An Afternoon Lesson, Part Two
*is dead from exams* But though I have shuffled off this mortal coil, I did manage to find some time first to finish the edits on this next installment. This picks up right where we left off in the previous part, one post below.
*staggers away--to sleep, perchance to stop quoting famous, over-used lines from Hamlet*
Title: An Afternoon Lesson (Part Two)
Rating: somewhere between PG and PG-13
Genre: Is "evil" a genre? No? Alas. Drama, flavors of action/adventure.
Word Count: 4700
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Leaving Godric to his own devices is a bad idea--it's even worse when Morass is there to take advantage of the situation.
In this part: Lessons abound, as do capitalized nouns. Oaths, Curses, dark magic theory and history, fire, and unapologetic cruelty to clay targets.
* * * * *
Morass smiled. Then he swept his wand over the door, and it disappeared into the wall. The windows received the same treatment, and a muffling stillness settled over the training room. It felt heavy, and Godric moved his arm experimentally, surprised when it moved without meeting resistance.
"No one can find us here now," Morass said. "Not even a nullifier, unless he knew precisely where to look."
He didn't need to say which nullifier he meant, and Godric felt a stab of worry for Salazar at the satisfaction in his voice.
"There is one final precaution I shall require, for your own protection, of course." Morass moved away from the door, over to him, taking his hand and laying it open, palm facing upward. "I do not doubt that you would offer me one of those promises of yours Salazar speaks so highly of, should I ask for it, that you will not breathe a word to anyone of what transpires here. The Council, however, will not honour such a promise if its suspicion is roused."
Godric looked up from his hand at Morass, startled. "You wish for me to make an Oath instead?"
"Merely that you will not share what happens for the duration of this lesson with anyone else. Don't worry, it is quite specific."
Suddenly feeling like the frog to Morass' scorpion, Godric didn't answer immediately. Morass was Salazar's mentor, he reminded himself. Salazar must trust him, and he was more guarded with his trust than an archivist with his secrets. "I-suppose. Do you have a knife?"
"Always," Morass purred, taking a small dagger from a sheath at his waist.
Godric accepted the dagger and positioned it over his hand, quashing his unease. This was only his third Oath, and he didn't think he would ever get used to the strangling feeling they caused. "Upon my life?"
"Is that the only kind of Oath you have sworn?"
"Yes." He turned the blade nervously, examining the warped reflections on its surface. Staring deeper into the blade, he glimpsed something dark and murky passing within the metal, leaving behind an eerie impression of watchful patience. The grip on his hand tightened, pulling his attention away.
"That should provide deterrent enough for the Council."
Steeling his nerves, Godric made a thin slice across his palm, unable to prevent a startled gasp when the dagger began soaking up the blood on its blade. Recovering, he began incanting the Oath, "Let the stars bear witness to my pledge: I, Godric son of Geoffrey, of the house of Gryffindor, swear upon my life that I shall reveal nothing of what transpires in this room today to anyone-"
"Or anything," Morass added.
"-or anything. Let the blood seal my pledge." He watched the cut close, leaving behind a pale scar to join the other two stripes on his palm, and struggled for breath as he felt an invisible grip tighten around him. He knew the sensation would fade with time-or he would grow accustomed to it. He wasn't sure which.
Morass released his hand, and he rubbed it self-consciously, looking uncertainly up at the nullifier. "What does it look like, the Oath?"
Tilting his head, as though surprised by the question, Morass didn't respond immediately. "Hm. Bonds of chain, I would say, encircling the magic. Perhaps not chain, not always, but certainly bonds."
"Oh. That's what Salazar said." Godric let out a breath, but the constriction around his chest didn't loosen.
"I apologise that such an unpleasantness was necessary, but perhaps the calibre of the spells you learn will make it a fair trade." Morass waved his wand at the space formerly occupied by Godric's target, and a dozen sprung up out of the ground. "I am fond of the wildly destructive spells, myself, though there is also a subtler curse I can teach you that may prove useful to you someday."
Upon hearing the words "wildly destructive", Godric pushed his discomfort and misgivings to the back of his thoughts and gave Morass his full attention.
"The Velum Flammarum is only useful when the enemy is trapped against a wall or similar barrier, which serves as a delimiter. The barrier needn't be of stone, but the spell will not recognise non-solid matter, such as heavy foliage, as a valid termination point, resulting in often undesirable behaviour," Morass said, sounding like he spoke from personal experience. "The spell is, as the name suggests, a wall of flame of power-dependent thickness that travels with variable speed, which can range anywhere from a leisurely crawl to near-instantaneous. This can be used to psychological advantage, if death of those in its path is not the ultimate goal."
Godric ran several scenarios in his head, pleasantly surprised at the variation possible with the spell, something he had yet to encounter in the spells Aethrin taught. "But if the wave moves too quickly, will it still kill the wizards it hits? It would have to be extremely intense-is the intensity of the flame dependent on spell power as well?"
"You are correct; the Velum Flammarum has limited usefulness at great speeds. However," Morass' smile crooked up, "there is a method that can be used to amplify its effectiveness in such a case. After releasing the spell, if the caster walls up the space directly in front of him, the wave will then bounce off one wall and hit the other, sweeping back and forth until the spell is cancelled."
"Oh, that is quite brilliant," Godric remarked, staring at him with open admiration. "No need to worry about speed or power, then. Oh! Would an aerial casting work? I mean, aim from the air at the ground as a barrier? For when your enemies aren't conveniently lumped together at the end of a corridor?"
Morass laughed with appreciative glee. "We can certainly try. Do you know a good sticking charm?"
Godric grinned and casted a reversing spell, feeling the world tilt around him until he was looking down at Morass, feet stuck to the ceiling and braid hanging. Morass pointed his wand upwards, and a silvery mesh not unlike that of the Flame Mesh shot out of its tip. When the mesh hit the ceiling, the threads pulled with an elastic recoil that drew the wand and Morass up to the ceiling, where the mesh held him like a human-sized spider web.
"Watch carefully, and be ready with a walling charm if the wave rebounds off the floor." Speaking the incantation, Morass moved his wand in a broad sweeping motion, as though wiping clean an invisible slate, and then flicked his wrist towards the ground. A curtain of flame with the same area as the room and nearly two arm length's thick formed from the yellow spell trail, heat rising to warm their faces as it travelled at a leisurely pace to the clay targets. It melted into the ground with a spectacular burst of light and rippling flame.
"Oooh, it works!" Godric eagerly reviewed the incantation and wand movements. "The speed is controlled by the flick?"
Morass nodded, and gestured for him to try, erecting a pre-emptive heat shield. Interpreting that as permission to go wild with spell power, Godric mimicked Morass' motions, feeling the wave form just in front of his palm. He concentrated on expanding the thickness and intensifying the heat, and then flicked the spell with about half the snap Morass had used.
A blinding wall of fire expanded from his hand, the heat, even through the shield, just this side of bearable. It descended upon the targets, slowly dissipating into the floor.
The targets smoked satisfyingly, and Godric committed the spell to memory. He removed the reversing charm and flipped neatly in mid-air to land on his feet, pleased when he only stumbled a little while regaining his footing. Morass dropped slowly, the mesh stretching to deposit him on the ground, and then neatly sucked up into his wand.
"Next spell?" Godric asked hopefully.
Morass made another amused huff of laughter. "Ah, you're wasted on poor Aethrin. How his pride must smart at times.... Very well. The next spell comes with a warning, however."
"A warning?" He probably shouldn't sound so enthusiastic, but he couldn't help his elation, the Oath's stranglehold all but forgotten now.
"It is dark magic," Morass elaborated, with a casual glance his way.
That startled him into silence while he tried to figure out how to respond. His first thought was of his father's probable reaction should he discover that Godric had so much as tried a dark spell, but that led him to think about Salazar, who'd been learning such magic, to Rowena and Helga's great disapproval, since nearly the start of his apprenticeship.
Rowena shouldn't really rant so much about close-mindedness, he mused, when she refused to so much as touch dark magic. And Uncle Warin knew plenty of dark spells, and he was a Champion, and now that he thought about it, Morass was a Lord. Sure, they had a fair share of enemies on the Council because of this, and didn't openly practise the spells that the Council had deemed illegal, and he didn't think his uncle used it at all any more, but they still must have learned the spells at one point.
So what he finally said was, "I've never tried it before."
"It will be quite an experience for you, then." Morass smiled slowly at him. "Though I will understand, of course, if you wish to keep to simple battle spells." He tapped his wand, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Why don't I demonstrate the spell I have in mind? You can decide yourself if you'd like to try it yourself."
Godric hesitated, but surely it couldn't hurt simply to watch? Firming his resolve, he nodded.
"Excellent. Have you ever heard of unquenchable flame?"
"I think so. Magical fire that can neither be dispelled nor extinguished with water? Uncle Warin said that some of the dragons raised at Torwal breathed such fire."
"Ah, Torwal," Morass said fondly. "You are partially correct. Unquenchable flame cannot, in fact, be extinguished by anything, nor dispelled, nor blocked by anti-fire charms, and it can pass through some shields that hold off normal fire. It can be nullified, but that is the only known method of stopping it. Like the Flame Mesh, it burns until the target has been reduced to ashes. A single glancing hit is enough to doom whatever unfortunate soul is unable to dodge in time."
Godric felt his eyes widen. "You mean there is a spell to call unquenchable flame?"
"Indeed-one of my own invention. The battle at Torwal proved quite...educational. Stand behind me again. Having to nullify the flames is a highly unpleasant venture."
"And being the one on fire isn't?" Godric shuddered, stepping well out of range of Morass's wand.
"Watch very carefully," Morass murmured, raising his wand. The incantation left his mouth, harsh and heavy with consonants, and he carved out a glowing series of runes in the air with the point of his wand. He finished with a downward swipe and pushed outward.
At first nothing happened. Then, at the wand's tip, a small, bright light flared up. It grew and began expanding out towards the targets. From it, thin strands of flame broke off and lengthened, twisting an intricate, spiralling pattern in the air as they raced to their destination. When the flames neared the targets, the streams untwisted in one sharp motion and split, each striking one target with a deep impact, burrowing into the clay, and disappearing.
After a moment, the points of impact erupted into brilliant, yellow-white flame that expanded across the clay until the targets were entirely engulfed. As the clay figures burned like human-shaped torches, not a single crackle escaped the eerily silent destruction. Godric stared for a long time, mesmerised by the dancing flames.
"It's very beautiful," he said in a hushed voice, when the clay was melted to the ground at last.
He started when he felt a tug at his braid, startled to find that Morass had come up behind him while he'd been watching the outcome of the spell. Turning, he saw Morass studying his hair ribbon, turning it over in his hand.
"Interesting."
"It's a red ribbon," Godric said dryly, feeling his hair start to unravel. "Hardly noteworthy. It's one of half a dozen Salazar gave to me when I started my apprenticeship."
"That would explain it," Morass said, handing the ribbon back to him. "There is a detection spell woven into the ribbon, one that detects dark magic. From what I can tell, it has two separate levels of detection. One if dark magic is used within the same room. The other if a dark spell is used upon the wearer."
Of all the paranoid...! Godric stared at the ribbon in his hand, too astonished to feel properly annoyed. "And when it detects such a spell...?"
"It is set to alert Salazar in either case." Morass' satisfied smile had a vindictive edge to it. "Which I imagine will put a rather abrupt end to his romantic little tryst. It will take him some time to find us, however." He vanished the remnants of the dummies and created a fresh dozen, turning to him with a solicitous expression. "Would you like to try?"
"Um." His emotions a conflicted mix of petty satisfaction and abashed guilt at disrupting Salazar's outing with Illaria, the distraction felt quite welcoming. He bit his lip, looking from the pristine, new targets to Morass' wand. "It doesn't seem so bad. I mean, it's not that different from a normal curse, is it? Just slightly more lethal."
"Not quite. Perhaps it is time for a brief history lesson," Morass said, conjuring a set of chairs. He took one, waving at Godric to sit in the other. "You are aware that what we now call dark magic was the first magic to be used by our ancient ancestors?"
Thrown by the sudden change of pace, he shook his head, taking a seat.
"'Dark magic' is a misleading and undeserved appellation for a type of magic better described as sacrificial magic." He must have looked confused, because Morass gave an exaggerated sigh. "I see your tutors must have glossed over what they no doubt consider an unsavoury past. Deplorable, but sadly not unexpected."
Mentally cycling through his various (and often short-lived) tutors, he had to agree that many of their lessons could likely have benefited from inclusions of history's "unsavoury" bits.
"The first magic was carried out via sacrifice. Needs were simpler then: rain to fight drought and preserve crops, warmth during a bitter winter, luck in hunting. Early wizards offered up a sacrifice, human or animal, and they found that this sacrifice unlocked something, powered their simple charms."
"Human sacrifice?" he repeated, alarmed.
"Indeed." Morass leaned back in his chair. "Centuries passed; simple survival was no longer so all-consuming a task, freeing up time for other activities. The descendants of those wizards took advantage of this to seek a less costly alternative to sacrifice, and magic as we know it today slowly developed from their efforts. Others kept to the old ways, refining the magic, until the sacrifice no longer depended on anyone but the wizard casting the spell."
"Then what do they sacrifice now?" He hesitated, not wanting to sound foolish. "The-erm."
"The soul?" Morass finished, his eyes lit with amusement. "That is where the debate comes from-the core, perhaps, of the objection to the dark arts, aside from the extraordinary power many of the spells unleash. Dark spells require a sacrifice of some part of the wizard: a piece of an emotion, a slice of a memory-what some call the soul, it can be argued. How much depends on the spell and its severity."
Godric glanced at the restored clay targets. "That sounds..."
"Dire?" Morass suggested. "Not necessarily. The sacrifice chosen appears to be arbitrary, but it can be limited to what the caster allows. Every experienced practitioner has an anchor, usually a person, that they focus upon when casting. By calling up the emotions and memories associated with the anchor, the caster can shield these from the sacrifice, forcing the dark magic choose from what remains. A foolhardy wizard who casts in anger should not be surprised when he begins to lose the part of him associated with what are considered the more 'human' emotions and qualities."
Godric must not have appeared particularly reassured, because Morass smiled at him. "Come now, have you seen Salazar torturing small children or drowning mewling kittens? The danger is quite small if you anchor properly."
Salazar certainly seemed more than capable of the 'human' emotions, considering what he was doing right now, and his earlier cheerfulness, Godric reasoned. It wasn't as though the spells required real sacrifice, which he'd half been expecting, given the extreme aversion his family had to dark magic. And the spell was quite extraordinary, even disregarding its capacity for destruction.
"Let me explain how to anchor," Morass said, breaking the silence. "It is a process you should begin before you incant the spell. Choose a person who is very dear to you, with whom you share many good memories, and focus entirely upon them. When you have their image in your mind, don't release it. Begin calling up every emotion you have ever felt for your anchor. Do not release the emotions as you call them, but rather gather them together. Once all have been gathered, then you may cast the spell."
He stared, trying to discern if Morass was joking, only to reach the startling conclusion that he wasn't. "But that would take forever! Your enemy would have had time to kill you a dozen times over by the time you're ready to cast the spell."
"Only at first. With enough practice, anchoring becomes nearly automatic. It should take only the mental image of your anchor's face to put you in the right frame of mind. Did I take very long to cast my spell?"
"No," Godric admitted, gaze dropping to his own wand. "It was rather quick, actually." The next question escaped him before he could stop it. "Is Salazar good at anchoring too?"
"Yes, he's quite a talent for it, though his father is perhaps the most meticulous wizard I've ever encountered, when it comes to anchoring." Morass stared into the distance with a rare frown. "It's a pity Warin so seldomly puts that skill to use, though perhaps it is harder for him now."
Harder for him? Oh. "Was his anchor...?"
"I believe so, though I never asked." Morass' reply was uncharacteristically curt, but he seemed to realise this, because his next words were patient. "If you wish to end the lesson, I will understand."
Godric looked at the targets again, gripping the arms of his chair. "No-No, I would like to try."
"Brave little Gryffindor," Morass said, standing. Salazar's half-derisive, half-affectionate phrase sounded strange coming from someone else.
Godric forced his fingers to loosen their grip and rose to his feet as well. Morass removed the conjured chairs with a wave of his wand and moved over to Godric, placing a hand over his outstretched wand arm and lowering it. "Get into the habit of anchoring before even moving your wand into position. Do you know who you wish to use?"
Forming a picture of Salazar in his mind, he nodded.
"Good. Begin anchoring."
He stared with light panic at the end of his wand. How could he possibly gather every emotion? What if he forgot one? Or, far likelier, more than one? Who kept a mental list of all the emotions, anyway? Nervousness, start there, that was easy. But did they need to be associated with Salazar? Well, that still wasn't too hard. Worry, one step away from nervousness.
Then again, did he really want those emotions?
Happiness. Love. Amusement. Pride. Delight. Hope. Mischiev-was that an emotion? There were so many subtle variations on each; was it enough to focus on the core feeling? And maybe he shouldn't just be focussing on the positive ones; there were some negative emotions that he shouldn't offer as sacrifice, however tempting it might be. Sorrow. Embarrassment. Guilt. Loneliness.
He was forgetting to hold on to them. Biting back his frustration, he started from the beginning, calling up memories associated with each emotion and trying to pin them in his mind as he added to the list. But other emotions leaked in against his efforts: fear, betrayal, impatience.... Morass' polite waiting was not helping his concentration either.
"Are you ready?"
Godric was afraid that if he said no, he might not be able to work up the courage to try again, so he pressed his lips together tightly and nodded.
"Good. Do you remember how to cast the spell?"
His nod was more confident this time, and he began the incantation, stumbling only once over an odd syllable. He began tracing the runes, feeling something cold sinking deeper into him with each one, though he tried to pass the sensation off as nerves. Bringing his hand down in an imitation of Morass' downward swipe, he pushed out and released the spell.
Dizziness swept over him as the fire flew to the targets, and he sat down heavily on the floor, closing his eyes against a rising nausea.
"Godric?" Morass said sharply. When he made no reply, Morass dropped down next to him and shook his shoulder lightly. "Look at me."
The request, though mildly stated, had the force of a command behind it. Godric's eyes snapped open, and focussed blearily on Morass, who was frowning with puzzlement. Another wave of nausea swept over him, and he swallowed, closing his eyes again so that the room would stop spinning and making things worse.
"When I promised you an experience, I didn't mean quite like this," Morass muttered, and he gave Godric another shake. "Look at me again, I need you to be aware."
Godric opened his eyes again reluctantly, and Morass grasped his wand hand, staring into his eyes with an intense concentration. A strange tingling sensation spread from the crown of his head downwards. Slowly, the exhaustion and sickness drained away, replaced with a numbness that he welcomed with relief. Morass stood, pulling Godric to his feet.
"Curious."
"What-" Brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen in his face from his completely undone braid, Godric finally thought to look at the targets, and saw their smoking ruins on the ground. "What did I do wrong?"
"An excellent question. The spell was executed flawlessly, and failing to anchor properly should not have had that effect on you." Morass cocked his head, as if listening to an old memory. "Hm, I wonder. Could that be the Gryffindor Curse Warin spoke of?"
"Curse?" Godric repeated distractedly, searching for anything missing within him, but how could he possibly tell? "We've no Curse."
Morass considered him for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps he was mistaken, or I misheard. Was your wand holster also a gift from Salazar?"
The unexpected question threw him for a moment. "I-no. From my brother, Davin."
"Ah. It also has a detection spell upon it, for when the user casts a dark spell. I nullified it when it started to sound its alarm. I hope you don't mind?"
His dull spike of fear at the thought of his family finding out was instantly replaced by subdued anger. "That self-righteous bastard...! I should just burn the bloody-" He took a breath and calmed himself. Looking at the holster at his side, he reassessed the situation. "I suppose it would be better simply to keep it. He'll have no way of knowing that the spell has been removed, and destroying it will only give him cause for suspicion."
"Fairly reasoned." Morass cleared away the destroyed targets and turned back to Godric with a speculative glint in his eyes. "Perhaps it is the spell that provoked the reaction. There is another spell we could try, one far subtler and less demanding."
Despite the embarrassment that filled him at the notion of needing a "less demanding" spell to successfully cast, the thought of trying another dark spell left him queasy. But he didn't want to appear ungracious either, not after Morass had taken the time to show him so many fascinating battle-worthy curses.
Morass must have decided to interpret his silence as assent, because he started putting distance between himself and Godric. "This spell will not work on an inanimate target, alas, but I assure you that it is not a destructive spell. It is a mixed entanglement and sedation curse that can burrow under multiple shields to reach the target, while giving the appearance of dissolving harmlessly on the outer shield."
"Effects?" Godric enquired faintly.
"You will find it difficult to move for several minutes, and you will feel sleepy. It is a spell commonly used when the intent is to capture a wizard with minimal injury." Morass fixed him with a considering stare and then said in an oddly formal manner, "Will you consent to this spell?"
Consent to be the target was the non-diplomatic way of phrasing it, he thought a bit crossly. But Morass had passed up more than a few opportunities to do him harm this afternoon, and Godric was having difficulty summoning the will to object. Morass seemed to desire verbal confirmation, so he gave it, matching the phrasing. "Yes, I consent."
From the way Morass' gaze swept over and through him, and the space around him, Godric surmised that he was studying the Weave. He must have found something interesting, because there was a pleased surprise to his smile. "More and more curious-and dangerous, I can see that. I wonder if there may be a link between-"
Godric was beginning to feel like the dark spell's tranquilising effects would be redundant by the time they reached him.
"Ah, another time perhaps. Forgive my distraction," Morass said, apparently having switched his view back to normal. "Before I begin, construct the most powerful block you know. The spell's ability to bypass a shield is one of its highlights."
Godric waved his hand and summoned an Asteris Veil, unable to help taking some small comfort in the dark, glittering shield that blocked out the rest of the room. He peered through it to watch Morass' casting, listening to the incantation and committing the accompanying wand movements to memory. An olive-green light bloomed at the end of his wand and shot towards the shield. It impacted with a white flash of light and appeared to dissipate harmlessly.
He found himself admiring the spell's rather convincing disguise. Not at all flashy, possessing instead the curse-light appearance common to the more well-known combat spells, nothing at all to suggest that-that-
A powerful wave of sleepiness derailed his line of thought. He lifted a hand, and it felt like it was weighed down by heavy Muggle armour. The sleepiness was not at all unpleasant, he decided as he sank to the floor.
The feeling vanished abruptly, along with his shield and the stifled mobility in his limbs. Morass lowered his hand. "Ah, the second alarm has triggered. I daresay, Salazar must be nearing panic by now. In fact, I find myself disappointed that he has yet to-"
A resounding boom shook the small room, and the windows rattled back into existence, along with the door, which shuddered as though hit by a battering ram. Another wave of force blasted the door open, and Salazar stormed in, his wand out and his hand in combat-ready nullifying stance. He flicked his wand to one of the walls, where the curse building on its tip dissolved, as he spotted Godric on the floor. His stare travelled to Morass, whose satisfaction with the turn of the situation was unmistakable.
"Salazar. I see you've finally deigned to grace us with your presence."
* * * * *
Next part will be posted either Friday or Saturday.
*staggers away--to sleep, perchance to stop quoting famous, over-used lines from Hamlet*
Title: An Afternoon Lesson (Part Two)
Rating: somewhere between PG and PG-13
Genre: Is "evil" a genre? No? Alas. Drama, flavors of action/adventure.
Word Count: 4700
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Leaving Godric to his own devices is a bad idea--it's even worse when Morass is there to take advantage of the situation.
In this part: Lessons abound, as do capitalized nouns. Oaths, Curses, dark magic theory and history, fire, and unapologetic cruelty to clay targets.
* * * * *
Morass smiled. Then he swept his wand over the door, and it disappeared into the wall. The windows received the same treatment, and a muffling stillness settled over the training room. It felt heavy, and Godric moved his arm experimentally, surprised when it moved without meeting resistance.
"No one can find us here now," Morass said. "Not even a nullifier, unless he knew precisely where to look."
He didn't need to say which nullifier he meant, and Godric felt a stab of worry for Salazar at the satisfaction in his voice.
"There is one final precaution I shall require, for your own protection, of course." Morass moved away from the door, over to him, taking his hand and laying it open, palm facing upward. "I do not doubt that you would offer me one of those promises of yours Salazar speaks so highly of, should I ask for it, that you will not breathe a word to anyone of what transpires here. The Council, however, will not honour such a promise if its suspicion is roused."
Godric looked up from his hand at Morass, startled. "You wish for me to make an Oath instead?"
"Merely that you will not share what happens for the duration of this lesson with anyone else. Don't worry, it is quite specific."
Suddenly feeling like the frog to Morass' scorpion, Godric didn't answer immediately. Morass was Salazar's mentor, he reminded himself. Salazar must trust him, and he was more guarded with his trust than an archivist with his secrets. "I-suppose. Do you have a knife?"
"Always," Morass purred, taking a small dagger from a sheath at his waist.
Godric accepted the dagger and positioned it over his hand, quashing his unease. This was only his third Oath, and he didn't think he would ever get used to the strangling feeling they caused. "Upon my life?"
"Is that the only kind of Oath you have sworn?"
"Yes." He turned the blade nervously, examining the warped reflections on its surface. Staring deeper into the blade, he glimpsed something dark and murky passing within the metal, leaving behind an eerie impression of watchful patience. The grip on his hand tightened, pulling his attention away.
"That should provide deterrent enough for the Council."
Steeling his nerves, Godric made a thin slice across his palm, unable to prevent a startled gasp when the dagger began soaking up the blood on its blade. Recovering, he began incanting the Oath, "Let the stars bear witness to my pledge: I, Godric son of Geoffrey, of the house of Gryffindor, swear upon my life that I shall reveal nothing of what transpires in this room today to anyone-"
"Or anything," Morass added.
"-or anything. Let the blood seal my pledge." He watched the cut close, leaving behind a pale scar to join the other two stripes on his palm, and struggled for breath as he felt an invisible grip tighten around him. He knew the sensation would fade with time-or he would grow accustomed to it. He wasn't sure which.
Morass released his hand, and he rubbed it self-consciously, looking uncertainly up at the nullifier. "What does it look like, the Oath?"
Tilting his head, as though surprised by the question, Morass didn't respond immediately. "Hm. Bonds of chain, I would say, encircling the magic. Perhaps not chain, not always, but certainly bonds."
"Oh. That's what Salazar said." Godric let out a breath, but the constriction around his chest didn't loosen.
"I apologise that such an unpleasantness was necessary, but perhaps the calibre of the spells you learn will make it a fair trade." Morass waved his wand at the space formerly occupied by Godric's target, and a dozen sprung up out of the ground. "I am fond of the wildly destructive spells, myself, though there is also a subtler curse I can teach you that may prove useful to you someday."
Upon hearing the words "wildly destructive", Godric pushed his discomfort and misgivings to the back of his thoughts and gave Morass his full attention.
"The Velum Flammarum is only useful when the enemy is trapped against a wall or similar barrier, which serves as a delimiter. The barrier needn't be of stone, but the spell will not recognise non-solid matter, such as heavy foliage, as a valid termination point, resulting in often undesirable behaviour," Morass said, sounding like he spoke from personal experience. "The spell is, as the name suggests, a wall of flame of power-dependent thickness that travels with variable speed, which can range anywhere from a leisurely crawl to near-instantaneous. This can be used to psychological advantage, if death of those in its path is not the ultimate goal."
Godric ran several scenarios in his head, pleasantly surprised at the variation possible with the spell, something he had yet to encounter in the spells Aethrin taught. "But if the wave moves too quickly, will it still kill the wizards it hits? It would have to be extremely intense-is the intensity of the flame dependent on spell power as well?"
"You are correct; the Velum Flammarum has limited usefulness at great speeds. However," Morass' smile crooked up, "there is a method that can be used to amplify its effectiveness in such a case. After releasing the spell, if the caster walls up the space directly in front of him, the wave will then bounce off one wall and hit the other, sweeping back and forth until the spell is cancelled."
"Oh, that is quite brilliant," Godric remarked, staring at him with open admiration. "No need to worry about speed or power, then. Oh! Would an aerial casting work? I mean, aim from the air at the ground as a barrier? For when your enemies aren't conveniently lumped together at the end of a corridor?"
Morass laughed with appreciative glee. "We can certainly try. Do you know a good sticking charm?"
Godric grinned and casted a reversing spell, feeling the world tilt around him until he was looking down at Morass, feet stuck to the ceiling and braid hanging. Morass pointed his wand upwards, and a silvery mesh not unlike that of the Flame Mesh shot out of its tip. When the mesh hit the ceiling, the threads pulled with an elastic recoil that drew the wand and Morass up to the ceiling, where the mesh held him like a human-sized spider web.
"Watch carefully, and be ready with a walling charm if the wave rebounds off the floor." Speaking the incantation, Morass moved his wand in a broad sweeping motion, as though wiping clean an invisible slate, and then flicked his wrist towards the ground. A curtain of flame with the same area as the room and nearly two arm length's thick formed from the yellow spell trail, heat rising to warm their faces as it travelled at a leisurely pace to the clay targets. It melted into the ground with a spectacular burst of light and rippling flame.
"Oooh, it works!" Godric eagerly reviewed the incantation and wand movements. "The speed is controlled by the flick?"
Morass nodded, and gestured for him to try, erecting a pre-emptive heat shield. Interpreting that as permission to go wild with spell power, Godric mimicked Morass' motions, feeling the wave form just in front of his palm. He concentrated on expanding the thickness and intensifying the heat, and then flicked the spell with about half the snap Morass had used.
A blinding wall of fire expanded from his hand, the heat, even through the shield, just this side of bearable. It descended upon the targets, slowly dissipating into the floor.
The targets smoked satisfyingly, and Godric committed the spell to memory. He removed the reversing charm and flipped neatly in mid-air to land on his feet, pleased when he only stumbled a little while regaining his footing. Morass dropped slowly, the mesh stretching to deposit him on the ground, and then neatly sucked up into his wand.
"Next spell?" Godric asked hopefully.
Morass made another amused huff of laughter. "Ah, you're wasted on poor Aethrin. How his pride must smart at times.... Very well. The next spell comes with a warning, however."
"A warning?" He probably shouldn't sound so enthusiastic, but he couldn't help his elation, the Oath's stranglehold all but forgotten now.
"It is dark magic," Morass elaborated, with a casual glance his way.
That startled him into silence while he tried to figure out how to respond. His first thought was of his father's probable reaction should he discover that Godric had so much as tried a dark spell, but that led him to think about Salazar, who'd been learning such magic, to Rowena and Helga's great disapproval, since nearly the start of his apprenticeship.
Rowena shouldn't really rant so much about close-mindedness, he mused, when she refused to so much as touch dark magic. And Uncle Warin knew plenty of dark spells, and he was a Champion, and now that he thought about it, Morass was a Lord. Sure, they had a fair share of enemies on the Council because of this, and didn't openly practise the spells that the Council had deemed illegal, and he didn't think his uncle used it at all any more, but they still must have learned the spells at one point.
So what he finally said was, "I've never tried it before."
"It will be quite an experience for you, then." Morass smiled slowly at him. "Though I will understand, of course, if you wish to keep to simple battle spells." He tapped his wand, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Why don't I demonstrate the spell I have in mind? You can decide yourself if you'd like to try it yourself."
Godric hesitated, but surely it couldn't hurt simply to watch? Firming his resolve, he nodded.
"Excellent. Have you ever heard of unquenchable flame?"
"I think so. Magical fire that can neither be dispelled nor extinguished with water? Uncle Warin said that some of the dragons raised at Torwal breathed such fire."
"Ah, Torwal," Morass said fondly. "You are partially correct. Unquenchable flame cannot, in fact, be extinguished by anything, nor dispelled, nor blocked by anti-fire charms, and it can pass through some shields that hold off normal fire. It can be nullified, but that is the only known method of stopping it. Like the Flame Mesh, it burns until the target has been reduced to ashes. A single glancing hit is enough to doom whatever unfortunate soul is unable to dodge in time."
Godric felt his eyes widen. "You mean there is a spell to call unquenchable flame?"
"Indeed-one of my own invention. The battle at Torwal proved quite...educational. Stand behind me again. Having to nullify the flames is a highly unpleasant venture."
"And being the one on fire isn't?" Godric shuddered, stepping well out of range of Morass's wand.
"Watch very carefully," Morass murmured, raising his wand. The incantation left his mouth, harsh and heavy with consonants, and he carved out a glowing series of runes in the air with the point of his wand. He finished with a downward swipe and pushed outward.
At first nothing happened. Then, at the wand's tip, a small, bright light flared up. It grew and began expanding out towards the targets. From it, thin strands of flame broke off and lengthened, twisting an intricate, spiralling pattern in the air as they raced to their destination. When the flames neared the targets, the streams untwisted in one sharp motion and split, each striking one target with a deep impact, burrowing into the clay, and disappearing.
After a moment, the points of impact erupted into brilliant, yellow-white flame that expanded across the clay until the targets were entirely engulfed. As the clay figures burned like human-shaped torches, not a single crackle escaped the eerily silent destruction. Godric stared for a long time, mesmerised by the dancing flames.
"It's very beautiful," he said in a hushed voice, when the clay was melted to the ground at last.
He started when he felt a tug at his braid, startled to find that Morass had come up behind him while he'd been watching the outcome of the spell. Turning, he saw Morass studying his hair ribbon, turning it over in his hand.
"Interesting."
"It's a red ribbon," Godric said dryly, feeling his hair start to unravel. "Hardly noteworthy. It's one of half a dozen Salazar gave to me when I started my apprenticeship."
"That would explain it," Morass said, handing the ribbon back to him. "There is a detection spell woven into the ribbon, one that detects dark magic. From what I can tell, it has two separate levels of detection. One if dark magic is used within the same room. The other if a dark spell is used upon the wearer."
Of all the paranoid...! Godric stared at the ribbon in his hand, too astonished to feel properly annoyed. "And when it detects such a spell...?"
"It is set to alert Salazar in either case." Morass' satisfied smile had a vindictive edge to it. "Which I imagine will put a rather abrupt end to his romantic little tryst. It will take him some time to find us, however." He vanished the remnants of the dummies and created a fresh dozen, turning to him with a solicitous expression. "Would you like to try?"
"Um." His emotions a conflicted mix of petty satisfaction and abashed guilt at disrupting Salazar's outing with Illaria, the distraction felt quite welcoming. He bit his lip, looking from the pristine, new targets to Morass' wand. "It doesn't seem so bad. I mean, it's not that different from a normal curse, is it? Just slightly more lethal."
"Not quite. Perhaps it is time for a brief history lesson," Morass said, conjuring a set of chairs. He took one, waving at Godric to sit in the other. "You are aware that what we now call dark magic was the first magic to be used by our ancient ancestors?"
Thrown by the sudden change of pace, he shook his head, taking a seat.
"'Dark magic' is a misleading and undeserved appellation for a type of magic better described as sacrificial magic." He must have looked confused, because Morass gave an exaggerated sigh. "I see your tutors must have glossed over what they no doubt consider an unsavoury past. Deplorable, but sadly not unexpected."
Mentally cycling through his various (and often short-lived) tutors, he had to agree that many of their lessons could likely have benefited from inclusions of history's "unsavoury" bits.
"The first magic was carried out via sacrifice. Needs were simpler then: rain to fight drought and preserve crops, warmth during a bitter winter, luck in hunting. Early wizards offered up a sacrifice, human or animal, and they found that this sacrifice unlocked something, powered their simple charms."
"Human sacrifice?" he repeated, alarmed.
"Indeed." Morass leaned back in his chair. "Centuries passed; simple survival was no longer so all-consuming a task, freeing up time for other activities. The descendants of those wizards took advantage of this to seek a less costly alternative to sacrifice, and magic as we know it today slowly developed from their efforts. Others kept to the old ways, refining the magic, until the sacrifice no longer depended on anyone but the wizard casting the spell."
"Then what do they sacrifice now?" He hesitated, not wanting to sound foolish. "The-erm."
"The soul?" Morass finished, his eyes lit with amusement. "That is where the debate comes from-the core, perhaps, of the objection to the dark arts, aside from the extraordinary power many of the spells unleash. Dark spells require a sacrifice of some part of the wizard: a piece of an emotion, a slice of a memory-what some call the soul, it can be argued. How much depends on the spell and its severity."
Godric glanced at the restored clay targets. "That sounds..."
"Dire?" Morass suggested. "Not necessarily. The sacrifice chosen appears to be arbitrary, but it can be limited to what the caster allows. Every experienced practitioner has an anchor, usually a person, that they focus upon when casting. By calling up the emotions and memories associated with the anchor, the caster can shield these from the sacrifice, forcing the dark magic choose from what remains. A foolhardy wizard who casts in anger should not be surprised when he begins to lose the part of him associated with what are considered the more 'human' emotions and qualities."
Godric must not have appeared particularly reassured, because Morass smiled at him. "Come now, have you seen Salazar torturing small children or drowning mewling kittens? The danger is quite small if you anchor properly."
Salazar certainly seemed more than capable of the 'human' emotions, considering what he was doing right now, and his earlier cheerfulness, Godric reasoned. It wasn't as though the spells required real sacrifice, which he'd half been expecting, given the extreme aversion his family had to dark magic. And the spell was quite extraordinary, even disregarding its capacity for destruction.
"Let me explain how to anchor," Morass said, breaking the silence. "It is a process you should begin before you incant the spell. Choose a person who is very dear to you, with whom you share many good memories, and focus entirely upon them. When you have their image in your mind, don't release it. Begin calling up every emotion you have ever felt for your anchor. Do not release the emotions as you call them, but rather gather them together. Once all have been gathered, then you may cast the spell."
He stared, trying to discern if Morass was joking, only to reach the startling conclusion that he wasn't. "But that would take forever! Your enemy would have had time to kill you a dozen times over by the time you're ready to cast the spell."
"Only at first. With enough practice, anchoring becomes nearly automatic. It should take only the mental image of your anchor's face to put you in the right frame of mind. Did I take very long to cast my spell?"
"No," Godric admitted, gaze dropping to his own wand. "It was rather quick, actually." The next question escaped him before he could stop it. "Is Salazar good at anchoring too?"
"Yes, he's quite a talent for it, though his father is perhaps the most meticulous wizard I've ever encountered, when it comes to anchoring." Morass stared into the distance with a rare frown. "It's a pity Warin so seldomly puts that skill to use, though perhaps it is harder for him now."
Harder for him? Oh. "Was his anchor...?"
"I believe so, though I never asked." Morass' reply was uncharacteristically curt, but he seemed to realise this, because his next words were patient. "If you wish to end the lesson, I will understand."
Godric looked at the targets again, gripping the arms of his chair. "No-No, I would like to try."
"Brave little Gryffindor," Morass said, standing. Salazar's half-derisive, half-affectionate phrase sounded strange coming from someone else.
Godric forced his fingers to loosen their grip and rose to his feet as well. Morass removed the conjured chairs with a wave of his wand and moved over to Godric, placing a hand over his outstretched wand arm and lowering it. "Get into the habit of anchoring before even moving your wand into position. Do you know who you wish to use?"
Forming a picture of Salazar in his mind, he nodded.
"Good. Begin anchoring."
He stared with light panic at the end of his wand. How could he possibly gather every emotion? What if he forgot one? Or, far likelier, more than one? Who kept a mental list of all the emotions, anyway? Nervousness, start there, that was easy. But did they need to be associated with Salazar? Well, that still wasn't too hard. Worry, one step away from nervousness.
Then again, did he really want those emotions?
Happiness. Love. Amusement. Pride. Delight. Hope. Mischiev-was that an emotion? There were so many subtle variations on each; was it enough to focus on the core feeling? And maybe he shouldn't just be focussing on the positive ones; there were some negative emotions that he shouldn't offer as sacrifice, however tempting it might be. Sorrow. Embarrassment. Guilt. Loneliness.
He was forgetting to hold on to them. Biting back his frustration, he started from the beginning, calling up memories associated with each emotion and trying to pin them in his mind as he added to the list. But other emotions leaked in against his efforts: fear, betrayal, impatience.... Morass' polite waiting was not helping his concentration either.
"Are you ready?"
Godric was afraid that if he said no, he might not be able to work up the courage to try again, so he pressed his lips together tightly and nodded.
"Good. Do you remember how to cast the spell?"
His nod was more confident this time, and he began the incantation, stumbling only once over an odd syllable. He began tracing the runes, feeling something cold sinking deeper into him with each one, though he tried to pass the sensation off as nerves. Bringing his hand down in an imitation of Morass' downward swipe, he pushed out and released the spell.
Dizziness swept over him as the fire flew to the targets, and he sat down heavily on the floor, closing his eyes against a rising nausea.
"Godric?" Morass said sharply. When he made no reply, Morass dropped down next to him and shook his shoulder lightly. "Look at me."
The request, though mildly stated, had the force of a command behind it. Godric's eyes snapped open, and focussed blearily on Morass, who was frowning with puzzlement. Another wave of nausea swept over him, and he swallowed, closing his eyes again so that the room would stop spinning and making things worse.
"When I promised you an experience, I didn't mean quite like this," Morass muttered, and he gave Godric another shake. "Look at me again, I need you to be aware."
Godric opened his eyes again reluctantly, and Morass grasped his wand hand, staring into his eyes with an intense concentration. A strange tingling sensation spread from the crown of his head downwards. Slowly, the exhaustion and sickness drained away, replaced with a numbness that he welcomed with relief. Morass stood, pulling Godric to his feet.
"Curious."
"What-" Brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen in his face from his completely undone braid, Godric finally thought to look at the targets, and saw their smoking ruins on the ground. "What did I do wrong?"
"An excellent question. The spell was executed flawlessly, and failing to anchor properly should not have had that effect on you." Morass cocked his head, as if listening to an old memory. "Hm, I wonder. Could that be the Gryffindor Curse Warin spoke of?"
"Curse?" Godric repeated distractedly, searching for anything missing within him, but how could he possibly tell? "We've no Curse."
Morass considered him for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps he was mistaken, or I misheard. Was your wand holster also a gift from Salazar?"
The unexpected question threw him for a moment. "I-no. From my brother, Davin."
"Ah. It also has a detection spell upon it, for when the user casts a dark spell. I nullified it when it started to sound its alarm. I hope you don't mind?"
His dull spike of fear at the thought of his family finding out was instantly replaced by subdued anger. "That self-righteous bastard...! I should just burn the bloody-" He took a breath and calmed himself. Looking at the holster at his side, he reassessed the situation. "I suppose it would be better simply to keep it. He'll have no way of knowing that the spell has been removed, and destroying it will only give him cause for suspicion."
"Fairly reasoned." Morass cleared away the destroyed targets and turned back to Godric with a speculative glint in his eyes. "Perhaps it is the spell that provoked the reaction. There is another spell we could try, one far subtler and less demanding."
Despite the embarrassment that filled him at the notion of needing a "less demanding" spell to successfully cast, the thought of trying another dark spell left him queasy. But he didn't want to appear ungracious either, not after Morass had taken the time to show him so many fascinating battle-worthy curses.
Morass must have decided to interpret his silence as assent, because he started putting distance between himself and Godric. "This spell will not work on an inanimate target, alas, but I assure you that it is not a destructive spell. It is a mixed entanglement and sedation curse that can burrow under multiple shields to reach the target, while giving the appearance of dissolving harmlessly on the outer shield."
"Effects?" Godric enquired faintly.
"You will find it difficult to move for several minutes, and you will feel sleepy. It is a spell commonly used when the intent is to capture a wizard with minimal injury." Morass fixed him with a considering stare and then said in an oddly formal manner, "Will you consent to this spell?"
Consent to be the target was the non-diplomatic way of phrasing it, he thought a bit crossly. But Morass had passed up more than a few opportunities to do him harm this afternoon, and Godric was having difficulty summoning the will to object. Morass seemed to desire verbal confirmation, so he gave it, matching the phrasing. "Yes, I consent."
From the way Morass' gaze swept over and through him, and the space around him, Godric surmised that he was studying the Weave. He must have found something interesting, because there was a pleased surprise to his smile. "More and more curious-and dangerous, I can see that. I wonder if there may be a link between-"
Godric was beginning to feel like the dark spell's tranquilising effects would be redundant by the time they reached him.
"Ah, another time perhaps. Forgive my distraction," Morass said, apparently having switched his view back to normal. "Before I begin, construct the most powerful block you know. The spell's ability to bypass a shield is one of its highlights."
Godric waved his hand and summoned an Asteris Veil, unable to help taking some small comfort in the dark, glittering shield that blocked out the rest of the room. He peered through it to watch Morass' casting, listening to the incantation and committing the accompanying wand movements to memory. An olive-green light bloomed at the end of his wand and shot towards the shield. It impacted with a white flash of light and appeared to dissipate harmlessly.
He found himself admiring the spell's rather convincing disguise. Not at all flashy, possessing instead the curse-light appearance common to the more well-known combat spells, nothing at all to suggest that-that-
A powerful wave of sleepiness derailed his line of thought. He lifted a hand, and it felt like it was weighed down by heavy Muggle armour. The sleepiness was not at all unpleasant, he decided as he sank to the floor.
The feeling vanished abruptly, along with his shield and the stifled mobility in his limbs. Morass lowered his hand. "Ah, the second alarm has triggered. I daresay, Salazar must be nearing panic by now. In fact, I find myself disappointed that he has yet to-"
A resounding boom shook the small room, and the windows rattled back into existence, along with the door, which shuddered as though hit by a battering ram. Another wave of force blasted the door open, and Salazar stormed in, his wand out and his hand in combat-ready nullifying stance. He flicked his wand to one of the walls, where the curse building on its tip dissolved, as he spotted Godric on the floor. His stare travelled to Morass, whose satisfaction with the turn of the situation was unmistakable.
"Salazar. I see you've finally deigned to grace us with your presence."
* * * * *
Next part will be posted either Friday or Saturday.