Flashback Seeing Things

[Celeste Arumen]

32nd Day of Summer, 509 AV

The morning gently touched the sky and it seemed that yet again, the city would quietly resonate beneath the cover of darkness. Alvadas was like that; it was fickle as a merchant’s wife and twice as mean when slighted. But it always took care of it’s own. If you loved the city, it loved you back. Likewise, the reverse was true. On this day in particular, it seemed to be in mourning, as if draped in a starry veil, refusing to submit to the dappled kiss of the sunshine.

Celeste stretched her weary bones, unfurling those tightly knit muscles. It was to be a day of practice, she decided shortly. The overgiving had been rough. The effects of her nausea had spilled in to the following days and onward. But much like a child, she could barely contain the anticipation of using a brand new skill. She wanted nothing more than to practice her auristics, despite what may have happened just a week and a half earlier. So flying in the face of wisdom, she went, throwing on her clothes and tying her hair into two bundles, neatly looping a leather thong around each.

As the girl bounded down the stairs, she spotted her very first opportunity to practice her new skill. The aroma of fried eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes wafted enticingly from the kitchen. The young girl slowly drew nearer, so as not to alert the old woman, who was preparing a philter, cooking and reading a book, all at the same time. Breakfast was earned in her household, not freely given; thus, the old woman would be eternally watchful, ready to rap any encroaching body part with a wooden spoon, were it to draw near.

Still, she’d have a taste, but this time, without ever stealing a bite.

The girl leaned just outside the doorway, peering intently at the foodstuffs upon the counter. The medley steamed delicately in the frosty morning air. She licked her lips and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the aura, seeing where sight failed her. At first, there was nothing beyond the inside of her eyelids. But after a chime or so of concentration, a wreath of smoke hiccupped into view, framing the faint outline of pot upon the fire.

It was warm, chaotic, the aura dancing and flickering in a welter of light and sound. She tried think of taste, this time, much like she had with sound – focusing on how to taste what it was, in essence, without truly tasting. And like before, it didn’t work. At least, not at first. She didn’t want to use the inverted triangle as a focus, for fear Isolde would notice her. So instead, she tried to erase the sight of the aura, the sound of it, rejecting all other olfactory senses other than the ones she desired.

The smell suddenly became overwhelming and with it, she acquired the taste. There was a sudden wash of hot, rich flavor. The tomato was freshly picked, and there was something more – was it an onion? – hidden and sublime, submerged amongst the earthen taste of the mushrooms and thick, fluffy eggs. She shuddered in sudden delight, before a voice broke the illusion.

”Ah, so I see you’re back to magic again,” Grams said, shoveling a load of the stuff onto a plate. ”I thought you said you’d never use it again?”

”Auristics isn’t dangerous like reimancy is,” she said stubbornly, unmoving. The woman simply laughed; a jarring, mocking sound. It infuriated the girl. ”All magic is dangerous,” Isolde said simply, setting the plate upon the table. ”Since you want to eat then, eat. I won’t deny you, this time. After all, since you’ve decided you want to learn about auristics, I might as well teach you what little I know.”

That took her off-guard. ”How come you never said anything, then?” Her own voice sounded frail. Grams simply shrugged. ”Because you never asked, child. Remember what Kit told you. Push too hard with auristics and you’ll turn your senses upside down. I can’t have you running into walls or trying to rob signposts, now.” She gave the child a penetrating look.

”I don’t rob people.” It was difficult to be anything but angry with the old coot. She was so irritating! The woman disregarded the comment, as if it was too foolish to even be acknowledged.

”Today, you’ll work on sharpening this sixth sense. I will teach you the basic theory of it. Now eat.”

Grudgingly, she stuck a fork in the delicious pile.

[Celeste Arumen]

They stood in the backyard, facing one another. Grams was ten feet away at the very least. ”Once upon a time, scholars said Avalis was the Goddess responsible for the practice of auristics. Later, that assumption was revealed to be a load of tripe. The magic has nothing whatsoever to do with seeing the future. As you have already learned, it is the discipline of sight, interacting with the energy of stationary objects as well as living things. Everything puts off an aura, as they are symptomatic of djed. First, let me explain how and why one may differ from the next.”

”So when it comes to sentient beings, the aura is actually generated by the soul. This is a unique condition. While souls always have auras, auras are not always generated by souls. Because as I’ve said before, everything has one.” She paused, gesturing to the garden behind her. ”Plants, trees, even the stones of the house we live in. But these things have simple auras, uncomplicated by matters like emotion.”

She pointed back to herself. ”At the deepest layer of my being, I have something called a soulcore. It is the part of the soul that is responsible for ‘self.’ Were it to be damaged, I would overgive and possibly die, depending on how grievous the injury. Magic is inextricably linked to the soulcore, most especially personal magic. This is why it can be dangerous to push too far in a practice such as reimancy. As you cast, you are literally bleeding your soul.”

She continued, still gesturing fluidly. ”Next is the persona. It is responsible for your skills, memories, emotions. During the act of reincarnation, you lose this, though your soulcore remains fundamentally the same.” Celeste folded her arms. So at one time, she was a different person? ”Next is the astral body, which is how the spirit actually wields the physical form. Projectionists train themselves to detach this astral body and utilize it independently, which can be both useful and dangerous.”

”Finally, there is the aura, which is often the reflection of all these things. As you can see, humans have layer upon layer. At your level of skill, looking directly into a human aura for any length of time is akin to staring at the sun. You will do nothing but hurt yourself in the process. I will show you how to read simple auras without giving yourself a headache and how to dip your toes into the pool of a human aura without hurting yourself.”

Grams nodded and mumbled something to herself. Sometimes, she wondered about the woman’s mental state.

”Your first task will to be easy enough. I have several things in the pockets of my apron, each bearing a relatively simplistic aura. Your purpose will be manifold. First, you will have to focus on only these objects, whatever they may be, and identify them using what you little you can identify in their aura. It’ll also test your wit. Likewise, you will have to work to avoid inadvertently focusing on me. If you find yourself being drawn into my aura, or you find your sight warped by it, you must break concentration and start anew. The objects are three in number. Begin.”

It was typical; she received a brief explanation and nothing more. Celeste narrowed her eyes, trying to acquire the general output of each object before focusing in on any single one. It seemed like a good plan, too. But instead, she was quickly overwhelmed by the wash of color and sound, the chaotic cerulean and beige of her grandmother’s aura sending her reeling. She snapped her eyes shut and shook her head.

”You must learn to narrow your focus, girl.” Came the inevitable chastisement. She grumbled.

She was struggling just to see the damn things. Sighing, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ’Pockets,’ she began to chant in silence. It became a mantra. ’Pockets, pockets, pockets.’ All she thought of were those stitched layers of concealment. When she next opened her eyes, they fell directly on the woman’s apron. There was a residual glare of blue in the background, but she was finally able to ignore it, now sensing several interconnected masses of bright gold and hard iron.

They were just blobs, though. She knew something was in there, could see it. But had Grams not told her there were actually three separate things, she never would’ve guessed. Squinting, she tried to focus on the outline of one blob, hoping it was individual from the rest. ’Taste,’ she thought first, having just done the same with the delicious, steamy eggs. But there was nothing.

[Celeste Arumen]

How utterly infuriating! She attempted to focus in on the taste again, this time expending more energy. The harder she pushed, the tighter her focus and as she gave a final thrust of willpower, she was triumphant, though it came at a cost. ”Bleh!” She cried, frantically scraping her tongue against her top teeth, though it did nothing to rid her of the sensation. It was awful, akin to having licked the ground. ”Ugh. Whatever it is, it’s horrible.” She shook her head and tried to center herself, this time pushing hard with the intent to feel.

Craggy, pitted. She swooned, sudden exhaustion washing over her. Shaking her head, Celeste pushed the sight from her mind. ”I’m not feeling so good.” Isolde simply laughed. ”You’re as green as a seedling. When you’re ready, give it a guess. Then we’ll be done for today. Each morning, we’ll start anew, until you uncover just what is in my pockets. I’ll replace each item you guess at the start of the next day. That way, in order to move on you’ll have to uncover all three of the objects in one go.”

She nodded weakly. The girl very much wanted to take a nap. ”C’mon. So you can get on with the weeding for today.” But of course, she thought irritably. It was as if the old woman plucked the thought from her mind.

So it was uneven then? It felt rough, too. The texture was rough and it tasted like dirt… ”Is it a rock?” She said suddenly, thinking of what Kit had said earlier. Smiling, the woman lifted a sharp stone from the apron. ”Well done, for now. You’ve taken your first step. I fully expect you to be ready next we practice. But first, try to memorize each aspect of this rock. This’ll be your last task. The more familiar you are with the aura of something, the more easily you’ll recognize it down the line.”

It was good practice, despite whatever she might think. Drawing on strained energy of her being, she pushed to focus, this time finding it easier as the rock was exposed to her actual, physical sight. The smoky halo rose up from it, steely grey, muddled green and brown. She could tell it’d spent a lot of time around things that grew from the way the residual energy of the dirt clung to it. It had the mark of a growing thing very faintly, much like the flower she’d heard sing.

One last time, she redirected her senses, this time to sound. What did a rock sound like, she wondered? Her ears strained for the music. The low, methodical frequency emerged, so very similar to the wind whistling over a shallow bowl. Her head began to throb, as it had before. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and reached up to massage her temples.

”It was buried. You dug it up. It was buried in the garden, where things grow, I think. Also, it sounds very deep and resonating when it sings, but airy. It’s got a very quiet voice.”

Grams nodded. ”Kit taught you how to distinguish how it communicates through each of the senses. That was wise of her. You’ll find the different facts of an object through inferences made that way. Tomorrow, you shall begin again. But for now, go fetch a small spade from inside while I fix you something for you head. I can’t have you pulling up plants rather than weeds, can I?”