Firstborn of the Frontier

"I have been told that you plan on travelling to Thunder Bay soon?"

Usually, when I come to Providence, the only people I interact with are Gunnar, Miss Alice, and little Astrid. Not because I got something against the folks who make their homes here, most of whom bear some for of very obvious and objectively ghastly Innate Brand. I got nothing against Innates. Fact is, most of my favourite people are Innates. Chrissy. Tina. Aunty Ray. Elodie. I could keep naming them off, but that feels wrong even though I ain't saying nothing untowards, so I'll stop there. You might also say, "Howie, thems Innates you listed off are all gorgeous women with Brands that accentuate their beauty", and you'd absolutely be right, but that's not what puts me off from speaking with the aesthetically challenged people of Providence.

I just don't like meeting new people is all. Innate or otherwise. Just ask anyone. I'll nod and smile while passing a familiar face on the street, but I'd sooner catch a Bolt with my bare hands than open up a dialogue with something like, "Some weather we're having, right?"

That said, Harald ain't no stranger, not really. I've known him for a good while now, even talked to him a fair bit in years past when I had something to teach him. Usually about Mage Hand, with a focus on helping him Split the one Conjured Hand into two. Eventually he lost interest though, because I'm a terrible teacher and he only lost three fingers on the one hand, so a single Mage Hand was really all he needed. Haven't really talked much with him since, but that's not because he got black goat horns and ruby red skin like his mother and sister. No, I stopped talking to him because he don't like to talk to people either, and when he does, it's almost always about Alchemy.

So for him to come out of his lab and inquire about my travel plans comes as something of a surprise. Especially seeing how he had Astrid playing look out and stalling me out here so we could without his parents present. Being the cagey sort of fella I am, I answer, "And who told you that?"

"Mother," Harald answers, all matter of fact as can be. "She heard from Miss Rachel, who wanted to know if we had customers shipping product to Thunder Bay besides the Rangers. Which we don't." Harald shrugs. "The Rangers are our biggest customers, and they buy in bulk. We spend most of our time fulfilling their orders, so we hardly have the overhead to support more patrons besides the odd individual or another."

Meaning me, though I gotta say, hearing Harald call me odd is a little like the pot calling the kettle black. He don't mean nothing by it though, is just spitting facts the way he does, which some might call terse and to the point. Very matter of fact, he is, always one to call a spade a spade with no concern as to who he might upset in the process. Personally, I got nothing against that, because if hearing the facts is all it takes to upset you, then that ain't on the messenger, now is it?

"You have not answered my query," Harald says, after a pause which I guess he deems as polite enough. "Are you in fact planning to travel to Thunder Bay within a short time frame?" I even saw him counting his breaths while he waited, no doubt having prepared a script beforehand so he'd know what to say. I'm talking a literal script, written out on paper with dialogue trees and everything. Social niceties don't come natural to Harald, which is why he keeps to himself most of the time. I can relate, as I'd probably be the same way if it wasn't for Aunty Ray teaching me how to properly socialize with people.

"Yeah," I say. "I've got plans to head that way in a couple weeks. Put some feelers out seein' if anyone was willin' to let me tag along with their convoy so I could learn the ins and outs of the route." And maybe free Chrissy from the notion that she needs to come with and watch my back. While I appreciate the sentiment, I don't think bringing her to the Deadlands is the best idea, especially if I don't got no one to help look after her. Aunty Ray thinks I'm being silly thinking I'd have to do more than I would, but that's because she knows exactly how to handle all of Chrissy's moods. Me on the other hand? Well, let's just say that while the Princess is more than happy to do what her Queen Mother says, she ain't as pleased to take orders from her knight.

Don't get it twisted. Chrissy is a sweet and darling soul who I love with all my heart, but sometimes, when she gets an idea in her head, there ain't no one who can shake her from it besides Aunty Ray. Like that time she decided she wanted the bees to come live inside so she could fall asleep to the sound of their buzzing. Had her whole bedroom abuzz by the end of the day with half a new hive built and ready, then got all stubborn and willful when me and Tina tried to relocate them back outside.

From what I remember of Harald, he's also got a stubborn streak to him, and while he ain't as affected as Chrissy, he tries a little too hard to blend in. It's little things really, stuff that sorta stands out when you see it. Like his rehearsed dialogue, which he delivers now that I've brought the conversation back on track. "Excellent," he says with a nod. "Since you are travelling West to Thunder Bay, I would like to inquire if you would be open to taking on a passenger."

"Two passengers," Astrid interjects while giving Cowie a hug and nuzzle. The interruption clearly throws Harald for a loop since he very obviously prepared his lines for just the one, but he recovers after a short pause to consider the new parameters before nodding in agreement and moving on.

"We have a supplier downriver who provides us with Phoenix Ash," Harald explains, even though I didn't ask and was about to say no. "A necessary ingredient for our most lucrative contract with the Federal Government. Over the last few years however, they have been steadily raising prices and we are now paying an exorbitant amount, so much so that our contract is in peril of being dropped because we can no longer afford to supply our product at a reasonable price. What's more, I have recently become aware of the fact that our supplier is charging use more than double what others in the same industry are paying, which explains why our competitors can afford to undercut us during bidding for the contract. I asked Father why we were being overcharged, and he was evasive, so I dug around on my own and learned that our suppliers once stated they were God fearing Christians, and if they were forced to deal with Devilkin by Government mandate, then they might as well gouge us for it. If we were not pleased with the prices, then we were free to look elsewhere for a supplier, except there are none as they have not filed a patent for Pheonix Ash and thus the means of its production remains a trade secret."

"That's awful," I say, in reference to the comment about Devilkin of course.

Harald being Harald however, misconstrues my meaning and feels compelled to correct me. "That is business," he says. "In a free-market capitalist economy, they are well within their rights to charge whatever they please, especially considering they hold a monopoly over the product. While discrimination of this nature is most certainly against the law, Father told me that it would be his word against theirs should he bring the matter up in a court of law, and the most likely outcome was an increase in price for all of their customers."

Reaching into his man purse, he rummages around in search of something while explaining more about the situation, and I take a moment to reflect on just how odd a duck Harald really is. While Astrid is more or less well-adjusted, Harald is… idiosyncratic. That's the best way to describe him I think. Not in a bad way necessarily, just… odd. Like the man purse, which he wears because he thinks a purse is mighty useful for carrying stuff around on a daily basis, and sees no reason why his gender should prevent him from utilizing a certain accessory. That is word for word the explanation he gave me when I asked about it, and I gotta say, strange though it might be for a man to walk around with a strappy bag over his shoulder, I can respect the lack of concern he emanates regarding what other people think.

Me? I pretend not to care, when in fact I care a whole lot. That's partially why I dress the way I do, more American than most Americans care to go about their day. Well, the Stetson is because Uncle Raleigh made it for me, and Aunty Ray made me my duster which I love to bits. As for jeans and collared shirts? Those are just comfy, and I ain't against a pair of leather chaps with suspenders if the terrain should call for it. Only thing I'm missing from the authentic American cowboy experience is a pair of spurs, but I don't like those much. Most spurs are made so they don't hurt the horses and are used so you can convey more to the beast using more than just the pressure of your legs. Aunty Ray says that if you needs spurs to do that though, then you need to work on your communication skills, and I agree wholeheartedly. Sure, it works and won't cause no lasting harm, but if someone poked me in the ribs every time they wanted me to move, you can bet your bottom dollar I'd flip that son of a bitch right quick and stomp him flat.

Respect your horse, and it'll respect you, because much like trust, that shit is earned.

I'm getting off track though, because we talking about Harald. He's a free spirit, one who works hard to conform to social ideals while still going his own way. That's why he's got the man purse, and walks around in a thick brown robe because it keeps him covered from head to toe while being warm and comfy as all heck. His actual reasons are because he's gotta put on a lab coat when doing alchemy, so he might as well just wear one all the time instead of wasting time taking it on and off every time he steps in and out of his lab. Not that he leaves all that often, usually just for meals, bathroom breaks, and sleep. Sometimes not even, though I wouldn't want to eat a sandwich after concocting a vial of Acid that can melt my insides right quick. Harald claims he's careful, but considering he done lost three fingers on his right hand in an Alchemical accident, I'd say he ain't careful enough.

He do be in a chatty mood though, showing me all sorts of graphs and charts he done drew up for himself. Not because he thinks it'll help his argument. He's just showing them to me because he wants me to follow along with everything he's saying, and it's easier just to nod along and wait until he gets to the point. Trying to rush him will only make him flustered when he loses his place in his script, and then he'll double back and repeat himself just to be sure I was listening. When he finally gets to the relevant bits, I tune back in and hear, "So that is why I am looking for passage west."

"Why we're looking," Astrid interjects, standing up with baby Cowie curled up in her arms. "We know they're cultivating Cinderfern, Sunflare Thistle, and Scorchvines in large quantities, which takes care of most of the ingredients. We also have a few good leads on the sublimation and calcination processes, but we're having trouble getting living samples all the way out here, and what we do get won't put down roots. So the idea is we head up there and take a look at the plants in their natural habitat so we can take notes and all that. If we can set ourselves up as suppliers for Pheonix Ash, we can use that as leverage to get other Alchemists to come work with us, and then we can collectively bargain with the Federal Government for better contacts."

"No," I say, now that I can finally get a word in edgewise. Holding up my prosthetic hand to keep Harald from objecting, I give him a look that says it's my turn to talk, and he settles in to listen. Not because he's scared mind you. He's only doing this because that's proper behaviour, which makes him real easy to get along with sometimes. "First off, I already said this is my first trip West. Technically, I been thereabouts with my daddy a few times, but that was almost a decade ago, so I don't remember much and plenty is likely to have changed in time since. As such, I ain't comfortable bringing on passengers, even if all you wanted was a ride."

Before Astrid can lie and say otherwise, I give her a look that says I'm wise to her ways, and she buries her chin in Cowie's fur while doing her best to hide a petulant pout. "Which ain't what you askin' for. If it was, you could hitch a ride west with a Federal convoy, as they'd be more than happy to host you seein' how you contract for them. Some fat cat out west would probably wet himself at the prospect of wining and dining two young Alchemists in an effort to convince you both to sign on for a government wage that won't get no cost-of-living adjustments for the next decade."

Harald just nods along, because he knows the score, but Astrid see's what's coming and tries to hide even deeper in Cowie's fur. "The reason y'all askin' me," I continue, in a tone that conveys I don't much appreciate the subterfuge, "Is because y'all are hopin' to head down river in-cog-neet-toe. Y'all are looking to steal their secrets, or at the very least puzzle them out for yourselves, and messin' with a man's livelihood like that is a good way to get shot." Especially seeing how they already done outed themselves as folks who'll judge Harald and Astrid by the color of their ruby-red skin. "So you thought 'Why not ask Howie?' If things get hot, then it'll be good to have him around.' That about the gist of it?"

At least Astrid has the good graces to look ashamed, while Harald just nods and says, "Yes. Your reputation and proclivity towards violence factors high on my reasons for wanting to travel with you." Blinking when faced with my silent stare, he struggles to find something wrong with what he said or his delivery of it, then adds, "As I was about to say before my sister interrupted me."

Which I'm guessing is why she interrupted him, but can't rightly be upset for Harald calling it like it is. Or at least I can, but it ain't on him. Like I said, if you got a problem with the facts, then that's on you, not the facts or the one who told them to you. So to show there ain't no hard feelings, I offer an olive branch. "You tell me what to look for, and I'll take pictures and notes. Even samples if you teach me how, but don't get your hopes up. I had me a green thumb, but it was the right one."

That gets them both to smiling, as they can appreciate a good joke about lost digits. Harald because he's missing three himself, and Astrid because she's deathly afraid of joining the club, which is why she do all her Alchemy with the two Mage Hands she got massaging Cowie's scalp. Harald ain't one to give up though, and gives me a shake of his head. "Any observations you might make have already been made by others. I would like to see the plants for myself and study the flow of Aether moving in and around them. My theory is that the plants are all low-grade magical materials formed by a natural Aetherfont."

Which ain't unheard of. Aether do flow all throughout the physical world without any need for Progenitors, and the natural source of which is what we call an Aetherfont. The problem is, Aetherfonts work much too slowly for Proggies liking, which is why they 'build' Condensers to trap metaphysical Aether in the physical world in the form of crystals. Makes more room for that metaphysical Aether to flow as it were, and the more Condensers at work, the faster Aetheric Concentration levels rise, the sooner we hit the Watershed and move on from Third Order Spells to Fourth, Fifth, and eventually even Sixth Order Spells.

A milestone I would like to put off for as long as possible, even though it ain't up to me. As for them plants being magical materials, that ain't unheard of either. Uncovering low-grade stuff like that was what fueled the Aetheric Revolution, and is partially why things are so hard on the Frontier. We still exploring and learning more about the world around us and what makes for good materials, which is why our medicines and manufacturing is still lagging so far behind.

Which puts me in a bind it does. I could study the flows for him, but I can't rightly describe them, not in any way he could understand much less replicate. We all perceive Aether and magic in our own unique ways. Even though most use the same Spell to perceive them flows, namely Detect Magic, the way we interpret what the Spell gives us is wholly up to the caster. That's what separates a Diviner from your average Spellslinger after all. Any fool with the formula can cast the Spell, but it takes a real Diviner to glean something useful from it.

Like Uncle Teddy always says, the true value of a Diviner lies not in how well or often they sling their Spells, but how the caster interprets the results of the Spells they use.

Add in the fact that there's a good chance Harald and Astrid both can sense the flows of Aether without any need for the Spell on account of being powerful Innates, and we got ourselves a failure to communicate when you get right down to it. Would be best for them to see it themselves firsthand, but I ain't about to get into a firefight with no farmers looking to protect their livelihood. Not that I condone the use of violence to protect their secrets, only that I'd understand it if they did. Especially if Harald and Astrid mean to do more than they say, like maybe sneak into their rival's processing plants to literally steal secrets in an act of corporate espionage.

Which sounds pretty fun, I'm not gonna lie, but I got a plan and I'm sticking to it. Head west, link up with 'Lord' Edward Elton, and check out the Deadlands to see how lucrative a hunting grounds it really do be. I don't say as much of course, as I like to play things close to the vest. I just reiterate my refusal to bring them West with me, and conclude with, "I'm not goin' out on a lark. I'm lookin' for prospects myself, and I've no desire to jeopardize myself with the locals just so you can save on costs."

"We would pay you well for your troubles," Harald says, and just as I'm about to scoff and turn him down, he adds, "Not just in cash, but in trade." Fumbling around in his man-purse again, he pulls out a case using his glowing red Mage Hand and holds it out for me to take. Now, what I should do is turn him down flat, because there's no sense in stringing him along since I got no intentions of bringing him with me. My curiosity gets the better of me however, because I been hearing for years about the boy genius Alchemist Harald Askefjord. Don't know what makes him a genius though, because I usually buy Gunnar's goods and ain't never seen anything from Harald for sale.

So I accept the plain wooden box and open it up, only to freeze in place when I find a dozen vials filled with an orange-red liquid which glows bright in the morning light. My first instinct is to slam the box closed, but that won't help and might in fact make things worse. My next reaction is to give the box back, but I'm too afraid to move it because them vials ain't all that secure. There's no padded lining to hold them vials snug, just a wooden rack for them to rest on and not even a well-fitted one at that. Course, I might just be overreacting, because I don't know what this is, as I ain't never seen what I suspect it to be firsthand. I'm just guessing after all, but while I work up the saliva needed to lubricate the insides of my mouth enough to speak, Harald nonchalantly confirms my guess. "Eight vials of Impact Oil. That is merely a deposit of course, and I would happily sell you more at cost in the future if we are able to work something out."

Say what you will about his lacking social graces, but Harald drives a damn good bargain when he wants to.

"It's perfectly safe," he adds, after seeing me stand stock still for a few seconds longer. "The Oil has yet to be primed, and rather than a crystal oscillation matrix like what Daniel uses for his flashbangs, I've incorporated the Primer into the Oil itself so there's no risk of accidental activation." Which to my ears sounds like he's dead wrong. The whole point of using a physical medium for the primer is to insulate it from outside interference so it can't be accidentally triggered by ambient Aetheric flows. If I'm picking up what Harald's putting down, that means he probably has something like a Cantrip which he uses to trigger these vials, possibly even remotely from a good distance away. While I doubt he'd do that while standing so close to ground zero, that don't mean someone else who knows the Cantrip won't do it.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Or you know. The Frontier hits a metaphorical pothole while orbiting through the universe and local Aetheric conditions twist just right to trigger a single vial of Impact Oil inside the case, thereby setting off a chain reaction that'll blow me off the face of the planet. It ain't likely to happen, unlikely ain't the same as impossible.

I'm probably overreacting. If this box of vials was so dangerous, there's no way Harald would be carrying it around in his man-purse like he do. Then again, he did lose three fingers on account of being careless, and he passed the box over with his Mage Hand. One that glows red because his Innate bloodline is well-suited for Evocation, while Alchemy is more aligned with Transmutation. That's why so many of their potions tend to explode, and why Impact Oil made by him and his mama is in such high demand. Because it got that extra kick to it that no other Alchemist can match, not even Gunnar who done taught Harald and Alice everything they know. Like the man said, it ain't chemistry. It's magic, so there's more to the end product than the Spells and ingredients that go into it.

Calmly but carefully shutting the box, I force my frozen muscles to hand it back over before I find it in me to speak. "Don't go writin' checks your mouth can't cash, Harald. Your daddy already told me all I need to know about why he can't be sellin' me no Impact Oil, and all them laws apply to you too."

"True," Harald admits, abruptly hugging the box to his chest much too tightly for my liking. "However, the main reason the Federal Government tracks the sale of Impact Oil so closely is because they are buying up as much as they can before the Watershed hits, since it will make for a most powerful weapon against the hordes of Aberrations to come. As such, if we're able to uncover the secrets of producing Phoenix Ashes ourselves, then we could scale up production at a lowered cost, which would in turn give use more leeway as to who we sell our products to."

Pausing to count the seconds, Harald waits until five before holding out the box once more. "I personally would prefer to travel with you, as you are a known quantity who can be trusted. However, if you refuse, I do have other options, as you yourself pointed out." Harald shrugs. "I had hoped that my arrival would go unnoticed, which will not be possible should I travel with a Government convoy. With you however? No one would be the wiser so long as I remain hidden from sight."

Gotta say, this here is a prize worth claiming even if it puts me off my plans of heading into the Deadlands. A new source of revenue in the form of Soulless corpses would be nice, but a steady supply of Impact Oil would mean I could keep hunting in the badlands and Coral Desert with nigh impunity. My biggest issue has always been dealing with numbers, whether it be the massive tribes of orcs and gobbos scouring the deserts, or the massed swarms scurrying across the barren badlands. Impact Oil would really even the playing field, as not only would I have a weapon of last resort, I could even set up a killing ground full of explosive traps in advance, then lead Abby through them all the livelong day before collecting the whole haul.

So I take a moment to think things through before accepting the box again, because this is a deal too good to pass up. Course, this time I use a Mage Hand so I can hold it a good ways away from me. Not that it would help seeing how eight bottles could easily blow up a brick house and maybe topple a neighbour's wall or two, but it still makes me feel better to have it a half foot away. "Your parents know about this plan of yours?" I ask, mostly because it's only just occurred to me.

"Father knows," Harald replies. "He does not approve, but it will be easier to convince him when I show that I have everything planned and accounted for."

Which is impossible, but I ain't about to burst his bubble. "I need to hear it from him," I say. "Before we leave, I gotta hear him say, 'Howie, I'm okay with you bringing my boy out west'. Anything less, and you stay behind while I keep the deposit." Glancing over at his sister, I add, "And Astrid stays home no matter what."

"Why?" Astrid asks, while Harald says, "Okay."

"That's why," I say with a smile. "Neither one of you are trained fighters or seasoned travellers, but at least Harald knows who's boss."

"You're making a mistake!" Doubling down on obstinance, Astrid huffs and says, "I'm not coming along for a lark, you know? I'd much rather stay home myself, but if he's going, I'm going too. Think about it Howie. You can keep him safe, but how are you gonna keep him sane? He's very particular about his food and living space, and he needs his things arranged in a particular way."

"Then he can arrange them however he likes," I say with a shrug.

"And drive himself into a manic episode doing it when he changes his mind a dozen times," Astrid replies. "The right answer is to let me do it for him, because he won't have a fit when it's not exactly perfect." Because it's his little sister who done it and he loves her so, which probably ain't the sort of thing Astrid realizes. I'm guessing she just thinks he's happier when she does things for him, and while she might not be far off, I can tell Harald is embarrassed to air all his dirty laundry like this.

Nor does he disagree, so he knows his flaws good and well. Problem is, difficult though he might be, I don't relish the idea of bringing two rookies along with me. Just look at what happened with Errol and Sarah Jay. They at least had some training, but these two siblings here don't know jack about squat, and I ain't shy about saying it. Again, Harald nods in agreement, but Astrid bristles to hear it. "I'll have you know," she begins, giving me a good glare that got plenty of room for improvement, "Just because we're not all worn saddle and long toothed like you doesn't mean we can't take care of ourselves. We've been living out here for long as we can remember, and that Proggie only died last summer."

"Handling local Ferals you know well is one thing," I retort, not one to pull punches just because my opponent is a pint-sized darling. "Taking on new strains of Abby you know nothing about? That's a whole different ball game."

"Hmph." Snapping the fingers on her right hand, Astrid Conjures up a fistful of flame and bounces it up and down on her palm like a baseball. "Doesn't matter what kinda Abby it is. If it burns, it's good as dead."

Now some might look at Astrid's display and think nothing of it, because Conjure Flame is a Cantrip. A Conjuration Cantrip, but here's the thing. Astrid ain't no Conjuror. Her bloodline leans heavily towards Evocation, and seeing how she's doing this to show off her skills, I figure a closer look might be in order. Don't take much really, just a glance at the flame in her palm which ain't actually a Flame. It's got fire coming off of it, sure, but that's just a byproduct of the heat being produced by the orb bouncing in the palm of her hand. Not Elemental Orb, another Conjuration Spell, First Order this time, or even its older brother, the Second Order Elemental Bomb. Those form perfect spheres, and larger ones at that, while this round lump of condensed heat fits neatly in the palm of Astrid's dainty hand as it bounces up and down.

No. Not bouncing. It's jumping. Trying to escape from her grasp, but she's keeping it contained with pure power of will and Concentration. It wants to leave, to shoot forth and bring fiery death to whatever it strikes, and it most likely will considering it's a Second Order Spell that's so dangerous only active members of the military are legally allowed to prep it. That there ain't no Cantrip, and it ain't no Conjuration Spell, but rather a Second Order Scorching Beam being kept captive by her slender, red-skinned, black-tipped fingers.

A Spell which will strike a target and punch clean through them to hit whatever's behind. Can melt a hole through a steel plate in the blink of an eye, and if you get real good with it, like I'm guessing Astrid is judging by how she keeps it contained, then you can make it ricochet off your first target to strike the next, then another and another down the line like Chain Lightning.

Impressive as her level of control might be, it ain't as convincing as she thinks. "Knowin' a Spell ain't the same as knowin' how to use it," I drawl. "Scorching Beam ain't the most dangerous Spell when it comes to friendly fire, but it ain't all that safe either. What happens if some Abby pops up between you and Cowie and takes you by surprise? You gonna hold your Spell knowing Cowie's on the other side, or you gonna panic and let loose killing Abby and Cowie both?"

Letting loose with a plaintive moo, Cowie speaks his mind like he don't appreciate being used in my example. He don't know what I said, at least I don't think he do. He just hears my tone and don't like the way I'm saying his name. Either way, he deserves an apology, so I reach out and give his chin a good scritch. "Sorry partner. I just figured yours would be the more impactful death."

Heaving a contented sigh, Cowie accepts my apologies so long as I keep up with the scritches. Even though it takes away from the severity of the situation, I keep at it while trying to instill some prudence into Astrid. "I get that you want to come along and help your brother, but truth is, I'd rather put up with whatever idiosyncrasies he got, because I know he can survive them. Losin' you though? That might well kill him, to say nothing of killin' you."

Usually, I'm pretty soft on Astrid, because she's a sweet and sheltered girl who's just burning for adventure. That's why I'm happy to share a few stories whenever I can, because ain't nothin' wrong with feeding a dream, but if you want to turn a dream into a goal, then you gotta be realistic about it. "If you'd been through Ranger training like I been pushing you to take," I begin, doing my best to be firm but gentle, "Then I'd have no problem bringing you along. Thing is, my daddy had a saying, one he shared with me when I asked why he was always ridin' solo instead of joinin' a Strike Team or even headin' up a Company of his own. He told me, 'No matter how daunting, I will never fear my enemies. I only fear a pig-headed teammate'."

Now that I'm hearing it out loud, I can see why some folks thought my daddy was a cocky son of a gun. I'd call that confidence though, because he had the skills to back it up. Fact is, wasn't his enemies who done him in. Was me, because I was too pig-headed to call out a warning about the armed men up on the mesa.

"I'll listen." Seeing that I ain't playing around, Astrid finally switches gears, but I'd say it's too little too late. "You're the boss. You say jump, I jump high as I can, and I'll keep jumping until you say stop. There? Happy?"

"Not even a little." Shaking my head, I put my foot down and say, "Sorry Astrid. One person I can babysit. Two is one too many." Though she got plenty more to say about the matter, the conversation is over far as I'm concerned, so I turn to Harald and ask, "You want to talk to your daddy first without me? I got other things that need doin', and don't got all day to stand around listenin' to you argue your case."

Harald nods and sets off with his sister in tow, who's still arguing up a storm and has to be forcibly dragged away. A real firebrand, that Astrid, and if she was sweet on me before, you can bet your bottom dollar she ain't so sweet anymore. I much prefer it this way, because as nice as it is to be admired, it's mostly just awkward once the initial ego-boost fades away. "Hey," I call out, shouting to be heard over Astrid's tirade. "Whereabouts might we find these plants anyways? Ballpark is good enough for now, and we can talk more after you get the okay from your parents."

Miracle of all miracles, Astrid finally stops screeching and Harald has the good graces to look ashamed as he turns around and says, "Ah, right. It's uh, in the er, Deadlands." Seeing my incredulous reaction, he quickly stammers, "I figured it would be fine since you were headed there anyways. You put in an order of Wakeleaf Tonic from Father, which is used by the Rangers to counter a Mimic's Trance Ability, and Silverleaf Salve, which helps you see through the magical fog of the Deadlands." Harald shrugs, then adds, "I'll supply you with Warding Draughts and Calming Cordials to counter Enchantments. That's what most Mimics use, Enchantments that is, so the potions will be most helpful."

Not a bad call that. I was banking on Mental Fortress to keep me safe, but there's no foolproof method to counter Enchantments, so the more defenses you can stack, the better. Besides, Mental Fortress is a Third Order Spell that lasts an hour and requires Concentration, so it ain't ideal in the long haul. Neither are potions, which tend to be expensive and short lived, but if Harald is bankrolling us, then I got no complaints. Which reminds me…

Waving him back over, I heave a sigh before turning to Astrid. "You got any more of that Red Sun Balm? Now's a good a time as any to re-up before I go."

"You already used up the tin I gave you?" Astrid asks, her anger forgotten and brow furrowed in concern. "I told you Howie, be careful. That stuff's addictive."

Can't help it. My right hand still hurts something fierce, and the balm is all I gots that'll make it stop. "I still got plenty," I lie. "Just want to be sure I got enough moving forward, since we heading into dangerous territory."

Grudge forgotten, Astrid nods and says, "I'll give Harald an extra tin." Giving me a look that says she still suspects something's up, she asks, "Do you still want more?"

She'll know something's up if I say yes, but there's no helping it. "Yeah please," I say, and I leave it at that.

She looks me in the eyes, then glances at my missing hand before meeting my eyes again. "Okay," she says with a little nod. "Just… be careful okay?"

"Always am." Which ain't entirely true, but it's enough to see me free of the siblings and off to the Appraiser's. Levi came through in short order and directed me to a highly recommended Appraiser right here in Providence, which makes sense if I'd have stopped to think about it. Gunnar and his people are Alchemists after all, so they'd need a good Appraiser on call to make sure their ingredients are up to snuff, to say nothing of help with identifying what their newly concocted Potions might do and how they're best used. Clients would want an impartial third party to independently verify what they buy too, though I've always taken Gunnar at his word when he sells me a Potion or twelve.

Which now that I think about it, was silly. I should at least Appraise the potions myself. Won't help in the short term, since it's not like the Spell spits out a name and list of effects. It's far more involved and indirect, as it'd be more like hearing a song for the first time. Won't know where none of it is going the first time around, but the second time through I'll know what song it be and how it goes. In this metaphor, the lyrics would come separate, and that'd been the potion's name and effect, as the words got little to do with the notes themself.

Either way, I could stand to learn a thing or three from Mr. Elias Thornwick, Certum. Which as I understand it is like how lawyers get Esquire tacked onto their names, though I dunno if there any governing body for Appraisers. All I know is Levi said he came well recommended, and Gunnar vouched for him, which is why I was okay with letting him study my Arcane Grimoire for these last few weeks. While I'm a little worried he might copy the contents and sell the Spell Formula's within, the fact that it's all written in Qinese provides some barrier to entry, while Mr. Thornwick's reputation has thus far been wholly spotless.

He's a thin, hawk-nosed man of Eastern European roots from the looks of things, with silver threaded hair all neatly pulled back and a pair of neat, all black spectacles which do little to hide his big, multi-faceted bug eyes. Off-putting as his dark stare might be, his fanged smile is even scarier yet, like the jagged maw of a predator making ready to chomp down. That's the most notable bits of his Innate Brand, which leaves him looking mostly human with just a few odd angles and changes that make the differences stand out that much more.

So I can understand why he moved out to Providence. Man's got a smile that could make babies scream, and not in joy. Still, he seems a kindly sort and ain't ever given me reason to dislike him. Even greets me by name as I step through the door of his shop slash home, after quirking his head to listen to me come in and identify me from the scuff of my six holsters rubbing against my jeans. "Mr. Zhu," he says, waving me over to where he's seated behind a neat little receptionist desk, which is where he does most of his work. "A little earlier than expected, but that's perfect. I've been so excited to share what I learned."

Mr. Thornwick turned the front foyer of his house into an office, so I leave my boots on instead of taking them off like I would in his house proper. He don't mind either way, and listens as I take my seat before showing me the Grimoire I exchanged the corpses of my daddy's killers for. Bound in matte charcoal leather, the unmarked cover is soft to the touch and smooth as can be. The corners are gently rounded and thickened to protect against bumps and dings, with a spine that was hand stitched using dried gut from a Magical Beast of indeterminate origin, and glued in tight after the fact. Aside from the engraved Etches that glow purple with power beneath my Detect magic Spell, there's nothing gaudy about the Grimoire. No gilt edges, no embossed sigils, no locks or clasps to be found. The only remarkable thing on either cover is a small, almost imperceptible Sigil impressed into the lower right corner of the cover, one you can barely even see, but can more certainly feel when you run your finger over it.

All of which Mr. Thornwick brings to my attention, before explaining, "This here is a work of art. Not one of pretty shapes and colours, but of pure craftsmanship. To your eyes, it appears plain and uninteresting without Detect Magic, yes?" I nod before remembering he can't see me, so I say it out loud before letting him continue. "That in and of itself is a part of its beauty, but even more so is the fact that it was done to draw attention away from it. Not just plain in appearance, the Grimoire, once Attuned, can be instructed to make itself appear indistinct and unimportant to the casual observer. Enough so that it might be left in your possession if you were robbed, or tossed aside by law enforcement searching for contraband books."

Which is two extremes really, but Mr. Thornwick works for the highest bidder and got no qualms about it either way. He just tells it like it is. What people do with the stuff he Appraises ain't on him. He ain't done just yet though, as he explains how that unremarkable Sigil in the lower right corner is the control mechanism, one I'll have to explore myself after Attuning to the item. "What I can tell you," he continues, opening up the Grimoire to the first page with the first Spell and running his long, spindly, spine-tipped fingers gently over the paper, "Is that the magnificence of this Grimoire extends even to the contents within. The lettering is done in an ink that courses with Aetheric power, and is quite unlike anything I have ever seen before. Watch."

Furrowing his brow, he stares off into nothingness while place his palm atop the page. Underneath, the Qinese gobbledegook looks same as ever, until all of a sudden, the ink pools and shifts into something else entirely. Only for a second though, before snapping back to what it was to begin with. "You see? The ink, it is almost like it is alive. I suspect it will respond to the Attuned's thoughts, perhaps even rearranging itself to show you the exact excerpt of what you wish to read when you wish to read it."

"Wow, that's real interesting," I say, double checking the page again to be sure it's the same writing as before. I only glanced at it for fear of Enchantments Etched into the pages, and I can't read Qinese for shit anymore, but I recognize a few characters that were there before, so I'm fairly certain nothings changed. "Not all that useful, seeing how there ain't that many pages to turn, but interesting."

"You do not understand," Mr. Thornwick says. "There are a total of eighty-eight pages in this Arcane Grimoire, yet the information contained within could fill at least ten times that number of pages, and possibly more than a hundred. Information which will not reveal itself unless the Attuned wills it, meaning even if someone were to overcome the protections woven into the book itself and open it up to read, they would only see what the Attuned left on the pages when he last used it."

Meaning I could hide all my illegal Spells right in the book itself. "Now that's handy," I say, my eyes glowing with eager desire.

"That's not all." Flipping the book open even more, he shows me the central pages which aren't made of parchment like the rest, but rather a thin, reddish gold metal that's soft and pliable as the paper its bound between. "These two pages here? I believe they are crafted from Hihiirokane, a Nipponese alloy I have only ever read about. The Blade of Amaterasu was said to have been made of this fabled alloy, the very same weapon which struck a death blow to the Qin Immortal Monarch and was never recovered after the bombing of Hiroshima."

"Really?" Eying the super thin pages, which are almost indistinguishable from paper, I say, "Seems like a waste to write on metal like that."

"This page is not for writing," Mr. Thornwick explains, all calm and professional like. "It is the core of the Grimoire and the key to its wonderous abilities. The greatest of which is a Memory Anchor, meaning that even if the pages are destroyed, the knowledge contained within will be implanted into your mind, allowing you to recreate the Grimoire with a bit of minor effort and a what I can only imagine to be a staggeringly high cost in materials."

"Isn't that dangerous?" I ask. "I been told I should only ever be sending information out, not receiving it." Holds true for Automatons, and I don't see why a Grimoire would work any different.

"There is a failsafe built in to prevent any damage," Mr. Thornwick says. "The information would be stored in your mind, but you would be unable to access it except to deposit it into the recreated form. Much like a Spell Structure in fact, and it is this Hihiirokane which allows it. The metal, it exists in more than the physical world, so when the book is destroyed, this page will preserve itself by escaping into the Attuned's mind."

"I… see…" Not really, but what else am I supposed to say?

Mr. Thornwick don't mind though. "It is a most fascinating material. Even after two weeks, I have yet to identify a single component of the alloy, and cannot even conclusively state what it might be made of. What's more, aside from the failsafe, the only benefit I have found the Grimoire provides the Attuned with is a minor boost to Divination Spells when used as an Arcane Focus. It should clear their mind and sharpen their senses, allowing the caster to glean more from their Divination Spells, though it still falls upon the caster to interpret the information." Tapping his small spectacles with the solid black lens, he says, "These do much the same, and as far as I can tell, the benefit provided would be superior the Grimoire, which makes no sense given quality of the Inscriptions and materials."

Heaving a sigh, Mr. Thornwick shakes his head and slides the Grimoire over towards me. "I apologize Mr. Zhu, but not only have I failed to Identify the attributes of this Artifact, I cannot even confirm that it is safe to use. Something this complex is unlike anything I have ever seen, and I daresay there is no Appraiser this side of the Divide who can tell you more, not without months if not years of study. All I can tell you is that there is most certainly multiple Enchantments bound to these pages, though they could be something as simple as a teaching aid to keep you focused while you read, a mnemonic aid to help you learn the Spell Formulas within, or even a full on Geas that compels you to do whatever the creator intended."

"…Isn't Geas a Fourth Order Spell?"

"It is," Mr. Thornwick says, nodding along. "And therefore impossible to cast here on the Frontier. This Grimoire however? I hesitate to even say this, but I do not believe it is possible to construct an Artifact like this here on the Frontier, not with the Aetheric Concentration as it is. I believe someone brought this over in his or her mind, and collected the required materials to construct a new vessel for it. This is the stuff of myths and legends, far beyond my ken." Shaking his head, he sighs and says, "Make of that what you will, Mr. Zhu. I can only recommend caution, but you knew that well enough else you would not have brought it to me."

Even though he didn't tell me much of anything, I still pay him in full instead of a token amount he claimed he'd be happy to accept. Same as any lawyer, I got Appraiser-Client confidentiality in place to keep Mr. Thornwick from telling anyone about my Grimoire, one I'm more conflicted about than ever. I just wanted some useful Spells that may or may not be illegal. Now it sounds like I got a full-on Artifact out of legend, one that might not have been made here on the Frontier, something like Excalibur almost. Well, not almost. It's got a page of some material used to make a famous sword, which is far stretch to almost, but still.

Either way, them Artifacts of legend always had a twist to them. Needed to be the once and future king to draw Excalibur from the stone, while Gae Bolg had to kill every time it was used. Mjolner could only be wielded by the worthy, and the Helm of Hades made the bearer permanently imperceptible unless you were 'chosen', whatever that means. There's more to it, but the common theme is that something like that can only be used by certain people, and if you ain't one of them, then only disaster can come from trying.

So am I gonna Attune to the Grimoire? I dunno yet. Let's see what Spells the pages hold first. No need to make a decision today, especially since I didn't hear nothing about the Grimoire that makes me want to Attune right quick. A minor boost in Divination Spells? If that's what I wanted, I could just go out and buy me an Arcane Focus like them spectacles. It'd be expensive for sure, and probably take a long time since I imagine Craftsmen of that calibre got a waiting list a mile long, but even then, I'd much rather wait.

Because like I said before, the Qin will do anything to win. They'll lie, cheat, steal, and even ensorcell a blood relative if it means bringing them back over to your side, so better safe than sorry.