Chapter 75: The Contents of the Grimoire
“It’s… it’s a mysterious script from the East,” I said, forcing a dry laugh. “The whispers… they taught it to me.” It was becoming my standard explanation for everything impossible. Don’t ask. The whispers did it.
“Oh,” Jared said, nodding slowly. He had no other frame of reference, no other way to explain it. The Parula he knew was an illiterate street urchin. This new Parula, who was suddenly filled with strange knowledge, could only be the work of some supernatural influence. This child from the slums had absolutely no opportunity to learn or read novels. Or, it could be said that even if he did, the literature of this era had not yet reached that level of development. His imagination, starved by a life of poverty, couldn't conceive of something as outlandish as transmigration. He just saw a girl who had been changed by a sickness, who now knew things she shouldn't.
“So, what does it say?” he asked, peering at the strange, elegant characters I had drawn on the floor. To him, my Chinese script was even more alien than the ancient text in the book.
“I’m trying to translate the titles first,” I explained. “If I’m right, these are the names of the spells. If I can match the names to what we saw, I can begin to understand.” I worked slowly, listing out the possible meanings for each symbol, writing them in the dust with the charred stick, trying to find the combinations that made the most sense.
“Have you figured anything out?” Jared asked, his voice filled with an impatient, boyish excitement.
“A little,” I said, pointing to the grimoire. “The first six complete pages… I think they each describe a single spell. Life Drain. Poison Cloud. Demon Fire. Stone to Mud. The Unseen Hand. And… Necromancy.” I could match the first five to the horrors I had witnessed at the execution square. The last one, Necromancy… it had a grim, final sound to it. The witch hadn't used it, likely because she hadn't had the necessary… materials. I had no desire to learn a spell that dealt with the dead. The others, however… they were powerful, terrifyingly so. They were a path to survival.
“What about the other two pages?” Jared asked, pointing to the incomplete sheets. One was a rubbing that was only half-finished, the bottom of the page a meaningless blur. The other had been torn in half vertically.
“This one,” I said, pointing to the blurred page, “is about alchemy. Potions. The first line reads… Potion, Spirit Cat. Or, Spirit Cat Potion.” The word for "potion" appeared several times on the page, so I was confident in my translation.
“And the other one?” he asked, gesturing to the torn page.
“A spell,” I said with a sigh of frustration. “Something called… Guardian of the Veil, maybe? Or Shadow Servant. It’s useless. Half of it is missing.”
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