Technomancer: Birth of a Goddess

Hours later, when the sun has long slipped below the horizon and the moon has risen to take its place, scattering rays of cold light through the tent’s vent flaps, Sala quiets the varied conversations filling the room by stomping her foot and letting out a small burst of fire and light.

“The day has passed, and the drink was good,” she says, raising her empty mug before setting it down, her body pulsing orange with mana and heat as a thin mist is expelled. “Let us put an end to festivities for now and gather once more for an exchange and a commune with our gods.”

Mugs are raised in a sea of motion, and all of the councillors shimmer with mana, following Sala in expelling the alcohol from their systems.

“Mages are so showy…” Pod mumbles under his breath before his eyes crackle with charge, and the flush colouring his cheeks quickly fades.

“Form plays an important part in spellcraft,” Emily responds dryly, drawing a chuckle from the man despite her stone-cold poker face.

The Lisori mages who formed the tables holding the remains of their feast all clap their hands in sync, sliding their palms over each other before thrusting them out in a sweeping motion, sending the constructs flying out of the tent. The attendants who brought out the food return to replace the cushions around the central pyre that’s now but spitting embers. Despite burning out a few minutes before the sun set, the smouldering remains still emanate a soft glow that illuminates the tent.

Emily and her party take their places kneeling among the God’s Council, and they stare at Sala opposite them, now able to see her clearly.

“In good faith, thanks to the openness you’ve shown tonight, we shall go first,” the woman declares, rousing her mana and letting it seep from her skin, forming a glistening cloak of burning light that seems to shift repeatedly into familiar fractals before blinking back into solid form as Emily’s eyes struggle to focus on it. “Our power, and the forms it takes, are gifted to us by our divines.”

The other clan leaders all unleash their mana as well, taking on similar cloaks of power that coalesce into impossible twisting geometries that almost hurt the eye.

“We call to our gods when we first turn of age and request a connection, offering ourselves and our faith to them entirely, and in return, they pour themselves into us, bestowing us with a mere fraction of their essence. That small seed of faith we plant in our hearts.” Sala and the clan heads place their hands to their hearts, and Emily can hear them beat in sync, each one with dual voices of flesh and mana. “It is then our role to continue devoting ourselves to our gods, offering them gifts and sacrifices of our wealth and resources while pouring our beliefs into their seeds and completing acts in their names. If they appreciate our efforts, we receive blessings in the form of power and knowledge. The methods we use to move and manifest our mana all come from their graces, and if we please them greatly, some of us are even gifted fragments of their forms.”

Emily can only watch in wonder as Sala shifts, her hands morphing into talons and her skin rippling before folding in on itself as golden feathers sprout from her flesh. The edges of the feathers all quiver like burning flames, and they cover the woman’s entire body, peeking from every gap in her armour that shifts to accommodate the change, including splitting open at the back to allow three sets of feathered wings to stretch out.

Via’s skin turns translucent and softens, visibly deforming as she holds her hands out and moulds them like clay, while Lia’s skin takes on a grey hue, etched with hairline cracks that echo feathers in form. Chia’s eyes narrow in an animalistic manner, and his ears sharpen as his fangs stretch, and his nails lengthen into claws. The tattoos tracing Hia’s head turn into inky black voids from which two long, dark tendrils extend, coiling behind her like snakes waiting to strike.

“Incredible,” Emily marvels, focusing her magical senses as closely on the transformations as she can, trying to discern any runic patterns responsible for them. “Am I correct in assuming you are only ever given spells relating to the domains of each god?”

“Yes.” Sala nods. “The Great One brings fire, light, and faint whisperings of the mind.”

“The Burning One brings fire and rage,” Chia growls, his words coming out as a barely discernible rumble.

“The Buried One brings crushing earth,” Lia adds with a heavy pressure leaking from his body.

“The Drowned One brings liquid darkness,” Hia says while drawing back in her tendrils, closing the gaping black holes on her head and letting tattoos retake their place.

“And The Scattered One brings the winds that shake space itself,” Via proudly declares, regaining colour and quickly reforming back into her human shape.

“Well, in that case,” Emily says, calling upon her metal and lightning connections and igniting her eyes in silver and blue. “Let me begin with the vocation I know of most similar to that: elementalists.”

***

“Really, elementless spells?” Sala can’t help but ask after Emily finishes her explanation of arcanists. “I can’t see it.”

“It’s true,” Emily nods, raising her hand and releasing a stream of light blue, unattributed mana.

She twists the mana into a complex runic circle, pulling a small notebook from her belt with her free hand and holding it to the centre of the spell. The matrix of mana pulses and, a few seconds after she removes the book, putting it safely back in her belt, the circle shatters, folding in on itself and forming into a perfect copy of the leatherbound journal.

Emily holds it up, flicking through the pages too fast for anyone to see her sister’s words before snapping her fingers and watching the phantom fade from existence.

“That was a neutral spell I call Duplicate, which allows me to copy any unenchanted object down to the smallest details. It has the complexity of a third circle spell, but it costs more depending on the size and detail of the object selected, and the copies can only exist for a short while.”

“What a versatile spell,” Via muses in awe. “So elementless spells are less combative?”

“Not at all.” Emily shakes her head, tapping one hand to the ground and channelling earthen mana into it, drawing up a humanoid target between her and the smouldering embers in the centre of the tent.

With the other hand, she weaves another unattributed spell, curling the runes and the complex geometries linking them around her arm. The moment it’s finished, she thrusts her hand forward, pointing two fingers at the humanoid clump of hardened earth. A faint blue glow ripples down her arm from the shoulder, and an unseen wave of formless intent shoots out, slamming into the target in the blink of an eye.

At first, nothing appears to have happened, then Emily waves the hand that formed the target, and it parts in two perfectly equal halves.

“That’s Sever,” she says with chilling calm as everyone stares at the perfectly smooth cut drawn from the crown of the target’s head to its groin. “A fourth circle neutral spell with the sole intent of splitting whatever it hits in two. It’s a little mana-intensive, quite easy to block, and requires almost an entire second to build power between activation and firing, but it’s nothing if not effective in a fight. Don’t discount anyone in a fight, no matter their path to power.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Sala says after giving everyone a few seconds to consider Emily’s words, drawing everyone’s focus back to her as she nods subtly to Via. “Now, would you be open to the honour of joining us in a bid to commune with our gods?”

“Gladly.” Emily nods, watching out of the corner of her eyes as Via begins drawing several sealed clay jars and ceremonial cups covered in small paintings of their five gods from a storage pouch in the small of her back. “However, I believe it would be best for my children and apprentice to take their leave for this. If my recent experience with a higher lifeform is anything to go by, I suspect communing with your gods without faith would only harm them.”

“A wise decision, I was just about to suggest the same while I ask your other magical friends to leave,” Sala agrees, turning her firm gaze to Virgil and Dante and switching to Ulea’s common tongue for the first time since meeting them. “While you are not unwelcome here as guests, it is unwise for those who don’t speak our tongue to reach for our divines.”

“We understand completely,” Virgil says, dipping his head and pushing himself up from kneeling. “Thank you for being so welcoming, you have my word we shall cause you no trouble and strictly follow Emily. I’m not really religious or anything, though, so magic’s blessings to you.”

Dante and Pod both say their thanks and rise to follow him, while Mensacus and Silica follow hot on their heels after waiting for a nod of approval from Emily.

Meanwhile, Via cracks open the jars she set before her, pouring their contents, a few liquids and a thin, shimmering purple powder, into a large jug and placing her hands on either side. Emily can’t hear any words despite her enhanced hearing, but she watches Via’s lips dance through a long chant as a soft green glow pours from her palms, mixing the contents of the jug and infusing it with her mana.

“In a few moments, the First Mouth will hand out a diluted form of God’s Tears, and we must all chant in time,” Sala explains to Emily. “You will need to say: We invoke twisted forms of gnarled flesh and mind; thought called through chaos to divinity’s spring. Buried, burned, drowned, and scattered; the unbound gods led by the great in all matters. Answer our call and speak wisdom to the winds; across space and time, bring us your words and your whims.”

Emily nods in solemn understanding, and they wait in polite silence as Via pours the pale-milky liquid from the jug in her hands into the cups before her, letting mana slip from her skin at the same time to form into translucent blobs of wind that pick up the filled drinks and distribute them around the tent. Emily takes the cup delivered to her hands and stares into it, watching glistening streaks of colour swirling within.

“Is everyone ready?” Sala calls out, receiving murmured agreement. “Then begin.”

Emily raises the cup to her lips and lets the cold liquid within slide down her throat. It tastes sickeningly sweet, almost to the point of setting off warning bells in Emily’s mind, but as a chill builds in her throat and tries to spread, she feels her machina tear through it.

She attempts to stop it, restraining her energy, but even in a calm, barely active state, the machina passively sending signals though her body holds the weakened God’s Tears at bay.

“We invoke twisted forms of gnarled flesh,” Emily begins, trying to continue anyway, but she can feel the lack of power behind her words.

Are mechanics incompatible with supplicants? No, that can’t be true. There must be other methods of contacting extradimensional patrons. I probably should have just taken a stronger dose.

She sits back and quietly watches the process instead, but she doesn’t see anything. After a few seconds, a chilling presence settles over them, but beyond stirring an unnatural breeze and making it feel hard to expand her magical senses, Emily doesn’t see a hint of divinity. The Council all stare into the seemingly undying embers in silence after their chant finishes, wearing absent expressions.

It takes a few minutes for them to begin snapping out of their trances, and they all shiver and begin bowing reverently the moment they regain lucidity.

“They did not see you,” Sala says with certainty after finally regaining herself, shattering the devoted silence. “Did you fail the chant?”

“No, I didn’t even say it,” Emily replies with a disappointed shake of her head. “The God’s Tears were too weak, and my machina burned them from my system almost immediately. Could I try again with a stronger dose?”

“No.” the leader of the Council firmly shakes her head. “The communion drought is a set recipe by tradition. Any stronger and you touch on induction, which is only safe and permitted for those of the faith.”

“What a shame.” Emily dismisses the notion of rewinding and trying to persuade Via to increase her dose. “Well, this meeting has been wonderful, but I think I shall retire to my ship for now to digest what I’ve learned today. I look forward to seeing more of some of you during my visit as I get a more in-depth look at your areas of expertise.”

The Councillors she has spoken to while eating about further meetings all nod in agreement and wave goodbye as Rimaro rises to politely walk her out.

“It has been a pleasure and an honour to meet you, Technomancer,” Sala says before she can step out. “I do hope you find your time here fruitful, and I will be contacting you again before you leave our shores about helping us raise some mechanics if you’re willing. The gods’ blessings to you.”

“Magic’s blessings to you.” Emily nods back, copying Virgil’s farewell and walking out into the moonlight.