70. Moving On

The two of them walked down the road, Oz with three fresh, if false, manuals in his bag. He hummed to himself, enjoying the crisp early morning air and the moisture of dew still thick in the air.

Why’d you buy them? If you knew they were fake.

I bought them because they’re fake. They might be evidence for this crime, or they might not, but either way, I have a vested interest in identifying and cataloging fake manuals.

You are a librarian, after all.

Indeed. Besides, the manuals tell me a lot about the thought process of the one who created the false copy. I can build a picture of the mindset of this person and guess their motives, and ultimately, their next moves. If this is unrelated and there’s a mad counterfeiter running wild around the valley, I’ll need to confront them sooner or later. Every scrap of information about them is valuable!

Huh, interesting, Fflyn said, in the least interested tone possible.

Oz shook his head. Assassins. No appreciation for library work.

The road wound on. No travelers walked beside them today, not even Rouge, who gave a regretful farewell to his good clients as he waited to spend another two days in the village to shill books at the town’s market day. Weeds grew through the road, split by two narrow tracks where carriage wheels ran ruts in the dirt. With nothing better to do, Oz read manuals in his head, running through breathing technique after breathing technique. Occasionally, he picked up a spell or two, but few manuals included much practical material.

I’m able to almost predict the basic layout of the breathing techniques now. The fundamental steps are similar, and the places where they vary are similar as well. Martial techniques focus on slowing one’s breath and keeping focus on one’s enemy. Sensible, for fighters. Mages focus on absorbing the maximum amount of qi in the minimum time, and compressing that qi optimally into one’s core, again, sensible for those who focus on casting magic. Scholarly mages, who focus on the theoretical study of magic, emphasize the foundational theory behind the breathing techniques; the flow of qi in nature and in the body, the cycle of magic from earth, to mage, and back again.

Meanwhile, based on the few fey magic books I’ve read, they’re very practical. In fact, I’d say the primary ‘cheat’ part of using fey magic, is that they are so practical, so fast. Rather than worrying about making sure that the disciple understands how to handle and circulate qi, they assume that you can do that, and go straight ahead to using spells.

Do the fey instinctively cultivate, without the need for manuals or techniques? No—didn’t Linnea say something to that effect for demons? Given that demons and fey are similar creatures, it tracks that they’d have the same kind of conditions in which they learned magic.

In any case, I think I get, now, why fey and demonic magic is considered a ‘cheat,’ a way to jump ahead, but to ruin yourself in the long term, if you rely on fey magic without also building your foundation. Since I’m also building my foundation, it should be fine to cast a few fey spells, but I’ll have to be careful not to treat it as my go-to until I’ve fully and completely set up a firm foundation—and, of course, I must also not forego a foundation and directly pursue fey magic. Fey are born with cultivation levels. Humans aren’t.

I wonder if dark magic is similar? But I’m still a bit worried about reading those texts. In terms of corrupting or inflicting harm, they do far worse than fey or demonic magic. Even looking at them made my head hurt.

Are the dark magic tomes part of the ‘every book on the first floor’ that I should read before I step onto the first stage? They were hidden, and technically they’re in the basement, not on the first floor
 Oz bit his lip. He shook his head. I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll try asking Fenrir or Madame Saoirse’s projection. After all, dark magic is still magic. But on the other hand, I don’t want to set myself back over misinterpreting Madame Saoirse’s intentions. I’ll be sure to ask her before I rashly jump into dark magic.

He went back to reading, walking on autopilot, following after Aisling. One book after another, the wind blowing through his hair, sunlight beaming down. Birdsong emanated from the picturesque forests and rolling, pastoral hills around them. Only their footsteps broke the quietude. No cars, no carriages, just them, the swaying grasses, and the birds.

How nice, Oz thought, taking a break from reading to drink it in. I couldn’t ask for a better place to read.

“It’s too quiet,” Aisling commented.

“Too quiet?” Oz repeated. He looked around them, then nodded, kicking his way through knee-high weeds. Yeah. If there’s a town on the other end of this street
 then no one has come down to it, or left it, in a long time.

She pointed at the rolling hills beside them, cloaked in a beautiful meadow full of lush grasses and pastel flowers. “That should be a farm. Even if it’s lying fallow, it should have a fence, and signs of habitation. Instead, there’s nothing. There’s nothing grazing in the field. No tracks where the farmer’s checked on his land. This field has been completely abandoned.”

“The bookseller—Rogue—he said that the Lafayne Region is completely self-sufficient. They don’t even ask to buy food. And yet, they’re letting fields rot?” Oz shook his head. Something’s going on here. I’m willing to bet it’s some kind of magic.

Mid-step, he froze. He looked at Aisling.

Aisling turned to him. “What?”

“They don’t buy food, and don’t appear to farm their own food. Are we about to walk into a hidden sect?” Oz asked.

Aisling raised her brows. “It’s unlikely. Someone should have noticed the pressure. But it isn’t impossible. We should move carefully.”

Though if that’s the case, the sickness doesn’t make sense
 no, unless it’s a rumor they’ve spread to keep people from investigating the Lafayne Region. Damn. The more I think about it, the more likely it seems.

Of course, it could still be some kind of magical sickness, or a region-wide curse of some description. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. But I do need to be prepared for anything.

As they crested the hill, a village appeared below them, a tight-knit circle of small cottages facing inward, away from a shoulder-high stone wall. The wall cut a winding shape out of the fields, not quite perfectly round but near to it. Wooden gates blocked the way, cutting off the road that wandered through the village. No one walked around or stood in the fields outside the wall. A few scraggly-looking sheep grazed nearby, coats overgrown and yellowed, but no shepherd watched over them.

“Is it abandoned?” Aisling murmured.

Oz pointed. White smoke puffed to the sky from a few of the houses. “The chimneys are smoking. There should be someone still alive within the village. Let’s proceed with caution. If we can communicate with them, we should, but we shouldn’t force our way inside if they aren’t interested in talking.”

Aisling nodded. Together, they descended the hill, criss-crossing the slope toward the small town.