Head reeling, I fell heavily against the Workbench, my legs went to jelly under me and I reached for the floor, gasping for breath, heart hammering, stomach churning. Then I threw up into the waste paper basket.
God's Teeth! I wasn't ready for that! Nobody could be, not even a Magi!
But I had done it. I had been to Atlantis…or at least somewhere close by. But what an amazing experience! Full immersion, nothing left out. I could feel everything I turned my attention to in that…what was it? A tavern? An eating-house? Some sort of night-café? Those smells, the taste, touch, and the sights! Oh, what an unalloyed joy it was to see those folk; their faces, clothes, the manner of their speech.
Their speech, I suddenly realised! I understood their language! I looked down at the Timepiece in my hand and marvelled at the Observer's genius. He had foreseen what I had not even considered; the millennia of time spent in separation, in diversification, the constant branching of language, meaning, syntax and dialect. They didn't speak my mother tongue, not even close. How could they. It did seem to me to be similar to perhaps ancient Greek, but older, maybe Phoenician. And yet I understood them all perfectly and was at the same time fully aware that the man Ximo, spoke an accent the other, this Néit, who was most assuredly not human, did not share. I climbed to my unsteady legs and sat slowly in my chair, its swivel base squeaking its familiar metal protest, the cushioned leather spreading gently to take my weight.
The Observer's Gear! I suddenly thought, leaping up, and grasping at the buckles on my satchel.
I tore open the bag and, yes, there it was, tucked into the inside pocket. I slumped back down and laughed. I laughed aloud and long, until the tears ran down my cheeks and I realised I was actually crying, crying like a lost child found. And that was where my Lady found me, at my desk, weeping. She held me for a long time before speaking, then looked into my eyes with those beautiful blue orbs of hers.
“I don’t care if you were successful or not,” she said gently, “ only that you have returned.
My heart welled with such love that I almost cried again, but instead I wiped away my own tears and held her face in my hands.
"I have been to Atlantis," I whispered.
"Indeed," she replied in all seriousness. She looked askance at the vomit filled bin, her nose wrinkling in distaste, "You could have left that there though," she said with a wry smile. "Don't worry," she said reaching for the bin, "you stay there, I'll take it out."
I shook my head. "I'm going back, so you might as well leave it there."
"What, now?" she asked hotly.
"Yes."
She pulled away and stood with her arms folded. "That is not a good idea," she admonished with a directed glance towards the stinking paper bin.
"Nevertheless, I must go."
"Really? Why must you?"
I smiled. "Because I can." She shook her head, and made to leave. "Hey," I said gently, "don't leave with anger in your eyes. This isn't an easy task; it does carry risk."
She nodded, "You and I have lived together for some time now, and its been gloriously quiet." She looked toward were the French Windows used to be and the still present, though closed, Aetheric Gate. "That appears to have changed, and I may not be too happy about that."
"That's perfectly understandable,” I replied carefully, “and I am sorry for that."
She looked at me for a while longer and then smiled. "My love, you have both the Aetheric and the Observer's Timepieces, which means time is on your side, no?" I nodded. "Then rest, think on what you have seen. Write it down while it's still fresh. Then, when you're ready, go again. If you do too much—"
" —I'll be alright."
"Will you now,” she said seriously. “Well, you don't look it. Stay an hour or so, then if you're still keen…" she looked warily at the Aetheric tunnel, its maw still closed tight, "take a second look."
I nodded, her logic impeccable as always. She came forward, kissed me and, taking the waste paper bin with her, left me sitting at my Workbench. I pulled the flask from the satchel, washed back the taste of my own bile, breathed in the atmosphere of our wonderful home, and let the excitement fade from my blood. My Lady was correct of course; time was indeed on my side, just as it had been for the Observer. The question then is how best to use that advantage, how to leverage the power, and not tip the balance of responsibility. I pulled out my journal and that was when I realised that of course I hadn't written anything down whilst in the Aetheric shift, whilst in the tavern revelling at the wonder of it all. How could I, I suddenly realised? I wasn't there in body, I wasn't manifest in any physical way at all. I wasn’t corporeal when I travelled through the gate. This was a curious and somewhat disturbing realisation, because in all my days of wandering, all the travelling through the Mists, hunting demons, exploring forgotten lands and half remembered ruins, I was always fully corporeal. Hard to kill, admittedly, but the risk was ever present, lending that heightened awareness I so enjoy. But this was different. Wholly different. Was my presence there, in that place, manifest in any way at all or was I just a shadow of myself? Did I have any agency? The locus of power was centred on or around these two fellows, of that I had no doubt, but what if they left that place? Would I float with them like some mote of dust caught in their wake; a bobbing balloon tied on an Aetheric string, or would I simply hang there in the dim light of the tavern as they went their way, their voices growing ever more distant until they walked through that door and were gone.
I had to go back before I could even make a start with the work of writing it all down, that much was clear. I got up, my head clearer, my legs sound beneath me and began to pace about the library. The Observer must have encountered the same problem. Did he just keep going back home, check his equipment, fine tune an Aetheric Timepiece for the next loci, or the Chroniker for the location and then what? Did he re-energise his Timepiece and jump back in, trying to arrive before the event and hope to see it transpire as it passes? No, surely not; it would be like watching a swallow fly by in the hope of catching a glimpse of it wink. I looked at the Aetheric Gate, a static globular swirl of gold dust the size of a garden shed. That many trips in a given day would be tedious to say the least, and utterly draining if that first one was anything to go by. Powerful magic requires considerable effort and if not buffered by the right items it can drain a Magi's resources to nothing; like leveraging one's soul on a shift in the market. I didn't know enough. It was that simple, and pacing around was getting me nowhere. I realised I have been holding my breath, and let out a sigh. I would meditate on it.
All Magi have a Place of Power, a place they have found themselves and one in which they are able to fully focus, let go, a place in which to hunt the power they need from the Aether itself. Conveniently, for me at least, I had found mine around the back of my Lady's house, where her vegetable patch used to be. She got tired of finding me sitting in amongst the cabbage and runner beans and, with her customary understanding, moved the carefully tended vegetables to the far side of the garden, if you can call ten acres of orchard and meadow-land a garden. Then we built the library around it, making sure that I could see the valley falling away to the river across the meadow when I was meditating. It is a beautiful spot. I stripped down to my trousers, pulled off my boots, sat down within the circle drawn there, crossed my legs in a half-lotus and settled into my bones, looking out over the veranda.
I am a warrior become a man of knowledge, a Magi, and the Ways of the Magi are as numerous and varied as those who practice, and that practice is not for the faint hearted. Even the meditations of a Magi carry risk, and a Summoning Circle, or for those that do not possess a King Wand, the lesser Conjuration Circle, is another tool, another piece of equipment, so to speak, that enables a Magi to hunt what is required. It is also a place of protection and, if the Magi is at peace with themselves, a place of personal tranquillity, for the art of the Magi is to balance the terror of being, with the wonder of being; only then is that Magi at peace.
I took a deep breath, pushing down with my diaphragm, out with my belly and up, through my chest, way past my shoulders to my neck and crown. Then at the full expansion, the body drops in a single exhale through gently pursed lips until the belly presses against the spine, and out with the belly again to repeat. The Breath of Fire. A mortal man might do this and reap good reward, but Magi are more than mortal, we are amortal; without death, undying unless by action against us, and our limits are higher. One hundred times the breathing cycle is repeated, then twice that again. Three hundred breaths and then out, and hold on the out. The body relaxes around the emptiness, the heart slows, the minute's pass, the mind quiets and the duration of Time becomes…irrelevant.
Next morning I am up early, standing before the Aetheric Gate, its open maw silent as the grave. Once again, I have donned my old travelling Robes and the undelay armour. I carry the Liv Wand, the Observer's Gear Works in my satchel, and just in case, a leather-bound journal, two bacon sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper, water and my biro. In the palm of my hand, on a silver chain wrapped around my wrist I hold the Observer's Timepiece. It is set to the same loci as yesterday, the Aetheric Timepiece on my desk to the same event, the Chroniker to the same Aetheric flows. If this works, I should find myself in the same place, at the same time as I did yesterday, only this time I am ready. The Observer's Timepiece is set, the duration of the observation short, I take a deep breath and step into the Aetheric Gate.
And again, I stagger out, head reeling. But this time I don't throw up in the basket; I purposefully didn't eat last night and nothing this morning, but still the nausea is a wave breaking in my belly. I manage to stay on my feet and it passes, like the tide going out, and I take a deep breath, let the daylight filtering through the windows fall across my face, bringing warmth and life.
"How was it?'
I opened my eyes. My Lady was sat in the deep sofa under the far window, a look of concern writ wide across her beautiful face.
I coughed a chuckle and shook my head. "This isn't going to work,' I admitted with a grin.
"Sit with me, tell me what you know." I nodded and crossed over, sloughed off my heavy robes and dropped into the leather cushions with a groan, my underlay armour creaking softly. She laid a comforting hand on my chest. "Tell me the Way of it," she said.
I looked at her with some considerable shock. "That's exactly what he said!"
"Who?"
I took a deep breath and waited for my heart to abate its beating. "I need a coffee first; get my thoughts together so that I'm not talking like a madman."
"Way ahead of you, my love,' she replied, and so saying reached inside the pocket of her dress and produced a small whiskey flask. 'Its not coffee, but I think it will do you better, for now at least."
"You're an angel," I said with a grin.
"That's true," she admitted lightly. "Now, tell me."
I took a swig from the flask. "Hmm, Oban…." I handed the flask back and settled in, trying to marshal my thoughts.
"This creature, Néit, is the Aetheric loci, I think. Or at least he is central to an event that draws the Aether to it, or him. It's impossible for me to know when I'm there, because I'm only just there, if you know what I mean. I am there in many ways. All of my senses are engaged, for example, but I am most definitely not there in the most important; I cannot interact with anything, nothing whatsoever, not in any manner that I have tried and nothing can interact with me."
"And who is Néit? Where is Néit?" She gave me one of her quizzical glances, "I haven't got much to go on here, so I'm very much taking a leap of faith, no?"
"Néit is a Fae, I think. He's not human, that's obvious."
"How so?"
"Hmm, he would weigh in at maybe three hundred pounds, stands say, just under seven foot tall, handsome, with yellow-gold eyes, and a strong jaw. Has some very sharp looking teeth in that jaw, and would probably shrug off a charging rhino. He's a trained warrior by his stature, though oddly young somehow, as though he hasn't seen many battles, and he definitely has an Aetheric way about him."
"Reminds me of someone I know…" replied My Lady, her hand settling to my thigh.
"Thank you, but he's got teeth! Fangs even!"
"You bite…" she said leaning in closer.
I pulled her to me, shifted around so I could see her better and held her close. "Be still, woman, I'm trying to explain and it's not easy if you're not paying attention."
She wriggled in closer, "I am all ears, my lord," she purred as she began unbuckling my armour.
"Gods Teeth! This is serious." I leaned forward so she could pull off the underlay armour. "How can I concentrate with your hands wandering…oh, hello," I murmured as she slid her fingers under my shirt, tugged it out of my trousers, and left me open to the waist. "Are we doing this now? I asked honestly.
She nodded, her lips smiling wide as she dipped her head, her fingers working at the belt buckle.
It was late when we surfaced again, lying in our bed amongst the furs, the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, our bodies nestled into each other, warm and comfortable with that after sex ease that feels so…restful.
I breathed a contented sigh.
"I haven't heard that from you in a long while," my Lady said languidly as she turned over in the bed, her breasts against my chest, one leg draping over my hips so that I could feel her spent heat still warming me. "So, where were we," she asked. "Before you so rudely interrupted me."
"First things first," I replied. "Where did all this come from?" I asked running a hand down her back and over her smooth thigh.
She brushed the hair from her face. 'You've been very focused of late, to the point of being boring…morose even. I thought you needed a distraction."
"So, you had it planned from the very start did you; the hip flask, the sofa, the sunlight?'
"Hmm…well you know the saying, 'a little prescience goes a long way’? Besides," she added sardonically, "I'm not just here for your entertainment you know, you're also here for mine, no?"
"Of course," I replied with a smile. "Well, I'm glad your prescience is so finely tuned, my Lady." I kissed her full on the lips and settled back into the furs. "When I step into the Gate," I mused, "I seem to become the Aether embodied. My corporeal existence is no more…and yet I do have agency. I can shift, like traveling the Mists, but I cannot interact, and nothing can interact with me. I am it seems, a ghost."
My lady shifted closer, pulling the furs around her shoulders, the temperature outside dropping in the autumnal eve, the warmth in our room fading as our skin cooled.
"I understand what he did, or at least why; the Observer, I mean. For a recluse such as he this must have been both the perfect solution to his inhibitions, and a huge source of interest, fascination even. But he was of the Custodian Order and they are not generally known for being—”
"—Demon hunting maniacs with a predilection for finding trouble, and indeed causing trouble?" she interrupted.
"Hey! I've never caused any trouble. It just seems to happen around me for some reason."
"Hmm, as you say," she replied, plainly unconvinced.
"Well anyway, he was a hermit. There's no way in all the hells that he would live so long and use the Timepiece without falling extremely ill; the toll on his mind and body would have been too great. I think it too great even for me, and if I pursue this venture as is, it will likely kill me before reaching its conclusion, possibly a good deal sooner. Not only that but it appears the Observations are in real time; one minute there, is one minute here, and I am reasonably certain that the Aetheric pull has landed me some years before the Fall."
My Lady sat up at that. "Years?' she bemoaned.
I nodded. "I see the operation much like navigating: there is a set of co-ordinates, and if one follows a route, any route, to those co-ordinates, one arrives at the destination. If you align for a different set of co-ordinates then you arrive somewhere else, and somewhere else is not the right destination. So, I find myself in a somewhat seedy tavern called the Sea Witch, observing this Néit and his friend, or perhaps his servant, it's difficult to see what their relationship is, talking about the fact that Néit's family, or Clann, have just been wiped out in some sort of ritual or act of betrayal, and he's the only one left."
"And this is in Atlantis?" she queried.
I shrugged. "Its not the Atlantis I was expecting. And though I haven't been outside the tavern yet, it does seem very, well, rural. No, that's not the right word; the tavern is teaming with folk, like a London pub on a Friday night, so then cosmopolitan? On reflection, there was a reasonable amount of diversity among the humans, if that is what they are, and now I think on it, the Néit character was the only Fae looking person in there."
“Why do you say rural, then? asked my Lady. “What's the problem? There're people doing what…eating and drinking? Nothing unusual about that, and as for the Fae, well there's no shortage of them here, if you know where to look.”
"But that's just it! The folk are there alright, but I was expecting to be dazzled by the splendours of Atlantis, not watching people get pissed on a Friday night in some backstreet tavern."
'Well, that's down to your own high expectations surely?"
I sat bolt upright suddenly, nearly rolling my Lady naked off the bed. 'Hey!' she shrieked as I grabbed her just before she went over the edge.
'They're drinking!" I exclaimed then.
"Of course they're drinking, you fool, they're in a tavern!
"No, it's not the fact they're drinking, it's what they're drinking, and what they're eating. And their clothing, the tableware, the bloody tables themselves; they are all of a style I’ve never seen before. Its not Atlantis! It can't be! Where is all the fabulous wealth and power that it boasted through the age? These folk are dirt poor by the look of them, mostly labourers and fishermen from what I can gauge. The wealthiest person by far is this Néit fellow, and if I'm not mistaken, he seems bored with life and has taken to drink. And both seem to carry more blades than I do. In fact, most folk seemed to be carrying something sharp. And there’s that unmistakable background odour of a harbour; old fish and dry seaweed. The Tavern itself smells of wet leather, pork cooked for too long, fish fried in whale oil maybe, unwashed bodies and something like soured rice wine. Wherever I am going, its not the Atlantis described in any tome we have here."
"In that case, my love, you had best pay Easy another visit." She stretched like a cat, all legs and belly, and rolled over onto her front. "Now, I've scratched your back," she purred, "so how about you scratch mine."