Reborn in a baptism of chemicals and steel, she now exchanges art for applied science, alchemy for wizardry, an artillerist for a technologist. For the final phase of this battle, the mage-general is replaced by a sorcerer-engineer.
Part thaumaturgist, part diviner, his is a science of precision and calculation, of sortilege and scrying, of orphic formulae. Arcane instruments crowd his laboratory, an abacus, a tellurion, an armillary sphere. A clockwork orrery guides him in focusing the power of the sun and stars into a deadly, coruscating ray.
These are his tools in the fight against the grendel. Unlike the mage-general's, his is a push-button magic operated remotely from the safety of his tower. Specializing in the tactics of ambush, he seeks to grind the grendel down through a series of encounters. He preys upon its warring instincts, not dissimilar from our own, to seek its lair when injured but rarely to pass an exposed enemy without a strike.
Numbers dance across Napier's bones while a secret algorithm clicks and whirs through a difference engine until a pattern emerges, a solution. No matter how exacting his calculations, he cannot avoid her with his ray. His magic is lethal, to her as well as the grendel.
In preparation he places his mark upon her, tattooing her with esoteric runes inscribed in woad. Measure by measure, he records her dimensions, slowly crafting a homunculus, a golem shaped from blood-dampened clay, a miniature woman upon which he performs his sibylline rites and computations.
He binds his creation with powerful words and wardings. His ray could spark life within, though it cannot imbue a spirit. Unchained, the soulless construct would rampage within the wall, easily tearing down all she has bled to defend.
Completed with cast-off bits of nails and hair, with crystal orbs for eyes, the simulacrum stands ready to serve in her stead, absorbing what damage it may from the brilliant flash of each attack morning after morning.
The routine of days will bring more fatigue and depredation as the strain of each encounter depletes her reserves and leaves her increasingly short of breath.
© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III
--------------------------------
ReplyDeleteNotes and asides:
--------------------------------
The first thing the radiation oncologist did for Karen’s treatment was run a simulation. That consisted of precisely measuring Karen and noting the location where the tumor had been with a CT scan, then tattooing three marks on her torso. I want to say, but can’t find in my notes that the surgeon left a tiny marker inside Karen during the lumpectomy to precisely mark the spot of the tumor. The tattoos and the other measurements allowed the radiation oncologist focus the beam on the exact same point each time. But no matter how well aligned the beam was, some of the radiation would spill over into undesirable places, like Karen’s lung and other vital organs.
Because of the nature of radiation, the radiation oncologist and technicians do everything remotely. That brought to mind looking through a crystal ball. Like the wicked witch spying on Dorothy in the land of Oz, though the oncologist was more like Glinda, using his powers only for good. I’m sure he’d rather see himself compared to a wizard than even a good witch, but the wizard in that story was a fraud.
The simulation reminded me of simulacrum, which is Latin for a representation. That in turn brought me to homunculus, which is sometimes seen as a wizard’s familiar. All that wrapped together brought me back to the idea of a miniature, clockwork golem, which is like the Frankenstein’s monster of Jewish folklore. Just how my mind works.
Picture notes: A picture of a jade pendant Karen bought at a Dragon*Con before treatment. The background is one of the lamps in the library. The light is from sun coming in the back windows near sunset. One of those pictures she didn’t think would work as well as it did until she started clicking the shutter.
ReplyDelete