The Pursuit of Perfection
Shausek sat at his desk with the book open before him, the page being a mass of darkonese script and arcane symbology. His head swam looking at it. It was not that it did not make sense, it just seemed so... unnecessary. So much writing for something so simple. He could just not make the link between the page, and the balls of light he made.
“He knows it like a dog knows to piss on a wall, the same with all his theatre tricks..” Said Aobaris with his usual sour tongue. He was having a quiet conversation with Ossan-Ke at the front of the classroom, but not so quiet that Shausek couldn’t hear. “Unpacking the magic is a waste of time. Might as well teach the pissing dog algebra.”
Ossan-Ke gave out a small, clipped sigh. “His potential requires direction, and that must come from his own understanding. Lights and fanciful charms are worthless. If…” His bald head turned to regard Shausek, as if remembering he was there for a moment. Shausek buried his head in his work again.
“Nothing has worked. I rap his knuckles for every mistake and for all his lowness the boy seems to truly try.” This was, in fact, as close as Aobaris got to praise, although it was likely aimed at saving face from his own failure.
HIs master didn’t reply immediately, lost in thought. When he did, it was cryptic. “I will teach him tomorrow.”
The day began as any other. Shausek stirred in his silken sheets, luxury beyond that which most Rashemi dream of, when the day’s maid knocked at the door. It was the eldest one this time, he thought her to be somewhere in her twenties. She was silent, as they always were, not even deigning to took at Shausek when she placed a hearty breakfast of eggs and ham before him. He had given up speaking to the maids, and any of the other servants he came across. When they acknowledged him it was with looks of silent terror, like to even acknowledge his existence was a crime.
He caught himself sparing a look at the maid’s womanly form as she left. If she did not look at him, there was nothing to stop him looking at her. The thought troubled him, but he dismissed it.
After breakfast another servant came. This one was always the same, a middle aged man who would bring Shausek what he needed and take him to his lessons. This time he was not taken to the classroom next door, but a few doors further down the passageway, and through a steel door into a bare stone room. A cell, clearly, from the manacles hanging on the wall. He swallowed. The door servant left, locking the door behind him.
The few minutes that passed before Shausek heard the approaching footsteps stretched on an age. Heavy, hobnailed boots scraped on stone outside, as well as the hissing sound of something heavy being dragged along the floor. WIth a jangle of keys the lock clicked and the door opened. Two enforcers threw a large sack inside that landed with a heavy, meaty thud. With it came a sweet, putrid odour. If that troubled Ossan-Ke as he stepped over the sack’s bulk and into the cell, he did not show it. “Leave us.” He said, softly with a will of iron.
The door was locked again when Ossan-Ke next spoke. “Remove your tunic.” There was no prospect of disobedience, but the trembling in Shausek’s fingers made it a challenge. When it was done, he clasped his hands behind his back, head bowed, awaiting his master’s command in a stance of subservience.
“My magic is a function of my will, my reason.” his master began in a smooth tone. “Some in the west hold magic as a part of science, and I suppose in many ways they are right. It is the highest science though, divine and transcendent. Magic is the expression of my will upon reality, through the use of its fundamental laws.”
Ossan-Ke walked around Shausek, inspecting him from each angle. Finally, he said. “Yours is not. Why is that, Shausek?”
“My magic is a gift f-from the Lawgiver, and it’s the Lawgiver’s Will…” He began. Ossan-Ke cut him off. “No, Shausek, it is not the Lawgiver’s Will. That is what it should be, and will be, if you succeed. Divine magic.”
Ossan-Ke walked around, lifting the slave’s chin to look him in the eye the eye, blue on brown. “But while it remains driven by your emotion, it is impure.” He let Shausek’s chin go, letting him look down at the floor once more. “Why do you fail to understand the magic you produce, Shausek?”
“I d-don’t know.” he replied, but as the words left his lips he already knew that would not be good enough, so he spoke again. “Its hard to connect what I f-feel to the page…. I understand the page, but, it’s just words, not magic.”
“Yes. I’m forced to conclude that the methods of teaching have not been appropriate, a failure on my part that I will now correct.” Said Ossan-Ke, with a trace of apology. He turned towards the sack. “Observe.” He commanded.
The words that followed out of his mouth were foul. Shausek felt them as much as heard them. They tainted the air with something foul; like the smell that came with the bag, but felt in soul instead. Beads of energy surrounded Ossan-Ke’s pale hands, dark red like blood, before they span out to settle on the sack before seeping in like water. Yet they left no stain, they were gone, and all was still.
Until the sack twitched.
A low, wordless moan split the air and whatever was within began to writhe. There was a tearing sound, and pale hands tore through the fabric. The sweet, rotting stench grew overpowering, and Shausek gagged. The sack was rent asunder as a man burst forward and stood, awkwardly, and slowly. He turned to face Shausek and Ossan-Ke, head slouched to his left shoulder. Shausek could see from his bloodshot eyes that he was dead. He didn’t need to look at the ligature marks on his broken neck, the paleness of his skin and the pooled blood in his legs.
“Hold him.” Ossan-Ke said softly. “No!” Shausek screamed, stepping back as the corpse lunged forward. “Leave me alone!” Yet it ignored his cries, and when his back thudded into the stone of the cell wall it was on him, vicelike arms gripping the youth tight, its foetid presence overpowering him. “Noooo! Nooooo!” He wailed in terror, bucking wildly, but he was no match for it.
Ossan-Ke’s orders to the thing were calm. “Turn him to face me.” The thing obeyed, wrenching Shausek around and holding him from behind in a perverse version of an embrace. He could feel the cold skin pressed into his back. He screamed with fresh revulsion.
HIs master showed some annoyance, talking through the screams. “My will can even conquer death, Shausek Dyengothra. The Lawgiver wants you as a weapon, against people with the will to be like me, but without the faith.”
Shausek whimpered and wailed as Ossan-Ke continued. “You have to choose, now, Shausek, if you will stay the Rashemi I found, or become a blade of divine justice.”
The zombie was heedless of Shausek’s cries, but his master less so. “Calm yourself, Shasuek!” He snapped. “Or I’ll deem you a lost cause.” This brought yet new terror to Shausek, his cries descended to wailing sobs, but the fear in his dark eyes finally focused on Ossan-Ke.
“Watch.” Said the wizard “And learn, for your life.”, in a tone brooking no disobedience. He weaved his hands, a simple cantrip of disruption. A white beam shot out, striking the zombie. It let out an inhuman moan of ghost-like pain, and its hold on Shausek lessened, the magic binding it weakening. Shausek pushed the corpse-arms aside, racing to the far side of the room, getting as far away as he could.
The zombie began to shuffle towards Shausek. “Kill him.” Ossan-Ke commanded the revenant. “Crush his ribs.”
“No Master!” Shausek begged. “I was listening! I promise!” Tears flooded down his cheeks. “I’m not interested in your weakness and your emotion, Shausek. I’ve showed you what you need to survive. The rest is for your will to shape.”
Each of the corpse’s heavy tread was like thunder on the stone floor. Closer, closer. Ossan-Ke’s blue eyes hard on his property, his project. Shausek trembled and whimpered. Closing his eyes, He felt its presence close…its foetid stench. Death, coming to bring him death.
And there it was. The common point between Shausek’s harmless light, the theory of magic, Ossan-Ke’s words and gestures, and…
“Be Unmade!” Shausek cried, and a brilliant bright light struck the zombie in the chest as it loomed over him. A gurgling moan gave way to a heavy thud as the thing fell, corpse once more.
“Good.” Said Ossan-Ke. “Strength. Good.”
