Chapter 73 - The Ritual’s Hurdle

“Some people misunderstand Roko. They think he was a body slider, hopping from one body to the next when the current one got bad. They think he left brainless bodies behind, and there was only one Roko that needed to be killed.

That belief is entirely wrong.

Roko was legion. He’d take over an entire town. From the oldest grandfather to the unborn babies, Roko would replace every single mind. The entire town would be Roko, putting on a play. The cobbler making shoes? Roko. The maids cleaning the house? Roko. The lord overseeing the land? Roko. Naturally, his greed didn’t end there, and he’d send messengers off to the next town, to the next village, where he’d rip through their minds and replace them. He didn’t limit himself to towns. He did his very best to spread all over the world, to always have a bolthole and a secure place to rebuild from. Rebuilding, of course, means taking over as many minds as possible.

Roko wasn’t just a Magus, he was a plague.

Exterminating him was difficult, and you’re old enough to start seeing the edges of the atrocities. 

Every place where The Alliance even suspected Roko had to be razed. The official story is the people begging to be spared were all Roko, putting on a play. Pure numbers tell us that has to be patently false, and The Alliance massacred countless innocents in their pursuit of exterminating Roko. I would posit that, on the whole, it was worth it.

Otherwise, this class wouldn’t exist, and I wouldn’t have to teach you about Roko. We’d all be Roko.

That is the single best piece of evidence we have that The Alliance won the war. If he changed tactics instead… well. We don’t like to think about that.

Your assignment is 600 words, arguing why Roko would’ve changed tactics, and listing three different methods he could’ve branched out into, along with the pros and cons of each one.”

-Professor Petra Pewterwick, lecturing about Roko while wearing the traditional wooden mask used in the classic play, The Tragedy of Archmagus Roko

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Vivian paused, shocked at her parents. She wasn’t sure she could believe what they’d just said.

“What!?” She screamed, jumping up.

“Vivian Merryweather! You will sit down, young lady! And don’t talk to us like that!” Vivian’s mom glared at her daughter until she sat back down at the dinner table. Since middle names were often long, convoluted, and the key to a person’s true name, they were forgotten as quickly as possible, which made them impossible to invoke when sternly talking to a child.

“Very good. Now, to reiterate, no. We will not let you join in a coven with a Morsin!” She said. “I completely understand being friends with Alexandria. Poor girl’s been through enough. But it’s dangerous to be closely associated with the Morsins and in a coven? No.” She said.

“But-” Vivian started to say, only to get cut off.

“If you’d presented it as a carefully calculated risk, and shown us the pros and the cons, we might have considered it on the merits.” Her father said. “As it was, you wanted to join because your friend was going to be in the coven. For nearly every coven, that works. For a coven with the Morsins? No.” He shook his head and crossed his arms, ignoring his dinner.

“I mean-” Vivian said.

“We just want you to be safe, honey.” Mrs. Merryweather said. “It’s one thing for Alex, Park, or that Sutter boy you were talking about. They’re either based in Dublin, already on the Morsin list, or live far, far away in the mundane world. They don’t have your risk exposure.” 

“That doesn’t-”

“Remember all the hate Alex gets? You’d be signing yourself up for the same, if not worse.” Mr. Merryweather said. “I hate to say it, but no.”

“I hate you both!” Vivian screamed, before fleeing the dinner table.

Mrs. Merryweather sighed.

“Teenagers. They think they know everything.” She got up and started to put Vivian’s barely-eaten food on a tray, intending to bring it up to the girl’s room.

“You’re ruining my life!” Vivian shouted from halfway across the house, a moment before slamming the door shut with a house-rattling shake.

“Don’t slam the doors!” Mr. Merryweather shouted, then started on his food.

“She’ll thank us when she gets older.” He said calmly. “We should at least let Alexandria know, so she can try to find a replacement member.”

“The poor girl.” Mrs. Merryweather said. “I do feel bad for her, but hopefully she’ll be able to find someone else.”

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“Did you know Aoife’s learning how to use poisons?” Hazel said.

Erik frowned. 

Nobody liked poisons. Nobody liked poisoners. At the same time, the skill was… useful. For killing people. His father’s culture had the smallest bit more acceptance of the practice than Logres, but only in the sense that they ‘merely’ exiled poisoners. Granted, there were whispers that they set up shop far away from any villages and towns, and occasionally had their services purchased… but the only information he had on that end were dubious songs.

Erik knew the actual events, and saw how Bjorn’s Saga had twisted them. 

In Logres, occasionally poison was used, but more in the ‘rat poison in soup’ style. Nothing fancy. Nothing that needed to be studied. And, naturally, suspicious deaths were investigated, and murder was murder, whether by wand or wolfsbane.

With her studies, Aoife clearly wanted to become deadly in her own way. Was Erik the right person to dissuade her? Was it just a passing interest?

Plus, how could he bring it up? ‘Oh yeah, my friend’s a Light mage and plucked it out of your mind’ would go swimmingly. ‘You thought you had little privacy because I’m your big brother, HA! Not even your own mind is safe!’

Yeah… that would end with Aoife getting hands-on practice in poisoning people.

“You know, if you want to bring it up…” Hazel said. “You could mention you noticed she was carrying hemlock, not queen anne’s lace.”

“That’s… an option.” Erik agreed, before noticing that something was wrong with Hazel. She was tense and still, her gaze completely unfocused. She swallowed hard, and her breathing went short and rapid. Hyperventilating. Her eyes started to dart around.

“I need to - please - just no.” Hazel’s words were broken, and she dashed off to the bed, before stopping right in front of it and wildly looking around the room.

“Are you alright?” Erik asked.

“No! Yes! Go away! Leave me alone!” Hazel started bawling.

Erik hesitated, torn. On one hand, being alone in a room with a crying girl asking him to leave, and not leaving, was an atrocious look. 

On the other, she was all alone, terrified, and in distress. He was the only person she knew in the entire city. Was he really going to abandon her?

Erik decided to split the difference.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He told the terrified girl, then did just that. He closed the door and sat down, his back to the door. He heard the rustling of sheets and the wardrobe door slamming.

Erik leaned back and started thinking about the Aoife poisoner thing. What to do, what to do…

He sat and thought, ignoring the muffled sobs coming from Hazel’s room. Something had set her off - or perhaps nothing had? Madness - errr… mental illnesses - could sometimes just happen like that. Maybe? Erik would have to check.

Ahha!

Erik thought of the perfect opening for Aoife.

He’d get her a book for Yule. Specifically, he’d need to hunt down a book that talked about identifying poisonous herbs, and frame it as ‘he just wanted her to be safe in her herb collecting hobby’. It didn’t even have to be the focus of the book! 

But given sufficient details, it could help her, or subtly send a message that he knew what she was doing, and supported it in his own way. A way to show that he loved her, no matter how long he’d have to be tortured to actually admit it with words. If she was even far enough along on her lessons to pick up a hint like that. Little sisters could be dense that way.

Erik frowned a bit.

He’d need to really go hunting. Anything common Aoife already probably had gotten her hands on, so it’d just be a duplicate gift that tried to send a subtle message. Not the best of presents. He’d need to keep thinking about this…

What about a basket, charmed to keep the user safe from poisons? Okay, yeah, that was another interesting direction he could go, all while having impeccable cover.

Eventually, the noises from Hazel’s room slowly came to an end.

“Are you alright in there?” Erik asked softly, knocking on the door without standing up.

“Y-yes.” Hazel sniffed out.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked.

There was a long pause.

“No…” She said, then whispered, so quietly Erik was half-sure he imagined it. “Thank you.”

Erik wasn’t quite sure what to say to all that. He stood up, brushed off his robes, and left.

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Erik visited his mother next. He looked himself up and down, and cast one of the neatening/cleaning charms that he’d learned, then sharply knocked on her door. 

He heard her shuffling around in her rooms, and smiled. It was sounding like a good day for her, if she was answering her own door and everything.

Maeve opened the door, and her face half-broke, half-beamed at seeing him standing there.

“Oh Erik! My son! You’re safe!”

She rushed to hug him, and Erik happily wrapped his arms around his mom, trying to ignore how frail and fragile she felt.

When had he gotten taller than her?

“You’re safe… you made it back.”

Erik’s smile was broken, but his mom couldn’t see it.

“I made it back.” He patted his mom on the back. “I promise I’ll always make it back.”