A Travelling Mage’s Almanac

“I interfered three times, and gave you three things. The book, the mentor, and the angel.”

To Yenna, it was fairly obvious what the first two items on that list were. The black book, the hook that brought her into this adventure in the first place, was undeniably the book in question. The mentor was assuredly Lumale, the old witch who had oh-so-conveniently been in the right place at the right time. It took Yenna a few moments to piece together the identity of the ‘angel’, however.

“You… sent Tirk to me? Why?”

Yenna recalled the young yolm boy being referred to as an angel before—to say nothing of the strange powers he possessed. He was mature for his young age, always right on time, a little beacon of hope. Tirk seemed to know when things were going to happen before they happened, a fact that suddenly seemed awfully familiar. Just like the Ledger. Yenna gasped.

“You– he’s–!”

Fate nodded, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry. It was the only way. Do not forgive me—it was an evil act, to do that to a new life.”

“What did you do to him? What did you do to Tirk?!” Yenna felt heat rising into her cheeks, righteous indignation filling her at the very idea of Tirk coming to harm.

“I made him. Not like how I made you, or any other living thing—no consequence of millenia of growth and false choice, but a thing crafted by my own hand. My child and your angel, his destiny is immaculately written.” Fate’s hands shook as she spoke, furious at herself. “In the act of emancipating your world from my everlasting tyranny, I have created a life pre-written—an existence already defined, from start to end. I pray only that in the unknowable future, after I am gone, he shall find peace in freedom and understand why I did what I did.”

Fate’s tears dampened Yenna’s anger, leaving only smouldering pity. Was that what Tirk’s strange origins were about? He wasn’t born in the traditional sense, but moulded and created by Fate’s design—Tirk’s insights made so much more sense in that regard. Tirk was connected to one of the highest powers of all, the very voice of Fate whispering into his ear.

“Why though? Why did I need these gifts to get here?” Yenna laid a hand on the book before her, trying to make sense of the tangled knots. “The book I can understand—it was necessary for me to read it, to see how to defeat the Ledger. Lumale too, for all that she seemed woefully uninterested in helping me, gave me the tools I needed to survive my adventure thus far—and helped me bring forth this.”

Yenna conjured up the quicksilver dagger again, its long, slender blade gleaming multi-coloured with all the ill-intent in the witch’s soul. Had its purpose been fulfilled by the blow that struck a moment clean from history’s pages, or did it yet have one more use? Yenna looked across at Fate, and saw the woman staring at the dagger with a hungry intensity.

“So, I’ll ask again.” Yenna set the dagger out of sight, eager to stop thinking about it. “Why Tirk?”

Fate nodded. 

“The angel is the most important part of it all. The book is the door that must be opened—to see into this world of possibilities and divergent histories. The mentor is the key—secrets shared to enable you to reach what lies beyond, and survive there. The angel is your guide. In every time that you meet him, his role is to lead you here in one way or another, to pull you from the depths of situations where only divine intervention can save you. In all the disparate timelines, no matter where you are, the angel is my way of finding you and setting you on the path you need.”

“But, I barely even spoke to Tirk before I joined the expedition crew.”

Fate gave a rare smile, a twinkling thing shining out of the mire of her sadness. “You did not need to be guided.”

There was an unusual twinge in Yenna’s heart, and the nagging feeling that she had been distracted from something. Was it true? I made the decision on my own?

“If…” Yenna hesitated, feeling supremely silly. “If I’m outside of Fate… does that make the decision truly my own?”

Fate cringed. “Not… quite. No. I do not exert control like a puppeteer, but like an engineer. I do not often intervene directly, but all events stem from the consequences of my interventions. I shepherd events towards an ideal timeline, one that threads the narrow path between myriad oblivions by turning the levers this way or spinning the wheel that way. Your choices in life are a product of my interventions.”

“But there are still timelines where I choose not to go with the expedition group.” Yenna felt that annoyance rise in her again. “It was not inevitable—I made the choice.”

Fate was taken aback, wide eyes blinking with surprise. 

“I suppose you must have,” she conceded, “Though the final outcome was always fixed. The vehicle by which you arrive is of no consequence to the performance of your destined duties. Thus, Tirk—while it may be argued that you went with the expedition of your own free will, it was Tirk who bound you there. In this timeline, a promising young student to entice you to stay, an intriguing magical mystery and a friendly young man all in one.”

“Then it is true! I chose to leave my home of my own accord.”

“If that is what you wish to believe.” Fate folded her hands and gave a small, sorrowful bow.

“... I suppose that the next question is, why me? Specifically me, of all of the Yennas across totality, across all the infinite timelines—why is it just me sitting here talking to you?”

Fate gave a soft, almost pitying smile, tilting her head. She spoke with the tone one might use to correct a small child, to softly inform them of the grave error of logic they had made.

“What makes you think it’s just you?”

Excerpt from Yenna of Ulumaya’s untitled journal.

“It has been fourteen days since I left behind the burned remnants of Ulumaya. Just fourteen days ago I was a teacher, a trusted member of the community. Now I am hunted as a witch, a criminal in the eyes of my people and my homeland, for the crime of wanting to know more.

“On the advice of an old colleague, I had made the journey out of town to a nearby valley to investigate a disturbance in the flow of magic—the valley had been the site of some great tragedy in ages past, its former inhabitants lingering in spiritual form. Yet they did not bar my way as I retrieved a curious artefact—a book bound in black metal. Had I known who else coveted that book, I never would have left my home.

“I sent word to my colleague of my finding, and received in turn only a confused missive—she had never sent me a message in the first place, or so she claimed, yet the slip of paper remained on my desk, penned in her own hand. The whole thing intrigued me, so like any good scholar I neglected the rest of the world for my studies and threw myself into research.

“I was feverish with excitement for it. I couldn’t tear my eyes from it, made my fingers bloody with attempts to pry its pages open. I could barely focus on my work, and my students noticed—it was Myell who suggested I retire early from my duties for the year, and bless the girl for it. I would have dropped to the very depths of despair if anything had happened to them…”

“Day fourty-seven of my wanderings. The witch Lumale’s whispered secrets have granted me power to defend myself against the constant attacks from those Word cultists, but I fear I may be paying the price with my soul. I jump at shadows, and suspect every passer-by of hiding a secret malice for me. I nearly attacked a young boy in my paranoid delusion, when he had only come to see if I was well.

“Tirk was his name—a charming little yolm with curious black eyes. I’m not exactly sure where he came from, and the boy could only tell me he had come from Yvild, a town I’d never heard of. He had been sitting on the side of the road as though waiting for me, and I initially suspected it was a cultist trick. Yet, as I escorted him down the road back to the nearest town, the boy shone a ray of light into my weary soul. He had no family to speak of, no friends or carers—one would suspect he had appeared from nowhere. Yet, he wished to make it to the Miluran capital. His ‘calling’, as he described it.”

“Day 82. We’ve finally done it. With Lumale’s soul-opening ritual, the black book’s insights and Tirk’s prayer, we’ve tracked down the hidden lair of the cult of the Word. The book spoke of a terrible creature—a ‘Ledger’ who wishes to become Fate. It spoke of countless timelines in which that singular fiend reigned victorious over me, but it shall not be in this one. I have devised a cunning plan, by which I may overcome its defenses—yet, putting it to paper shall spoil the surprise. So, to battle I gallop. No longer Yenna Bookbinder, but now the avenging master of Ulumaya.”

Excerpt from Yenna Wanderlust’s ‘Song of a Kesh Adventurer: A Tale Of Triumph.’

“At long last, I had tracked the sinister cult to its source. Deep in an ancient vault beneath the venerable city of Milur, the cult of the word had made their home in the forgotten undercroft of a shrine to the Sun. With my shining quicksilver sword held aloft, I descended into the darkness hidden beneath that glorious city. At my side were my trusted companions, as ready as I was to see an end to this source of villainy. 

“Eone Deepstar, noble scion of House Deepstar, stood resplendent with her blade in one hand and the deadly Starbearer freed from its vaults. Hers was a tale of revenge—the cultists had kidnapped several members of her former crew, and we had joined forces to help locate them. I was struck first by her beauty, then by her commanding presence—never had I met one more suited for leadership.

“Along with her, I met the love of my life, the taciturn warrior Narasanha. One of the members of the cult was her blood-sister, her nemesis from birth by way of demonic soul-entanglement. I found her most beautiful when she smiled, the way she watched over me when I rambled about magic or science, the way she carefully guided me in learning to wield a blade—but now she was beautiful for her deadliness, a fierce goddess of war with a weapon in each hand, ready to do battle.

“And then, of course, there was Tirk. The young boy wasn’t a fighter, though we had both learned from the witch Lumale many powerful magical secrets, but he was immune to the charm of the sinister black book—the thing the cult had so fervently wished to take from us. We had no idea what the book did, why the cult wanted it so badly, but only dire visions of apocalypse had come from any attempts to augur such a future where they found it.

“Down we all went, us four brave souls, down into the depths of the world, to a chamber of living death and enslaved supplicants…”

Yenna blinked in surprise as she looked down at the book—Fate had turned to a specific page, and drawn the witch’s attention. Her head hurt just thinking about the implications of infinite timelines here—infinite possibilities meant infinitely many ways to arrive at the same location. Yet, it was not quite truly infinite, but some strange, illogical space between arbitrarily numerous and literally infinite that only made sense to a creature as alien in thought as Fate herself.

Still, that left a countless number of other versions of herself—other Yennas who, for all their disparate starting locations and experiences, arrived here at the meeting with Fate. Who were right now, at least for a given sense of now, experiencing the same revelations and tangling with the same conundrum. What would happen if even one were to decide not to end the life of Fate, who oversaw all

of these timelines? Would it require but one Yenna to slay her, or did all need to agree?

There were versions of herself that were so similar it was uncanny, and others that were so incredibly different that the witch was sure only their names were the same. In one timeline she was bound by chains of regret, twisted to evil and here at Fate’s table out of spite. In that one, her boundless optimism and love carried a far younger Yenna to outshine even the darkest reaches of Fate’s design. In yet another, she was no living thing, but a construct made for this very purpose. There were Yennas young and old, Yennas kind and cruel, Yennas of different species and genders and philosophies and beliefs, all coming to this place at this one time for all their different reasons—and all of the same goals.

For one singular moment, Yenna felt the attention of all of her reflected selves collide—a myriad lives, all sharing one soul across realities. For that one fleeting moment, Yenna saw herself, and they saw her too. In that flicker of recognition across endless time and space, they all knew what they had to do.

Each of them drew their weapon, deep from within their soul. Across the table, in near-infinite worlds, Fate smiled and accepted death.