Shine - Apparatus Of Change

  Soul of Unity

  Available Power : 36

  Authority : 7

  Bind Insect (1, Command)

  Fortify Space (2, Domain)

  Distant Vision (2, Perceive)

  Collect Plant (3, Shape)

  See Commands (5, Perceive)

  Bind Crop (4, Command)

  Shape Metal (5, Shape)

  Nobility : 6

  Congeal Glimmer (1, Command)

  See Domain (1, Perceive)

  Claim Construction (2, Domain)

  Stone Pylon (2, Shape)

  Drain Health (4, War)

  Spawn Golem (5, Command)

  Empathy : 5

  Shift Water (1, Shape)

  Imbue Mending (3, Civic)

  Bind Willing Avian (1, Command)

  Move Water (4, Shape)

  -

  Spirituality : 6

  Shift Wood (1, Shape)

  Small Promise (2, Domain)

  Make Low Blade (2, War)

  Congeal Mantra (1, Command)

  Form Party (3, Civic)

  Distant Trajectory (6, Arcane)

  Ingenuity : 5

  Know Material (1, Perceive)

  Form Wall (2, Shape)

  Link Spellwork (3, Arcane)

  Sever Command (4, War)

  Collect Material (1, Shape)

  Tenacity : 6

  Nudge Material (1, Shape)

  Bolster Nourishment (2, Civic)

  Drain Endurance (1, War)

  Pressure Trigger (2, War)

  Blinding Trap (5, War)

  -

  Animosity : 0 - -

  Amalgamate Human (3, Command)

  Congeal Burn (2, Command)

  Trepidation : 0 -

  Follow Prey (2, Perceive)

  Avarice : -

  Consume Ecology (3, War)

  “Hello little one.” The words across Form Party are still, more than any other option I have, words. My voice to Yuea and Kalip through Amalgamate Human is a voice, yes, but it is more the voice of the spell than of me myself.

  But in speaking to Lutra - and only Lutra, no other would survive it - I feel more like myself. Though maybe that is down to the simple fact that it was the first voice I could speak with in this new life, and what I am actually saying is again the voice of the spell itself.

  It doesn’t matter. It lets me speak. Lets Lutra speak as well. And in our parallel lives where something as simple as seeing is hidden behind the right selection of spells from the pages of our mixed souls, the ability to speak to each other is vital.

  Connection and communication. A cord of wound and tightened magic reaching between us and bridging the gap. It is clear to my thoughts that the working is meant to be one of pure utility; why else would it share with those it binds the well being and direction of the others? This is a tool for explorers and scouts, and also I have made use of it, for squadrons of soldiers. Not for friends conversing. And yet, despite that intended nature, the working itself holds no opinions, and no biases; it allows me to employ it to my own ends, no matter what shape that takes.

  It is almost enough to send a piece of my thoughts spiraling into considering what other spells I have acquired were intended for.

  Of course, I’ve had the thought before. But often enough that thought came a candlemark before the next attack, the next injury, the next apparatus, the next nightmare. As much as every life I ever lived, and my own besides, pulses with curiosity to study and practice and learn, I have spent what little time I had to hammer my spells into tools for survival and war.

  I don’t want to be a weapon or a fighter. Maybe now there will be time, though some part of me doubts it. I think some part of me will doubt it from now until my last breath. Or… the last of whichever way an apparatus marks its lifespan.

  Even now, as I begin to speak to Lutra, I feel an eager itch to make use of the staggering number of gleaming points contained within my shell. I want to know what I can do, how I can help, how I can create peace. But first, there is an important other kind of peace to be forged; that of companions, securing each other’s hearts after a shared terror.

  ”Lutra? Are you awake?” I let my words carry the worry I feel. There is no reason for anything but openness with the small apparatus.

  It is a further worrying amount of time before I hear their reply. Though anything longer than a heartbeat would have worried me. “I’m here.” Their voice is less fragmented than before, but I do not think that is a good thing when what seems to be unifying that voice is pain. “Hurts. I hurt. We hurt. He-help me? Oh.” The last word comes across with a wave of surprise. “There you are. You’re here. You’re alive. Good. Th-that is good! The long fish would miss you.”

  ”Hurt?” I cast my thoughts into Form Party, directing the spell to tell me what it knows as if I were an interrogator. The answer is both easy to find and distressingly familiar. “Your body is cracked.” I whisper across the link.

  The older voice within Lutra’s souls takes precedence as they reply. “We h-helped. When the dead came, we fought. When you needed us, we were there. And for that, we were rewarded when you- you- you were a fine victor.” She faltered, voice slipping as multiple tones overlap again. “It’s very dark again.”

  I have spent too long without checking on my friend. Between the time I was floating in unconsciousness and the candles spent restoring the fort and its people, I have neglected someone important.

  Lutra fought with me, was bound to me with Form Party, and beyond participating in the battle, the Small Trade that enabled my artillery fire was hers. Whichever reason, when I killed the Hisi apparatus, I was not the only one to catch a piece of its soul.

  ”Can you tell me which parts of you are damaged?” I ask softly. If Small Trade is available to Lutra, then solving this will be simple. I will give up any amount of power to heal the other apparatus, there can be no question of that. If not… well, I continue to have a wealth of sparkling points. I will find a solution.

  The reply starts with three voices speaking in different directions, but quickly comes together into a single coherent statement. “Yes. It is an… an odd feeling.” Lutra says with strange calm. “With a bit of someone else, it is easier to know… to know who I am not. And if we know who I am not, then I can see what I am. I am me. Alone in the dark, but I am me. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  Their words may actually give a hint to a grim truth that apparatuses face; am I only sane because I have so many souls together? All of them pulling different directions giving stability to the nascent life that was me? Is this the cruel reason that so many of our kinds are aggressive to the point of feral violence? I cannot say in honesty that I would have turned out differently had I come into my new life uncertain which of my selves was real, all of me fighting the rest for dominance.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “It is fascinating.” I give a partial lie, because while it does sing to me to allow myself to be distracted, it is also not what is critical. I decide on trying to pull Lutra toward the information I most need to help them. “When I awoke, it was difficult to tell where the old selves ended and this one began. Remembering the line can be difficult sometimes. Who are you, and who is the newcomer?”

  ”Oh, but you know who I am.” Lutra laughs, a light chime across Form Party’s bond. The simple laugh of a woman enjoying a pleasant conversation, so far separated from the pain and confusion of their life that I would stumble if I had the tail for it. “Empathy, Vibrancy, Spirituality, these three are me. Trepidation is not, but it does not pull, do you see? It is a piton for this me to cling to. I quite like it!” Their next laugh is more childish. “It feels like a hero’s tool, doesn’t it? We struggled, and won, and now I have a mark that will lay the foundation for what comes next! If I did not know… I would celebrate.”

  ”Know what?” I ask. “That those such as ourselves cannot be heroes? Because I find myself doubting that assumption.” My own laugh sounds alien to the senses the magic gives me. “We have never spoken… about the before.” It is hard to do so with Lutra, compared to the others. Not just because they have, until now, been far more fragmented and frightful. But also because I fear that they are too much like me. That they might understand in a way that would leave me vulnerable. A foolish fear, but a real one regardless. “Some of the people I once was, they did not have heroes at all. Some did not have gobs. Across the years, it would seem, some great worldmagics come and go. Who is to say then that they cannot also change?”

  Lutra’s pause does not bother me, as I can feel their careful consideration. The way they arrange their thoughts is deliberate, and Form Party even offers me the kindness of showing how it pushes back the pain they are feeling, though it does nothing to fix the source. “One of me… of us… knew nothing of heroism.” Lutra says slowly. “It has been difficult. I am arguing with myself. I was… no… not I. One of them was raised to be a hero. I still want it. I want to be meant to be something.”

  ”Heroism and the magic of the hero are, I have found in every life, different things.” I tell the other hidden crystal person with as much reassurance in my tone as the spell allows. “You know it too. For what could you call someone who risked everything to protect people who fear them?”

  ”…You are very annoying when you are correct.” Lutra’s voice takes on the child’s unhappy sulking.

  ”Thank you.” I laugh along with them as they allow themself to feel a simple joy. And I do too. The connection with another, someone who can understand beyond just sympathy bringing me a lightness that I have not felt in my entire life. “Ah, but we are meandering.” I pull back my amusement to return to the point. “You are hurt, and I would see that corrected. Which of your souls are damaged?”

  Lutra’s focus is a vibrating buzz across the invisible rope between us. The answer comes slowly, and I know there is a struggle to even observe a cracked soul; my own experience with the process leaves me wishing I could return to the days of the scholar’s midnight headaches or the cleric’s all too frequent encounters with a knife in an alley. “I am whole, but for Empathy.” Lutra says slowly. “It… it is the largest. The most important. I have put so much into…”

  ”Only Empathy?” I question quickly.

  ”Y-yes!” The other apparatus stammers their answer. “I will not be a burden! You do not need to send me away!”

  The pang of pain I feel at the words is deeper than any cracked soul would be. “No.” I speak softly but firmly, reverting to the way that I needed to speak to Lutra when they first came to us. “No, we would not send you away. Not before, and not now. This is your home, if you wish it, always. Do you understand?”

  ”I… I-I do not.” Lutra admits. “W-why?”

  ”Because you are more than a tool, little apparatus.” I tell them with firm confidence. “You are a person, and as all people, you deserve to be cared for.” I wait for a moment to let the words reach them, before continuing. “I was not asking to gauge your value, I was asking to learn how much power I would need to share with you to heal you, and if Small Trade was even a potentiality. As it is, and there is only one part of you injured, I am confident that we can restore you fully.”

  Lutra’s quiet lasts for much longer this time. I take the opportunity to check in on the bees that are the ever vigilant guardians of the fort’s children. Spending precious moments looking through their eyes as they watch over those who have arguably lost the most from the chaos this world is suffering. Kalip’s lesson for the day is over, and many of them are expending excess childish energy sprinting through the corridors of the fort, playing at a game of chase that lightens my heart more than anything else could.

  This is something worth protecting. It always has been.

  The cleric’s memories have an odd perspective that I draw forth as I wait. Children, he knew, were always worth protecting. But children should never be an excuse. Too often, the cleric had seen children abandoned for being slightly too old, and all the work and effort of their supposed guardians was wasted in a moment. Years turned to ash, as the no-longer-child was left to wither.

  I don’t think I could do the same. I don’t think I have that potential for animosity within me, no matter the words on the scroll of my souls. But it is a good lesson to take from my past self. And… it turns my own thoughts to take another step as well.

  All these soldiers that have come to us, survivors of a monster of an apparatus, yes, but also survivors of skirmishes and wars, of years and lifetimes of emperial tradition and court pressures, survivors of twisted ideologies and a world that raised them to hate.

  Are they not, too, children?

  Not only them, but everyone. The gobs, surely, born into a storm more impactful than any of the sun could make. The verdlings too though, with their so-distant home and their own silent story. Every human and demon under my aegis as well, no matter their age. How much better could they be, if they were safe? If their fear was crushed and their best selves were polished and allowed to gleam?

  But that is how things have always been. And yet. I am an apparatus of change. What am I here for, if not to take this world and reshape it.

  A whisper across Bind Insect calls to my bees, and I take a strange emotional census of them. Their concept of the hive, of community, has grown alongside my own, and I ask them now for volunteers for the kind of partners that the children all have, only for all of the fort’s inhabitants. And for that to become our standard for the future, for any who make it to us.

  It takes so little time for their answers to flow back across our bond. The view of the expanding minds of the bees is that it is not a duty, but a joy, to be a part of the lives of the hive. It is a simple mindset, and it could easily be called naive, but the purity of it owing to the short time it has taken them to go from instinct to thought leaves me awed. And I accept the new ones that are first in line to become companions for those that need them, should the others agree.

  I will, of course, need to ask first. Which I can do later when my conversation with Lutra is complete.

  ”I do not need help.” Is the first thing Lutra tells me when they return to our far away meeting. “I… you would… I am…” despite the time, their thoughts are still scattered to the winds. But the other apparatus pulls themself together to give a reply. “That you would do this for me is all any of my selves could have asked for.” Lutra’s voice coalesces into almost formal speech, before faltering again, but not losing the sense that they are far more put together than they were before. “I have enough to heal. I remember how you healed. I have enough. But thank you. Thank you. I swear this, I will never forget what you are owed.”

  ”Nothing.” I laugh. “Nothing but what Small Trade might require to make our arrangements function. You are my companion, not a line on the ledger.”

  Lutra sends back a pulse of satisfaction. “That is how I know.” They tell me. “And Small Trade functions. If-if you need… anything. I cannot give the Empathy magics, they hurt to look at. But anything else. Would you like Avian Map?”

  ”…why…” I try to keep from my voice the sense of confused disappointment, “…why did you imbue yourself with that choice?” I ask slowly.

  ”I did not. It is Trepidation. The stolen one, the taken one.” Lutra sounds equally disappointed. “Perhaps you have use of it?” They ask with falsified optimism.

  I do not. However. There is a certain spell that has been sitting unused ever since my corvid bound left our company. Keeping to that Small Promise was difficult, but it mattered to me, and was vitally important regardless to the nature of Bind Willing Avian.

  Now, though, I have multiple claws worth of spells. And even those that see little use, or are used in concert with others, all require attention and time and effort. Time is the most valuable of those things. Something I am ever short on, to the point that when storming began, I simply stopped trying to fling casts of Bind Willing Avian into the Green.

  Lutra, though? Lutra possesses two things I do not have the luxury of. Time, and flexibility. And now, also, an additional synergy with the unused spell I hold.

  ”Perhaps you could have a use for it.” I say with coy confidence. “Your eels are loyal and loving, I know. But would you, perchance, be willing to add to their ranks with something more winged and wild tempered?”

  It takes some time, enough so that I am beginning to run low on Form Party from the increased cost it incurs holding two apparatuses in conversation. But eventually, a suitable explanation is given, and a deal that our magic can tolerate is struck. Lutra ‘pays’ me in Form Sphere, and receives the whole of Bind Willing Avian. Or at least, one full reservoir of the viscous emptiness that my soul draws up to fuel it, along with access to the structure of the spellwork.

  The trade brings forth a collection of motes that I take in willingly, though Lutra’s own slip away, their body unable to form more points of power until they are more fully healed. The test gives us one other useful piece of knowledge. Bind Willing Avian belongs to the soul of Empathy, the selfsame that Lutra has a wound upon. And yet, taken from myself, the spell works flawlessly, with no pain at all. A convenient sidestep of the limits of our fragile bodies.

  The apparatus that I cannot help but see as a younger sibling of sorts sets to work at once, calling out through Avian Map to petition the local birds to join them. I believe they will be hearing a large quantity of denials over the next several days, as most birds in the area will be busy with migratory dodges of the stormsuns, or else having found dens and shelters for the same reason.

  But some will say yes. I impress on Lutra the importance of allowing those that say yes to change their mind. I share with them my own knowledge, some of which they already know, for imparting mantra onto bound. And I empathize with them as they complain that the healing process, the motion of points of power into the unseeable space that is the physical self, somehow itches.

  All too soon, our time runs short, and I have to tell them that we will need to speak again when my magic is restored. But this time, their reply is calmer. And it carries with it an understanding that I have now proved to them is true.

  That they are welcome here.

  And also they will need to renew that Small Trade once daily. Though I would, and almost make without prompting, a Small Promise that I will find a use for Form Sphere beyond simply decorating the shores of my hiding place.

  You can never have too many spheres. For a reason I do not fully grasp, the merchant’s memories are insistent upon this. I will consider it more later, however. For now, I have power weight down my caravan, and deals with the machinery of the timeless realm to make.

  We have a reprieve, but after all, there are at least two more like me out there, within range to be hostile. And there are survivors in the trees, and towns burning in the distance, and before I am struck down I intend to right at least one wrong.

  So I find my gosspimonger of a beetle, and ask him where I might find certain residents. There is a small council I wish to convene, and the distraction will be good for some of them.