The East Garden
Midday on the 65th of Roalis, 2719
"I have made rather sweeping assumptions about Anaxi ignorance to the supernatural, or at least their scientific dismissal of such things." Ezre murmured, still very puzzled about the seemingly entwined lives of what appeared to be two ghosts, perhaps more. Us. The weeping, more effeminate voice had said us. This disturbed the Hexxos greatly, for he had never encountered such a gathering of such spiritual proportions outside of the small conclave of raen who'd willingly found their way into Kzecka over the centuries. Ghosts were not supposed to have so much free will. Ghosts were just imprints. Fragmented memories so strongly burned into the leyfabric of existence that parts of their previous existence continued to play itself out in the material world long after their bodies had ceased functioning. Were they sentient? Were they more powerful than previously studied?
The Hoxian had so many questions, gritting his teeth as he curled inked fingers into the unkempt ground, tearing out grass and digging through thick roots to expose dry, summer-baked earth in a circle the width of two breadths of his palms, maybe three. He did finally pause to wipe his hands on the bright fabric of his wide, flowing pants without any apparent concern for the mess he made of them,
"I do not expect anyone but perhaps the Clairvoyance professors or maybe the Clairvoyant chair to believe us. Even then, what would you say? If they have not closed the East Garden and dealt with the ghosts in all of this time, given their surprising power, I do not see them stepping into it now. It is alright. I do believe that we can come up with a solution, but more research is necessary. It is my duty to at least make an attempt." He added in calm response to the not-Incumbent's verbal way of processing their most recent experience. The dark-haired boy's pulse still thrummed rapidly against his temples and his heart fluttered against sweaty, tattooed skin. He cleared the circle, the small plot, balanced in a well-practiced squat on the ground, feeling the heat of Roalis settle on his shoulders and attempt to drag him into even more of a hunch than he wanted.
He had missed the crisp mountain chill of his homeland. Anaxas was oppressive on so many different fronts.
Glancing back up toward the hedgerow, he exhaled a slow breath and released his hold on the ward they'd cast together, feeling the tingle dance over his skin and blinking at the brief shift of pressure that made his ears feel like they were popping. It left them vulnerable, but the shadowy manifestation had left them alone for now and the Hoxian was willing to take the risk of concluding that particular ghost did not leave the hedgerow much, if at all. Once one hand failed to find the knife on his person, he reached up to Tom, studying the borrowed galdor body's face, arching an eyebrow in his wordless request,
"The evidence I found in the Crypts and my encounters there have, for the most part, spoken of a woefully unprepared Everine when it comes to handling restless spirits." Ezre offered in his otherwise even tone of voice, eyes widening for a moment while the raen made a smooth, well-practiced motion of reversing his grip on the student's folding blade. Tom's connection to his former life was so palpably strong that for a moment, the Hexxos sort of hovered there, staring, drifting into a tangent of thought and observation, only to be interrupted by the glint of the summer sun off the metal, bright and sharp,
"Not to say I am yet a superior option, but I have experience, awareness, and resources they do not. I have confidence in our effectiveness versus doubts about how much trust to put in academic faculty and staff." The young Guide quickly made sure to point out his own lack of extensive experience with a surprising inflection of self-deprecation in his tone, bringing his fingers up to curl around the handle gently with a careful awareness of the other man's grip.
He paused, sharp edge left in the space between them for longer than would have otherwise been considered necessary, and smiled gently at Tom's question. Ezre had not missed the glance to his palm and that self-awareness blossomed in his expression as a faltering in his delicate features and a hard swallow, but there was not a hint of shame or hesitance in his tone, "Zjai. You can write Monite, can you not? We have cast together once now—I think we can do it again with continued success."
He had heard Tom speak it now, felt the raen cast with a bit of honest excitement he knew he had to keep to himself. Drawing his knife away from the other man's hand, he didn't immediately make a move to close it and tuck it away. Instead, he shifted, scooting a little to one side and making room for the not-Incumbent to move closer, indicating with a tilt of his head that he could join the Hexxos around the small circle he'd made in the dirt.
Ezre had dropped his small, portable aquamancy kit, leaving it in the hedge maze in his surprise and now much to his disappointment. He did not have another suitable container on his person and his jaw clenched while he mulled through spell options,
"You have an idea of my intentions—" Smirked the dark-haired boy knowingly, making a motion with his free hand to curl it into a cup and indicating with a nod of his head for Tom to do that for him, "—hold out your hand for me, please. Like this. This is unconventional magic for an unconventional situation, but I do not think you are uncomfortable with the site of blood, are you, Cooke-vumash?"
Pure mischief, that brief twinkle of wisdom someone his age should not posses that reflected in the shadowy pools of his eyes and flickered over his usually less than expressive face. It wasn't with a politician's grace that the once-human had handed him his knife back, after all. Ezre, true to his Hoxian heritage, did not apologize for the direct question whatsoever.
If the raen complied, he would make a fist with the hand he'd used as an example, opening and closing tattooed fingers a few times and resting the knife on one of his knees with practiced ease while he balanced and rolled up his wide, voluminous, and brightly-dyed sleeve, explaining as he did so,
"It is widely disputed that all monic energies are merely channeled through the ley lines of magical beings such as galdori and, to some lesser extent, wicks when spells are cast. My people in Hox have over the centuries often attempted to prove that the mona flows through all of a body, through all things, just in more powerful ways through ley lines than, say, through blood. While it is an important part of our physical life force, it is clearly not the whole of our being—you are proof of that."
It was without wincing that Ezre sliced his hand, the motion uncomfortably well-practiced. He probably could have wiped the blade first, aware it had been used to cut possessed rose stems, but perhaps he made a risky, conscious decision not to. Perhaps he wanted all of whatever that was mixed in there, too, whether under his own skin or dripping hot and fresh and red into Tom's waiting hand,
"Some parts of Clairvoyant conversation are strange in that many wards do not require an everspell or upkeep, depending on the situation. They are not permanent like Brunnhold's protections are permanent, but we can walk away and know there is a small barrier for a short period of time because Clairvoyant mona seems to move differently than others. The simple scrystone is another example—ah—"
He curled his cut hand and squeezed, finally hissing in discomfort, but quite determined to gather enough for the writing he seemed to have planned for the small plot he'd created. The Hexxos held his knife loosely, looking down at it as he attempted to decide whether or not to close it instead of staring at the steady drops of his own life force pooling slowly,
"—normally, I would have water also, but I was a bit, well, uh, surprised by, uh, contact. Or whatever that was. Clairvoyance is not normally such a physical magic." Ezre's voice wavered, revealing both his still-present surprise and his now-passed fear that had been in that moment. Tilting the blade to catch the sun, he looked to what was collecting in Tom's hand as if judging whether or not it was sufficient, "We will make do, I suppose, for it is not my place to request your contribution. Not that I am not curious."
Was Anatole's blood different because it was a body now kept alive by someone else's soul? There was, obviously, no science on such a thought. The Hexxos Guide doubted even the Carriers of the Dead had spent much time on the study of such things, though perhaps his umah had her own thoughts on the matter as far as he son was concerned. All of this was uncharted territory and what Ezre lacked in experience, he more than made up for with insatiable curiosity and indomitable interest in fixing what he saw as broken,
"Unless you are willing to volunteer, of course."