First and Last

This story was inspired by Dianna Wynne Jones’ work- specifically, reading Howl’s Moving Castle for the first time. No idea why I waited until my thirties to read it.

Oh, and if you didn't hear already, The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells is sitting with my beta readers right now! Responses have been positive so far!

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First and last acts have power.

First acts are subtle and long-lasting. A child’s first word can impact their fate, impact the stories that tangle around them. The first meal eaten in a marriage can sour or sweeten luck. The first sale in a new store can attract the right or the wrong sorts of spirits, depending on what the customer buys.

Last acts are more obvious and drastic. A final word can break a relationship. A final nail, hammered in wrong, can attract fire spirits to a home. And a final spell cast by a dying wizard can change the fate of cities, nations, even the world.

Take the final spell cast by Herezzim the Judge was a doozy.

Herezzim had been one of the mightiest archwizards ever to walk the crystal halls of Nimbus City, one of the most loyal defenders of the flying gem-city. He had dedicated his life to upholding its laws and systems, and when he uprooted a conspiracy within the city’s halls, within its walls, it stirred him to wrath.

It hadn’t been an incipient coup, hadn’t been some grand embezzlement by the elite. No, it was just a grubby, systematic corrosion of the city’s rules. Nepotism spreading like rot throughout the government, bribes becoming a standard part of business, revolving doors opening up between the legislative and mercantile halls of power.

Herezzim set out to uproot the corruption, and it killed him. A single angry businessman hired a single assassin, who was by no means Herezzim’s match in battle.

He just got lucky, and his athame buried itself in Herezzim’s back as he was finishing a guest lecture at the fabled college of Nimbus City The assassin died before he even realized he’d succeeded, but die he did.

And as Herezzim lay dying on the garnet tiles of the main courtyard of Cumulus University, he spoke his curse. Cast his final spell.

He cursed Nimbus City to be dragged to the ground, miles below, by the weight of its corruption.

His death and curse accomplished what he couldn’t. The city cleaned up its corruption in a hurry, and not in a subtle way. The businessman who hired the assassin took a very quick trip to the surface for his crime— one without any flying boats or feather cloaks. Hundreds more corrupt merchants and officials soon followed.

What the trash-scroungers that followed the city on the ground thought of the rain of corpses, no one in Nimbus City bothered to learn. The swarms of omnivores and detrivores were probably pleased with the meal, though.

And when the curse came due, only the slightest tremor shook the flying city grown out of gems. It was impossible to clean up every last bit of corruption, after all— but Nimbus had achieved the next best thing, and the weight of its corruption wasn’t enough to drag it down.

Herezzim’s curse started a golden age in the city, where all voices were heard, and public services actually worked. The city’s flying trains were, miracle of miracles, actually on time, and the city’s janitorial shamans actually managed to keep most of the spirits happy for once.

He even got a nice bronze statue, in the courtyard he died in. It was quite tasteful— well made, not gaudy, holding a sword of lead up to the sky to represent the weight of justice.

And, as these things go, Herezzim faded in the mind of the city’s inhabitants, became just another great wizard among hundreds. His wasn’t the first or last great curse the city would face, after all.

Herezzim wouldn’t have minded. He’d never been much for glory or fame, after all. He just would have been pleased that he’d convinced the city to clean their act up.

He’s certainly not important to this story.

What? I told you that he was just being used as an example.

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Evil archwizards returning to the school they attended, intent upon seizing it for themselves? A common theme in history and stories, and one that had great magical weight, accordingly.

Most of those evil wizards did so via cunning shapeshifting, or manipulating the forces of prophecy, or reincarnating themselves as a child to attend once more. A few particularly unimaginative ones resorted to simple murder.

Lyssa’s arch-nemesis had just bribed the Cumulus University board into voting him the new headmaster. Shamefully dull of him.

But then, Saxus Gold-Eye was hardly a traditional evil wizard. No staff of bone, no evil spirits chained in his shadow, not even a skull helmet. He refused to choose a proper name for an evil wizard, like Bilemarrow, Lord Death, or Clawrot. 

He wouldn’t even wear black! The man wore colorful tailored suits, of all things.

He did, at least, have an intricate golden clockwork machine in place of one eye.

All in all, Lyssa was thoroughly dissatisfied with her luck in archnemesi.

Sure, he’d murdered dozens of other wizards over the years for one reason or another, and sure, he’d built a dread engine to enslave spirits, but that hardly made up for how dreadfully boring he was.

Lyssa had, from a young age, insisted that she’d battle an evil wizard at Cumulus University someday. It was practically tradition, she said— students were always fighting evil wizards at Cumulus University.

Twice was not a tradition, she was told, and it had been eighty years since the last evil wizard. There were plenty of other schools where dark wizards were more common, after all. Most of which were far easier to get accepted into.

“Twice might not be a tradition, but these things came in threes,” Lyssa had always replied. “Besides, Cumulus University has the best educational programs and laboratories.” 

To which her family always shook their heads and sighed.

And when Lyssa was not only admitted to Cumulus University, but in her first year foiled the plans of Saxus Gold-Eye and destroyed his spirit-enslaving engine, her family just shook their heads and sighed.

It’s hard to blame them. Really, everyone who meets her has that reaction at some point.

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On the day Saxus Gold-Eye was due to return to Cumulus University, Lyssa chose her first action of the day very carefully. First acts were important, after all, and had subtle, long-lasting effects. She had to be smart, had to pick something that would give her an edge in the struggle to come.

So she had a healthy, well-balanced breakfast. Important to start her day right, apparently.

I don’t even have a head, or proper lungs— I’m just a minor clerical spirit of Cumulus University, after all— but I promise you, if I did, I would have shook that head and then sighed heavily at that. There are so many spells Lyssa could have cast on herself, or on the grounds of the school— she was, after all, the most skillful student at the university, and could cast spells many professors would struggle with.

And instead she just had a big breakfast.

Lyssa wandered out of the dorms after that— not in any great hurry, not with any great sense of worry— and down into the courtyard. 

The first thing she did there was rub the shoe of Herezzim’s statue for good luck, and push a little magic into it, just as generations of students had before her. 

About as likely to offer her good luck as throwing pennies into a wishing well, if you ask me. After all, what self-respecting wishing well would offer luck for less than a shilling? 

And the magic just helped keep the statue standing. It was an old, old statue at this point, and that lead sword was heavy.

“You’re still here?” a passing student asked Lyssa. “I’d have run away in your shoes. I hear Saxus implanted the harvested soul of a anti-mage into his eye, to render himself immune to the spells of others.”

“Wouldn’t fit,” Lyssa replied.

The student gave her a baffled look. Souls didn’t have a size, after all, they could fit anywhere with the right spiritual resonance.

“My shoes. They’re too small for you. It’d be hard to run in them.”

The student just shook his head, sighed, and walked off to class.

Lyssa gave her feet a considering look, as though they might hold a clue to defeating Saxus Gold-Eye.

Then she shrugged and wandered off to class.

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“What are you doing here?” her professor of Sympathy and Contagion demanded. “Saxus Gold-Eye is arriving in just a few hours. If you’re here when he arrives, he’ll surely slay you.”

“I know,” Lyssa said, folding a sheet of paper into a crane. “I’m not running.”

“I hear he’s bound a flesh spirit, to heal himself from any wound,” one of her classmates said. Lyssa couldn’t remember his name— which irritated her, because she actually rather enjoyed the fellow’s company. Good to have on your team for group homework and presentations.

“I heard he bound himself to a fate spirit, to ensure his victory,” another student called out. Lyssa neither knew nor cared about what her name was— the girl was rude, abrasive, and was studying agricultural magic, of all things. Lyssa couldn’t imagine a more boring subject.

“I heard he bound himself to a war spirit, to make himself unbeatable in battle,” a third student called. 

Lyssa actually did know his name, it was Charles. No idea why she remembered that, she’d seldom interacted with the fellow, but sometimes names stuck for no real reason.

“If you’re not running, you should be preparing,” the professor said, gesturing wildly with her arms.

Lyssa shrugged as she carefully inspected her paper crane and pushed magic into it. “I’m already done with my preparations.”

“What spell did you cast on yourself when you woke up?” 

“I didn’t. First thing I did was have a healthy breakfast,” Lyssa said. Then she snapped her fingers, and her paper crane came to life, and began fluttering around the classroom.

The professor just shook her head and sighed.

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As Lyssa walked down the hall after class, a huge clay hand reached out and pulled her into an empty classroom.

“GOLD. EYE. COMES.” The janitorial golem said.

“I know,” Lyssa said, patiently. She’d made friends with the kiln-fired cleaning crew her very first year at Cumulus College— they’d been a vital part of her first victory over Saxus. 

Honestly, she only made friends with them at first because she found animancy fascinating, and wanted to make her own golems, but over the years she’d found them to be kind, patient souls, and better company than most people, if you were patient yourself.

“WE. HEAR. HE. BEARS. AMUSITE. SWORD.”

That should have struck fear into Lyssa’s heart, for even the slightest cut from a blade forged of amusite was invariably fatal within minutes— the metal itself was lethally poisonous.

“I’ll be alright,” Lyssa said. “I have a plan.”

“EXPLAIN.”

“I’m going to beat him with a single spell,” Lyssa said.

The golem sighed, its breath like forge-bellows, and shook its great clay head.

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When Saxus Gold-Eye arrived at Cumulus College, he stepped out of his flying carriage— grown out of a single giant ruby— and onto the garnet-tiled plaza, he found Lyssa waiting for him.

She was leaning against the statue of Herezzim, reading a book.

I’ve done clerical work for the schools for more decades than most humans ever possess, and I’ve never seen any sight quite like the two of them standing there in the courtyard. Saxus, filled with as much magic as I’ve ever seen in a human, and Lyssa, with no more than average for a student after a day of magic classes. Maybe even a little less.

And of the two of them, I was fairly sure Saxus was the more nervous of the two.

It made sense. After all, the evil wizards always lost in the stories.

“Afternoon, Saxus,” Lyssa called, folding down the corner of a page to mark her place.

Saxus winced at her treatment of the book. “I’d tell you to call me sir, but it’s best not to give orders you know won’t be obeyed. And I’d say I was surprised you’re still here, but you’ve always been a headstrong idiot.”

“I hear you have the soul of an antimage bound in your eye,” Lyssa said.

Saxus shook his head in amusement. “That would be a miracle even for me. No, just the soul of a lesser seer, that warns me every time someone sends a spell or blow my way.”

Lyssa nodded slowly. “That makes more sense.”

She slowly began to circle, and Saxus matched her movement with a contemptuous smile.

“I hear you’ve made a contract with a spirit,” Lyssa said. “A flesh spirit, or a fate spirit, or a war spirit, depending on who is spreading the rumor.”

Saxus’ smile grew, and his metal eye glittered.

“Rumors are so unreliable, aren’t they?” Saxus replied. “It’s not a flesh spirit, nor a fate spirit, nor even a war spirit. It’s a spirit of vengeance.”

Lyssa smiled back sincerely. “Oh, trust me, I know what you mean about rumors. I got into so many awkward social situations before I learned to not trust rumors. I was once told a rumor about a secret passage that turned out to emerge in a men’s restroom. Not fun, and earned me a visit to the old headmaster’s office.”

Saxus gave her a vaguely perplexed look, the sort common when dealing with Lyssa, then sighed and shook his head.

“I heard one other thing, too,” Lyssa said. “That you had an ultimate weapon, a sword made of amusite. But swords don’t really seem your style.”

Saxus laughed at that. “You’re right about that much. I’d hardly know which end to hold a sword by. No, my ultimate weapon is far more terrifying than that— rules.”

“Rules?” asked Lyssa.

“I’m the new headmaster, Lyssa. If you were to try and strike me, well, I think the school’s defenses would have something to say about that. The war gargoyles, the guard dreams, even all the door locks would seek to defend me. What better defense could I ask for?”

“But you bribed your way into your position.”

“Why should that matter? The defenses aren’t built to judge, only to defend.”

Lyssa came to a stop, glaring at Saxus. 

They’d progressed precisely one-half revolution, leaving Lyssa in front of Saxus’ carriage, and Saxus in front of the statue of Herezzim.

There was a long, drawn-out moment, and I could tell the two of them were about to start slinging spells.

And, indeed, Saxus did launch some horrible spell at Lyssa, a ball of seething, pus-yellow energy whose surface wriggled like magics. I can’t imagine any but the greatest wizards could stop it, or even divert it.

Lyssa didn’t even try. Instead, she hopped up into Saxus’ carriage, snapped her fingers, and closed the door.

The ball of energy just dissolved against the magical defenses of Saxus' ruby carriage.

“Very funny,” Saxus said, “but hiding won’t avail you long. I’ll…”

The evil wizard trailed off in shock as his carriage rose up into the air.

“Are you stealing my carriage?” Saxus demanded. 

Lyssa didn’t answer, but she was indeed stealing his carriage. He didn’t have long to fume, though, because even as he was readying the magical command to force the carriage to land once more, the statue of Herezzim the Just cut his head off.

What? Oh, you’re complaining because I told you Herezzim wasn’t important to this story? Well, he’s really not— it was his statue that did the chopping, with the lead sword it carried. And it was Lyssa that animated the statue with a spell— the same one she used to animate the origami crane in her Sympathy and Contagion class.

How’d she power that spell, you ask? A larger-than-life metal statue is a whole different chess game than a paper crane, after all.

Easy enough— the power was right there waiting for her. Students had been pouring mana into the statue for luck and to keep it upright for quite literally centuries— there was plenty of it in there still.

The soul of the lesser seer didn’t warn him about the blow, because it was something striking him, not someone. Also because he’d killed the seer and bound their soul into his eye, so the seer had absolutely zero interest in doing anything to aid Saxus beyond what he’d specifically ordered. Malicious compliance is always an issue with bound spirits.

The spirit of vengeance could have overcome any attack spell Lyssa cast, and turned it back onto her, but she didn’t cast a spell at Saxus, and the spirit of vengeance had no grudge against the statue of Herezzim.

And the rules of the school? Well, there was no rule against school property attacking the headmaster. Except for gargoyles, that is, after an unfortunate incident a century and a half back.

Saxus had other defenses, of course. An amulet that repelled blows, clothing stronger than armor, that sort of thing. The lead sword just went right through them.

Part of it was just the strength of the blow— there had been a lot of magic in that statue. Part of it was the lead of the sword— metal didn’t get much less magical than lead.

Most of the reason the sword broke through Saxus’ defenses, though?

It’s because that sword blow was the first act of that statue’s life. And though the statue wasn’t Herezzim, the stories of Herezzim had colored the magic students put into it over the years, and when the statue swung that sword, it carried with it an echo of Herezzim’s hate for corruption. It was a subtle thing, but subtle things have a way of worming through the mightiest defenses.

And it was because that sword blow was the last act of that statue’s life. It only had enough magic for that one, mighty blow. And while first acts might be subtle, last acts are mighty and powerful, and it gave the lead sword power that Saxus’ defenses lacked.

As the head of Saxus lay on the ground, staring up at his retreating ruby sky carriage, it began to speak a word. A word that required no lungs, a word that could only be spoken at the end of one’s life, a word that held a curse as cruel as any that would ever live.

Which was right when the paper crane Lyssa had animated in class flew into Saxus’ mouth, and the last seconds of the evil wizard’s life were spent choking on Lyssa’s homework, and his last sight was of his carriage…

Stopping?

“Hey, you, are you coming or not?” Lyssa shouted, throwing the door open.

I can tell you, I was one deeply confused clerical spirit that day, as I looked around the empty courtyard. Everyone had been hiding, afraid of being caught in the battle against Saxus Gold-Eye, and…

“Quit narrating and answer the question already!”

It was then, to my shock, that I realized Lyssa was talking to me. I…

“Enough with the past tense! You’ve been following me around narrating for literally years now, you’re obviously bored and wasted at this school. You should come with me!”

As Lyssa shared her offer with me, I desperately considered all the clerical work I had left to do, all the work this very incident would produce. Sure, an adventure sounded fun, but I…

“Let me put it this way— inviting you to come on an adventure with me is my last act here at Cumulus College!”

Well, when she put it like that, I pretty much had to go, didn’t I?

Lyssa could have done all sorts of amazing things with her last act at Cumulus College, could have changed the entire school for better or worse in drastic ways, and instead, she used her last act to invite me along.

Last acts are powerful, after all. 

But sometimes that power isn’t magic at all.

Sometimes…

“Hurry up already!” Lyssa shouts.

And I do.