Twisted Hearts 2—Eavesdropping
Kheldron cautiously pushed aside a rich silk tapestry, and ducked into the darkness behind it. He wasn’t too used to sneaking around, broad-shouldered and with a jaw you could crack rocks on, nearly all the junior wizards knew of his physical prowess. But then, he was also reknowned for knowing the College’s North Tower like the back of his own hand, and he’d never suspected a secret passage here before. He couldn’t have the Porters stealing credit for his discovery, so he pressed on into the darkness.
“Oh, what do we have here?” The voice was strong and masculine, with a distinctive Verdanian twang. Kheldron had to force himself not to jump in surprise, he hadn’t even sensed a presence behind him. “Wendelar,” he growled, “I should have known.”
Kheldron spun around, drawing his magiq wand and taking up a duelling pose. But for all his reputation, he’d only ever fought in tournaments. The real world could be very different. In a duelling arena, for example, it would be very rare to feel a curse flowing up your legs from runes on the floor.
“Oh, come now,” Wendelar sang, his one good eye dancing over the older wizard’s changing form with every sign of amusement, “A good kitty would never draw a wand on his master.” Kheldron growled in displeasure, but found his wand falling to the ground as fingers twisted painfully into some kind of paws. He still had his manly determination though, if he couldn’t use magiq he’d just find some other way to please his Master.
He didn’t notice the change in his thoughts, any more than a bird can feel a change in the wind. He’d been almost completely unprepared. He just felt his body changing, fur growing to cover his body almost as quickly as his robes dissolved into smoke. He felt his tail swishing through the air effortlessly, and Master’s hand starting to gently massage his leonine cock, bringing the now-docile pet a reminder of how good it could feel to obey.
A raven-haired young woman lay back on a soft cotton matress, fingers easing themselves under the waistband of her pants as she pulled herself out of the dream. A friend had showed her recently how to reach the shared dream-world wizards had created, but she’d never imagined it could contain anything so exciting.
The stories spoke to something primal in her heart, and she could never resist the passions that arose as she let herself experience that story again each night. She wondered what would happen if any of the town’s young men found out about her unnatural desires. She knew that everyone wanted her body, so if those things could actually be done, she was sure they’d find a way.
She couldn’t express these ideas, though, even if she did find a wizard who’d want her. These stories were the first suggestion she’d found that others might want the same things, have the same dark fantasies. She wondered, hopefully, if the tales might be true.
The narrator, Orichal, sat back and let the dream become intangible for a moment. He’d been looking through the dream Communities for true stories, and the rich sensation of real emotion. He’d been disappointed, at first, to find yet another copy of the homoerotic fantasy known as “Master of the Northeast Tower”. The story was flawed, the plot too predictable, and the fantastic depictions of magiq made it clear that no mage—let alone a wizard - had any hand in its dreaming.
But this was a memory about someone reading that fantasy, and some instinct told Orichal, the narrator, that the girl who had shared this memory might have an interesting story of her own, if she got close to living out those fantasies. He grabbed the thread of the dream again, and flew forward through it, seeking out any mention of real magiq. There was a flicker of recognition under his probing thoughts, and he slowed down to take a closer look.
... sharply barked “Stop resisting!” The girl instinctively threw her psychic guard into fighting the new order, leaving herself wide open to the previous words. Her hands reached up, unlacing her bodice as naturally as she might have unthinkingly scratched an itch. Realising what she was doing brought ...
Yes, that story looked both intriguing and exciting. And with the intensity of embarassment, of shame and surprise attached to the memory, it felt like a true story from the girl’s heart. Orichal, the narrator, wondered just how someone could use magiq to effect such control in the real world, though. Well, he’d find out soon, as he sought for a convenient place to start and dived back into the memory...
Glenburn was built around a farmers’ town, and a small one at that, because to the west there was no fertile land beyond the blue-grey cliffs. But where the mountains took away one source of income, the valley around the river Burn brought another. Following one of the few safe routes through the icy spires, the town was an important stopping point for most travellers from foreign lands. So among the grocers, mercers, butchers and smiths, there were a dozen inns ranging from squalid to luxurious. And in front of the church, in what had become known as the gaye quarter, there was a square surrounded by traders, scribes, tailors, sky chandlers, bookmakers, restaurants and now even a sorceror; merchants catering to the affluent passers-through.
The sorceror was named Tenshioh, and made his living from a small sandstone house on the southern corner of the square. He was quite short, and broad-shouldered though nowhere near as muscular as the labourers of the old town. His olive-brown skin and golden hair hinted at ancestors from beyond the mountains, or from islands in the far south. With a square jaw and steady gaze, he considered himself lucky in the great dice game of ancestry. Never quite fitting into the background, it was almost like free advertising.
Nobody, his mentor Carolis had said, would pay such high fees for magiqal assistance if you seemed just like the guy next door. So display a bronze hexagon discretely outside your office, and set cantrips to open the door without a visible servant’s hand. Be arrogant and mysterious, ensure that people respect your powers so that they will properly value them. Though so far, Tenshioh hadn’t found it so easy to attract clients. A couple of merchants visited each week, offering gold for a scrying of a delayed sky ship’s location, or charms to protect their caravans from inclement weather. Once or twice, the gentlemen of what passed for high society in these parts visited with pressing need for a love potion, thinking themselves attractively dangerous. Tenshioh had laughed inwardly as he mixed the simple herbs, imagining the client’s expression if they knew the things that went on in the twisted hearts of the College Court. He could think of things much closer to the edge than the use of a simple aphrodisiac. But still, he had only a few hours work each week. It kept him in a comfortable lifestyle, though nothing luxurious, but left a lot of time for solitary contemplation of the mysteries of the universe.
Tenshioh didn’t really care much for the mysteries of the universe, though, and found himself quite often bored with tirelessly probing the secrets at the very heart of being. And so, one quiet day, like so many days before it, he found himself standing before the counter of Tylor and Petterel’s, a distinguished gentleman’s tailor which lay close to his own premises. He wore a Bronze, marking him as a practitioner of magiq, but beyond the small badge there was nothing to distinguish him from any other civilised man among friends. The haughty tone most people would expect of a mage was nowhere to be found, which perhaps shows just how much difference there can be between belief and reality.
Racinda handed him a cup of tea. On paper, the emporium was managed by her cousin, but Racinda had fallen into the habit of looking after his business for him while he fed his vices. Tenshioh didn’t mind at all; the young woman’s voice was certainly easier on the ears, and he found that he quite enjoyed her company during these visits.
“I read that in the College of the Unseen, the teapots can pour themselves,” she said as he took the first sip.
“Well, there’s some that can,” he smiled. A friend with such bottomless curiosity made it so easy to talk, and easy to relax. “But just because you can use magiq, doesn’t mean you should. There’s no artifice engine that could understand the art of brewing such a delicious cup.” Racinda blushed at the compliment, prompting the mage to change the subject, “So where did you read that? Looking into the study of magiq now?”
That didn’t seem to spare her embarrassment, though. Her emerald eyes darted around the shop, checking for anyone who might hear, or maybe seeking some distraction, before she replied in a half whisper, “There’s a story on the Communities,” she paused. Tenshioh was a little surprised, but reminded himself that since his youth it had become a lot easier for those without magiqal talent to access the realm of shared dreams. Knowing that she Dreamed, and from her hesitation, he knew the story she meant even before her thin lips shaped the words, “Master of the Northeast Tower?”
He nodded, “I’ve heard of it, its in so many dreams. I should think everyone’s seen a few pages by now.” He didn’t say any more; with only the faintest of clues, he couldn’t be sure whether she found the stories of rape and slavery in the halls of learning erotic or repulsive.
“Could stuff like that ... I mean, is that possible?” He tried to meet her eyes, but she was still looking down, face flushed. Was she embarrassed to admit curiosity about something so perverse, or afraid to believe mages could actually do such things? Tenshioh couldn’t judge her expression, so decided to fall back on the truth.
“The mind control?” He answered, “no, there’s no magiq that will do that.” But seeing her disappointment, at last an expression he could recognise clearly, he continued, “Not like the stories, anyway. Your mind has natural defences more powerful than you could imagine. A spell to penetrate them would be like a spade that digs through granite: Even if someone could make it, no man alive has the strength to wield it.”
“Its not always necessary to go through the shield, though,” Tenshioh found the words flowing naturally, sharing his knowledge easily on a topic he was more familiar with than anyone in Glenburn would expect, “If someone wants me to cure them of a fear, for example, I could forge a change spell into a physical shape. If you touch it voluntarily, welcome the magiq within your body, then it slips inside your soul, and your thoughts change shape as they flow around it. In theory, I guess there’s no reason you couldn’t use that to control someone, though of course the College would not teach such an abhorrent practice. And, of course, your victim would have to choose to accept the spell, which I would think defeats the purpose of control.”
He opened his mouth to continue, but the words caught in his throat as he noticed Racinda’s expression. Not disgust, nor the icy disapproval other student mages would feign, but interest. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and it was clear that respect for propriety was only just holding her back from expressing her interest. After a brief internal struggle, curiosity won. “But then, if someone wanted to have their thoughts shaped... ?” Tenshioh nodded, but before he could enquire further about what she had in mind they were interrupted by a discrete tinkle from the little silver bell above the shop’s door.
Tenshioh had nearly forgotten that perplexing conversation, when he heard a hesitant knock at his door. He twitched a thought at his magic mirror, and it reflected the mundane world for a moment. He whistled up a minor spirit of the winds, and sent it into the network of tubes that would harness its power to make the heavy oak door creak slowly open. He had maybe a minute, then, to pull his cloak straight and take his hat—pointed at the centre, with a stiffly up-curved brim at both sides, in a style only recently out of fashion—from the stuffed unicorn head beside his hatstand.
He reached his study and carefully opened the door to admit whoever the cautious visitor might be. This time, the customer was two young women. Racinda was instantly recognisable, from her expertly-cut dress of cheap cotton, bluffing a femenine figure despite the almost straight lines of her body, to emerald eyes wide with curiosity behind straight auburn curtains of hair.
Her friend was half a hand taller, with wavy black hair in which it seemed you could almost see a hint of red or gold, as it caught the afternoon light. Her face was pleasantly rounded, though hazel eyes were turned nervously downwards. Her clothes seemed quite simple, but well cut and perfectly fitted her well-rounded form.
“Hi,” Racinda seemed almost as nervous as her friend, “This is Miname, she trained with my cousin Dural at the guild.” That would make her a few years older than Racinda, Tenshioh realised, but she really didn’t look it. With smooth skin and an innocent, almost naive smile, she could probably have passed for a child if it weren’t for her well-developed figure. Miname looked down, and blushed slightly when she noticed the mage’s eyes on her.
“Its a pleasure to meet you, Miname.” He wanted to move closer and comfort the girl, but didn’t know what to say. Maybe he shouldn’t have put on the hat, which added nearly a foot to his height, but he’d been expecting to see a customer at the door. “Can I offer you some tea? They make the most delightful blends in this town.” Both of the young women nodded, so he gestured for them to sit down on chairs of soft, crimson leather while he went into the other room to arrange a drink. He hung his hat up in the kitchen too, his talent for reading people letting him know straight away that he was more likely to get custom from these girls by appearing human, someone they could trust.
While the tea was steeping, however, he became aware that Racinda had come into the kitchen behind him. “Well, I guess you meant it about there not being magiq teapots,” she grinned, hoping a little joke could break the ice. A little pause, and he could almost see the words being marshaled behind her eyes, “I guess I should tell you why we’re here/. Miname’s kind of scared to admit it, even I find it tough really.” The mage nodded his understanding, and she continued, “I’ll come right out with it, then. She’s the friend who introduced me to the Northeast Tower stories, we’re very good friends, special friends, and she’s never dared to admit it to anyone else. But there’s something in one of those stories that she wants to feel.” Tenshioh raised an eyebrow, but Racinda kept talking. She was almost as nervous as her friend, he could see that she was just reciting a prepared speech now, knowing that if she stopped talking she might not be able to start again. “Well you said some of it might be possible for real, and if it is, we ... we want it.”
So five minutes later, the mage and his friend returned to the front room, she carrying a tea tray and he a book decorated with intricate metallic runes. “Hi Miname,” he picked his words carefully so as not to scare the beautiful girl, “your ... friend ... has told me that you’re interested in trying something you’ve read about in a story.” Tenshioh waited for a nod before he continued, and if he hadn’t been looking for the confirmation he would have missed it. “Its a chapter about a detective mage named Kheldron that particularly takes your interest, I believe, and his transformation from an assertive individualist into a pet.” Again, she nodded, but more confident this time. She could hardly believe that a real mage knew what she wanted, and hadn’t turned her away in disgust. “Well, I can tell you it isn’t that your body and soul have enough natural resistance to stop a curse sinking in so easily—" was that a sigh of disappointment, he wondered, "—but if you’re willing, it might be a completely different story.”
Miname looked up, meeting the mage’s eyes directly for the first time, and he was taken aback by the sudden intensity of her gaze. “Yes!” the word was half lost in a breathless squeek of excitement, “I liked so many of the stories, but that one ... Oh yes, I’m willing.”