Chương 21: Chapter 19 ~ A Jasmine Deambulatory

02/11/1111 EotTS 19: 39 Bwouker's was busy to-night, with its bar full of young men, both dressed like, and likely, students, all loudly talking, and tapping their shoes against the brass foot rod running just above the base of the bar, knocking the dirt and stones from the soles, and onto the floor. The wait-staff all seemed busy attending to the groups of women who occupied most of the tables, taking their orders and delivering drinks purchased as offerings by the men at the bar.

Lyvahn, Lyma, and Visi were already seated at the same table as always, in the back corner of the store, but there was no waiter at the podium at the front to escort Ardhy, Thyres, Wyohla, and Gysel to the table, and this fact did not seem to bother Wyohla, who pushed to the front, walked around the podium, straight to the table, and sat down. A waiter arrived quickly, taking orders and asking Wyohla if she wanted her wine to be from the same vineyard as always; she said yes.

All of the orders were the same as they usually were, with the exception of Thyres, who got beef stew.

"We are going back to my place after this," Wyohla paused, and licked her lips, watching as the waiter brought the bottle of wine out from the kitchen door.

"Ardhy is going to give us a performance." Lyma glanced at Gysel.

"With sigils?" she asked.

"Of course..." Wyohla trailed off as she immediately uncorked the wine, and poured herself a glass, not offering any to anyone else. Gysel ate quickly when the food arrived—the cheese at Bwouker's is different, saltier, and a bit bitter, but not bad. Once done wiping her hands on the napkin, she set the leather case of stencils and stamps in her lap, opened it, and began sifting through the contents.

Aside from the stencils that Ardhy had covered earlier in the library, there was a wide selection of stamps that looked more like metal punches (the kind one would use to deboss a symbol into a piece of metal like tin), and an oak handle to attach them to.

"I was reading the paper the other day," Lyvahn started, mouth full of his buttered dinner roll, "apparently they have a lead in the missing artifact from the Temple of the Three Sisters."

Choosing at random, Gysel removed the stamp, and held it up to the light of the candle in the center of the table, inspecting it; the symbol (in this case it was the symbol of the three moons, the Dhy'Lyuhn; which consisted of a full circle with a crescent sitting on top, and a smaller circle in the center of the crescent), was small enough to fit on the nail of her little finger and fine enough that it would be a blurry mess if she did not have her glass. She pressed it into her thumb and held it.

Wyohla paused, rolled her eyes, and set her glass down.

"That is what they publish when they have nothing to go on and hope to scare someone into turning themselves in."

"Wyohla's right," said Visi, "I can guarantee you that they are hidden under the basement floorboards of a wealthy aristocrat. That is what always happens." Ardhy pulled Gysel's hand out from under the stamp, and dug his nail through the center of the sigil the stamp had debossed, carving a line through the circle and the crescent, and pressing hard enough that his nail forced the skin down to the bone.

"Do you want to make a bet on that?" asked Lyvahn.

"No," said Visi, "but I'll bet the show back up just after the triple full moon." The pressure hurt, and Gysel tried to pull away, but Ardhy's grip was too tight. He started running the nail back and forth in the groove it made, the smooth surface sawing at Gysel's skin.

"I'll bet you five Imperial gold pieces that Visi hit the nail on the head," said Wyohla.

"I don't have that kind of money," laughed Lyvahn.

"Stop, stop, stop. That hurts," Gysel cried, just loud enough that the people at the table would hear it, but it would not draw the attention of the restaurant and make a scene. It worked; the conversation around the table immediately ceased, and everyone looked towards Ardhy and Gysel.

"What are you doing, Ardhy?" asked Wyohla.

"Gysel was pressing sigils into her thumb," Ardhy replied, not letting up on the pressure.

"So, I'm splitting it with my thumbnail."

"Oh." Wyohla looked to Gysel.

"Don't do that, Gysel." She then went back to her wine and meal. There was a unanimous nodding of agreement from everyone else, but the conversation did not resume. After another thirty seconds or so, the skin which had been compressed by the stamp had returned to normal, and Ardhy removed his nail. Blood started to pool in the small lesion, but he did not let go of Gysel's wrist.

"What sigil was it?" Ardhy asked.

"The Dhy'Lyuhn," Gysel's voice was strained as she kept tugging, trying to free her hand. Ardhy let out a sigh.

"Never. Never do that." He took the strip of cotton used to hold his utensils together and wrapped it around the wound he had caused, pulling it tight. Tying it off, he released Gysel's hand.

"Sorry."

"Why can I not do that?" Gysel asked. An imprint of Ardhy's hand lingered on her wrist; slowly, as the blood returned, the bloodless, white skin darkened to its normal pallor.

"Different sigils are related to different parts of the body," Ardhy began; he was speaking fast, and occasionally glancing at Lyma.

"By pressing a sigil into the part of the body that it relates to, you can open yourself up to possession. Do not do it."

"I am sorry," muttered Gysel; there was not really a reason to apologize, but it would be best to do so anyway, as this curiosity had made a hassle for Ardhy.

"Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong. This was something you would have learned sooner or later." Ardhy returned to his meal. Gysel stayed silent for the rest of the time at the restaurant, looking through each of the stamps, but not going anywhere near the design. 02/11/1111 EotTS 21: 00 When the group arrived at Wyohla's, she ushered them straight to the backyard. The flagstone path to the back had a white pergola covering of blue jasmine that created a shaded and fragrant deambulatory along the right side.

Wyohla opened the white wooden gate, and motioned everyone through. The backyard was surrounded by the same stonewall and hedges as the front, but was far larger than expected: it took up about half of the whole lot that the house was built on and was professionally landscaped.

The flagstones of the deambulatory changed to a patio of grey bricks that ran along the ground against the house; the same thirteen-pointed star Wyohla drew earlier was set into the patio in white bricks, with a fire pit in the center circle, which was surrounded by six bucketed, bog-oak patio chairs with blue cushions. The setting sand that would usually fill the joints in the brickwork of decorative patios like this had been colonized and replaced by an infestation of mugwort.

The patio extended out from the house and was capped with a semicircle, where it abruptly changed to a lawn of ankle-high grass, interspersed with wild-flowers that were mostly blue. A grand, old oak sat in the right corner of the north side. The bark of its bole was tucked beneath a blue-gray layer of lichen, which was only broken by a plate-sized opening that led to a hollow in the trunk.

The oak's winding branches claimed a large swath of the yard as its own shaded realm, but now were mostly barren of leaves, and its realm was reduced to a cracked and fissured territory in the setting sun. Some branches crept over into the neighboring yard—the shade must have been nice in the summer, but now, in mid-autumn, the leaf litter would be nothing more than a hassle.

A bench-swing (whose white paint had long since started to chip and fade, and the exposed wood beneath it, greying from exposure) hung from one of the oak's thick lower boughs, which had grown around and claimed the iron links as its own; the chains creaked softly with the susurrus of the leaves as the bench swung slowly in the night wind. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

To the left of the oak grew a smaller, younger apple tree, with most of its branches on the left side, clawing up and away from the shade cast by the oak. None of its fallen fruits were present among the leaves below it, and the only apples still clinging to the tree hung above the neighboring yard to the left. A small greenhouse was attached to the back of the house and also served as the rear entrance.

Multiple balconies hung from the rear wall of the house above it, one on the right side of the second floor, two on both sides of the third, and one in the center of the fourth floor.

Once everyone was inside that backyard, Wyohla shut the gate, and the iron latch clicked into place, and like the starting crack of the races, everyone set off to different spots about the backyard: Lyma and Visi hurried to the bench; Wyohla and Lyvahn took a seat in the brown chairs; Ardhy dug in his pocket for a key and entered the greenhouse; and Thyres and Gysel stood around—waiting to be directed to a seat, Thyres is likely doing the same. Wyohla pointed to the chair next to her.

"Come sit, Gysel." Nodding, Gysel went to the chair; one of its back legs was pushed just outside of the circle. She took a seat.

"You can sit too if you want," Wyohla said to Thyres. He nodded and sat across from Gysel.

"Do you eat the apples?" Gysel asked, as she pointed over Wyohla, and to the tree.

"I usually use them as offerings," Wyohla answered.

"Most deities are fond of apples."

"Like Luhnylla?" There was a shriek from Lyma as the bench-swing was sent forward with enough force to put Lyma and Visi parallel to the ground. The chains went limp, then taut with a snap as it crashed back down.

"By the Gods, Gysel," Lyma exclaimed, clutching her chest. What has been done wrong? nothing has been done wrong—Gysel looked back and forth between Lyma and Visi, and Wyohla, hoping for some sort of answer.

"Check her chair," said Visi; he did not look to be perturbed by the event.

"It might be out of the circle." Wyohla stood and checked Gysel's chair.

"You're right, Visi," she answered, as she pushed Gysel's chair back into the circle with her leg.

"What happened?" Gysel asked.

"What happened was you said a name outside of a circle." Lyma rocked her head back and forth. Gysel looked to Wyohla for a more in-depth explanation.

"When you say the name of a deity," Wyohla began to give Gysel her answer, "it 'manifests' the deity. If you do not have an offering or a damn good reason, they can react like that. If you are isolated in a circle, they can still hear you, but they can't do anything about it, and usually just leave."

"All right," Gysel said; that means deities should be called by their longer name, thus, Luhnylla should be referred to as 'The Lady Beneath the Moonlit Visage,' or by the expansion of her name, 'The Lady of Moonlight' or any other variation, which there are likely many of.

"So does she like the apples?"

"Yes, but she likes them better if you bake them into a pie or something. She's got a sweet tooth." The door to the greenhouse opened with a creak, and everyone looked to the returning Ardhy.

"I hope you went in to get wine," Wyohla said, shaking her nearly empty bottle from Bwouker's.

"I didn't," Ardhy answered, as he held two wooden boxes, both of which were far too small to fit a wine bottle. Wyohla stood with a groan.

"You dig through my stuff to make the fire into pretty colors, but don't bring wine or snacks. You're worse than the person with an accordion at a party." The wino stormed towards the greenhouse.

"Make the fire into pretty colors." Ardhy made a talking motion with his finger.

"I'm doing this to show Gysel some stuff."

"Uh-huh, good luck with that." Wyohla entered the greenhouse, aggressively shutting the door behind her. Showing is usually the best way to learn, especially when the person being shown just so happens to be both a visual and hands-on learner. Ardhy took a knee by the fire pit and set the boxes on the ground next to him, opening the one on top; it was full of corked glass vials. Removing one, he motioned to Gysel.

"Come and look at this." Gysel stood, walked over to Ardhy, and placed her hands on the sides of the fire pit; she looked in: the fire pit was a deep clay cauldron with thick, charred walls; sitting at the bottom amongst the ashes was a circular iron sheet with a connected dual activator engraved into the center, with a larger ring surrounding it.

The sigil for fire was already debossed inside the right circle of the dual activator, but lacked a source of fuel on the ring, and the other side only had a ring, which lacked any sort of sigil, but the inside of the ring was hollowed out, likely allowing for interchangeable sigils.

"Hold this," Ardhy said, handing Gysel the vial he removed. Gysel inspected the vial: the contents were a fine powder of a vibrant turquoise—copper chloride, a synthesized metal-salt compound which is fairly easy to make, though this copper chloride is very pure and made by someone with access to far better equipment than Father's backyard firepit.

"Did you buy this?"

"Wyohla did," Ardhy answered as he sifted through the other box.

"Why?"

"It's very pure." Gysel gently tossed the contents of the tube around with a whisking motion.

"If one of you had made this, you would have been higher on the board." Ardhy laughed.

"Ow, well, you can make it next time."

"Will you buy me the raw material?"

"Sure."

"I can make that, too," Thyres said. He was slumped back into the chair, with his right leg resting on the thigh of his left, and his arms crossed.

"Might be best to spend your lab time on your projects and not on making stuff for me to use when I color fires," Ardhy answered. Gysel nodded in agreement: it is best not to waste class time, and his would be of a lesser quality and purity anyway. It was also nice to see that everyone was getting along; Ardhy and Thyres seemed to frequently banter or engage in some sort of friendly competition. Thyres rolled his eyes and did not respond.

Ardhy found what he was looking for in the other box and held it up to show Gysel: it was an iron disk with the alchemical symbol or 'sigil' of copper on it.

"So, I take this and put it into its spot here." He reached into the fire pit and set the disk into the circular hollow on the iron base. It clicked into its home, and the fit looked precise enough that one would have a great struggle removing the disk. Holding a hand out to Gysel, he said: "Hand me the copper." Gysel carefully put the glass vial into Ardhy's hand.

The vial, which was about the size of Gysel's hand when measuring from her wrist to the tip of her middle finger, looked small in Ardhy's, only slightly larger than his palm.

"Thank you." He pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the contents around the ring of the copper sigil, smoothing it out with the rounded end of the vial—nothing happened, but why? Ardhy stood and jogged over to the greenhouse. He was back before Gysel could ask why he left, returning with two wooden disks: a large one for the outer ring, and a small one for the fire sigil. He centered the smaller disk in the ring around the fire, then placed the large disk in, but did not center it.

Gysel leaned over the side of the clay vessel, hoping to get a good view.

"Back up or you won't have your eyebrows," Ardhy said, as he picked up a long iron fire poker from the ground by the clay pot. That was disappointing; it would be interesting to see what happened when it activates. Gysel backed up and moved around the vessel so she could still see the circle with the copper-chloride. Sticking the poker into the vessel, Ardhy shifted the disk into place. There was a quick flash from both of the two smaller sigils, before the fire came to life in shades of bluish-green.

Its flames were a head taller than Gysel.

"Why does it work?" Gysel asked; it was obvious how the layout of the sigil worked: the copper-chloride would mix with the fire once the outer ring was activated, but it did not answer why it worked, why it could just start a fire. Visi answered from the bench, holding up a raised finger.

"The sigils are used to channel different flows, and by doing so—""No." Lyma clamped her hands over his mouth and pulled him down by the beard, burying his face in her lap. Then she curled herself around him, keeping him trapped, face-first in the skirt of her brown wool dress. Visi struggled for a moment before accepting his fate, and going still. Ardhy set the poker down.

"To be brief—""I do not want brief," Gysel interrupted. A muffled 'ah-ha' and a raised fist came from Visi.

"Well, everyone else does," Wyohla said. Gysel jumped; the fire was too engrossing, and Wyohla had managed to return to her seat undetected.

"Let Ardhy be brief. Ask Visi at some point, and he will be more than pleased to lecture you on it." Lyma said.

"All right. Sorry." Gysel stepped back to her chair.

"Don't be sorry, it's Visi's fault. If he picked his moments, we would let him talk more."

"Can I continue?" Ardhy asked.

"Yes," said Lyma.

"When the sigil is complete, the materials inside are transformed into Shskthalt, then mixed back together into something new. Sometimes you need to be more precise with your measurements to make sure the exchanges are equal, but in cases like this, it does not matter." Gysel nodded; that made sense, the 'Shskthalt' of copper, and the 'Shskthalt' mixed together, creating fire with the coloring of copper, but this only achieved the same function as putting copper-chloride into a non-sigil fire.

Ardhy took the cases and returned inside. The time passed quickly. Everyone talked and drank; Gysel listened and was parched; water would be nice, but that would likely end with Wyohla forcing wine instead.

"It's the twenty-fourth hour, you two," Wyohla said to Lyma and Visi. They nodded, and from the speed at which they left the bench and came to the fire, it would be safe to say that they evacuated it.

"What does that mean?" Gysel asked. Wyohla pointed to the hollow in the oak's bole.

"There is a parliament of owls that lives in that cavity, and what I think is the male is very territorial, and not friendly at all. Usually around now, he comes out, and if you're in that seat, he lets you know how little he wants you around." Wyohla answered with a slight slur in her words. She held the bottle out for Gysel.

"Want some?"

"No," Gysel yawned as she watched the entrance to the hollow through the fire as it changed colors. The licking blue flames were slowly beckoning sleep, but this was not the place to sleep, for the chair was far less comfortable than her bed, and there was no Kawvel.

"I agree with Gysel, I'm going to call it a night as well," said Thyres.

"So, I'll walk back with Gysel." Gysel looked across the fire to Thyres.

"I—""I'll go as well," said Lyma.

"I have to be up early tomorrow."

"If everyone at the Academy is going to the Academy." Lyvahn stood.

"I guess I'm going too." So much for watching the owls, maybe another time. Everyone exchanged goodnights, except for Wyohla, who groaned and drank more. Then Lyma, Lyvahn, Thyres, and Gysel left, leaving Wyohla, Visi, and Ardhy in the backyard.