The First Day
I am giving up on the idea of counting the days. Simple addition is dull and inconsequential compared to the fluid passage of time. To number the days is to ignore the importance of one in favour of neatly lining them up like little soldiers.
I dearly hope Queen Eliza reads this some day, because I feel like an utter fool, justifying the lack of numbered entries in this tome to nobody but myself. I wonder if this will one day be held as proof of my declining mental state, if some day, a plaintiff somewhere will hold up this page and declare to those gathered that this, this is where she well and truly started talking to herself. But, I’ve felt that it’s helped. Certainly, I’m not feared as I once was -- not by those who know me, at least -- and the thought of being a threat to any and all does not bring me joy. But I am also no longer in a state of constant anxiety, on the edge of ignition at all times. I’ve found a peace within myself. Within me no longer rages a burning inferno, but a hearth at which I can warm my soul.
When I hopefully one day see her again, I will have to thank Queen Eliza. She has done more for me than I would have thought possible, through her letters, words, exercises. If I do not get to, I hope this book finds itself in her possession. She needs to know what she’s done.
In any case…
John Mustrum is an infuriating man and he’s truly testing my newfound patience. I’ve never met a man his age -- he must be three times as old as I am, easily in his late sixties, or even seventies -- who can not hold a conversation to save his life. How has he gotten this far in life?! He cannot even look a woman in the eye!
Case in point: today, we left Steven, on our way to the western mountain pass. He said not two words on the entire ride over. Of course, I went out of my way to tease him at first. I had taken his bashfulness as an inexperience with women -- wizards tend to be somewhat isolated from society due to their studies, after all -- but it quickly became clear that, while my jeers and japes made him blush, even innocent remarks make him uncomfortable! Is it that I’m a woman? Or is it that he is so socially inept that he is terrified of a single word from my lips?
I’ll have to resort to more fiendish tactics if I want to coax this old turtle out of his shell. I am not spending months cooped up in Black’s old home with someone who refuses to speak to me. I can only read the books Erza has loaned me so many times -- even if I’ll enjoy re-reading them in privacy.
The Mountain Pass
The journey was uneventful, for the most part. Mustrum is still quiet as a mouse, even though I’ve tried several different techniques now. Coy, domineering, seductive, quiet, demure, studious. I’m well acquainted with magic! Of course, the sources of our powers are diametrically opposed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find common ground?! Why can’t he just talk to me?
That was my thinking going in here. Of course, we were busy at first. I was glad to see the Wydonian military had not yet begun its trek up the mountain pass, where we are expecting the first wave of their assault to begin. Without reinforcements from the west, Whitehallow will be almost impermeable, or so it seems, and having the time to set up defenses here will definitely work in our favour. So we set up Black’s Reprieve. That was the easy part. John Mustrum must have gotten his hands on it some years ago; all we had to do was apply it.
The pass up the mountain is a craggy nothing. If the enemy had been here already, we would’ve been in trouble. Going up from this side, you could be stopped by three old ladies with a broom, though from my understanding it widens significantly at the summit. We climbed for two whole days, and if it weren’t for my continued practice, limiting myself rather than pushing for more, it would have lasted two more. There isn’t much snow up here, but the morning dew freezes solid. When we first began our climb, we hadn’t noticed this and Mustrum nearly tumbled all the way down. He managed to hold on long enough to summon a ladder of sorts and climbed back up. Save for some cuts and bruises, the only thing hurt is his ego, and that hasn’t exactly changed him in any meaningful way. I was impressed by his ability to take a punishment, however. I’d expected a man his age to break a hip, but he seems quite spry.
The end of the climb culminated in the summoning of Black’s castle, and it was as impressive as I’d hoped. We found a place just off the path. Mustrum spoke the words, and the magic was easily some of the most advanced I’d ever seen. I wondered how and where Mustrum had gotten his hands on it. The castle conforms to the surrounding terrain, and even seems to be made out of the same material as the surrounding stone. There is even a path that comes down from the main gate. The structure itself is wonderfully surreal. Towers and bannisters where there shouldn’t be, it is a logistical impossibility that is almost painful to look at. Mustrum apparently has some control over its shape, because he also barred the mountain path with a ludicrously oversized portcullis. A slender child could have crawled through. I was impressed.
I looked over at him and he blushed when he saw me looking, like a bashful washerwoman. My look of admiration became one of confusion. In writing this, I find that there’s a lot about his behaviour that doesn’t add up. I’ll have to do more research into this, but the man’s area of expertise appears to be summonings and illusions, so I’ll be hard pressed to find something I can use. But if he isn’t a grumpy old man; his behaviour is suddenly a lot more endearing. I’ll find out if you’ve been lying to me, Mustrum, and I’ll have my revenge. You’ll never hear the end of it!!
Finally something happens
Things are finally getting interesting up here. At first I’d been dead set on finding out Mustrum’s secret, but he is as guarded with his identity as he is with his words. We take dinner every night in the main kitchen, where the food makes itself. At first, I had tried to engage him in conversation -- as a normal person would -- but he answers in single sentences. He is utterly infuriating and I need to know if this is a ruse or not. Is he simply toying with me? Nobody could keep up an act like that for this long. Why would he hide! If he truly is some damsel in disguise, why not end the performance! I am the only one here!
The only thing I can ever get him to talk about is history or his magical theory. I swear, he’s a different person whenever I get him to open up about it, and there’s actual life in his eyes. It’s almost like a switch is flipped that goes “Oh! I know about this!” and it’s endearing, if I imagine him without the beard, forty-five years and that ridiculous hat. It would be even more endearing if he could talk about literally anything else that way, but no such luck for now. It’s impossible for someone to be this old and have no life experience. He was with the Hero of Eferton, wasn’t he? What did he do beforehand that made him join an adventurer? If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he’d be too scared to leave his house.
I don’t know how I would have survived if we finally hadn’t been getting to work. We’ve been up here for days now. Weeks? It’s easy to lose track of time, and I can feel Black’s influence tugging at the corners of my mind. No wonder the populace goes mad in this place. Black was a real bastard. But we finally have work to do. The army is on us. I’d spent so much time reading Erza’s novels I was getting… pent up. I needed to vent my frustration.
We’ve been holding our own very well. It’s been good to see Mustrum finally in his element. He holds his own very well. The first wave of soldiers marched up the mountain and with thanks to Mustrum’s farsight, we got to see the look on the commander’s face when he finally saw Black’s Reprieve. This wasn’t on any maps, was it? It was glorious. They slowed down, but didn’t stop. So Mustrum dropped the mountain on them.
He didn’t, of course. He conjured up an amazing illusion of a rockslide, massive boulders bouncing down the mountain with so much noise I could feel it in my teeth. The soldiers fell over themselves to go back down the hill. I don’t know how many were hurt; Mustrum turned off his farsight -- I suppose it’s within his character to be squeamish -- but none of them were actually crushed by rocks. They limped their casualties down the mountain and we didn’t see them again for a few days.
They came up the mountain with real mages afterwards. Mustrum impressed me again by the fact that they failed to dispel his illusions. The massive chimera that slowly walked forth from the portcullis looked so real it would have fooled me. The magic they threw at it would have gone straight through the creature, but when I looked at John, his brow furrowed with concentration, and the beast either dodged their attacks or seemed to simply ignore them. He even added the illusion of an impact. When it roared, they ran down the mountain again. It was fun to see one of the mages bounce his way down.
A Breakthrough
In more ways than one, it’s been interesting on top of this pile of rocks. To get the least interesting thing out of the way first: we have finally had to fight. Though obviously John has been working hard, we haven’t actively been attacked. Not really. Well, that’s all changed now! I’m very glad that Black’s Reprieve is so rare, because it’s clear that these mages have no clue what they’re doing.
It started a few days ago. Mustrum and I were both reading in the communal area, something we can both do to relax, though I have to make sure I temper my breathing when I’m in the same room. I’d hate for him to find out what my reading material is like. Or perhaps I should have left it out for him to read. He might have learned a thing or two, blushing like a babe. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We were reading when we heard a loud echoing sound, like someone striking a large gong. Immediately, we realized we were under attack, that the noise was the castle’s passive shield -- Black was a bastard but he was a clever one -- being hit.
On the parapets, Mustrum immediately did the smart thing: after a few seconds, there was an entire army of mages around us, all illusory, and all throwing up illusory defensive spells. To the attackers, it would look like the castle was impermeable, that there was a veritable legion of spellcasters up here. But that didn’t stop them from trying to march another army up the cliff, and I had the feeling they wouldn’t be stopped by illusions this time.
I like to think I did a good job, floating down in a storm of fire. The mages tried to dispel me. The look on their faces when they realized I was no illusion I will treasure for the rest of my days. One of them ran before I’d even touched down. He must’ve heard of me. They flung their spells at me, but my training has paid off. Their spells sizzled away, quite literally, against walls of fire. It was clear that some of them still thought me an illusion. I’m proud, and I like to think my Queen would have been too, to say that what I did brought me no joy. I incinerated as few as I had to in order to rout them. It didn’t take many. And they didn’t suffer, at least. When I made my way up to the battlements, I had to tell John to close his mouth, which was a treat.
But that, of course, was not the most important thing to happen. I have found out Mustrum’s secret. After the battle, we both went back inside. He was completely exhausted, and I made it very clear his efforts had been greatly appreciated, that I was thoroughly impressed with him. I said something along the lines of “If you’d been thirty years younger” and he flinched. He flinched! Of course I had to dig deeper.
And I did and it worked. Back inside, he wished to go back to his room, but I was done with all the pussyfooting around and straight up demanded he tell me who he was. He acted like a nobody but I would have, should have heard of someone of his abilities. He would have been a legend if he’d come forward. I told him as much. I might have walked up to him -- my heels give me the height advantage and I do like to think I strike a… smouldering figure. My intimidation seemed to work. Whether it was the exhaustion or he finally trusted me or… something else. But his illusion dissipated. I think it is best, in the interest of posterity that I reframe the ensuing conversation exactly as it happened.
“I was not expecting this,” I said. Which was the truth. Like I’d written before, Mustrum’s behaviour had thrown me off.
“I am sorry.”
“Not to mince words, but I figured you were a woman. A young one.”
“Why?!”
“You would not have been the first.” The third, that I knew of, after having come into contact with Queen Eliza. I wondered if she did something to people.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he smiled sheepishly. It’s the first time I’d ever even seen him make a facial expression, without those bushy eyebrows and the long beard.
So that was John Mustrum. A twenty-something twig with a smooth, sharp face. Instead of an old man in robes, in front of me stood this young boy, easily six years younger than myself, wringing his robes in anxiety.
“This certainly explains some things,” I told him. “Disappoint me how?”
I finally made him say it, though I had no idea, of course, what it was that I was making him say.
“If I had been a young woman… ” he mumbled and trailed off.
“Then what? You think… I’d limit myself?”
He blushed furiously and didn’t say anything more. But the way he looked at me was equal parts endearing and infuriating. I rolled my eyes.
“I can work with this,” I said, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to my room. He learned a lot of things he wouldn’t have found in his books.
…
I apologize, my Queen, if you ever get this far in reading. Deeply. For what it is worth, John seems quite content. I’ll ask him to sign this page when he wakes up.
The First Day
I am giving up on the idea of counting the days. Simple addition is dull and inconsequential compared to the fluid passage of time. To number the days is to ignore the importance of one in favour of neatly lining them up like little soldiers.
I dearly hope Queen Eliza reads this some day, because I feel like an utter fool, justifying the lack of numbered entries in this tome to nobody but myself. I wonder if this will one day be held as proof of my declining mental state, if some day, a plaintiff somewhere will hold up this page and declare to those gathered that this, this is where she well and truly started talking to herself. But, I’ve felt that it’s helped. Certainly, I’m not feared as I once was -- not by those who know me, at least -- and the thought of being a threat to any and all does not bring me joy. But I am also no longer in a state of constant anxiety, on the edge of ignition at all times. I’ve found a peace within myself. Within me no longer rages a burning inferno, but a hearth at which I can warm my soul.
When I hopefully one day see her again, I will have to thank Queen Eliza. She has done more for me than I would have thought possible, through her letters, words, exercises. If I do not get to, I hope this book finds itself in her possession. She needs to know what she’s done.
In any case…
John Mustrum is an infuriating man and he’s truly testing my newfound patience. I’ve never met a man his age -- he must be three times as old as I am, easily in his late sixties, or even seventies -- who can not hold a conversation to save his life. How has he gotten this far in life?! He cannot even look a woman in the eye!
Case in point: today, we left Steven, on our way to the western mountain pass. He said not two words on the entire ride over. Of course, I went out of my way to tease him at first. I had taken his bashfulness as an inexperience with women -- wizards tend to be somewhat isolated from society due to their studies, after all -- but it quickly became clear that, while my jeers and japes made him blush, even innocent remarks make him uncomfortable! Is it that I’m a woman? Or is it that he is so socially inept that he is terrified of a single word from my lips?
I’ll have to resort to more fiendish tactics if I want to coax this old turtle out of his shell. I am not spending months cooped up in Black’s old home with someone who refuses to speak to me. I can only read the books Erza has loaned me so many times -- even if I’ll enjoy re-reading them in privacy.
The Mountain Pass
The journey was uneventful, for the most part. Mustrum is still quiet as a mouse, even though I’ve tried several different techniques now. Coy, domineering, seductive, quiet, demure, studious. I’m well acquainted with magic! Of course, the sources of our powers are diametrically opposed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find common ground?! Why can’t he just talk to me?
That was my thinking going in here. Of course, we were busy at first. I was glad to see the Wydonian military had not yet begun its trek up the mountain pass, where we are expecting the first wave of their assault to begin. Without reinforcements from the west, Whitehallow will be almost impermeable, or so it seems, and having the time to set up defenses here will definitely work in our favour. So we set up Black’s Reprieve. That was the easy part. John Mustrum must have gotten his hands on it some years ago; all we had to do was apply it.
The pass up the mountain is a craggy nothing. If the enemy had been here already, we would’ve been in trouble. Going up from this side, you could be stopped by three old ladies with a broom, though from my understanding it widens significantly at the summit. We climbed for two whole days, and if it weren’t for my continued practice, limiting myself rather than pushing for more, it would have lasted two more. There isn’t much snow up here, but the morning dew freezes solid. When we first began our climb, we hadn’t noticed this and Mustrum nearly tumbled all the way down. He managed to hold on long enough to summon a ladder of sorts and climbed back up. Save for some cuts and bruises, the only thing hurt is his ego, and that hasn’t exactly changed him in any meaningful way. I was impressed by his ability to take a punishment, however. I’d expected a man his age to break a hip, but he seems quite spry.
The end of the climb culminated in the summoning of Black’s castle, and it was as impressive as I’d hoped. We found a place just off the path. Mustrum spoke the words, and the magic was easily some of the most advanced I’d ever seen. I wondered how and where Mustrum had gotten his hands on it. The castle conforms to the surrounding terrain, and even seems to be made out of the same material as the surrounding stone. There is even a path that comes down from the main gate. The structure itself is wonderfully surreal. Towers and bannisters where there shouldn’t be, it is a logistical impossibility that is almost painful to look at. Mustrum apparently has some control over its shape, because he also barred the mountain path with a ludicrously oversized portcullis. A slender child could have crawled through. I was impressed.
I looked over at him and he blushed when he saw me looking, like a bashful washerwoman. My look of admiration became one of confusion. In writing this, I find that there’s a lot about his behaviour that doesn’t add up. I’ll have to do more research into this, but the man’s area of expertise appears to be summonings and illusions, so I’ll be hard pressed to find something I can use. But if he isn’t a grumpy old man; his behaviour is suddenly a lot more endearing. I’ll find out if you’ve been lying to me, Mustrum, and I’ll have my revenge. You’ll never hear the end of it!!
Finally something happens
Things are finally getting interesting up here. At first I’d been dead set on finding out Mustrum’s secret, but he is as guarded with his identity as he is with his words. We take dinner every night in the main kitchen, where the food makes itself. At first, I had tried to engage him in conversation -- as a normal person would -- but he answers in single sentences. He is utterly infuriating and I need to know if this is a ruse or not. Is he simply toying with me? Nobody could keep up an act like that for this long. Why would he hide! If he truly is some damsel in disguise, why not end the performance! I am the only one here!
The only thing I can ever get him to talk about is history or his magical theory. I swear, he’s a different person whenever I get him to open up about it, and there’s actual life in his eyes. It’s almost like a switch is flipped that goes “Oh! I know about this!” and it’s endearing, if I imagine him without the beard, forty-five years and that ridiculous hat. It would be even more endearing if he could talk about literally anything else that way, but no such luck for now. It’s impossible for someone to be this old and have no life experience. He was with the Hero of Eferton, wasn’t he? What did he do beforehand that made him join an adventurer? If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he’d be too scared to leave his house.
I don’t know how I would have survived if we finally hadn’t been getting to work. We’ve been up here for days now. Weeks? It’s easy to lose track of time, and I can feel Black’s influence tugging at the corners of my mind. No wonder the populace goes mad in this place. Black was a real bastard. But we finally have work to do. The army is on us. I’d spent so much time reading Erza’s novels I was getting… pent up. I needed to vent my frustration.
We’ve been holding our own very well. It’s been good to see Mustrum finally in his element. He holds his own very well. The first wave of soldiers marched up the mountain and with thanks to Mustrum’s farsight, we got to see the look on the commander’s face when he finally saw Black’s Reprieve. This wasn’t on any maps, was it? It was glorious. They slowed down, but didn’t stop. So Mustrum dropped the mountain on them.
He didn’t, of course. He conjured up an amazing illusion of a rockslide, massive boulders bouncing down the mountain with so much noise I could feel it in my teeth. The soldiers fell over themselves to go back down the hill. I don’t know how many were hurt; Mustrum turned off his farsight -- I suppose it’s within his character to be squeamish -- but none of them were actually crushed by rocks. They limped their casualties down the mountain and we didn’t see them again for a few days.
They came up the mountain with real mages afterwards. Mustrum impressed me again by the fact that they failed to dispel his illusions. The massive chimera that slowly walked forth from the portcullis looked so real it would have fooled me. The magic they threw at it would have gone straight through the creature, but when I looked at John, his brow furrowed with concentration, and the beast either dodged their attacks or seemed to simply ignore them. He even added the illusion of an impact. When it roared, they ran down the mountain again. It was fun to see one of the mages bounce his way down.
A Breakthrough
In more ways than one, it’s been interesting on top of this pile of rocks. To get the least interesting thing out of the way first: we have finally had to fight. Though obviously John has been working hard, we haven’t actively been attacked. Not really. Well, that’s all changed now! I’m very glad that Black’s Reprieve is so rare, because it’s clear that these mages have no clue what they’re doing.
It started a few days ago. Mustrum and I were both reading in the communal area, something we can both do to relax, though I have to make sure I temper my breathing when I’m in the same room. I’d hate for him to find out what my reading material is like. Or perhaps I should have left it out for him to read. He might have learned a thing or two, blushing like a babe. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We were reading when we heard a loud echoing sound, like someone striking a large gong. Immediately, we realized we were under attack, that the noise was the castle’s passive shield -- Black was a bastard but he was a clever one -- being hit.
On the parapets, Mustrum immediately did the smart thing: after a few seconds, there was an entire army of mages around us, all illusory, and all throwing up illusory defensive spells. To the attackers, it would look like the castle was impermeable, that there was a veritable legion of spellcasters up here. But that didn’t stop them from trying to march another army up the cliff, and I had the feeling they wouldn’t be stopped by illusions this time.
I like to think I did a good job, floating down in a storm of fire. The mages tried to dispel me. The look on their faces when they realized I was no illusion I will treasure for the rest of my days. One of them ran before I’d even touched down. He must’ve heard of me. They flung their spells at me, but my training has paid off. Their spells sizzled away, quite literally, against walls of fire. It was clear that some of them still thought me an illusion. I’m proud, and I like to think my Queen would have been too, to say that what I did brought me no joy. I incinerated as few as I had to in order to rout them. It didn’t take many. And they didn’t suffer, at least. When I made my way up to the battlements, I had to tell John to close his mouth, which was a treat.
But that, of course, was not the most important thing to happen. I have found out Mustrum’s secret. After the battle, we both went back inside. He was completely exhausted, and I made it very clear his efforts had been greatly appreciated, that I was thoroughly impressed with him. I said something along the lines of “If you’d been thirty years younger” and he flinched. He flinched! Of course I had to dig deeper.
And I did and it worked. Back inside, he wished to go back to his room, but I was done with all the pussyfooting around and straight up demanded he tell me who he was. He acted like a nobody but I would have, should have heard of someone of his abilities. He would have been a legend if he’d come forward. I told him as much. I might have walked up to him -- my heels give me the height advantage and I do like to think I strike a… smouldering figure. My intimidation seemed to work. Whether it was the exhaustion or he finally trusted me or… something else. But his illusion dissipated. I think it is best, in the interest of posterity that I reframe the ensuing conversation exactly as it happened.
“I was not expecting this,” I said. Which was the truth. Like I’d written before, Mustrum’s behaviour had thrown me off.
“I am sorry.”
“Not to mince words, but I figured you were a woman. A young one.”
“Why?!”
“You would not have been the first.” The third, that I knew of, after having come into contact with Queen Eliza. I wondered if she did something to people.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he smiled sheepishly. It’s the first time I’d ever even seen him make a facial expression, without those bushy eyebrows and the long beard.
So that was John Mustrum. A twenty-something twig with a smooth, sharp face. Instead of an old man in robes, in front of me stood this young boy, easily six years younger than myself, wringing his robes in anxiety.
“This certainly explains some things,” I told him. “Disappoint me how?”
I finally made him say it, though I had no idea, of course, what it was that I was making him say.
“If I had been a young woman… ” he mumbled and trailed off.
“Then what? You think… I’d limit myself?”
He blushed furiously and didn’t say anything more. But the way he looked at me was equal parts endearing and infuriating. I rolled my eyes.
“I can work with this,” I said, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to my room. He learned a lot of things he wouldn’t have found in his books.
…
I apologize, my Queen, if you ever get this far in reading. Deeply. For what it is worth, John seems quite content. I’ll ask him to sign this page when he wakes up.
