TVisTV Book 4: Chapter 37 (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 37 - The Sight

“Prediction is difficult, especially about the future.”

- a Danish Proverb.

The die landed upon six, and Seraphina de Sariens smiled with the quiet satisfaction of a woman whose expectations had been met by the universe.

“Again,” the blonde girl ordered.

Miriam retrieved the little ivory cube from the carpet, returned it to the shallow silver cup, and shook it between both hands. The maid had been instructed to vary the speed, angle, duration, and violence of each attempt. So far, she had demonstrated all the imagination of a bored tax clerk.

“Harder, Milly,” Seraphina ordered, feeling a little of the strain. “You are throwing dice, not soothing an infant.”

“Yes, milady,” she squeaked.

Miriam shook the cup with renewed desperation. The die clattered against the silver walls as she held it above a low table in Seraphina’s private sitting room.

The evening had brought some measure of peace back to the Spring Palace. The garden court had been scrubbed until the stones no longer showed any obvious trace of blood, though Seraphina suspected nothing short of replacing them would completely remove it. The six bodies remained displayed beyond the outer wall beneath tablets naming them as assassins, each watched over by Imperial guards.

Rumor, meanwhile, had escaped every attempt at containment.

According to the servants, Hana had been sent by the Divines. According to the gate guards, the dead men had been carrying poisoned knives. According to a kitchen girl who had not witnessed the duel at all, Fan Xiwei had transformed into a great white beast and attempted to devour Seraphina whole.

The last version was the most imaginative, and therefore likely to become the most popular, and Seraphina had decided to let all three stories grow.

After giving her account, receiving three physicians, dismissing two of them, submitting to Miriam’s furious attentions, resting, eating, and enjoying a long bath laced with jasmine and medicinal herbs, she had finally found the time to investigate the newest addition to her collection of abilities.

She had healed the worst of her injuries herself beneath the bathwater, with her own magic of Heal. Bruises were not a look that suited her.

Now she reclined upon a cushioned seat in a loose ivory robe, her short golden hair still slightly damp. Most importantly, not a single mild ache remained troubled her, but that was a small price to pay for progress.

Miriam overturned the cup. 

Before the die had entirely left the silver, possibilities opened across Seraphina’s Sight. The visions were not images in the ordinary sense. They were impressions: the die striking one corner, turning twice, clipping the raised edge of the table, losing force against the polished wood. A hundred paths unfolded and collapsed faster than conscious thought.

“Three,” Seraphina declared.

The die bounced. It then struck the table once, twice, and settled upon three.

Miriam stared at it. “Again, milady?”

“Obviously,” the young girl ordered airily, even as she burned through more Mana.

The process repeated. Seraphina declared a two, but this time, the die rolled across the table, struck a porcelain dish, changed direction, spun uncertainly, and came to rest upon one.

Seraphina’s smile vanished. Miriam, a veteran of her mistress’ moods wisely said nothing.

The new Oracle leaned forward, picked up the die, and inspected it between two fingers as though the object had knowingly betrayed her.

Cursed thing, she complained internally.

Seraphina placed the die inside the cup herself. There was something fundamentally irritating about an ability that worked almost perfectly. Near-perfection suggested that the universe understood exactly what she wanted and had chosen to withhold the final measure out of spite.

She shook the cup and watched. The die rattled inside the silver vessel, but no corridor of possibilities opened before her as she engaged her Precognition skill… or was it a spell? The thing took a variable of Mana, after all, she thought to herself. But no matter how much she attempted to focus, there were only vague pressures at the edge of perception, too faint to grasp.

The girl overturned the cup.

The moment the die emerged, the futures appeared. It struck the table, rolled beneath the lip of a folded letter, turned, and settled upon four.

“Four,” she predicted, only a fraction before it stopped.

Seraphina de Sariens was right.

Precognition did not simply hand her the future. It understood the present and then extended that understanding forward. The more complete the information, the narrower the possibilities became. When the die left the cup in full view, its angle, rotation, speed, weight, the texture of the table, and every other tiresome little fact could be gathered and turned into a prediction.

When hidden, the skill had nothing upon which to work. That made it less prophecy than an impossibly sophisticated calculation. Useful, certainly, but not divine.

“Put the screen between us,” Seraphina ordered.

The maid hurried to reposition it. Once it stood between them, Miriam sat upon the opposite side with the cup and die. Seraphina could see the lower edge of the maid’s robe, but not her hands or the table beyond.

The girl growled irritably. “Throw it.”

The die rattled. Seraphina concentrated. For several seconds, she perceived nothing. Then came the faintest suggestion of branching possibilities, so distant and indistinct that they might have been imagination. Five more attempts brought only one success and the Oracle’s irritation grew with each failure.

“Roll it toward the screen,” she ordered.

Miriam obeyed.

This time, as the die moved toward Seraphina, something changed. The possibilities sharpened. Most still ended beyond her sight, but several showed the die striking the wooden frame and passing beneath it into her side of the room.

“Three.”

The die clipped the screen, spun underneath, and settled upon three beside Seraphina’s slipper.

Interesting.

“Again, but roll it away from me.”

The answer became obscure once more.

Seraphina had Miriam repeat the experiment from different positions, throwing the die toward her, away from her, across her path, and into spaces she could not see. The results soon formed an unmistakable pattern.

When an event affected Seraphina directly, Precognition answered with eager clarity. When it occurred close enough for her senses to understand, it answered reasonably well. When it took place beyond her immediate surroundings and had no direct consequence for her, the skill became stubborn, vague, and almost useless. It was, she thought bitterly, an extraordinarily self-centered form of divination.

Which meant that the universe was trying to either tell her something, or was trying to mock her. This, she most certainly did not find amusing.

“Stand near the door,” Seraphina commanded.

Miriam gathered the die and cup and retreated across the chamber perhaps five paces.

“Throw it toward me.”

The die left the cup. Nothing. Then, as it bounced closer, possibilities suddenly unfolded. The die struck the carpet, lost most of its momentum, and rolled toward the leg of the table.

“Six.”

It settled upon six less than two meters away.

“Again. From farther back.”

Miriam opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A pair of guards standing outside looked toward her in confusion but wisely made no inquiry.

The cup rattled, and the die came through the doorway.

For the first several feet, Seraphina perceived nothing. Then the little cube crossed some invisible threshold and its paths burst into existence. It might strike the threshold, turn beneath the chair, collide with her slipper, or stop near the edge of the carpet.

The young girl called it correctly, and she continued the experiment a few more times. While she did this, Seraphina moved around the room, measuring the distance by eye. Two meters worked reliably. Three, perhaps, if she concentrated and the event concerned her. Beyond that, the future became nothing but fog.

A powerful combat skill, but a rather mediocre instrument for ruling the world.

Her mother’s Sight could search across mountains, borders, oceans, and years. Anaselena could ask where a missing person had gone, whether an army would cross a river, or which among a dozen seemingly unconnected choices would lead to disaster. How her powers worked exactly was a mystery even to Seraphina, but, even so, she could actively reach for the future.

Seraphina’s version waited passively until the future came within stabbing distance. “How disappointing,” she murmured.

Miriam picked up the die. “You predicted twenty-three throws correctly.”

“Out of twenty-six.”

“That is better than… what would be expected milady,” the maid commented tentatively.

“It is not the accuracy that troubles me. It is the scope. And, this headache,” Seraphina replied with a shake of her head even as she quaffed down a Mana potion that tasted of mint and blueberries.

She looked toward the open doors. “Come, Milly. We require something less cooperative than a die.”

***

They went to Spike at the stables of the Spring Palace. Despite his belligerent nature, which Seraphina attributed to growing pains, he had behaved himself so far.

The Unicorn stood beneath the moonlight with his forest-colored hide brushed clean and his great spiraled horn gleaming faintly. His eyes opened as Seraphina approached, and the violent “intelligence” behind them sharpened with immediate interest.

A pair of sleepy, but now very nervous stablehands stood well beyond the reach of his teeth. They had, it seemed, learned quickly.

This is not wise! The young noblewoman heard from Miriam’s thoughts.

Oh do stop being such a worrywort, Seraphina shot back.

Spike lowered his head. Mistress, Seraphina picked up through the Beast Lore amulet. Kill? Eat?

“Neither,” Seraphina replied.

His ears flattened in response.

She entered the court and handed her outer robe to Miriam. Beneath it, she wore a simple fitted under-robe, trousers, and soft boots. 

The Unicorn watched her with growing anticipation. His tail lashed once behind him.

“Swing your horn at me.”

Spike’s mouth opened, revealing his carnivorous teeth. Yes.

“Not hard enough to kill me,” she commanded sternly.

His enthusiasm diminished. Perhaps kill a little?

“No. But, try to strike me.”

Spike lunged without warning, but Precognition opened instantly. Seraphina saw the movement before his forelegs had fully driven him forward. His head would swing from right to left, the horn crossing the space where her ribs presently rested. She stepped backward and turned her body. The horn passed less than a handspan from her under-robe.

Spike wheeled, delighted. Again!

He thrust directly this time and the possibilities unfolded in clean lines. Seraphina moved left. His horn passed beside her shoulder.

Again, the blonde girl demanded.

Spike snapped at her instead.

That future arrived clearly. She leaned away from his teeth and struck him lightly across the nose with an open hand.

You have learned Dodge (lvl.5)

No biting, she warned, secretly pleased.

His ears folded backward, but his thoughts remained full of predatory joy. Spike came again, first with the horn, then with a stamping forehoof. Seraphina avoided both with almost contemptuous ease. The moment the attack became relevant to her survival, the skill seized upon every available fragment of the present and constructed the futures that followed.

“Move farther away,” she commanded.

Spike snorted dramatically in response.

Seraphina retreated until perhaps twenty meters separated them.

She looked at her pet and nodded. Again.

The Unicorn charged, and at first, nothing happened. Then as he crossed within three meters, the possibilities exploded across her vision. The delay was small, perhaps less than a heartbeat, but unmistakable. Seraphina stepped aside as Spike drove past her, his horn tearing through the empty air where her chest had been.

“Stop!” she cried, clutching her head.

Spike arrested the follow-up blow he had been preparing, and an expression that might almost have passed for concern crossed his equine features.

Spike win? he asked with unbridled delight.

“Yes, darling. You win.” Seraphina managed a weak smile and gestured toward Miriam, who handed her a Mana potion before offering the enthusiastic unicorn a large root vegetable as his reward.

The drain upon her reserves was immense.

Every skill began as something weak, clumsy, and disappointing. Through practice, intelligence, and relentless application, it could be shaped into something greater. One day, she swore, she would equal her mother.

That was true of magic, but it was no less true of people.