“What’s the other part?”
The book felt heavy, like a chunk of solid rock. Richard flipped through the pages, turning the thick paper sheets to a particular article, and offered the book to his brother. He had read it so many times, he had committed the words to memory. He kept hoping it would say something different. It didn’t.
The act of draining another’s magic to fuel oneself is colloquially known as life-force drain, a term which originated from the first-person accounts of the rare few who had experienced it. They describe this phenomenon as draining or stealing the target’s life. In reality, the user and the target form a magic feedback loop, and it is the target’s magic energy, not some mysterious life force, that is being drained. However, since a human body is unable to sustain life without this magic energy, when a target’s magic is depleted, the target dies, so the term isn’t as inaccurate as it may seem at first glance.
In the event of life-force drain, the user attracts the magic of the target, pulling it to himself and absorbing this energy. The user quickly becomes overwhelmed with the influx of incoming magic, and his body begins to radiate it out in whatever form feels most natural to the user. The user then invariably sends out more magic than he takes in, which in turn, causes him to absorb more magic in a greater volume, which he again must disperse. This essential cycle of absorbing and dispersing is ever expanding; the longer it continues, the harder it is to stop. Consider a snowball rolling down the hill: the longer it rolls, the bigger it grows. The longer the duration of the feedback loop, the greater the amount of magic that passes through the user, until eventually the user becomes a mindless conduit for the flow of magical energy.
There are known instances of interrupted feedback loops, where the user had begun the draw of energy but engaged in it for only a few brief moments. These users report feelings of euphoria and extreme pleasure associated with the absorption of magic. No doubt, this contributes to the difficulty of feedback-loop interruption. In plain terms: stealing magic produces pleasure and is self-rewarding, so much so that many users do not want to stop, and, after a few minutes, they find they cannot.
For the purposes of this study, eleven confirmed instances of interrupted feedback loop were examined, and in nine out of eleven cases, the users reattempted the feedback loop at a later date. All nine lost their humanity and had to be destroyed, as they presented an imminent threat to others. It is this author’s opinion that surviving one interrupted loop is possible; however, interrupting such a loop for a second time is beyond the limits of human will.
Kaldar looked up from the page. “What does that mean?”
“How much did George tell you?”
“I know that you were injured, ran into the Edge, she healed you, then the slavers came, killed the boys’ grandmother, set the house on fire, and threw you in the cage. Charlotte saved you.”
“When she found us, she initiated a feedback loop. It was her first time killing, and she didn’t think she had enough power. She can kill without it, but every time she does, her magic pushes her toward making it again.”
“And if she does?”
“She will pull magic to her from her enemies and send it out as a plague, then she will drain more magic and send that out, and on and on, until everyone around her is dead. She would become a plaguebringer. She would never stop.”
“So she would become an unstoppable crazed mass murder.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know?”
“She knows. She asked me to kill her if she succumbs to it. I tried to talk her out of fighting the slavers, but she refuses to walk away.”
Kaldar sank into the couch. His face was completely serious, something that almost never happened.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice dry. “You finally managed to find a woman as tragically noble as yourself. I didn’t think one existed.”
“I’m not tragic.”
Kaldar held up his hand. “Spare me. Some children are born wearing a silk shirt; you were born wrapped in melancholy. When they slapped you to make you cry, you just sighed heavily and a single tear rolled from your eye.” He dragged his finger from the corner of his left eye to his cheek. “Your first words were probably ‘woe is me.’”
“My first words were ‘Kaldar, shut up!’ because you talked too much. Still do.”
“You have grimly acknowledged the sadness of your situation since you were a kid. You don’t even notice it anymore.”
Richard leaned forward. “Would it be better if I turned everything into a constant joke?”
“Well, someone has to make you laugh; otherwise, you’d collapse under the burden of being you. People can share in the joke. Nobody can share in your anguish.”
“I’ve been the butt of your jokes all my life, and let me tell you, it’s not quite as fun.”
They stared at each other. If Richard had a wet wig in his hands, he would’ve thrown it against the wall and kicked his brother in the chest. Sadly, they were too old to brawl.
“That’s why the face,” Kaldar said. “You did it for her, so you can be on the inside, working against the Five instead of her. Is she worth it?”
“Is Audrey worth it?” Richard asked.
“Leave my wife out of it.”
“You gave yourself up to the Hand for her. Was it worth it?”
“Yes. And I’d do it again.” Kaldar sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “What do you need from me?”
“I’ll need your help,” Richard said.
“You have it. We’re family.”
Richard went to the wine cabinet, got a bottle of green wine and two glasses, and brought it over. He poured the wine. Kaldar swallowed some and smiled. “Tastes like home. Where did you find the berries? I thought they only grew in the Mire?”