I shrugged. “I don’t, either. I’m only half human, and the whole of me was very much born with a silver spoon stuck in – well, every orifice, truthfully.”
Thoth chuckled. “What a horrible, yet grotesquely humorous notion. Here,” he said, reaching out to take Dantaleon from my grasp. “Perhaps this will help your mentor recover his energies sooner.”
I hesitated, but turned the book over. Thoth didn’t even take a peek between the covers. He carefully placed Dantaleon on a desk at the center of the oasis, one that looked very much like a pedestal, or a lectern. Nothing happened, but I imagined that the proximity to all this ancient knowledge would help revivify his powers.
And speaking of revivification?
“I don’t mean to be so presumptuous,” I said, “but I do need your help, too. Something about the way my magic works means that I need books to fuel my power. If you could lend me just a few of your tomes – I mean, I swear I’ll return them just as soon as things are better for me – ”
Thoth held up one hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Ah, yes. About that. I am glad that you thought to mention it yourself.” He folded his hands behind him. “I have brought you here to tell you that I cannot help you.”
My heart skipped, my mouth falling open in disbelief. “Sorry. You what?”
Thoth slashed his hand through thin air, and the sun fell below the horizon, replaced by a huge moon. The world around us turned silver, the oasis itself transforming as the endless rows of bookcases began sinking into the sand.
“No,” I said, hurling myself stupidly at the ground as the closest shelf slipped under, leaving nothing but dunes. My shoes filled with sand, grit grinding into my palms and my knees. I hadn’t known I was so starved for magic. I hadn’t realized I was so desperate.
The sand was hot between my fingers, a reminder of my favorite spell. Fire, pure and simple, burns everything, a demon mage’s first line of defense, and the first element I ever learned to command. Nothing can match the feeling of putting your open hand against someone’s chest or face, triggering a blast of fire magic, and watching your problems literally melt away.
And now? I could produce wisps, at best. Swamp gas. Blasted farts.
“Your problem, princeling, lies in the fact that you have grown so dependent on your innate talents.”
“Then teach me,” I said, surprised at the words falling from my own mouth, knowing how much I complained all those bitter years about the mind-dulling routine of Dantaleon’s daily lectures. Maybe this time would be different. What wonders could I learn from an actual god of magic? “Please. Teach me.”
Thoth laughed. “There is nothing more I could possibly teach you. That mentor of yours shouldn’t be taken for granted. He knows much. And quite crucially, he knows that there is more to an arcane education than simply stockpiling a collection of books.” He smiled, spreading his arms out at the empty desert around us. “I realize this must sound very strange, coming from someone who loves books of magic quite this much.”
I frowned at him. “So you know about the Inscription.”
Thoth shrugged. “Enough to know that you’ve grown too complacent and comfortable, and now that it’s been taken from you, you’re flailing like a fish out of water. Grounded, like a bird with clipped wings.”
My fingers raked into the sand as they formed a fist. “That’s annoyingly accurate,” I muttered.
“The god is correct,” said Dantaleon, his voice even more crackly and raspy than normal as he shuddered on Thoth’s desk. “What have I told you all these years, Quilliam? Your gift of Inscription and your knowledge of magic are separate. One should complement the other. Instead you grew too dependent on your precious Repository. And what do you have to show for it? A fire spell, and a shield spell.”
I dug furrows into the sand with my fingers, forming a line between me and the two wiser, certainly older magicians haranguing me. They were right. Being able to call on my books meant that I had little reason to memorize the spells within. I’d gotten along just fine on Ignis and Arma, knowing that the rest of my arsenal was just a whisper away.
But now I was hamstrung, no better than a hedge witch, or a carnival illusionist. I folded my legs up underneath me, sulking, perfectly aware that I looked very much like a child on the beach being told things that he knows are right, and true.
It just wasn’t easy to hear.
Dantaleon gave a cough – pretend for a moment that this makes sense given the absence of lungs, or a mouth – and he ruffled his pages like some odd, wrinkly bird. He hovered off of Thoth’s desk, spreading his cover open as he turned to face the god.
“Normally, I would be horrified to confess that a demon of my stature would ever require aid from an entity of earth. But I am infernal, not amoral.” He lowered himself to Thoth’s waist level, Dantaleon’s version, I realized, of a reverent bow. “I thank you for your assistance.”
Thoth smirked at him, adjusted his glasses, then bowed his head in return. “Despite your thinly veiled insults, you are most welcome, most unholy sorcerer of the prime hell of Lust.”
“You flatter me,” Dantaleon said, sniffing as he flew back to eye level. “Then if we are quite finished here, my protege and I will take our leave. Perhaps one of these days prejudices and protocol will loosen between us, and we might even exchange fragments of our knowledge.”
Thoth’s eyes flitted to me briefly, then back to Dantaleon. “I look forward to this remarkable and most unlikely of occasions.”
I followed Dantaleon as he drifted towards the door, dusting the sand off of my pants.
“Be sure to shut the door behind you,” Thoth said.
