206 — Book 4, Chapter 50 — Baking Magic, Pt 2

Mylo Forgan Enqis the Third—or Professor Enqis, to his students, though he was miffed that none seemed willing to greet him by his full title and status—was rather surprised by how well-organized this event was. He had expected a mediocre turnout and an even more mediocre attempt at magic, but the gathering that Headmaster Akkau had called was truly impressive.

That was this new age of magic, he supposed. Always surprising. Now if only it would give him the surprise that he'd always been hoping for and let him meet the Wanderer...

But alas, he was almost certain now that the Wanderer had been nothing more than a legend. What a pity! All the lizardfolk he'd spoken to about him seemed oddly reticent to discuss the matter and would often whisper amongst themselves; perhaps they had discovered that the Wanderer was false, and were afraid to tell him the truth, for fear that he would lay a curse upon them.

Perhaps once upon a time he would have. He'd had something of a temper, in his youth, but the dark lord of his time had done quite a bit to help him mitigate his anger issues. He rather missed that man, now that he thought about it. It was a pity that he had opted not to be brought back, but Enqis knew he'd wanted nothing more than to rest, even back then.

Enqis, on the other hand, could never tire of learning more about the realm. Why, that was why he'd joined with the dark lord in the first place! And look at the opportunity it had granted him—yes, this was a convention for baking magic, of all things, and Enqis did not quite share his colleagues' interest in that particular subset of magic, but it nevertheless stood at the foremost frontier of magic.

Besides, who knew what sorts of new creatures might be uncovered by pushing into the unknown? All magic tied back into the ecosystem in some way. Almost every spell had some obscure creature or the other that fed upon the power wasted in the cast. If new spells were discovered today, they might very well find something that fed upon that magic. Or better yet, perhaps there was something that had been hiding right under their very noses!

Not that he had a nose, being a skeleton and all. Enqis looked around thoughtfully. Now that he thought about it, there were rather a lot of skeletons gathered here. That was nice. It seemed Utelia had grown more accepting of his kind.

Professor Tarbloom wobbled up to him, and Enqis looked fondly down at them. Ah, if there was any aspect of his new life that delighted him so, it was that he had gotten the chance to meet a being as delightful as Tarbloom. Who would have thought there would be another soul as profoundly interested in magical life as he?

In his old life, he had been alone in his interests, but here there was Tarbloom, who was very much interested in anything and everything he had to say about their precious little critters. It was endearing enough that Enqis had not even once suggested dissecting one of them for study. He would happily give up that particular hobby, in fact, in exchange for a dear friend in the field.

"Professor Tarbloom!" he greeted jovially, a smile lighting up his skull. Tarbloom always seemed to be able to tell when he did that, quite unlike most of his students, who perceived him as always grinning. "A pleasure to see you, as always. I take it you're here to see what new discoveries might be had in the field of baking?"

I AM HERE FOR THE YEAST, Tarbloom wrote, and Enqis leaned forward, intrigued.

"Yeast?" he asked. "What is that?"

YOU DO NOT KNOW? Tarbloom seemed briefly surprised, then eager to explain. It was another thing Enqis found endearing about them—they never once judged his lack of knowledge in certain fields. Enqis had never once looked into the mortal act of baking, of course. Why would he? Food and drink meant very little to a skeleton! But perhaps there was a reason, after all, that so many mages were so interested in this "baking magic." IT IS A SMALL MICROBIAL FUNGUS USED IN MANY ACTS OF BAKING AND FERMENTATION.

"Fascinating," Enqis breathed. As much as a skeleton could breathe, anyway. "I was not aware that life could be used in cooking! This yeast must be truly magical. What sort of mana does it feast upon?"

NONE AT ALL, Tarbloom wrote. WELL! I SUPPOSE THERE ARE MAGICAL VARIANTS, BUT THE ONE USED MOST OFTEN IS ENTIRELY MUNDANE.

"And yet it is useful to the act of baking?" Enqis asked. "Without magic?"

AMAZING, IS IT NOT? Tarbloom beamed at him. COME! I WILL SHOW YOU HOW THEY DO IT. OH, AND THERE IS SOMEONE YOU SHOULD MEET. FLIA HAS BEEN QUITE EAGER FOR ME TO INTRODUCE YOU TO HIM.

"Oh?" Enqis asked. "I do hope this isn't a student trying to set me up with someone again. Flia is a talented student, but my preferences are quite specific—"

NO, NO, Tarbloom quickly assured. NOTHING LIKE THAT. IN FACT, I STRONGLY SUGGEST YOU DO NOT FLIRT WITH THIS MAN IN PARTICULAR.

"Well now," Enqis said. "Surely he can't be that bad."

IT IS NOT THAT, Tarbloom wrote. BUT... WELL! NO MATTER. YOU WILL SEE FOR YOURSELF SOON ENOUGH!

Enqis thought this was unusually vague for the other professor; they were a bit of an enthusiast for exposition. Still, he was nothing if not adventurous! Onward, then, to this mysterious man his student saw fit to introduce him to.

He was, of course, prepared for disappointment. The students of Brightscale were impressive, and Flia in particular was growing at an astonishing speed for any scholar of the arcane arts, but Enqis had very nearly built his life around the legend of the Wanderer; anyone that wasn't the Wanderer was bound to be a disappointment, one way or another.

Still, Enqis was used to that by now. Legends, he had found, often remained exactly that: legends. He couldn't expect the Wanderer himself to step out of those ancient murals to greet him, could he? It was an ancient story told by the lizardfolk of the Golden Sands and nothing more. He would have to accept that, one day.

But that day wasn't here yet! He was almost certain the Wanderer was nothing more than a legend, but almost was not complete. Perhaps this man Flia wanted to introduce him to held a clue or two? Or perhaps he'd discovered some relic from the Black Vault—Enqis had heard there was something of a ruckus about that, though he had been too busy at the time to worry himself over it.

"Lead the way, then," Enqis told his friend, and Tarbloom allowed themselves a delightful little squish of pleasure. The flower on their head bobbed a little as they led him directly toward...

Mylo Forgan Enqis the Third experienced a rare moment of dissonance, here, as he crossed some sort of perception barrier and found himself abruptly overwhelmed by a towering group of terrific titans.

How had he not noticed them? These creatures were magnificent! He had never seen the like before—they were the sort of thing he'd read about in his legends and books. On his loneliest nights he would fantasize about the Wanderer enlisting his help in dealing with creatures such as these. Perhaps to fight them, if they were a threat to the realm, or to befriend them if they were not; the specifics mattered to him less than the idea of encountering such powerful creatures, the fantasy of being needed by a legend.

For they were powerful. Their magic was like nothing Enqis had ever felt: they exuded a sensation of oil, almost, a slippery sense of wrongness that threatened to slide through his personal thaumic field (modern arcanists would have called this his auric field, but he quite preferred the terms he'd learned, old-fashioned as it made him.)

A whisper of a thought and these creatures could undoubtedly remake the rules of magic around them. Enqis shivered in excitement at the thought of being in the presence of such beings. They were each beautifully unique, too, like no other creature he had ever seen: here was one with the form of a woman, the wings of a butterfly, and the head of a lion; here was another whose body was a mass of chitin covered with eyes; here was a third whose physical form seemed nothing more than a shimmer in the air, an impression of being watched.

"Wow," Enqis whispered. "What... who are they?"

Tarbloom wiggled with impatience, then scribbled something on a sign. LOOK DOWN, they'd written.

Enqis blinked—which, for him, was a decidedly uncomfortable reshaping of his facial bones to approximate what it looked like to have his sockets closed, but he had found it was the best way to express certain emotions, such as surprise and sheepishness—and glanced down to find Flia standing in the midst of those creatures. She looked... decidedly unimpressed with him.

That was probably fair. "Ah, hello," Enqis said, somewhat embarrassed. "I take it you are the summoner of these lovely creatures?"

"Not exactly," Flia said dryly, though now there was a bit of amusement in her voice. She had expected a reaction like this, he supposed. "I'm the one that rescued them, though, and these ones decided to stick with me for the time being. It's actually a bit of a problem; I have no idea where to put them."

"I would be happy to house them in my personal terrarium," Enqis said eagerly. "It is an entirely humane enclosure now, I assure you! I have installed almost every ward that Professor Tarbloom recommended, and it is now a fully-functioning miniature realm. They will be perfectly happy and healthy within—ah, what are they, anyway?"

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"Abyssal Ones," Flia said, and Enqis nearly fainted in his excitement. Abyssal Ones? As in, the final living embodiment of a now-broken realm, lost to the Abyss? He'd heard only rumors of them. It was said they wandered the Abyss, lost and mourning, absorbing its power into themselves until they became a representation of everything their realm once held.

They were each abominations and amalgamations that held untold power, and not once in his life or unlife had Enqis ever thought he would meet one. How exciting! He supposed it was a little crass to be so excited over something so tragic, but he couldn't help himself; he'd spent his life researching legends like these.

Enqis noticed, somewhat belatedly, that Tarbloom was staring indignantly at him and holding up their chalkboard. He sheepishly read what they'd written. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ALMOST EVERY WARD I RECOMMENDED?

"Ah, well." Enqis paused, embarrassed. "I have not yet been able to stabilize the weather wards to your, ahem, rather exacting standards. Some elements of this new stage of magic are still difficult for me to master."

Tarbloom narrowed their eyes at him for a moment, then shook their head. YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME SOONER, they wrote. I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO HELP.

Well, yes, Enqis had known that. But that would have meant inviting Professor Tarbloom to his room, and Enqis wasn't certain if he was ready for that just yet. What if he made a fool of himself? And his room was such a mess—skeletons were in need of very few physical comforts, really, so he hadn't bothered cleaning up after himself. That was in great contrast to oozes like Tarbloom, for whom cleanliness was utterly crucial, given they slid around with half their body in contact with the floor.

He really needed to clean. There were just so many other interesting things about the realm commanding his attention at any given time! Utelia had changed so greatly in his absence.

"I appreciate the offer, Professor Enqis," Flia said with a polite cough, and Enqis jumped, realizing he'd been staring at the ooze for several seconds now without saying a word. "I'll keep it in mind and talk to them about it later. They're a little busy at the moment, if you haven't noticed."

Enqis had not, in fact, noticed. He'd been too busy being impressed by their very presence to take note of what they were doing—which, now that he paid attention, was... baking.

Oh, by the infernal realms, the legends he had dreamed about were covered in flour. He stared for a moment, jaw agape, and recovered only enough to sputter incoherently until someone reached out and pushed his jaw back into place. Enqis made an indignant noise as he took in this new intruder.

"Excuse me," he said. "It is quite rude to just manhandle a skeleton like this—oh! You are... Cale, yes? Cale Cadwell Cobbs?"

"Just Cale is fine," Cale said, amused. "Flia really wanted me to set aside some time to meet you, for some reason, so here I am."

"Truly?" Enqis cast a skeptical glance at Flia, who simply shrugged at him, hiding a smirk. "I mean no offense, dear one—you are the one whose magic allowed me another chance at life in this realm, after all, and for that I had intended to find and thank you personally—but I cannot fathom why Flia might have arranged this meeting. Forgive me, but my interests lie largely in studying the creatures of the realm, both magical and mundane. I have little time for carnal pursuits."

Enqis was rather confused by the distinct sound of Tarbloom blowing out a stream of exasperated bubbles into their ooze. Flia pressed a hand against her face, clearly mortified, though Enqis couldn't imagine why. As for Cale, he seemed mostly indifferent.

Ah. He'd misinterpreted the situation, hadn't he? He supposed Tarbloom had told him as much.

"As fun as it would be to make a bunch of puns about skeletons and boning, I don't think that's why Flia wanted us to meet," Cale said with a laugh. "Besides, I think I might be interested in someone already. Strange, that. It's been a while since I've actually wanted to pursue anyone."

Something had gone soft and funny in Cale's voice at those last few words. Enqis didn't know what to make of it. He'd always found it strange when others did this. He'd dabbled in relationships here and there, of course—what self-respecting skeleton hadn't, with all the opportunity for bone puns, as Cale had said?—but he'd always found them to distract from his true passions.

"In that case," Enqis said, "I must say, I don't understand the purpose of this meeting. Would you mind if I studied these Abyssal Ones instead? It is quite the rare opportunity, you know. So little is known about them!"

"Not at all," Cale said, smiling and gesturing for Enqis to go ahead. "They seem to have an instinct for this kind of thing, you know."

"An instinct for baking?" Enqis asked. "Most curious! I would have expected them to specialize in ancient and forgotten magics... ah, Flia, do you think they will speak to me?"

"They can't exactly speak," Flia said. She seemed exasperated and excited all at once; Enqis had no idea what that was about. "They mostly just think at you if you try to talk to them. I'd be careful trying that, if I were you."

"I may be many things, but a coward I am not!" Enqis declared. "A true scholar is willing to risk anything for such an invaluable opportunity to learn about realms that have long been lost. I could not live with myself if I were to let this slip by, no matter the risk. Though I cannot imagine there is that much risk in simply receiving their thoughts."

He took a deep breath and walked up to the lion-butterfly Abyssal. "Excuse me, miss Abyssal, would you mind—that is to say, how is it that you retain any knowledge of the baking arts, and how much do you remember of your realm of origin—"

Enqis had not so much as finished asking his question before he found himself lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, dazed. There was strangely comforting about the act, as little as he needed to do it. Then he felt something liquid running down the bone of his jaws, and he reached up to touch them.

Blood, he realized, staring at the glistening red liquid on his phalanges. That was strange, considering he didn't bleed. He tried to remember what had happened. He had glimpsed something in the moments before falling unconscious. A grand nest of some sort, a hive, something about royal jelly and a Glorious Pride where all her kind ruled.

It had been too much information at once, slamming into him with all the subtlety of a particularly large hammer. Perhaps Flia had been right to warn him, after all.

"Are you alright?" Cale asked, holding out a hand, and it took Enqis a moment of embarrassed silence before he gathered himself enough to take it and be helped to his feet.

"Goodness," he said. "I do apologize that you had to see me like this. I do not usually... ah, that is to say, I do not have any blood. I am a skeleton."

"I had noticed," Cale said, amused.

"But I simply had to know," Enqis persisted. "I would still like to know. What realm was she from? I remember something about a Glorious Pride... I simply must ask again, no matter the risk."

"Oh, the Glorious Pride?" Cale tilted his head, and a terrible melancholy seemed to come over him for an instant. "I remember that. I didn't realize something happened to their realm... She must be the last one, then. The last surviving swordfang."

"Swordfang?" Enqis frowned, puzzled. How could this human possibly know anything about them? They had lifespans that measured in, what, centuries? Certainly this Abyssal One's realm would have been lost millennia ago; it took at least that long for an Abyssal One to form, let alone mature. "You must be mistaken."

"No, no. I can see it, now that I know to look," Cale said. "Swordfangs were winged lions with great, protruding teeth. Named themselves after their non-sapient sabertooth cousins, I think, except they practiced sword-sorcery and were absolutely formidable in combat. Seriously, you don't want to fight one if you don't know at least a little sorcery. That must be why you're bleeding."

"What?" Enqis had been about to dismiss what Cale was saying—after all, there was no possible way he could know about this lost species—but that last part gave him pause. Sorcery would explain why he was bleeding. It was a magic that enforced reality based on the will of the caster. If a sorcerer cut you and believed you would bleed, then you would bleed, whether or not you had any blood within you.

"But that's ridiculous," Enqis tried to scoff, though his voice was now uncertain. "I was not cut."

"No, but her memories would be all tangled up in memories of their triumphs," Cale said. There was something sad in his voice again; he looked up at the Abyssal One, and his gaze softened, pained. "She would be remembering all their conquests and victories. The fall of the garek-tar, which was an incursion that led these horrific goo-things to their hive; the conquest of the Gray Monument, a strange relic that caused the deaths of those whose names appeared on its stone; the end of the blood-rot, a disease which spread through their people and rendered them puppets of the rot..."

Enqis felt fragments of memory flash into his mind as Cale described them. He saw a great rending in the sky through which a strange, viscous goo had fallen, controlling and corrupting their people until a great swordsman cut through the hole in the sky and shattered it; he saw the Monument and felt the despair of the swordfangs as they marched toward their inevitable death, until a gathering of their people had finally carved the name of the Monument itself into its stone, its stone weeping blood as its own power realized its fate; he saw the blood-rot and the swordfang that had defeated the avatar of the rot.

His denials died before he could utter them. "How do you know all this?" he asked instead. "Why, you speak as though... but it surely it could not be."

Cale's brows furrowed. "Well, I was there for most of those, of course," he said, matter-of-fact.

"But you are human," Enqis said weakly. "You cannot have—unless—"

"Oh, that's a whole thing," Cale said, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's not get too into it. Basically I reincarnate in another realm every time I die, so I've been around for a while—"

Enqis didn't even know when he'd crossed the distance between them nor when he'd grabbed ahold of Cale's hands; he felt almost feverish in his excitement. "You—are you the Wanderer?" he asked, shaking. "Truly? I thought it just a legend! You have great power, but all the tales spoke of the Wanderer using his wits; I had not imagined that he would also have such vast quantities of mana! I should have known that you might not be a lizardfolk as those murals depicted, but to think that you were human... How did you—no, no, that is not important. You must tell me everything you remember of the Great Realms and its creatures! Is it true that you fought a bellfire wisp in nothing but your underwear? How were you able to subvert its fire? What of the hallowcorn—did you truly tame it with nothing but your voice? Oh, and—"

Cale shot a despairing, slightly aggrieved look at Flia, who only shrugged and smirked at him. Tarbloom was shaking silently in laughter, enjoying Enqis's latest rambling explosion. Enqis, of course, noticed none of this; in fact, he had not stopped talking, and barely noticed it when Cale maneuvered him over to the nearby baking station.

"I'm going to answer your questions," Cale said patiently. "But I'm going to need you to keep kneading that dough while I do, alright?"

"Of course, of course," Enqis said distractedly, though he hadn't actually heard anything Cale had said. The dough was under his hands, though, and he dutifully began kneading it. "Oh, and what do you remember of the Gravestone Era—did that truly affect all realms? What sort of behemoths were present during that time? Ah, and why am I kneading this dough?"

"We're testing a new type of magic yeast," Cale said distractedly, peering into another bowl and nodding to himself in approval. "It absorbs, uh, ambient excitement? Supposedly it can make dough proof faster. Don't worry about it, just keep going. I'll answer your questions."

That was all Enqis had wanted, of course, and he immediately launched into a new set of questions, barely even remembering the first set. He'd have to remember to thank Flia and Tarbloom for this later. Perhaps several days later, after he had gotten his fill of questions answered and then sequestered himself in a closet somewhere to write everything down.