Chương 326: Really Impossible. The kind that can't happen.

The kind that can't happen.

People are being weird around me again. It's happened before, a few times. I do something particularly noteworthy, the broadsheets get delivered the next day, everyone in school reads about whatever it is that I've done, and I get a couple of days where people are reading the news, look up straight at me, as if trying to reconcile the fact that it's the same person.

"Oh my gods, I can't believe the person who did that amazing thing is the same person who's sitting over there burning her fingers on a too-hot teacup!" - or something to that effect. It takes a few days or a couple of weeks for people to get used to seeing me around the school again, but the furor dies down, mostly because I refuse to engage with it. I don't lean into my temporary celebrity, and I don't do anything to encourage people, and I certainly don't use it to boost my social standings.

Those are all things that Nathan did when he was the one with his foot in the stirrup, and it worked for him but my methods are different. When the warm, personable hero-prince stands up on a table to take a bow, it's charming. If I did it, it would come off as mocking, or pretentious, or something. When someone with that aw-shucks modest demeanor starts collecting crowds around him, he's getting his due at long last. Where I to try, it would be called a cult of personality.

There's just inherent differences, when the warm-toned prince who has been developing his folk-hero persona does things, it will be perceived differently than if his ice-white murderess witch sister does them. I've already argued about whether or not it's fair, and I lost that argument because fairness is not part of the judging standards. I gotta work forward from where I'm at. And besides, it's worked out for me this way.

I don't have the genuine bonhomie that Nathan got when he was popular, I've got more of an admiration from afar. I'm not popular in a way that people walk up to me to talk to me, I'm more what you'd call infamous. When people ignore me, or stare at me, or whisper about me, I treat it all with the same cool indifference. And when the newspapers talk about me threatening the monarchs to their faces, or gathering hammer-wielding mobs, or defining new limits of sorcery, I treat it all with the same cool indifference.

"I already know my own worth, I'm just letting you all figure it out on your own." Nobody denies that it's working for me. I never quite cross the line into haughty or hostile, but detached confidence is my vibe. It lets me weather the bursts of fame and the jeers of enmity. Over time, the student body's reactions to me have evolved. I'm never just a student passing by, I am always seen and reacted to. People are more comfortable when they've got a bit more space between me and them.

I get referred to by my titles more often. And even if people don't often stare at me while I'm watching, they stare at me whenever they think that I won't notice. It's particularly bad this week. We're still not quite off the buzz from me killing that guy that wanted to hire assassins after me, and then I declared a state of rebellion against the crown and throne, and then I came back from the dead! People are having a hard time keeping their eyes to themselves.

"Everyone's staring," Belisa said, and her voice held a self-conscious wince in it that sounded like she was pulling her shoulders down. She picked her new look to help inspire a new confidence and boldness in herself, a daring haircut, a unique fashion statement. But so often she still keeps defaulting back to her old habits. I suspect it's because half the time people cannot see her, and don't react to her, so she's not feeling the feedback that would help her really master her new identity.

Still, I don't mind that she often regresses to pre-soulless Belisa the Damsel without meaning to. There's a whole Duke Meadwhite in her head too, and I'm glad none of his personality is rubbing off. I really did not have a plan for what I'd do if that started happening.

"They're not staring at you," I assured her evenly.

"Nor at me," Enefiat said, almost smugly. He's getting used to not being the only center of attention, after being The Famous for most of his life. Now, for brief occasions, I do eclipse him. However, he's got far more experience at being a celebrity than I am, and as it turns out that is a whole skillset that I have not sufficiently developed. Also, my fame is still new, and new fame is fleeting fame, I still need to prove I'm not flash in the pan.

Enefiat Trazom has been famous for ten years, he's established and respected throughout the kingdom. And besides, there's plenty of people out there who are used to me, or tired of me, but still fascinated by The Enefiat Trazom. And it turns out that Gala Kralcit, daughter of Grade Kralcit, is one of them. So, despite the fact that I'm paying her for these services, and paying well, and that she calls herself my henchwoman, she demanded he come along for this meet.

Belisa is here because she can actually carry the Book safely. One thing that we learned from Gala's early readings into those defensive sigils: I should expose the Iron Book to as little sorcery as possible, none would be best. So, instead of taking it in and out of portals or floating it around with sorcery, someone needs to actually carry the thing. And it is massive, and heavy. Digger Jdim just handed it off like it's nothing, but I am barely able to get the thing off the ground.

Belisa on the other hand has magical tattoos that give her superior strength, and with her along we can be sure the book is safe, even if some wacky misadventure should befall us. I have gotten tired of stupid things happening at the worst time. And getting attacked by assassins while I've got my hands full of a massively-heavy book loaded with explosive runes would be just my luck. So, I'm glad to have someone along that can keep that from happening. As we walk across the campus, people stare.

Belisa feels like they're watching her even though they aren't, Enefiat feels like they're ignoring him even though most of them aren't, and I'm acting like I don't care one way or another, but I do. I worked way too hard to get people's attention and regard, even if I do act coolly indifferent. Heads turn, whispers fly behind cupped palms, and eyes bore into our backs. Just another day in the life. It's going to get so much worse next year.

It's one thing to be the figurehead leader of a paper rebellion and attending regular classes. This time next year, I'll be a decorated general, a successful tycoon, a national savior, and more. While also attending classes like this was a normal thing to do. The young woman on the bench could not be less impressed by me. She's got heart-eyes for her celebrity crush, the champion of the cello, the one and only Enefiat Trazom.

She might be more impressed with me if she had not knocked me out before I even learned her name. Maybe not. Some henchwoman." ohmygodsohmygodsohmygodsohmygo ds," she was chanting under her breath as we walked up. His "meet the adoring fans" face snapped into place. He already knows how to deal with the obsessive enthusiasts, and he skillfully navigates the usual rocky waters of a hyped-up superfan. I stood back and took notes.

I was only standing still for a minute when Gala's attention was pulled away from her idol, almost violently. Her eyes whipped around, over my shoulder.

"Where did you come from?" she demanded.

"The girl's dorm," Belisa said, shouldering the book. She looks tough as hell with her side-shave and casually-demonstrated super-strength. Already she's more adept with it than I would have expected.

"Don't mess with me," Gala snapped.

"I saw you appear out of nowhere. And not like the boss does, yours was sneaky. Dangerous." Belisa chuckled politely.

"Ha ha, well, there's kind of a funny story-""I like stories," Gala said. She was getting really intense again.

"Why don't we all sit down and listen to a story. Enefiat can sit with me, there's room on the bench."

"Boss?" Belisa said, quirking a smile at me while Gala all but dragged Enefiat to her side.

"You don't really come across as 'boss' to me."

"Yes, but you've only seen the kinder, gentler side of Natalie Harigold," I said, referring to myself in the third person like a weirdo.

"I've got lots of different aspects to me, really. Enefiat here has known me since we were children, he knows me well and can attest." He nodded sagely.

"I have indeed known her since we were both children. I can attest: she was rather bossy."

"Thin ice, Trazom, you're on thin ice," I scolded, shaking a finger at him. He smirked and ignored me.

"So, let's hear your long story," Gala said, setting her hand on Enefiat's knee. Now I'm getting annoyed. He's a very nice guys that I have known since I was just seven years old, and we've always been better than cordial to each other, and I hav e been looking at him with love-interest eyes lately, I'm not in love with him, but there's some warmth, and I don't enjoy seeing my henchwoman pawing at him.

Belisa took the Iron Book off of her shoulder and set it down on the ground next to the bench, where it set down with a satisfying thud that thrummed through the soles of my feet.

"Well," she said, "it started when-""Holy shit that thing is heavy," Gala interrupted, turning loose of Enefiat to lean herself over and prod at the book.

"Boss, you said this was a sealed book. Is this cover made of metal?"

"A couple inches of enchanted iron, yes," I said, watching how fast she switched subjects. I had never considered it, but it makes sense that Hearstwhile would be in need of ADHD meds that it cannot produce. Gala may have a mild case.

"It felt like it weighed a few hundred pounds," Gala said, squinting harder. The same vibration I had felt had carried up through the bench. She looked back up at Belisa.

"You are very strong. And invisible half the time, I didn't see you move back." Belisa gave me a shrug. I did not know Gala was this perceptive. I wonder if I need to worry about Gala Kralcit, daughter of Grade Kralcit, actually being very perceptive and able to put clues together for a deduction.

"Well, it's about these tattoos I've got," Belisa said. She glanced around, made sure nobody was watching before she tugged down her collar, showing off the tightly-packed tattooing that covered most of her torso.

"Bullshit," Gala said firmly.

"You can vanish, you're superhumanly strong, the boss here is able to get Enefiat Trazom on short notice, Enefiat Trazom is sitting next to me and I completely forgot about that for ten whole seconds, this iron book is full of super-amazing powerful ancient lore. All of those are impossible, but I roll with it. This? This is really impossible, the kind that can't happen." Trazom chuckled.

"That's what the impossible always is, though."

"Stick with music," I said to him, more kindly than dismissively.

"One thing you learn while studying magic is that 'impossible' is sort of a sliding scale, not an absolute boundary."

"I was of the impression that sorcerers didn't study magic, they just had magic happen to them," Gala said sharply, looking at me sideways. Like she was going to catch me in a lie.

"We favor more practical exams and personal-journey exploration than the other mages, but we do still study academically some," I said.

"In particular, I study, because I want to understand what I'm working with."

"Well," she said, like she was going to make a point, only to realize that the rest of her sentence wasn't there for her. Ah, the arrogant condescension of scriveners against sorcerers. It gets taught early. Belisa stepped into the silence again.

"Yeah, the tattoos were put on me by a lich who-""I don't care if The Magister of Oz himself used his finest needles," Gala said, shaking her head.

"It's just impossible." They have the word 'wizard' here. But the publisher showed me focus-group numbers that people liked the other title better. I'm not going to let my purist instincts override sales numbers.

"I didn't know you went out to see the plays," I said.

"When everyone quotes 'I don't think we're in Wanfarrun anymore Toto', everyone in Wanfarrun starts to feel obligated to see the darn thing," she snapped.

"Now, we're way off subject. Whatever is giving you those powers can't be the tattoos. That's real impossible."

"But why?" Trazom said, before Belisa could.

"Every one that starts learning scrivening, whether they start at six or sixty, is going to be sitting there at some point practicing their line-strokes when they wonder about drawing on themselves. The next step of questioning is inevitable, and they all get told the same thing: you will die if you try," Gala said firmly.

"Setting patterned mana inside the body also sets patterned mana inside the soul, and after that the best outcome is that you die slowly enough to get your affairs in order."

"Why?" he asked.

"Look, there's a ton of research into this," she said.

"This has been the life's work of so many magisters and specialists. I promise, this is one of those rules you can't break, it's a line you don't cross." So is necromancy, I thought to myself. Liches have many faults but they do not lack for audacity. Their whole deal is basically just "do the thing that everyone says not to do, but get away with it". Is that what happened here?

"Uh," Belisa said.

"So, there's an exception. If there's no soul or mana circulation, the tattoo can set in."

"As the only person in this conversation apparently not invested in magic," Enefiat said with a bright smile, "what?" I spoke up.

"Normally people's own mana runs in channels through their essence, which overlaps body and soul. It's pretty resilient, in a lot of ways, surprisingly malleable. Mine, and every other sorcerer's, runs much wilder than most people's, whipping around fast and chaotically. Wizards learn to concentrate all of theirs into a single point for an instant. Monster hunters tend to be... let's call it amalgamated, by their contact with monsters and hostile forces. But all of them circulate, that is the constant.

If mana flow is obstructed, death is fast. Fortunately, very few things can obstruct mana flow, and almost none of them can happen by accident. But, if I understand Gala correctly, tattooing a sigil is one of those?"

"Every time," Gala said firmly.

"Well," Belisa said, and I could see that she was in a difficult position. She is both the victim and the monster, she has memories of the bastard that stole her life in order to give her powers.

"So, without a soul, mana doesn't actually circulate-""Obviously," Gala said, dismissively, but what she meant was 'no shit'.

"Well, at the time this was done, my soul was not -""What." Gala interrupted again. She seems to do this a lot. Sometimes to me, but moreso to everyone else. It's interesting seeing my retained scrivener and self-described henchwoman interacting with others. She is rude.

"Ahem. I was in a coma," Belisa lied.

"And my soul was not circulating mana. So the ink could set, and activate, without poisoning me. And when my mana did start circulating, the static tattoos were already set."

"What." Gala said. Still that same flat disbelief. She was blue-screening.

"It was a fairly specific sort of coma," she continued lying. I'm going to get jealous.

"It's not likely to be recreated by accident."

"How?" Gala demanded. C'mon Belisa, what've you got?

"That sounds like an expensive question," Belisa said smoothly. What a beautiful answer.

"I see," Gala nodded, and she seemed to understand Belisa's answer in the same spirit that I did. Belisa went on to say, "If it teases your curiosity any, the trick is to not only keep the soul from circulating mana, but also still keep the body able to heal for the two-to-four weeks it takes for the inks to incorporate into the body. The healing process is necessary for the body to integrate the inks into cells and tissues, so that they stay in the dermis and don't just flake away.

Tattooing is not just ink, you need the needle to penetrate deep and as the skin grows from the inside out, the ink particles are passed to the new cells. Dead tissue cannot take a tattoo in the same way." She had a small smirk on her face. It was not a very Belisa kind of smirk. But it was the smirk of someone who has studied the difference between how dead flesh takes ink, versus living flesh. Those memories are still in there. After all, real power is in knowing the things you're not supposed to know.

I've got my power. But apparently, so does she. Belisa Roadaway not only knows anything that she is going to overhear as my perfect invisible spy, she also has all the knowledge of an especially innovative and competent lich. And if I'm lucky, she only has the knowledge of that lich. She is still labeled as [The Broken], after all. I had hoped that her tag would change. After all, it changed once before, the only person I've seen whose label has shifted after being introduced.

I've got three more years to find out exactly how broken she is, and I may not like the answer.