Such Sights to Show You

Such Sights to Show You

Agathias & Vilas

Set in Namarast, late winter. Evening is just around the corner.

Vilas

The day’s work was done once more. 

With a quiet thud Vilas dropped a decorated box on Agathias’ desk next to an orderly pile of books, and turned to look at the man in question, contemplating. The professor had already started to work on the parchments detailing today’s assessment and its results; always so orderly, just like this study of his. Vilas glanced towards the door, left ajar, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be needed further today now that he had helped to carry some of the equipment back here - and yet, he lingered.

“Agathias.” He said with a low but clear voice, trying to grab their attention for a moment. “Sir-” He quickly corrected himself with worn politeness as he calmly walked over to the door, closing it, “I wanted to ask you about that assignment, if you can spare the time. About Aspenwell.” The old mage would have surely known which assignment he was referring to even without the clarification. Vilas too, was meticulous, and the prolonged silence about this specific subject matter hadn’t escaped his notice during the past few weeks. 

Hells, he himself had scarcely thought about anything else but the mage he had helped the Witchfinders to find and capture. Vilas hadn’t seen the small man around, now that he thought of it; likely still imprisoned like so many other wild mages were at first, as he had learned from Captain Boswell while handing over Petros to them.

“Was there something about the report I should take better into account next time?” Another question, but one that withheld an awfully bold assumption. Ever since his return to Namarast from that eventful trip, things had been… Well, not exactly relaxed, they never quite were that under Agathias’ directions, but less hectic nonetheless. The reason for that subtle change had continued to elude Vilas, though. Aside from the brief discussion he and Agathias had on the following morning after his return, the topic of his report on the incident had been put to the side - seemingly forgotten despite the professor’s near fervent speech about the importance of such unseemly, but necessary duties the Order mages were bound to face - even the researchers. 

It was a contradiction that didn’t sit well with him.  

Vilas had often held his tongue around Agathias - both out of respect and learned obedience - but if there was even the slightest possibility that he had begun to lose interest in him as an assistant for one reason or another, perhaps a little bit of audacity was just what was needed right now. (429)

Agathias

Agathias felt tired. Rarely did he feel the true weight of his years, easily smoothed away by magic, but today was different. An earlier experiment, done without Vilas’ assistance or knowledge, had been rather more exhausting than he had expected. As always when he overexerted himself, he could feel the effects of it afterwards—a gentle tap on his shoulder, a chilled touch from Death’s gruesome hands.

He made no comment when Vilas arrived, and while his glance flickered to the box, then back to the half-written report he was annotating, he said nothing.

He had tried, before, to draw some answers out of Vilas, to varying degrees of success; but the professor was a patient man, and used to waiting. Sometimes, an experiment or analysis could take months—and so far, Vilas as an assistant was a kind of experiment; a study to see how he’d fare, if the potential Agathias had glimpsed before could be molded and shaped into something useful, something more than the sum of its parts.

And—there it was. He had been waiting for it, knowing—hoping?—it would come. A sign that Vilas was not merely content with plodding along, accepting orders without reason; a simple question, but Agathias could feel the weight of it, and the unsaid words behind it.

“Aspenwell,” he echoed dryly, not interrupting the flow of his writing. “Hm.” Another half-minute of silence, only punctuated by the soft scratching of the pen against parchment, before he carefully laid it down, put the sheet away to dry. He pushed his spectacles higher and turned to Vilas.

“A job well done,” he said crisply, leaning back in his chair and reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Your report was immaculate, you captured the target, and you have earned nothing but praise from your superiors and fellow witchfinders.” A pause, and in the silence of the office, it felt heavy. Agathias opened his eyes to meet Vilas’ bright gaze with his own.

“Was there anything you felt you could have done better?” Another pause, but he didn’t wait for the younger man to answer before gesturing at the empty chair on the other side of his desk. “Please have a seat.” 

Agathias himself got up from his own chair, perhaps a smidge slower than usual. He glanced at Vilas before turning to the massive shelf behind him; from a small cabinet he procured a bulbous bottle, the blue glass glinting in the lamplight, and two small, but intricately engraved, metal cups. Some moments later, he pushed one of the cups towards Vilas before pouring one for himself; a faint aroma of wine hung over the desk.

“Vilas. I’ve asked you before,” he finally said quietly, his gaze now fixed intently on his assistant. “But I never got an answer. What are your goals? What drives you?” (473)

Vilas

Vilas felt pride swell in his chest at Agathias’ sparing praises. He was well aware of his own skills - gods forbid him if he ever feigned pointless humility - but the straightforward recognition still felt good, welcome even. 

With a listful face he sat down in the empty chair, mulling over Agathias’ question in silence as he watched the old mage take out a rather fine bottle of wine, raising his brows with slight curiosity. He hadn’t taken the man for someone who cared that much for the small pleasures in life. Then again, aside from his research there was a lot he didn’t know about Agathias - and even that was veiled in mystery for the most part. 

Vilas gave a small nod as thanks and reached for the filled cup, but didn’t raise it to his lips just yet. Instead he returned the sharp gaze that was now fixed on him, tensing up a little as Agathias presented another, albeit expected question.

“Right,” he exhaled almost apologetically, “Which horizon my eyes are fixed on and all that.” He glanced past Agathias’ shoulder, trying but failing to come up with an answer that felt sufficient enough. His reasons were so woefully self-indulgent, almost pathetic, but they were his regardless. Time wouldn’t make them any more novel. With a solemn look, he began to talk. “It’s true what I told you back then. I want to understand magic and its many maladies, and how those manifest in a person, but… I guess I haven’t been fully honest. This sounds so asinine when put into words, apologies, but what makes someone a mage? What makes us tick, what are the rules that bind us, what is that which controls us?” 

Vilas drew a breath, gauging Agathias’ reactions all the while as he continued to explain his usually well-guarded thoughts. “I’m not blind to magic’s usefulness, far be it from me to deny that, but with magic like mine one starts to think about these things, I suppose. How much of a human there is to be found, and what is but magic made manifest in an unusual way.”

He paused again, this time looking at the cup in his hand; his throat felt tight. Where was the line between an appropriate answer and the one that was needed here? He wasn’t so sure.

“What is magic - whether an ailment or chronic condition of a different kind - that is what I seek to learn. My ‘drive’.” He sneered habitually, but it came off as quiet, unsure. (422)

Agathias

He leaned back in his chair, twirling the wine in his cup slowly, letting its aroma bloom as he listened to Vilas. His words were familiar, and Agathias could hear both the restraint and the honesty behind them. Once again, there was the glimmer of potential…

“Ah, magic.” He took a slow sip, still watching the younger man. “Important questions, all of them, and none I have found answers to yet, despite my years of research.” His gaze took on a far-away, contemplative quality, as if looking beyond the walls of his study—beyond the books and instruments and devices, beyond the confined setting of the Mage City. His gaze returned to Vilas, briefly. “Perhaps you will.” 

He was quiet for another moment, taking another sip of wine. “Magic is a blight upon us,” he slowly said, putting his cup down. “No mage is exempt. We all have the innate possibility of going the way of our previous Archmage. Turn into monsters, terrible mindless beings… What else could magic be but a curse? A useful one, certainly, but in the end… we are tainted.” He glanced out of one of the windows, the sky blue and endless outside; below, the inhabitants of Namarast went on with their daily business.

“Some mages more so than others, in my experience. You’ll learn that certain kinds of magic are closer to corruption.” He exhaled slowly, and seemed to sink deeper into his chair. “As are those who only grasp for power, and ignore the importance of discipline… as well as those saddled with inherently sullied, harmful powers. Perhaps it’s merely bad luck; perhaps it’s a flawed, impure heart and mind.”

He straightened his posture, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk, catching Vilas’ gaze again. “Indeed, if we could learn about what makes someone a mage… perhaps we could learn the opposite too. Could magic be taken away? We are its mercy—but maybe we don’t need to be.” He bowed his head slightly, stroked his neatly trimmed beard slowly.

“What is magic… a noble goal, indeed. One I share.” (348)

Vilas

There was a flicker of genuine surprise in Vilas’ eyes when he met Agathias’ gaze again. It took him another moment still to realize that the professor wasn’t jesting. 

He didn’t dare to interrupt the man - merely hummed at the loaded compliment that might as well have been a direct challenge - but the candid curiosity that had settled on his face said it all as he leaned forward.

The burden of magic was a belief they both shared, he had known that from the start. What he hadn’t known though was how deep Agathias’ idea of the inherent faultiness of magic ran. At that moment the professor looked old, almost small in his chair as he painted this bleak picture of haves and have-nots. One that Vilas found himself agreeing with. Whether deemed useful or harmful by nature, it was true that they all were mages first and humans second, regardless of the lies they may tell themselves and others. That fact wouldn’t disappear as long as they remained unable to change what they are.

Vilas took a quiet sip from his cup, weighing Agathias’ words as the warm wine washed away the tension from his shoulders. 

At the possibility of removing one’s magic, he simply smiled. Hesitating only for a moment, he chose to push the topic further. “I’m not sure how noble it is, to be frank.” The younger mage straightened his own posture too. “But it is a practical one in my eyes… If I may, what makes you still believe there’s a solution to be found? After all this time..?” Vilas kept his gaze fixed on the older man’ weary face as the memories of his old friend, Flavia, crept into his mind; once a promising young mage, now lost within endless dreams - still alive, but barely there. Vilas swallowed lightly at the unpleasant thought. 

She had been undone by her own magic. Her magic she had no choice but to live with, to submit to the fate of another sorry mage.

It had been an accident, but one that she never could’ve hoped to avoid.

Vilas took another sip to stop that train of thought. “I… Certainly want there to be one too - I believe there is. I can… See how magic has threaded itself into things, into us, when I’m not here. It’s difficult to explain.” He glanced down at the dark reflection on the wine’s surface. Magic being a physical thing wasn’t anything new - they could measure, sense, and see it after all - but experiencing it so vividly through oneself made it feel less impossible to grasp. To study, treat, and dissect. It made it also sickeningly clear every time that it was a part of him, like a mold that he could choose to either feed or ignore, but it would never go away on its own. (475)

Agathias

He raised his cup again, and leaned back, thoughtful. “What makes me believe… I have seen mages lose their magic before, partly or completely. I have yet to figure out how the causes would be linked, but one of my theories is that over-using one’s magic to the point of collapse seems to be one common denominator. That, of course, is not a feasible process, but it gives me hope that we may one day find something else.”

His thoughts went to the latest case—Basileios Veres, the mage who had both lost and gained magic—and he silently cursed the fact that Veres had escaped before Agathias got the opportunity to study him more. Then there had been that shadow mage, some twenty years ago: Ioeth. As well as others— there had been a handful of students, over the years, but fewer than one would think; magic, once gained, rarely seemed to disappear.

Another sip, and he shrugged lightly. “Of course, some mages are more intricately linked to their powers, and it would destroy them to have it unravelled. Others may be fine. But sometimes… sacrifices must be made in the name of progress. The good of the many must come before the greatness of one.” In the privacy of his own mind, Agathias was of the conviction that some mages would certainly be better off without their powers. Certain foul magics would never bring forth anything useful or good, for the wielder or others.

There was something in Vilas’ expression there; Agathias took note of it—some obscure pain or wistfulness, perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he focused on Vilas’ words instead. His expression turned interested, almost sharp.

“Seeing magic?” he said, pursing his lips and pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “You haven’t mentioned that before. What do you mean?” (308)

Vilas

He lifted his eyes to meet Agathias’ gaze, blinking once in surprise at the intensity of their question. 

“It’s the only way I can describe it, really. Like a veil being pulled back,” Vilas shrugged as a lopsided smile crept across his face. “I’m still here when I disappear - that much I’ve told you - but so is everything else. I’ve got no reason to believe it wasn’t there to begin with, the same as I.” For the longest time his magic had meant little more than means to a job well done, and figuring out the truth behind the odd sights had been just another part of his neverending attempt to be seen as worth something. Seeing magical wards as if they were physical objects, or learning to recognize certain colors as telltale signs of magic’s presence had served no real purpose to anyone but him. Only the results had mattered - that is, up until now.

The mage paused briefly to think over what the professor had just said about the interwoven existence some mages shared with their magic. That probably was the case for him too, unfortunately, but it was a suspicion Vilas had held for a long time. How else could he slip into that fractured reality of his, if not being a little more than magic in all essence but his thoughts?

Vilas gave Agathias a considerate look, proceeding then to empty his wine cup and setting it down, casually offering his hand towards the older man over the table. “Perhaps I could show you? We can sit like this.” 

It would be nothing but another peek behind the veil for him, one he had experienced a thousand times over already. (286)

Agathias

“Interesting,” Agathias muttered, reaching for his quill to scribble a few notes, his gaze intent and intense as he put the pen to paper. “A veil…” he trailed off, mouthing a few words to himself. Part of him wanted to berate Vilas for withholding this extraordinary skill; the rest of his thoughts were swirling with the possibilities. Seeing magic—to perceive and observe this strange and all-encompassing force, the thread tying every mage’s life together—it would be an incredible boon to his work, and he could scarcely believe Vilas had said it so casually. Mentally, he was already reorganizing some of his planned experiments—yet not spoken about—to include his assistant. 

His sudden offer made Agathias blink in surprise before a brief, but genuine, smile crossed his face. For a moment, he looked ten years younger, and he immediately put his own wine cup down, grasping Vilas’ outstretched hand without hesitation. “You’ve made me very curious,” he said. “Anything I should be aware of, before you do it?”

He was all too aware that certain magic came with high costs—but this was too good an opportunity to even consider passing up. (189)

Vilas

“Inhale, you won’t be able to breathe either,” Vilas instructed with the same relaxed tone, “And don’t let go. I don’t know what would happen if you were to do that.” 

Serving as a mirror for the older man, he exhaled slowly and tightened his grip on Agathias’ hand. “It will be brief.” He smiled, and with a deep breath he let them both become undone.

The experience was closer to a blindfold being ripped off than a veil being gently pulled back - abrupt, and immediate - like stepping into harsh sunlight from pitch-black darkness. At a glance the study around them was the same it had always been, except brighter, more alive as the edges of objects fluctuated ever so slightly. Vilas couldn’t see Agathias, but he did feel him. A vague presence, held securely in place by his hand. If it hadn’t been for the complete lack of scent and how… distant even the ticking of the nearby clock sounded, one might have thought that some kind of a spell was merely affecting their vision.

He glanced towards the box he had brought with him, knowing from experience that the other man could sense this gesture too, even if both of them were right now nothing but formless wraiths to one another - to be sensed, but impossible to perceive. The decorated box hid a peculiar, magical instrument within it - they both knew that - and after staring at it for a while, new hues would suddenly appear into view - ones that there existed no words for. The unfamiliar colors flickered in and out of sight, but they were clearly no trick of the light; magic had been tied to something.

Vilas let his gaze wander around the room. There were similar traces of unknown colors all around them, now that one knew what to look for in this storm of heightened sensations - fixed in different locations, but never completely still. Much like air, magic too was just another part of the natural world, yet similarly it was rarely tangible enough to be seen in its natural state without assistance.

That is, unless magic itself became a physical being.

There wasn’t much time left now - Vilas could hold his breath fine, but he didn’t want to risk the professor panicking as the feeling of inescapable, slow suffocation would only intensify the longer they lingered in this state. Focusing on his free arm, Vilas allowed it to regain its shape before Agathias’ eyes to demonstrate better what he had meant. Without a warning there was a spark of those nameless colors, gathering together as thin threads to form what had always been his arm. It was over within seconds, and while the flickering hues grew dim, their shapes became more well-defined, fixed - comfortably threaded into every sinew, every bone, his very flesh. With every mage it was a little different - some flickered like a pyre from head to toe, others merely had an unsettling shade to their heart. Then there were those whose magic was too faint to even notice.

But that would have to do - with a single exhale, his magic released them both from its grasp. The colors faded away, leaving behind only the silence of the study, and the unpleasant taste of iron in Vilas’ mouth. (547)

Agathias

A brisk nod, and he took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of Vilas’ hand; his warm, somewhat dry fingers tightening their grip. Agathias was not a stranger to experiences in magic—not after over fifty years at Namarast—but every experience, and experiment, was different. 

One small part of him—the very human part, the one that always perceived, and endured, his age and mortality—tensed for a moment; the feeling of not breathing, of sudden, overwhelming change, was alarming. But the analytical, scientific part of his mind was instantly captivated. 

Colours blazed; some details seemed to come into focus much more clearly, while others seemed to dim and blur, slip in and out of focus. He tried to concentrate on one thing—a small wooden letter-opener beside him—and it was like seeing double, triple, quadruple. There was the letter-opener in its current form, and simultaneously, a newly sprung sapling, a piece of fresh, green wood, a pile of rot, and the dust that all things one day would turn into. He shifted his gaze to an uneaten apple among the notebooks and papers: it was a fragile bloom, an unripe green fruit, a pile of rotting mush.

Everywhere he looked, he saw entropy, the natural processes, the deterioration and decay that all things endured and succumbed to.

And over it all, like looking through stained glass, was the shimmering, undulating hues of magic. It was stunning; endlessly fascinating, a kaleidoscope of possibilities… He looked down at his desk; the notebooks and papers, the inkwell.

He could feel how Vilas’ focus shifted, and directed his own towards the box as well. Through the layers of his own magic, he saw the woven spell on the instrument; how it was gathered and adhered to the box and its contents.

The vision of Vilas’ arm was, perhaps, the most intriguing. Agathias saw how magic was threaded into every fiber of his being, how it nestled itself within the veins and sinews, and at the same time, saw what time had done, and would do, to him—a child’s limb, a young man’s strong arm—and skin sloughing off, flesh liquefying into rot; leaving bare bones and cartilage, and in the end, not even that.

Despite the mountain discomfort of holding his breath—or the feeling of it, anyway—he felt regret when Vilas let the curtain fall back upon the world. Agathias felt like he had got a glimpse of something viscerally real, something hidden from everyday view, a peek into what the world really, truly, looked like.

He breathed deeply, felt fresh air in his lungs, but the world seemed a little more grey now as he let go of Vilas’ hand, uncharacteristically quiet as he watched his assistant.

“Fascinating,” he said, eventually, leaning his elbows against the desk, picking up his wine cup. He glanced at it, recalling the vision of magic. Not even metal would resist the inexorable passage of time.

He met Vilas’ gaze again, bowed his head minutely. “Thank you,” he said. “That was most enlightening. Magic may be a curse, but this is a gift I will treasure.” He smiled thinly, something far-away in his gaze before he focused on Vilas. “I believe this ability of yours could come in handy for a few of my planned experiments… if you are willing.” (549)

Vilas

He nodded back wordlessly, a self-satisfied smile drawn on his face. Agathias’ reaction was as fascinating to him as the experience itself had been to the old man, and what had been this muddy mixture of shame and tired indifference towards his own magic, resting heavy on Vilas’ heart, made now way for hope. Small, but ardent hope, as the creeping realization that he just might’ve found the hook to pull the professor in with hit Vilas in that moment. 

Do you see it? My worth, his silent gaze said before an amused hum broke his silence. “A few?” He could hear the slight exhaustion in his own voice too, but he was quick to continue regardless. “Yes, I’m willing. Anything, anytime-,” he sat up better in the chair, leaning slightly forward, “- and perhaps in return we could discuss these topics again some other time?” 

The question Agathias had presented him with was the very thing he had hoped to hear by bringing up Aspenwell, but by no means was he going to just give without gaining anything. His interest in furthering his education directly under Agathias’ guidance stemmed only partially from his passions, after all. A woeful fact, that Vilas could never allow himself to forget - even for a moment.

“I wish to learn more from you, if that suits you.” Vilas added and let his confidence subside into something more amicable, more negotiative. (235)

Agathias

“Certainly,” Agathias replied with a brief nod, and his gaze lingered on Vilas for another long moment, watching the minute changes in his expression. There was a spark of some emotion there… but exactly what, he wasn’t sure. Vilas seemed pleased, though, and Agathias mentally filed it away, something to mull over later. 

“I always appreciate a thorough discussion about magic and its peculiarities.” He inclined his head, glancing down at the report he had been writing before Vilas arrived. It lay half-forgotten now, and he was in no mood to finish it; too swept up in ideas and vague plans of how to best make use of this unexpected boon to his research.

First and foremost… he would need to make sure he could lay claim to all of Vilas’ time. He was not only Agathias’ assistant; Agathias knew that Vilas helped out a handful of other professors and teachers, and part of him wondered if Vilas had shown this aspect of his magic to them as well—but he hoped not. Vilas’ talents were too valuable to be wasted on stuffy paperwork or coaxing obstinate students. He would have to keep his eyes and ears open, to see if there was any gossip among the teaching staff; discreetly, of course… 

Perhaps he could take on the younger man as an apprentice. That would effectively close the doors to other teachers who wanted Vilas as an assistant, and maybe it would be a subtle signal to Vilas as well—raise the expectations, as it were. An apprentice would shoulder more work, and more complex tasks, but Vilas had so far never shied away from any difficulties. His results from the Aspenwell mission had been immaculate.

He looked up as Vilas continued, expression warping into a brief half-smile upon hearing his words. Maybe Vilas wouldn’t need a lot of convincing, either…

“I am sure we could arrange that,” he said slowly, and there was a careful, calculating edge in his voice.

“In fact, I may have a proposal for you.” He cleared his throat, clasped his hands in front of him, resting them on the desk. “You have been my assistant for a while now, and I have no complaints about your work, rather the opposite. I have a few demanding research projects coming up, and could use another hand; I’m sure that would leave us plenty of opportunities to discuss and converse.” He paused, pursed his lips briefly. “Of course, that would mean you would have to give up your role as assistant to any other of the teaching staff, but in return I could offer you a position as my apprentice.”

He paused, took his wine cup in one hand, and smiled. “Of course, you can take a few days to consider it. No need to decide at once.” 

And well… if Agathias got wind of any sign that could point to Vilas not taking the offer, he could always talk to some of the other staff, and the Council. Some friendly advice here and there, a few well-placed suggestions and hints… it would not be hard to make life difficult for anyone opposing his plans. (526)

Vilas

Agathias’ words were like music to Vilas’ ears. After working on gaining the man’s appreciation for what had felt like the slowest, most mind-numbing months since that one winter when the whole of Namarast got snowed in for weeks on end, seeing the professor now express barely hidden enthusiasm was a reward in its own right. A proof that he still knew how to play this game of trust and deception. 

Vilas made a note of Agathias’ smile, grinning at the long-awaited proposal in return. To hell with voluntary assistant work - it had never been anything more than a stepping stone towards something more worthwhile, after all. 

“Gladly.” There was no hesitation to be found in his words, but Vilas let his gaze briefly fall to the table as a false show of restraint and consideration, before calmly adding: “Please don’t mistake my enthusiasm for arrogance or naivety, though,” He sought Agathias’ gaze again and reached for the bottle of wine that had been left on the desk earlier, “But I believe that me dithering about matters of such importance would be nothing but a waste of precious time for all. You know now where my interests lie and why, so I won’t pretend otherwise.”

“It would be an honor, sir.” He hummed while carefully pouring himself another cup, proceeding then to offer to do the same for Agathias as a courteous gesture. “So, why not tell me a little about those upcoming projects? The evening is still young.” Perhaps a bit too blunt, and sudden, but his tone was nothing if not polite once more.

He would look forward to what was to come. (275)

Agathias

There was a glimmer of triumph in Agathias’ bright eyes as he leaned back, wine cup in hand, and a self-satisfied smirk ghosted over his face. Vilas’ unflinching answer was exactly what he’d wanted to hear—and the offer had been a test, like everything else. 

“Excellent,” he said, taking a slow sip. “I’m glad to hear that. Not everyone recognises an opportunity when they see one, but I thought you might.”

He put the cup down and leaned forward, pushing his glasses higher on his nose as he met Vilas’ gaze, reaching into the inner pocket of his vest to pull out a thin notebook. His plans and ideas, far too valuable to have lying around elsewhere.

He would not tell Vilas everything, of course. There were still some experiments and research that Agathias would not entrust to him yet—too sensitive, or too unpalatable, a few that needed a very delicate touch—but maybe… maybe Vilas could be directed, encouraged, enticed… 

There would be more tests, harder and more rigorous, before it came to that; but he had a few projects that would serve well as an introduction to what he considered his real work.

He smiled slowly. “Well, I suppose I could give you a few outlines…” (207)

—fin—