Chapter 30

“Did we all hear that?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” Anka replied.

“Yes,” Mailik said.

“No,” Sol answered.

“Welcome, my friends,” the voice continued.

“My name is Dumo.

“And you are Archer, Anka, and Sol of Ankarian, and Mailik of Mar.”

“Hello, Dumo,” Archer said.

“Three of us can hear your voice.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, but I’d like to know whose voice we’re hearing.”

“Archer,” Sol said, “approve my request to receive a transmission of your neural signals.

“Then I’ll be able to hear what you hear.”

A request appeared before Archer’s eyes through his neural interface, asking permission to transmit his neural signals to Sol.

Archer approved it.

“Thank you,” Sol said.

“Welcome to you as well, Sol,” the voice said.

“You may think of me as the living spirit of the monastery on the island of Mos.

“I am an amalgamation of all the conscious and unconscious thoughts of the monks who have lived here throughout the monastery’s thousands of years of existence.”

“The spirit of the monastery?” Archer asked.

“The monastery is alive?

“And what is it like to be the spirit of a building?”

“Yes. You could say that the monastery is alive,” Dumo replied.

“Being the living spirit of this monastery is quite interesting.

“Because I was born from the thoughts of human beings, there is much about me that is human.

“At the same time, I have lived for thousands of years, while the monks have not.

“I watch their lives and their deaths.

“I hear their every thought.

“I am present in every spell they cast.

“And I protect them from the evils of this world.”

“You said you were expecting us,” Archer said.

“Yes,” Dumo replied.

“I have sensed you ever since you first appeared in this world.

“Your imprint upon the spirit realm is exceptionally strong.

“I sensed the possibility that your path would eventually bring you here.

“Perhaps it is because of your brush.

“Or perhaps there is great untapped potential within you.

“Either way, you are finally here.

“Please.

“My doors are open to you.”

“Will we be able to talk again later?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” the spirit of the monastery replied.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“All right,” Archer said.

Archer looked at his companions.

“Shall we?”

“Mailik,” Sol said, “are you certain the monastery is safe?”

“Now I’m not even sure myself,” the adept replied.

“None of the legends about the monastery ever mentioned that it had a living spirit.”

“If he can speak to us like this from a distance, we should probably assume that he really is powerful,” Archer said.

“If you think about it,” Anka said, “if this place meant us harm, it probably wouldn’t announce its presence so openly.

“It would stay quiet and wait for us to go inside.”

“Yes. That makes sense,” Archer said.

“So, shall we?”

“Let’s go,” Anka said.

“I suppose we’re going,” Mailik said.

“I’m not convinced it’s safe,” Sol said, “but I’m willing to go with you.”

They flew their motorcycles toward the monastery’s towering white walls.

After circling the enormous structure several times and spotting people in white monastic robes inside the courtyard, they landed beside the largest entrance they could find.

An old, wrinkled monk emerged through the gates.

His eyes were closed.

“Welcome,” the monk said in a frail voice.

“You have come to Mos, the magical monastery of this world.

“My name is Farvin. I am the head of the monastery.

“Please, come inside.

“Let us break bread.”

The four passed through the gates, and Farvin led them into a small inner courtyard containing a single large tree and a well.

The old man gestured toward a simple wooden table surrounded by benches, and the visitors sat down.

Farvin walked over to the tree and plucked a strange fruit from one of its branches.

Then he approached the well and drew several ladlefuls of water into a small bowl.

He brought the fruit and the bowl to the table and, with some difficulty, lowered himself onto the bench beside the travelers.

“Well,” Farvin said.

“Let us begin.”

He picked up the fruit, broke it into five equal pieces, and handed four of them to his guests.

He began eating the fifth himself, washing it down with water from the bowl.

Archer picked up the four pieces of fruit.

It was bread.

The simplest bread imaginable.

He handed three pieces to his companions and kept one for himself.

The old man offered Archer the bowl of water.

“Eat.

“Drink,” he said.

Archer pressed a button on the inside of his armor’s collar, causing his helmet to automatically retract behind his head.

Sol, Anka, and Mailik did the same.

Archer smelled the bread.

It smelled like bread.

He took a bite and began to eat.

It tasted like ordinary bread.

Then Archer drank from the bowl.

The water tasted like ordinary water.

He nodded to the others, signaling that everything was fine.

Mailik put the bread into his mouth and began chewing.

Archer handed him the bowl, and the adept took a drink.

“And what about you?” the old man asked, pointing at Sol and Anka.

“I don’t digest food,” Anka said.

“And Sol has a robotic body, so he doesn’t have organs capable of processing food or water either.”

“What a pity,” the old man said mournfully.

“Those who do not break bread with us cannot receive our gifts.”

“What do you mean?” Anka asked.

“You came here to study magic, did you not?” Farvin asked.

“Yes,” Anka said.

“Then eat and drink,” the old man said, “and the monastery will decide whether you have a place here.”

Anka looked at Archer.

He shrugged.

Anka began eating the bread.

She took the bowl of water from Mailik and drank to wash it down.

The old man smiled.

Then Anka suddenly clutched her mouth and violently vomited.

All the food and water she had consumed came back up and spilled across the stone floor.

“Yes,” the old man said.

“What a pity.

“What a pity.”

“You won’t accept Anka?” Archer asked.

“Or Sol?”

“We will accept them as guests,” Farvin said, “but we will not teach them magic.”

“What about Dumo?” Anka asked.

“He welcomed all of us.

“He called us his friends.”

“Oh!”

The old man’s eyes opened.

“You heard Dumo’s voice?

“Incredible.

“And you—and you,” he said, pointing at Anka and Sol, “heard his voice as well?”

“Yes,” Anka said.

“Technically, yes,” Sol replied.

Farvin froze.

Then he bowed to all four of them.

“Well,” old Farvin said thoughtfully, “perhaps we can find a purpose for you within these walls after all.

“You,” he said, pointing at Anka, “we will teach the art of alchemy.

“You will learn to brew magical potions.

“And you,” he continued, pointing at Sol, “we will entrust with the archives of magical history.

“That way, your time here will not be entirely without purpose.

“It is very good that you heard Dumo’s voice.

“A very good sign.”

“Dumo doesn’t speak to everyone?” Anka asked.

“No,” the old man replied.

“He speaks quite rarely.

“You could say he only speaks on special occasions.

“Apparently, there is something about your arrival that particularly interests him.”

“We didn’t come here without a reason,” Archer said.

“We’re trying to stop the Dreurg invasion.

“And, perhaps, prevent the Dreurg prophecy from coming true.

“Do you know anything about the prophecy?”

“No,” Farvin said.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“The Dreurgs believe there is one human somewhere on Planet who will eventually cause the destruction of all life in this world.

“This person is a magician and a deceiver.”

“A magician and a deceiver,” Farvin repeated.

“Very interesting.

“And you wish to find this person?”

“Yes,” Archer said.

“Well,” the old man said, “I don’t know whether we can help you find them.

“But if the answer truly lies in magic, Mos is one of the best places in the world to search for it.

“Come.”

Farvin led the four to another part of the monastery where the guest quarters were located.

There he assigned two rooms to Anka and Sol and instructed them to place all their belongings in the chests provided and change into the beige robes worn by guests.

Once they had done so, he led the group to a wing containing the monks’ private rooms.

There he assigned rooms to Archer and Mailik and likewise instructed them to place their belongings in chests and change into the monks’ white robes.

Then the old man gave the four of them a tour of the monastery.

Mos proved far larger and more spacious inside than it had appeared from the outside.

Hundreds of monks and nuns walked through its halls, going about their duties.

Enchanted brooms swept the floors by themselves.

Golems worked in the greenhouses, planting seeds, watering seedlings, and harvesting ripe fruits, vegetables, and herbs.

In other parts of the monastery, dozens of people wearing the beige robes of guests performed various kinds of work.

Some spun yarn.

Others sewed robes, made paper, bound books, prepared food, or constructed new rooms.

At the heart of the monastery, deep beneath its many floors, lay a well of inexhaustible mana.

There, the monks could drink magical water that completely restored a person’s mana reserves.

After the tour, the old man led the four to the main hall of spellcraft—an enormous chamber where hundreds of monks were practicing the art of magic.

“Here and now,” Farvin said to Archer and Mailik, “you will take your oath.

“The oath is very simple.

“You will swear never to reveal the secrets of the monastery, and you will swear to use the skills you acquire here only for good.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Archer said.

“Yes,” Mailik said.

“Then repeat after me,” the old man said.

Farvin spoke the words of the oath, and Archer and Mailik repeated them after him:

“Hear me, spirits of earth and sky.

“Hear me, spirit of the monastery and spirits of the monks who have passed before us.

“Here and now, I give my oath.

“Everything I learn here, in the monastery on the island of Mos, I will use only for good and never for harm.

“I will keep all the secrets of the monastery secret.

“I swear.

“I swear.

“I swear.”

“Welcome to our spiritual family, Brother Archer and Brother Mailik,” Farvin said.

“Thank you, Brother Farvin,” Archer replied.

“Thank you,” Mailik said.

“Now I will leave you,” Farvin said.

“Wait here.

“Our brothers and sisters will come to you and begin initiating you into the art of magic.

“And you,” the old man continued, addressing Anka and Sol, “will be initiated into the arts of alchemy and the history of magic.”

Before long, a monk approached Archer and Mailik.

And Archer suddenly realized that he knew the monk’s name.

“Archer. Mailik,” the monk said.

“Come with me.

“I’ll take you to your teachers.”

Archer and Mailik followed him.

“I have this strange feeling that I already know your name,” Archer said.

“Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening,” the monk replied.

“You are now under the protection of the monastery’s living spirit.

“Knowledge about your brothers and sisters will come to you.

“You’ll know where things are within the monastery.

“You’ll receive intuitive guidance about spells you’re trying to master, along with many other fragments of knowledge.

“The more time you spend in the monastery, the stronger your connection to its spirit will become—and through it, your connection to the other monks.”

“What is it like after you’ve lived here for decades and developed that kind of connection with everyone?” Archer asked.

“It’s quite pleasant,” the monk said.

“You feel as though you’ve found your place in this world.

“As though you’ve found a family.

“It becomes very difficult to leave Mos.”

The monk first took Mailik to a teacher of advanced magic.

Then he took Archer to a monk who taught beginners.

“Welcome, Archer,” the teacher said.

“Hello, Gotham,” Archer replied, surprising himself with how effortlessly the man’s name came to him.

“We’ll start with the basics,” the teacher said.

Brother Gotham began teaching Archer the light spell, the simplest spell of all.

This time, Archer felt much more confident than he had the day before, when Mailik had tried to teach him magic.

Somehow, Archer knew in advance that the spell would eventually obey him—that mastering it was merely a matter of time and practice.

And that filled him with an enthusiasm he realized he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

The teacher demonstrated how to pronounce the sounds of the spell and how to perform the accompanying hand movement.

He explained what Archer needed to hold in his mind: a command to his own spirit to create light above his head.

Archer repeated the sounds and movements again and again.

Hundreds of times.

Perhaps thousands.

Still, no light appeared above his head.

But Archer was certain he was close to mastering his first spell.

The hall where the mages practiced had no windows, so Archer found it difficult to tell whether it was day or night.

It felt as though he had been practicing for days without stopping.

“Brother Archer,” Gotham finally said, “we’ve been at this for a very long time, and I need to rest.

“Wouldn’t you like to rest and regain your strength as well?”

“No,” Archer said.

“I don’t need rest, sleep, or food.

“My body doesn’t require those things.”

Gotham considered this.

“I can sense that you’re telling the truth,” he said.

“The fact that you have no need for such things may be a sign.”

“A sign of what?” Archer asked.

“I don’t know yet,” the teacher replied.

“But I believe you may find the answer if you spend enough time here at Mos.”

Gotham brought in another teacher to take his place and then left to rest.

Archer continued practicing.

The words of the spell.

The movement of his hand.

The mental command.

The words of the spell.

The movement of his hand.

The mental command...

Teachers came and went, and Archer lost all sense of the passing days and nights.

At some point, Gotham stopped correcting Archer’s pronunciation.

He stopped adjusting the movement of his hand.

Now he only guided Archer toward a state of mind in which nothing existed except the caster and the spell.

And then there was light.

Archer realized it only belatedly.

He had already begun casting the spell again when Gotham stopped him.

“Archer, wait,” the teacher said.

“You did it!

“You created light!”

Archer looked up.

Sure enough, a glowing light was hovering about three feet above his head.

He broke into a smile.

Monks began approaching him from all around the hall, congratulating him, patting him on the shoulder, and shaking his hand.

Archer turned and saw that almost the entire hall—nearly a hundred monks practicing magic—had stopped what they were doing and formed a line to congratulate him.

As his mind returned from its state of complete concentration on the spell, Archer began to feel a sense of kinship with these people.

He could feel that they truly were his spiritual family.

When everyone in the hall returned to their practice, Archer turned to Gotham.

“What’s next?”

“Next, you’ll repeat this spell many more times until you can cast it successfully on your first attempt,” Gotham said.

“Once you’ve reached a sufficient level of mastery, we’ll move on to other spells.”

And so Archer continued practicing magic.

Just as Mailik had told him, everything became much easier after the first success.

Now Archer knew from experience that his mind needed to enter a particular altered state—a state of absolute concentration.

And having reached that state once, he found it much easier to find his way back.

Archer cast the spell again and again, and it succeeded more and more often.

At first, one attempt in twenty worked.

Then one in fifteen.

One in ten.

One in five.

One in three.

One in two.

And eventually, every attempt Archer made to create light succeeded.

“That’s enough,” Brother Gotham said, drawing him out of his trance-like state.

“You’ve learned this spell well enough.

“But understand that, for now, you can reliably cast it only while you are calm.

“In other physical or mental states—for example, when you’re exhausted or panicking—you may still fail to create the light.

“If you want to cast it reliably under those conditions as well, you’ll need to continue practicing.

“What would you like to do next?

“Continue perfecting the light spell, or move on to other spells?”

“I want to learn other spells,” Archer said.

“Very well,” Gotham replied.

“Go drink from the mana well and replenish your magical energy.

“I’ll bring you a spellbook.”

Archer descended several floors to the mana well and drank from it.

Other monks came and went, drinking from the well before returning to their studies.

“Archer?”

It was Anka’s voice.

He turned and saw her carrying a tray covered with dozens of tiny glass bottles containing liquids and various solid ingredients.

“Hello, Anka,” Archer said.

“Are you finally back with us?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“We couldn’t get through to you,” Anka replied.

“You were so absorbed in casting the spell that you didn’t notice us at all.

“And we were told not to disturb you.”

“Did something happen?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” Anka said.

“Sol finished studying the archives of magical history and left Mos.”

“That quickly?” Archer asked in surprise.

“Quickly, yes,” Anka said.

“But Archer, do you have any idea how much time has passed since we arrived at the monastery?”

“No.

“How long?”

“More than a month.”

Archer was even more surprised.

“Do we know what’s happening in Arkonia?” he asked.

“What about the situation with the forest elves?”

“Yes,” Anka said.

“Sol comes back to Mos regularly and keeps me updated.

“Trinity has intervened in the Lilian crisis.

“The Kingdom of Mar has become a staging ground for our military forces and firefighting units.”

“Firefighters?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” Anka said.

“After we intervened to protect the Lilians, the Arkonians switched from cutting down the forests to burning them completely.

“So now we need almost as many firefighters as soldiers.”

“And?” Archer asked.

“Have there been armed clashes with the Arkonians?”

“Yes,” Anka replied.

“From Mar, soldiers from our volunteer army and firefighting units are heading directly into Arkonia, crossing the ocean on flying motorcycles and firefighting transports.

“Our forces have established positions in dozens of forests across southern Arkonia, where they’re holding back the advance of King Akbert’s infantry.

“We’re using exclusively nonlethal weapons.

“Sol told me that when we defeat enemy soldiers, we disarm them and send them back to their garrisons.

“Captured mages, however, are being taken prisoner.”

“Any casualties?” Archer asked.

“On our side?” Anka said.

“Yes.

“Sol says our losses are far lower than they could have been for an operation of this scale.

“But hundreds of volunteers have still been killed.

“On the other side, tens of thousands of soldiers have been defeated, disarmed, and sent back.”

“What about Frinian?” Archer asked.

“Has anyone entered the conflict on Arkonia’s side?”

“Fortunately, no,” Anka said.

“But it’s still too early to say what will happen.

“Planet hasn’t really had time to understand what’s going on yet.

“The portal from our skyscraper to Markonia, and the portal from Markonia back to Ankarian, are now two of the most heavily guarded sites in either world.

“Trinity doesn’t want another Arkonian mage deactivating the portals.

“So, much to King Gelberd’s delight, Markonia is now crawling with our soldiers.

“The neighboring kingdoms are confused.

“We’re establishing diplomatic relations with the other kingdoms of Frinian.

“Little by little, we’re bringing them over to our side.”

“Has Akbert asked for a ceasefire?” Archer asked.

“No,” Anka said.

“Sol told me they’ve tried repeatedly to contact Akbert, but the king refuses to speak with us.”

“And what is Trinity’s plan?” Archer asked.

“To stop the Dreurg invasion?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet,” Anka said.

“For now, the first priority is stopping the genocide of the Lilians.”

“I see,” Archer said.

“So I’m not needed?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Anka replied.

“Our civilization is doing quite well without us.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Archer said.

“Yes. It is,” Anka said.

“We created an independent civilization with a strong moral conscience.

“I’m actually proud.”

“All right,” Archer said.

“Keep me informed.”

“You’re the one who needs to stop disappearing!” Anka said.

“It’s impossible to get through to you when you’re practicing magic.

“And say hello to Mailik if you see him.

“I’ve barely seen him since we arrived at Mos.”

Archer returned to the magic practice hall, and his mind seemed to switch almost magically from worldly politics back to his determination to master magic.

The book Gotham had brought contained more than two hundred spells.

“How long would it take me to master all of these?” Archer asked.

“Decades,” Gotham said.

“Perhaps centuries.”

“I don’t have decades,” Archer replied.

“The Dreurg invasion will begin within a year.

“I need to be ready by then.”

“Then choose the spells you need most,” Gotham said.

“And we’ll focus on mastering those.”

Archer leafed through the spellbook, studying its colorful illustrations and reading the descriptions of the spells.

There were too many good ones.

Choosing only a handful seemed nearly impossible.

He spent more than an hour studying the catalog before finally looking up.

“Gotham, I don’t see the Melting Ray spell in here.”

“That’s correct,” Brother Gotham replied.

“At Mos, we do not teach destructive spells.”

“I see,” Archer said.

“Then help me decide which spells I should practice.

“My goal is to defeat a very powerful mage.”

“To defeat a very powerful mage,” Gotham repeated.

“Let’s see.”

He opened the book, flipped through its pages, and stopped at one spell.

“Afflin’s Ninth Shield,” Gotham said.

“It provides almost complete resistance to magic.

“But it lasts only ten seconds.”

“Then couldn’t I simply cast it again every ten seconds indefinitely?” Archer asked.

“Yes—until you run out of mana,” Gotham said.

“And this spell will consume a great deal of it.

“A beginner like you probably has enough mana for two castings at most.”

“How do I increase my mana capacity?” Archer asked.

“Through experience,” the monk replied.

“Practice spells.

“Gain experience.

“Your maximum mana capacity will increase naturally.”

“I see,” Archer said.

“One more thing.

“My friend Anka told me she came to see me, but she couldn’t get through to me.”

“That’s true,” Gotham said.

“You were deeply immersed in mastering the spell.”

“Yes, but news from the outside world is important to me,” Archer said.

“Could we arrange for you to bring me out of that state whenever one of my friends comes to see me?”

“Brother,” Gotham said, “people come to Mos to leave worldly concerns behind.”

“Yes.

“I can feel that,” Archer said.

“Somehow, spiritually, I can feel it.

“I feel connected to this place and to the other monks.

“Part of me wants to stay here for a thousand years and do nothing but study magic.

“But I have obligations to others.

“I have an obligation to Planet.

“I need to know what is happening in the outside world.”

“Very well, Brother Archer,” Gotham said.

“If one of your friends comes to see you again, I’ll do my best to bring you back to reality.”

“Thank you,” Archer said.

“Now,” Gotham said, “let us begin practicing Afflin’s Ninth Shield.

“Repeat after me.”

Archer nodded and prepared to repeat the sounds of the spell.