruits,” said Nicole, gesturing to the metals on the tables. “So, a green mage can only manipulate what nature produces itself: sand, soil, stone, iron.”
“But not steel?” Farris knew it was important that he make Nicole stop speaking to him like a child.
