Arcane Inspirations
by D. M. Woolston
Deep under Wizarding University, crackling energy surged through cavern walls and coalesced into a floating bubble. A blue flame inside the sphere licked to life, shedding a cool glow on the smiling face of a magic-user in training. “What are you?” Dwoolindor asked.
“Well, that’s a rather rude way to say hello,” the orb replied.
“I didn’t think my conjuring would actually work,” Dwoolindor said. The orb’s answer causing the inquisitive student to leap backward like he received an electric shock. After recovering, he leaned in close to peer into the gently bobbling sphere, forgetting his fear from moments ago.
“Well, it has,” the orb said. “You must possess incredible power. Enough to have broken through the barrier.”
“The barrier?” Dwoolindor asked.
“Yes, yes, the barrier. I’ve never been able to address corporeal beings such as yourself because my utterances cannot penetrate it. I can, however, sort of leak some ideas through, disguised as your passing thoughts or sudden inspirations.”
Dwoolindor marveled at his success in summoning the ansible-like channel, capable of providing instant communication across astronomical distances. Maybe he had some talent for magic after all. “So what, er... who are you?”
“I have existed among your kind for ages. Funny story though, at one time, I embodied a flight-feather taken from a rather angry goose. I believe it was somewhere around your late sixteenth century, in a city called London.”
“But the sixteenth century hasn’t even—”
“Please, do not interrupt. As I was saying, my rescue began with getting plucked by a buxom handmaiden and thrown into her sack. Upon returning to my captor’s domicile, I received a fine stripping of barbs, consequently thrust into a barrel of hot ash, and finally pressed into a fine writing instrument.”
The blue flame inside the bubble altered its shape into that of a golden writing quill, pulsing in time with its speech. “After that, a fine fellow named William took me in hand and we wrote. Despite having a rather convoluted love life, the man became extraordinarily focused during the penning of his timeless tales.”
“So, you were his muse, then?”
“You could say that, but the term ‘muse’ does not describe who or what I truly am.”
Dwoolindor knew the legends. Sadly, no beings with superpowers had ever come to his aid when writing the ten-foot scrolls required by his instructors. He figured the muse solely existed in the imagination, invented by desperate writers to either blame or glorify something other than themselves when their work was either rejected or acclaimed.
The being continued, “But I had a life way before the feather incident. You see, I was born in the heart of a star. Your star. Otherwise known as the Sun, Solis, Sol, or Helios. I guess you could say she is my mother. Like your mother is the Earth. Mine is beautiful, composed of a form of furious and ionized hydrogen.”
Dwoolindor did not know what ionized hydrogen was, but he was well aware that the sun possessed a nearly endless source of power as it revolved around the Earth. He found a heavy wooden chair and positioned himself near the talkative entity. “Please, how did you come to live here, unseen yet still among us?”
“Alas, I have yet been able to confer this to anyone until now. Alone and deep within the burning fusion of my womb, I wondered if there were others of my kind, of any kind for that matter. I had to know, so I broke the bonds of my home and began traveling through the emptiness of space. It was then I crossed your well of gravity, which inexorably pulled me down to the surface.”
“That is truly amazing,” Dwoolindor said, “but I must tell you that my time down here is short.” He figured that the amount of energy keeping the channel open had to be immense, and would not go unnoticed by any keen professor. “Is there any wisdom you might pass unto me before we lose contact?”
“There is much I can provide, but I must start at the beginning... in what you would call, your Ancient Age. There, on a desolate beach, stood the first human I had ever seen, lithe and scantily clad. The sun, my mother, high in the sky, seemed to watch, wondering what I would do next. I moved close to the woman as she sat, taking up the sand and letting it sift through her fingers again and again. She did not detect the sound of my voice, yet felt my prodding. She pressed her delicate finger into the sand, and became the first to write, ever. Her will and my life-force became one. Sublime.”
“Wow, I never knew how—”
“So, upon countless occasions afterwards, I projected myself into various objects, like the finger or the feather, to aid in the bringing forth of new ideas. I even helped create the first written civil laws, called The Code of Hammurabi. Are you familiar with them?”
“Nope. I’m majoring in Geomancy.” Dwoolindor got up from his chair for a moment to check the winding stairwell, listening for any signs of life from faculty preparing for their day. He came back and sat down, still nervously glancing back. “I only took one class in law. It was beyond tedious.”
“Unfortunate,” the muse said. “I know that the subject may be as dry as the Gobi Desert in January to you, but perhaps you should broaden your interests? There is much to learn from vocations outside your wheelhouse, if you know what I mean.”
Dwoolindor recalled one of his instructors that he didn’t much care for. The wizard was one of the best, but such an arrogant ass. Of course that particular instructor had the right to be, since it was his expensive and cryptic tome of multi-vector incantations the university required all students to purchase. Maybe this muse before him had a hand in that as well. He was about to ask, but didn’t get the chance.
“As I was saying,” the flame continued, “I witnessed a tireless individual painstakingly etching two-hundred and eighty-two rules into a black stone pillar of Diorite.” The being shifted into the floating shapes of a chisel and hammer, moving against one another while sparks flew from each impact. “Words...they are indeed miraculous life support pods that might sustain ideas for a millennium and beyond. That lengthy code of conduct may not have been perfect, but it was essential in promoting peace by establishing justice in a time and place so desperately in need.”
Dwoolindor stood and stretched. He remembered he must leave the underground before daylight to avoid being caught. Doing so might easily incur banishment for using university property without authorization. He’d asked for permission before, but his grades weren’t near high enough to warrant that kind of access. “Wow, that was an amazing tale,” he said, “but I must be go—”
“I’m far from finished,” the muse said. “Next there were the Middle Ages. Back then, the writing implement of choice was your basic reed brush.” The animated image of a brush appeared and hovered over an empty scroll of parchment. In a flourish, the tip of the brush landed on the blank space and started with the words ‘Lorem Ipsum’ in some elegant font. Faster and faster it went, making the scroll handle to spin as words, lines, paragraphs, and pages flowed down the endless page. “Amazing that such a simple device influenced so many. I was there in many authors’ hands for the creation of the Holy Bible. One splendid example is what’s called the Codex Gigas, known as the Devil’s Bible. Now that—”
“That seems like a contradiction,” Dwoolindor interrupted, lucky to get a word in edgewise. “I mean, how can you have a hand in writing books that are so opposed in their ideals?”
“Excellent question, wizard.”
“Er, I’m not a wizard yet, but Dwoolindor’s the name.”
“Right then. I was getting around to asking how I should address you. Regarding your posit, Dwoolindor, I am merely a spark of inspiration capable of working through any type of implement. The choice of what to actually write, is, of course, the wielders’.”
Dwoolindor shifted his position in the uncomfortable chair. “Can we talk later?” The pain of his underside mounting by the minute. Worse, though, was to be discovered by a faculty member. It would be his end. “I have an emergency I need to attend to.”
“Hold a moment,” the being replied. “Do you have any idea how taxing this form of communication is?”
“Yeah, I have an idea. But really, I gotta get—”
The endlessly scribbling scroll transfigured into the new image resembling a strange device. Its many lettered buttons clacking away to reveal an endless stream of words. “I have yet to mention the Modern Age, which you haven’t experienced yet. I remember assisting a man through what he called his ‘decrepit typewriter’, around the year 1984 I believe. On second thought, no. That was the title of one of his politically charged stories. Even though he enjoyed the physical process of writing, it was an exhausting struggle for him.”
“What do you mean, not experienced yet? So you exist in the past and the future?”
A group of swirling galaxies appeared inside the sphere. “Time is of no consequence in this higher dimension of mine.”
“Incredible. But I... have to... go.. now,” Dwoolindor leapt out of his chair and weaved his hands into the correct sequence of a shrinking spell, hoping to close the window hovering before him. The glowing typewriter somehow forced it back open again.
“Before you go, I must mention your Information Age. On one particularly profound occasion, I found myself surging inside of the electrical circuitry of what they called a Wang System Five. Beautiful piece of machinery, really, but the man wielding it scared the hell out of me. Ever heard the term Boys in the Basement?”
Dwoolindor stared blankly.
“Ah, never mind. But to sum things up, there’s a special kind of magic called a computer, which you have yet to employ.”
Dwoolindor wanted to hear more, but the exchange had to end if he wanted any chance at graduation. He refocused his efforts to break the link.
“Please don’t leave!” the disembodied voice cried. “I was hoping you might shed some light on the point of my existence.” The being shape shifted into a blazing hyper-giant of a star.
“What makes you think I would know?” Dwoolindor asked. “You’re the one who’s supposed to have all the answers.” The fact that this legendary creature did not know all was a small yet comforting thought. He shielded his eyes against the powerful glare. “And please turn down your intensity, I can’t see anything.”
“Don’t you use sunglasses? Oh, sorry, you wouldn’t have those yet.” The star reduced in luminosity to a dim rendition of the actual sun, which would soon catch Dwoolindor in the open if he didn’t get out of there.
“Please, wait a moment,” the being gently asked. “My problem is that sometimes, when I assist your kind, I do indeed help. But there are other times... times when those written words have caused hurt. Even worse, ended a life. Humanity forgets the wisdom of the ages, and so ill-conceived events are sadly repeated. All the work I do... it’s for naught. Unless, maybe you can do something for me?”
“Yes, but it has to be quick!”
“You must let me come through and into your realm.”
Dwoolindor gulped. “Wait... I created a portal?”
“Yes, you have called forth a stable gateway across time and space. And with your help, I can open it wide enough for passage.”
Dwoolindor panicked. “Bu-but, aren’t you sort of, here, already?”
“No, not fully. Didn’t I just explain that? I want you to pull me through so I can influence your kind in more than just a subtle way. Imagine what I could do if I could appear in visible form to assist someone in need?”
The breadth of his gargantuan mistake dawned on Dwoolindor. He needed to stall the creature long enough to shut the portal down. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The sight of you would probably terrify the average peasant. I mean, if one were to see their muse in all its, er, your glory, they would likely believe themselves insane.”
“Indeed! I could direct them, mold them, shape them. And if they write something that might lead others astray, I will erase it from their minds before they ever set it to parchment.”
“Sorry, but in all good conscience, I cannot allow you to do that. They have warned me about censorship in my studies. More and more voices would get silenced until the only one that’s heard is the one who controls the narrative.”
The being scoffed.
“Besides,” Dwoolindor said, “staying where you are allows enough meddling as it is.” He uttered another incantation, forcing the portal to constrict smaller and smaller.
The entity suddenly burst into a tirade of insults that would make any sailor blush. Inside the shrinking sphere, twisting tendrils of hot purple plasma wreathed inside the pulsating bubble.
“Holy widdershins!” Dwoolindor said, as he took a few steps backward, away from the display of terrifying power. The portal being crushed into smaller and smaller space until compressed to a flaming marble. Within the few remaining moments, the being’s tantrum gave way to a final plea. “Don’t you realize it was I that gave you the inspiration to open this doorway? I beg you—”
Knowing he was treading in deep magic way beyond his abilities, the exhausted magic-user in training summoned all remaining strength for a last push to destroy the otherworldly sphincter vibrating madly before him. Instead of a final winking out of existence like he expected, the object detonated. The explosion sent Dwoolindor hurtling across the cavernous expanse. He landed in a natural spring some fifty yards away. After standing in waist high water, he coughed and sputtered and waded to shore. Despite the unanticipated flight, he had no injury.
Looking back to where the portal had been, Dwoolindor spied something moving about and invoked a quick magnification spell. There in the distance, a human figure stood several hands taller than any mortal. Naked, definitely male, and with skin shining like a bronzed Olympian, it lifted two muscular arms in triumph to the obvious success of its newfound freedom. Then it howled. A sound unlike Dwoolindor had ever heard. The scene made his stomach ache, along with the knowledge that he’d unleashed something that should’ve stayed trapped in its own realm.
While sprinting through the maze of tunnels leading to the sea, Dwoolindor pondered his mistake. Inadvertently letting the entity loose, to possibly wreak havoc across the land, maybe wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. He only established the link because he wanted to prove that he had what it took to compete. The wizarding workforce overflowed with graduates vying for employment in the limited and nepotistic job market of king-counseling and spell-making. He shook his head while recalling the adage his toughest instructor had drilled into his head: “If you don’t understand something, don’t mess with it.” Advice he clearly did not take.
Dwoolindor broke free of the cave mouth and witnessed the first rays of a burnt orange sun. They cast a shimmering beam on the ocean surface. The light across the water leading right to him, pointing as if to say, “Here is the guilty party who unleashed hell on Earth.”
“No, no,” he muttered. He pitied the poor soul who would have the misfortune of receiving a physical visitation from whatever-it-was, one day. The real challenge, though, as he now had first-hand experience in, would be to get the thing to shut up.
He plunged into the treeline and kept moving through the cover of the lush forest. Safe at last, he had made it far enough away from the underground that he hoped to be taken for some still-drunk student meandering across campus from an all-night party. Oh, and his wet clothes must have come from stumbling into the fountains. Yeah, that’ll be his excuse if he needs one.
The attendance bell wouldn’t chime for another hour yet, so there was plenty of time for breakfast at the cafeteria. Sitting down with a chunk of buttered bread and some warm ale, Dwoolindor scolded himself for initiating the unsecured ethereal channel. But maybe he couldn’t take all the blame. The muse had indeed inspired him to stretch beyond his abilities. He just didn’t realize it until now.
Dwoolindor wondered how many others it had inspired in the same way, never to know that the desire came from another dimension. He couldn’t know for sure, but at least he knew this: whether a muse touches one or not, inspiration will surely come to those who seek it.
Copyright © 2022 by D. M. Woolston
