Chapter 8

Laruna didn’t expect Jynn Ur’Mayan to step through the door.

She expected her father, as she was standing in her childhood home, or maybe the magefinder from the Academy who had found her among the ashes of that very house. Yet it was Jynn who strode into their thatched hut, looking sharp in the rich purple robes of a noctomancer.

“What are you doing here?” Laruna demanded. “Why you?”

“Oh, Laruna,” said Jynn, looking startled. “Um, it is good to see⁠—”

“You’re an omnimancer now. And an archmage.”

“Ah, yes.” Jynn sounded confused, but his robe changed instantly and, after a moment’s indecision, a black glove appeared on his left hand. “Do you remember when we were together?” he asked, and looked behind her.

Laruna turned, and found the back half of her old house was now, in fact, the Plains of Aberreth. Another Laruna and Jynn were lying in the long grass, watching the stars dance above them. He was smiling as if in conversation. The other Laruna was staring at the sky with a conspicuously blank expression. She whipped around, and the Jynn in the house was gone.

The wizard in the grass looked back and forth from the vacant-eyed Laruna to the one still standing in the hut, confusion plain on his face. His robes flickered from purple to gray uncertainly, as if waiting for her to decide which he should be wearing.

Laruna set her jaw. She could feel her anger rising for some reason, but the important thing was to stay centered. “Let’s start with some questions,” she said, striding into the grass.

Her body double melted away, leaving a space next to the reclining wizard, who recovered admirably. “I… come and lay in the grass with us. With me,” said Jynn.

The solamancer stopped at the wizard’s feet, bent down, and said, “Now listen. This can be a fun little chat, woman to metaphysical presence, or it can get really nasty, really thrice-cursed fast. And it all depends on how quickly you drop the act.”

Jynn’s smile went rigid, and his eyes darted left and right as if looking for an exit. “I’m not sure what you—” he began.

“Last warning,” said Laruna.

“I just wanted to taaARRRRRRRGH!” Jynn’s protest turned into a shriek of pain as Laruna traced arcane sigils in the air.

“Let me know when you’ve had enough,” the mage said, patterns of light and fire dancing around her fingers. Similar threads wove around Jynn’s wrists, ankles, and neck. “You’re the spirit that gave my friend some life-changing wisdom, and I’m here to get the same.”

“I’m not supposed to break character!” whined the wizard as he scrambled to his feet.

“And I bet I’m not supposed to invoke the Binding of Forseth either,” said Laruna. “But here we are.”

Jynn’s eyes widened at the mention of the spell, and he raised his hands as a courier might when confronted by an aggressive dog. “All right, all right, I know these dreams can be frustrating, but if you just listen to your heart youaaAAAAARGH!” The threads of sorcery around the wizard’s extremities flared with crimson light. His features bulged and distended and dribbled down like a painting splashed with turpentine as he screamed.

“My heart is telling me that if I make this spell intense enough, this smug little spirit will answer my questions,” Laruna said, her voice rising above the shrieks. “Let’s see if it’s right.”

“No! No, please!” The wizard raised his hands above his warping head in surrender. “I’ll talk! Anything you want to know! Just stop!”

“Good.” Laruna gave a nod of satisfaction and toned down the power she was weaving into the spirit’s bindings. The red light died away, and Jynn collapsed back onto the ground. “First off, I want my epiphany.”

“Ugh. Gods. I hate dealing with mages.” The wizard shook his head and patted his face to dislodge the residual effects of the spell. It took a particularly vigorous slap to get his nose back in place. “I was here for that.”

“What do you mean?” growled the mage.

The spirit shot her a look that could have curdled milk. “I’m. Trying. To give you. An epiphany,” he hissed.

“Good. Say it. Or whatever,” said Laruna.

“I can’t!” snapped the wizard. “This isn’t some spell you can read from a book or diagram you can study. If I just tell you what you need to know, it’ll sound pithy and trite and you’ll dismiss it as nonsense! You can’t be told it! You have to live it!”

Laruna snorted. “No, I won’t. Just tell me.”

“Thrice curse the gods, this is why mages are the worst!” snarled the wizard. “All the books in your blighted Academy can’t keep you from being such blazing fools. As much as you wish it were different, you’re still a mortal, and your mind works like a mortal’s! If I could just tell people their innermost secrets and have them believe me, my job would be a walk in the celestial gardens.” Jynn shook his head and muttered. “Instead I’ve got to plumb the subconscious for all these set pieces and characters and whip up these elaborate visions to try to drill some wisdom into your thick skulls.”

Magic flared around Laruna’s hands. “Well, you’d better find a better way to⁠—”

“Yeah, fine. The spell. I get it, believe me.” Jynn waved a hand at the light binding his other wrist. “Let’s go back to your place, and I’ll show you what I can.”

“Quickly.”

“Oh, of course.” Jynn’s voice dripped with acrimony as he gestured at the scenery. The grass rapidly receded into the dirt, which became the floor of Laruna’s childhood kitchen once more. A malnourished fire flickered weakly in the potbelly stove, and the table was set with the cracked clay dishes she remembered from childhood. Thick bundles of garlic and onions dangled from hooks in the walls, prompting a frown from the solamancer.

She nodded at the offending vegetables. “We could never afford that much food.”

“Oh, where is my focus?” Jynn’s double tried to affect sarcasm, but it was clearly very hard to do while his vocal chords, and the rest of him, were undergoing a rapid transformation. Within a couple of seconds, the spirit had shifted into a younger version of Laruna, not yet a teenager and dressed in hand-me-down rags. With a dirty face and wild curls, she looked exactly as Laruna remembered herself, with the exception of the sorcerous bindings flickering around her limbs and neck.

“You’re doing me now?” Laruna said flatly.

“Somebody’s got to if we’re going to try to show you some memories,” grumbled the younger Laruna. The girl opened her mouth and emitted a musical series of chimes.

The kitchen door swung inward and a vision of Laruna’s father stuck his unshaven face into the room. “Yeah?’

“We’re gonna take it from the top, but I’m gonna add some running commentary,” said the young Laruna. “See if we speed this up a little.”

The vision of Jek Trullon scowled. “We’re not supposed to break character.”

“Yeah, obviously. Binding of Forseth.” Young Laruna gestured at the magic around her neck and nodded at her older self.

“Oh! Right then!” The vision of Laruna’s father winced in fear, then gave the solamancer an apologetic nod and ducked back out of the room.

“Here we go.” Young Laruna extended her arms and began to weave a tiny flame, juggling the glowing ember between her hands. “Ooh. Look at me, I can magic! I just figured out some basic pyromancy and I think I’m special! Ooh!”

Laruna scowled. “I didn’t sound like that.”

The child feigned shock. “Oh, does my performance lack verisimilitude? Have I failed to suspend your disbelief? I wonder how that could have happened!”

Laruna’s brow furrowed hard enough to grind her teeth together. “Just get on with it.”

“Magic, magic, magic! I make fire!” said the little girl.

The door burst open. Jek stormed in, his performance considerably more convincing than the spirit playing his daughter, right down to the flecks of spittle dribbling off his chin as he let loose a familiar scream. “Fool girl! What do you think you’re do⁠—!

“Freeze!” said young Laruna, and Jek went as still as a statue mid-shout. She turned to her older self. “All right, look at him. What do you see?”

“It’s my father,” said Laruna, glancing at the apparition. “He’s going to go fetch the whipping stick.”