The Search for the Shadowsoul, page 1
For my Magic Ifs
YAM
“THE SHADOWSOUL”
Being a literary instruction on the creation of Shadowsouls
Wicked toil, malice, anger
Villainy and willful danger
Craft a creature wrought from magic
crueler than a winter snow
When the darkness falls completely
Settles fully, wholly, deeply
When your misdeeds shape a spirit
twisted from your evil goals
Fear the consequences due you from
your vile, hateful role
Tremble at your Shadowsoul
A WORD FROM OUR NARRATOR
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a wizardess named Merlynda defeated the Hollower.
She had help, of course. Her best friend, her familiar, and a wandering minstrel; Nordvings, Rusvokians, and a mostly good witch; all of these and more came together from across Faelor to help her defeat an ancient evil and rescue her brother. If you haven’t yet read that story, it is an exceptional work well worth your time.
This story isn’t about Merlynda, though she’s still in it. So is Percy, Merlynda’s twin and the assumed heir to Merlyn’s prophecy, before it was revealed that Merlynda was the Septimum Genus, and Percy was… well, just Percy.
Percy didn’t want to be Just Percy, so he became the Hollower. Twisted by the amulet of the evil Morgan le Fey, he traveled through time to Hollow the magic from beings, plants, and objects. In the end it was all a dastardly trick by Morgan. She was using Percy to return from beyond the In-Between and get her vengeance on Merlyn’s descendants. If not for Merlynda, the sorceress might have succeeded.
Merlynda defeated Morgan.
Merlynda saved Percy.
But as much as Merlynda would like to, she can’t heal him.
All actions have consequences. Sometimes these consequences are delicious, which was usually the result when Percy decided to cook. Sometimes these consequences are wondrous, such as the first time Merlynda connected with the Aether. And sometimes these consequences are dire and long lasting, such as when Percy chose to be the Hollower.
It is a terrible thing to realize how your choices have harmed others. Terrible, but necessary. Those of good conscience must bear the burden of attempting to make things right.
This story is about Percy. Let’s check in with him, shall we?
He was never the Septimum Genus, and is no longer the Hollower, so he isn’t quite sure who he is.
1 In which evil whispers echo and magic is restored
Percival of Merlyn Manor stared longingly at the sunshine filtering in through the window. It was a glorious morning. The manor grounds burst with the colors and smells of freshly blooming flowers, and a slight breeze offered a delicious reprieve from the warm, glowing sun. It was the perfect day for sneaking off into the orchard to try a forbidden spell, or to romp around with his twin, Merlynda, or ride his pony-scorpion, Harriet.
Alas, he wasn’t allowed any of those things, for he was doomed to the library.
This was Percy’s least-favorite room in all of Merlyn Manor. He found it claustrophobic, with its towering shelves, overstuffed furniture, and, worst of all, books. Loads of them. Mountains of them. Tomes and scrolls and parchments. And he was tasked to read them all, on account of being grounded forever. Last year he and Merlynda had played a (mostly harmless) prank on their uncle William, then escaped to the orchard to attempt a potentially dangerous but definitely off-limits spell while their parents were away. Among other things.
A wooden gryphon shot out of the grandfather clock, startling Percy so badly, he scattered the pile of books and scrolls in front of him. “Back to work!” it growled. “Back to work!”
Mother had enchanted the clock to monitor Percy’s studies. She believed that if Percy were more traditionally educated, he might not again fall prey to, say, a banished sorceress bent on murdering their family and conquering the known world.
Percy tore his gaze from the window. Magicking the books into place would have been simple, but he was strictly forbidden from performing any unsupervised magic. He stacked them in place, lining them up just so.
He had other reasons for carefully arranging them. Percy didn’t disagree that laying a foundational understanding of magic was wise, given that his reliance on natural talent and raw power had gotten him into monumental trouble. But he was more concerned with topics beyond the basic magical elements that Mother had thus far curated for him, so he’d assigned himself some extracurricular reading that he preferred stayed secret.
He made sure he was still alone, then slipped out a small scroll.
Foresight is one of the most difficult branches of magic to study. The ability is rare, and common intuition is often mistaken for this magical skill. Countless spells and rituals have been developed to scry the future, but none have been successful. It is unknown why this ability manifests in some magic users and not others—
Percy resisted banging his head against the table. This was the fifth academic work he’d slogged through, and all it did was use too many words to explain common knowledge.
Maybe he ought to ask Merlynda for help. But then she’d want to know why he was asking about foresight, especially when she didn’t have that skill herself, and that wasn’t something he could bring himself to share. Not until he had answers.
You could let me help, you know, Morgan le Fey’s whisper crooned through his mind.
Shut up, Percy thought back.
This was met, as it always was, with a cruel, tinkling laugh.
A WORD ABOUT FORESIGHT (or at least about Percy’s)
Foresight is indeed a rare magical ability. Percy inherited this skill from his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, the great wizard Merlyn. But foresight is a fickle and unreliable magic, as the future itself is fickle and prone to change.
Percy had often used his foresight to see what the weather might be like in a few weeks, or if he and Merlynda would get in trouble for their latest scheme, or if Father would ever notice that the twins had singed his favorite doily and then reknitted it with magic.
But that was before.
Before Percy had vanished into a portal beyond the In-Between. Before he had found an evil amulet and become the Hollower. Before the Omnivia, where his sister had risked everything to save him from Morgan le Fey, and—Percy knew deep down—from himself.
He was determined not to give in to wickedness again, but still feared the darkness lurking inside him. It’s what the amulet had preyed upon, after all—that which was already there.
That first night home from the Omnivia six months ago, Percy had thought, couldn’t he take a peek into his distant future? Couldn’t he check to see how he turned out in the end, and lay this worry of his wickedness to rest?
Unfortunately, when one has been beyond the In-Between, and delved into the spaces between magic, and allowed a vile sorceress deeply into one’s heart and mind, one’s magic might become unmoored—particularly fickle magic such as foresight.
Percy had not seen his future.
He’d seen Morgan le Fey’s past—her first defeat at the Omnivia, by Merlyn’s hand.
Strange, he’d thought. That event has already happened.
And then a tinkling laugh had echoed through his mind and heart, and shaken him to his core.
* * *
Frustrated, Percy rolled the scroll up and poured himself a glass of water. Nothing he’d read had mentioned anything about seeing someone else’s past, or theorized about how a sorceress trapped beyond the In-Between might speak directly into your head.
She was mostly powerless, trapped as she was, and Percy suspected that Morgan didn’t understand this arrangement any more than he did. But he felt her exploring, testing, trying to escape once more.
He wouldn’t allow it. And he could never tell Merlynda that Morgan le Fey, the embodiment of evil, was able to speak to him from her banishment. He couldn’t bear having his sister believe, even for a moment, that he was still wicked.
Oh, Percival. The voice was amused. I’ve told you before. Now, and forever, you are mine.
Percy tensed as he always did when Morgan said such things, but he knew that the sorceress had no control over him. That power had broken at the Omnivia—a circle of enormous stone pillars in a place of deep magic—when Merlynda had saved him.
Nevertheless, a tiny part of him wondered… what if Morgan was right?
No, he reminded himself. She lies. She deceives. She is incapable of anything else.
But as the tinkling laughter echoed within him, that tiny part worried that perhaps, this time, she might be telling the truth.
* * *
Outside on the manor grounds, Merlynda dealt with her own punishment. To anyone who met the Merlyns, the family resemblance was obvious. She and Percy had the same chestnut hair, blue eyes, and pale skin.
Merlynda’s familiar, a wyvern, flew past in a brilliant red-and-gold streak. He circled around and landed on her shoulder. “Ready, Iggy?” Merlynda asked him.
“Iggy” was a nickname, but only his friends were allowed to call him that. It had taken some doing, but he and Merlynda were definitely friends. He bared his teeth. “Ready.”
Merlynda shook out her purple robes and held up her staff, a bronze-and-silver rod crested with a brilliant amethyst. She concentrated, feeling Iggy’s magic intertwine with hers as they reached for the Aether.
Six months ago Merlynda could have made an entire forest grow if she’d fancied. That was when she’d just come from the In-Between and had been overflowing with the presence of the Aether. Over time her magic had gone back to its usual impressive level, as opposed to its recently-from-the-In-Between supercharged one.
Merlynda took a steadying breath. “Now without the staff.”
This was her punishment. Merlynda had already read everything in the manor’s library (and had much of it memorized), so she was practicing applying her knowledge.
Iggy shuffled on Merlynda’s shoulder as she set her staff down. This was the tricky part.
The wizardess focused, sensing the Earth before them, and the Air and other magical elements around them, and grasped directly for the Aether—
The ground erupted into a dozen new saplings. Merlynda stumbled back with a squeal that Percy heard even inside the library. Iggy bolted into the air as Merlynda tripped over her staff.
One of the saplings picked up the staff. The sapling studied it, then thrust it forward like a commander leading its troops. The saplings charged.
That was the quirk about Merlynda’s magic. She’d finally learned to control it, but without her staff to focus her power, things still got interesting.
Merlynda scrambled to her feet. She didn’t know if anyone other than her could use the staff, and she didn’t want to find out.
Percy watched from the library as Iggy zipped around, jetting fire at the saplings. The wizard started to stand, then hesitated. He wasn’t to use his magic without supervision, but more than that—
You can crush those pitiful twigs with a mere thought.
—he didn’t trust himself.
Before, Percy would have strolled up with a chuckle and set to rights everything that Merlynda bungled, and basked in the praise of anyone who saw. His magic had been a good friend, brimming just beneath the surface, powerful despite not yet coming of age.
But he’d caused so much pain and grief with his magic as the Hollower, he didn’t trust that he might not do so again. Especially with Morgan’s voice in his head.
Besides, Merlynda didn’t need him anymore. He watched as she magicked her own (somewhat controlled) attacks and shields, dodging some saplings, only to be tripped by others who popped back into the ground when she whirled to face them.
Merlynda gritted her teeth and rose to her feet for the fifth time. She focused on the Aether humming through every living thing. Magic pulsed within her, delighting in her, laughing joyfully as she reached for it.
She spread her arms wide, then slammed her hands toward each other, stopping them just before they touched. Magic radiated out, smashed into the saplings, and sent them (and her staff) flying.
“Merlynda!” Iggy knocked the airborne staff toward his wizardess. It landed with a thud on the grass before her. She picked it up, satisfied, and sent the saplings back into the ground. Without her staff her magic still mostly exploded, but she was better at controlling said explosions.
The clock on the library wall chimed, and the tiny gryphon darted out. “Back to work!” it growled. “Back to work!”
Percy’s vision went spotty, and he sighed as a haze fell over his sight—not obscuring things, but lying on top. It was disorienting, like looking at two different pictures at the same time.
The hazy layer showed a poorly lit tavern, packed with the evening’s rush.
Percy saw the scene through Morgan’s eyes—it was her memory, after all. He felt his face—Morgan’s face—split into a winning smile. He felt her malice, and the confidence of the powerful. “Stop gawking, my dears! Haven’t you ever seen a vengeful sorceress before?”
A flash of purple followed, and the haze lifted. At least this memory had been a short one. After six months of fruitless attempts to stop them, he’d learned it was best to let the memories play out.
That was a good day, Morgan whispered.
What did you do? Percy dreaded the answer, but if he was to rid himself of Morgan, he needed to know more about her.
I let them off easy by turning them into pigs.
Percy shuddered.
He’d tried to force a memory once, hoping to learn why they happened. He’d failed, and had spent two days in bed with a piercing headache no magical remedy could relieve, to Mother’s bafflement. Percy kept to himself to hide Morgan’s whispers, and to avoid explaining the sudden distraction when a memory hit. His family assumed he was recovering from his time as the Hollower, and Percy let them.
He at last faced the book he was supposed to be studying. He’d rather be outside, and Merlynda would rather be inside, but Mother’s punishment philosophy was about strengthening their weaknesses.
Magic was accessed through four primary elements: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. Through these elements, wizardesses and sorceresses and other magical beings connected with the Aether, the real magic. Or at least that was what everyone had thought before Merlynda had gone to the In-Between and actually spoken with the Aether. Aether was more than a power to be manipulated. It was the source of all life and magic, and according to Merlynda could be accessed directly. Grandfather Merlyn had known this, but down the line things had gotten muddled and others had forgotten.
Percy believed Merlynda, but he had an affinity for Air, so working with Air was still easier for him. He’d started his grounding by reading A Comprehensive Overview of Air and The Winds of Magic: Air and Its Many Corners. Mother had eventually caught on, which was why he now looked down at Fyre through the Ages with disdain.
At least reading bored Morgan as much as it did him. He glanced over the diagram of the life cycle of the fyrethorn and read:
The fyrethorn is a brittle yet highly magical flora. While some insist its plant nature qualifies it as linked with Earth, its fiery—
Merlynda swept into the library, scowling and scraped from the sapling attack. Her staff needed a good polish.
“We’re getting better,” Iggy insisted to her. “The ground exploded, but we also grew a tiny mobile orchard! That’s impressive.”
“Hello.” Percy shoved the foresight scroll deeper into the pile of books. “You were brilliant.”
He poured her a glass of water, but she waved him away and collapsed into the chair next to him. “Only because of my staff. You wouldn’t have needed it.”
This wasn’t said with jealousy. Merlynda might have been the Septimum Genus, but Percy had greater control over his magic than she ever would without her staff, even if he’d barely cast a charm since the Omnivia. The most magic he’d done was change the color of his robe from blue to a deep teal. He’d said it didn’t feel right to return to things exactly as they had been, after all that had happened.
Merlynda understood, but there were some things she wouldn’t mind returning to the way they’d been. Percy’s hovering, for instance. He felt so guilty about his time as the Hollower that he tried to make up for it in any way possible. “I don’t need another cushion fluffed, Percy. I’m fine.”
He held the pillow like he might fluff it anyway, then stepped back, avoiding Merlynda’s staff. It was made from Morgan’s amulet and a bracer Percy had crafted to cut Merlynda off from the Aether—two objects he’d rather have nothing to do with. He loved that Merlynda had fashioned it into something beautiful and healing, but he was still frightened of what it had once represented.
“I’m not hungry, either,” Merlynda said as Percy reached for a plate of her favorite scones, freshly baked that morning. Merlynda loved Percy (and his scones), but his attention was stifling.
Iggy hopped onto the table and (with great willpower) slither-walked past the scones to the window. “What an excellent view,” he said, peeking to see if Percy was listening. “It’s a perfect day for romping, with all that fresh air and sunshine.”
“Iggy,” Merlynda warned.
We could show him our sunshine.
There’s no “we,” Percy snapped. He kept his face neutral, betraying no sign about the sorceress in his head. “It is, Ignus.”
Percy was not allowed to call the wyvern Iggy, given that Percy had attempted to Hollow him (repeatedly) while under the amulet’s influence. And given that Percy had Hollowed Merlynda.
