Chapter 15

Keflavik, Iceland

Wednesday, October 12th, 2050

The next day was without incident; the real excitement came after dinner. We had fallen into a regular routine. Our evenings were spent under Mr. Maki’s watchful eye in the living room. Mariko had taken over my Japanese lessons, and I in turn tried to get a handle on Buddy. Let’s say that I was better at Japanese than Kowalski was at magical control, and I wasn’t fantastic at Japanese. It was utterly unlike any of the other languages I knew; the only overlap was a fondness of borrowed English words.

“No, don’t!” shouted Kowalski as the shadowy being surged forward, bowling me to the floor.

Case in point. One moment I’d been looking at Kowalski in Mimic Sight, trying to parse out the mystery of the double image, and the next I was wrapped neck to thigh in an inky black cocoon.

“Down, Buddy! Down!” I was pinned to the living room floor by Buddy’s shadowy limbs. The apparition seemed to be enjoying himself, though. He seemed more rounded than normal, which meant there weren’t any wicked claws digging into my arms. I struggled uselessly; it was like trying to wrestle my way out of half-set concrete, and I had no leverage to speak of.

“C’mon Buddy, leave Magpie alone,” begged Kowalski.

Mariko had been knitting in an easy chair next to the foul-smelling fireplace, but she dropped what she was doing and rushed over. “Kasasagi!”

Perhaps we were making some progress, since Buddy didn’t turn to threaten either of them. Instead, he grinned down on me with a void-like mouth that was less jagged than normal.

“What did you do to set him off?” asked Mariko.

“Why do you assume it was something I did?” I griped.

“Buddy is a tad… irritable, but there is usually something that triggered him,” said Mariko. She reached out and scratched at the shadowy being’s head.

“What about yesterday?”

“I am starting to think he does not like to be confined,” said Mariko. “He seems more cheerful when he is outdoors.”

“That tracks,” I said, remembering him playing in the yard after his tantrum. “We were outside today, though.”

“Then he doesn’t have an excuse!” Kowalski looked equal parts mortified and enraged. “Buddy, if you don’t let him go, I’m going to get the disruptor.”

So much for Buddy’s good mood! His head and face became more angular, and he menaced Kowalski with a mouthful of angry, needle-sharp teeth. The blond man flinched back, and even the normally fearless Mariko joined him.

I let out an irritated sigh. “Leave him be; he’ll get bored soon enough. Besides, I bet you think we’re playing, don’t you?”

Buddy turned his eyes back on me.

Mariko took a step back, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure?”

“We aren’t going to make him let me go, so I’d best get comfortable.” I leaned my head back and let out an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “It’s almost relaxing. Buddy, be a good chap and give me a massage while you’re at it. I’ve had a knot in my back all week.”

To my surprise, Buddy’s shadowy limbs starting a wavelike motion up and down my spine. “That actually feels rather nice.”

Mr. Maki had stayed buried in his book the whole time in a straining chair like Mariko’s. It protested beneath his bulk as he peered at the ridiculous scene before him. “I can’t say this looks like progress, Marlowe.”

“I don’t know, sir. I like this more than him outright attacking me. Buddy, a little to the left, if you would? There, that’s the spot.”

“Oh, screw this! Fine, ignore me and keep playing with Soren, you stupid monster!” Kowalski stomped upstairs, and I didn’t have to speak Polish to recognize his cursing. Buddy didn’t release his hold on me right away, but some of his mass was drawn away to keep the tether between them. A trail of shadow as wide as my finger extended up the stairs and out of sight.

Buddy’s eyes narrowed and while he couldn’t make a noise, he did withdraw and follow the trail back to his ‘master’.

“Poor Rafal,” said Mariko. “Someone should go talk with him.”

Mr. Maki barked a humorless laugh, putting his book aside. “What would we say that we haven’t before? ‘Buck up and do better’? ‘It isn’t that embarrassing that your split personality likes Marlowe more than you’?”

Mariko puffed out her cheeks angrily. “You can be a cruel man, Mr. Maki.” She got up and offered me a hand up, which I gladly accepted.

“Just let him blow off some steam,” he replied. “I doubt he stormed off because he wants company.”

I brushed myself off, honestly feeling better than I had before Buddy had tackled me to the ground. “It’s all very curious,” I said. “Hasn’t Buddy seemed a bit different ever since the sword-whale incident? Bad days aside, he seems a bit more playful.”

“I would agree with that,” said Mariko.

“Remember, it isn’t Buddy that’s different,” said Mr. Maki. “Buddy is an extension of Mr. Kowalski. So, something changed about him.”

I excused myself to my room, realizing that since my Mimic Sight could see through walls, I didn’t have to be in the same room as Kowalski to sound him out.

Why did I see a ghostly after-image when I studied Kowalski with my Mimic Sight? It couldn’t be raw power; Rose had more magic than any wizard I’d ever met, and she was only a single signature. There was something unique about the boy. I had the beginnings of a theory, but the challenge was that it was based on knowledge that Soren Marlowe would have no way to know about, demonkin or not. Helping Kowalski could out me completely if I wasn’t careful.

Affinity Magic was a wrinkle in what would otherwise be a nice, orderly magic system. Spells were made up of runes, which were a reflection of underlying ‘natural’ forces that were then rearranged and given shape by wizards. Wizards could construct extremely intricate spells and bind them to fabricata, allowing for complex effects that a wizard would spend hours to recite in their ‘raw’ form. In theory, any spell a magic user could create without a fabricata were single-use effects, like fire, cold, energy structures, and so on.

And yet, every magic user had their affinity, and they could shape magic in ways the cleverest magical engineer could only dream of. Kiyo turned herself to crystal to aid her light-bending, Rose affected weather patterns on a regional scale, Yukiko adjusted the gravitational attraction between objects with minute precision, and so on. This impossible magic was second nature to them.

I had begun to suspect that Kowalski had accidentally created a golem. The dark wizards of the Horde’s Old World had a number of interesting spells that simply weren’t useful to the demons who stole their magic system. A golem, like in the myths of pre-Horde humanity, was a lump of clay or other material that could move about and perform whatever task was programmed into it. The issue was that they were expensive in terms of magical energy, and they could only handle a single task at a time. You could inscribe an order in runes and insert it into their back, almost like an old video game cartridge. If the tablet said to fetch water from a well, they would fetch water tirelessly, but the Dark Lord help you if you forgot to tell them to stop. I had only seen one golem in all my years in Pandemonium, and that had been a magical researcher showing off just how clever he was. For practical devils, Orc and goblin slaves were simply more versatile and plentiful.

If Buddy was a golem, then he was the single most advanced golem to ever walk either world. He was able to respond to conversation not related to his program, seemingly make decisions for himself, and change forms on the fly. Kowalski was secretly a genius. If we could figure out what orders Buddy was executing, we could bring him to heel.

But there was the rub; I couldn’t tell Kowalski any of that. I had been searching through the Nagoya Academy’s online records (thankfully, those were still active), and no matter what query I put into the system, the only item in the whole library about golems was a book of Jewish folklore. Fabricata golems were so uncommon that humans had no idea they were even possible. Much of their skill with spellcraft was stolen from captured Horde treatises, and if we didn’t mention or use a skill often, the Wizard Corps had no idea it existed, either.

Did I want to help Kowalski? Yes, if only because I wasn’t fond of being attacked by Buddy. It wasn’t that I felt sorry for the poor boy, mind you. Perish the thought. Though, I felt… uncomfortable when my Mimic Sight showed a double image balled up on his bed, either quivering with rage or sobbing uncontrollably.

I immediately shut off my affinity and went back downstairs. Mr. Maki was nowhere to be seen, but Mariko had moved back to the easy chair by the fire. I took a seat next to her and contemplated the fire.

“Soren? Are you crying?”

“No,” I said. “It’s this blasted synthwood. Stuffs me up like all get-out; I’m sure it’s a health hazard.” I turned to see what she was up to, wanting to talk about anything else. “How’s the sweater coming?”

She didn’t seem to fully believe me, but she held her project up for inspection. “More slowly than I would have managed before my injury, but I think I am learning to compensate.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. It looks like you started from the bottom and are working your way up?” She had gotten as far as her armpits, from the looks of things. “I remember Kiyo was working on one before and she started with the neck hole.”

“I always go bottom-up.” She chuckled. “Mom always wanted to start from the top, but I like working this way better. We did not argue about much, but that was one of them.”

“It looks like you’re about done,” I said.

“What? No, it’s barely half finished.”

“I respectfully disagree; I think that’s just the right amount of sweater. Throw on the sleeves and you’re done.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If the objective is to be warm, I have a ways to go.”

“You’re an artist, aren’t you? You should be willing to suffer for the sake of aesthetics.”

That stopped her short, and I realized I had said the wrong thing. She let out a long breath between her teeth as she set aside her sweater and needles.

“Mariko, I’m sorry. I was only joking around.”

“I suppose it is just as well I am not an artist anymore.” She rose to her feet and gave me a shallow bow, clasping her unwilling hand before her. “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Marlowe. Good night.” Before she turned away, I saw that her eyes had become misty.

I’d managed to send two humans upstairs with tears in their eyes. If I was a tormentor, back when my people were spiritual beings who afflicted humans, that would have been a good night’s work.

I wasn’t, though, so instead I felt an inch tall. I realized this was the earliest we had retired since our first night in Keflavik, so I saw an opportunity to make myself happy, at least. I wouldn’t even have to worry about making any noise on the stairs this time. I did leave a note claiming I was going into town for ‘supplies’, just in case I my absence was discovered. I didn’t want to this bit of fun to come back and bite me.

My precautions didn’t work, naturally, but I’m getting ahead of myself.