Spellwright

As the insect’s legs grabbed hold of Nicodemus’s skin, an ecstatic heat rushed through his body. He felt dizzy, almost intoxicated. His thoughts became as light and far ranging as smoke tendrils caught in the wind. Time slowed; even the movement of his blood seemed suspended.

Shining in his mind was a text longer than any he previously could have imagined. All the books in Starhaven could not have held half its length. The spell-though consisting of only four runes-contained innumerable twists, turns, and self-referential passages.

But what shocked Nicodemus most, what spawned a mystical sense of wonder, was the certainty that this text was the same thing as the moth.

Nicodemus would have thought the spell beyond human comprehension if not for the perfect knowledge of it now shining in his mind.

It was true, then. He was an Imperial. He had been born with the gift to read and comprehend Language Prime.

The moth flapped its wings once. Nicodemus looked again at the pale, delicate creature and felt its endless, intricate beauty so keenly that his heart ached.

To him the moth was both a living animal and a poem.

He tried to speak, tried to explain the awe coursing through his veins like a drug, but all he could manage was a rapturous whisper, “She’s the most beautiful spell.”

“Touch any living thing and you will find the same language,” Chimera said in a voice that had become almost sing-song. “I could provide for you the prose within an oak leaf or a trout’s belly. I could show you the miniature creatures that infect wounds. In each you would find Language Prime. That is why this tome is called the Bestiary. It reveals that every beast and every plant is made from the Creator’s language, from the Creator’s godspell.”

Nicodemus understood. “Life is magical language.”

SLOWLY NICODEMUS’S TRANCE began to dissipate. He put his free hand to his brow as the implications of his revelation unfolded. “So, if life is language… then Language Prime spellwrights could edit diseases from the sick, or close wounds by coordinating a body’s healing, or rewrite wheat plants to produce more grain.”

Chimera responded with an amused sniff. “You see why the Solar Empire was a paradise. Under the rule of the Imperial family, the continent knew neither plague nor famine.”

“How do you know this, Chimera?”

She produced a long hissing sigh. “I was the oldest and most malcontent goddess on the ancient continent. I wanted to do more with the original languages. I wanted to rewrite a new breed of humanity. I thought that the Empire’s use of Language Prime to improve the life they knew, and not invent new life, would lead ultimately to stagnation. And when Los was born, I knew I was correct.”

“You knew Los? The first demon?”

Again the sigh. “I knew him before he rebelled. I knew his plans for Language Prime. That is why I fled the ancient continent. The Empire had forbidden me from textual experimentation. So I took my followers across the ocean to this new continent. Here I transformed my followers into the Chimerical peoples.”

Something occurred to Nicodemus. “The Chthonics were once human?”

“They were. And so too were the Kobolds, the Goblins, the Lycanthropes, the Pelagics, the Incultans, and too many others. At first this continent was a paradise, but then my peoples began to fight each other. In hopes of governing them, I split my soul and impressed its parts into the many different Bestiaries. To each tribe I gave three books. But my efforts proved futile. The differences between the Chimerical peoples grew too great. When your ancestors crossed the ocean, they found my peoples divided.”

She paused and made a low swishing sound. “At first, I hoped to repel your kind. Your deities were weak then. To escape the demonic host and cross the ocean, they had to slumber within their arks. This made them forget nearly everything they had known, including Language Prime. And your Imperial family was scattered. But my peoples, as divided as they were, were no match for humanity. Once your ancestors established a foothold on this continent, they slaughtered my peoples.”

Nicodemus considered his words. “Chimera, why do you give me this knowledge? It is an extraordinary gift.”

She did not answer for such a long time that Nicodemus began to worry that she had left. “I have given you the bitterest of knowledge. This marks the beginning of your suffering.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think on the consequences of learning the original languages.”

Nicodemus’s brow furrowed. “I will see a glow around all living things. But… there’s something I don’t understand. Why haven’t I or any other spellwright felt a synaesthetic reaction to Language Prime?”