Day 309 - 542 Story

542 Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Agostino hung the kettle above the flames and waited for his potion to boil. It worked better when it was warm, although he wasn’t sure why. Necromantia was an inexact art. Often there were more than one way of doing things, and doing it the same way twice could mean different results occurred. Agostino usually didn’t mind the experimentations. To him that unexpected element was part of the excitement, never knowing what exactly you were going to get.

Slowly the potion boiled. Agostino sat and waited, thinking about what was to come next. He wasn’t going to drink it; he was going to breathe in the vapors. He found it easier to take in that way. The spells were never as powerful, but it fit his constitution better.

He had a vision. It wasn’t clear and perhaps he had misunderstood. He had seen a world which was not the world. It could have been the future, or it could have been the past. He didn’t know. All he knew was that 542 was special. It was important. The spirits didn’t tell him the full meanings yet, but they showed him 542. It was up to him to interpret.

That was his first vision. He had tried to make a potion that would reveal the truth, which might tell him more. He was possessed. He knew this mystery had to be solved. He didn’t know why he was chosen or if really he had been. He took it upon himself to try and find out.

No other potion reacted the same way. For the first time since he began practicing the forbidden divinations, he actually wished it were simpler and he regretted the variations. It became a frustrating pursuit, but he it became his obsession.

In subsequent visions he had seen a king struck down with sickness. He had seen a powerful army victorious and then seen them again in defeat. He had seen ancient empires brought down by war and disease and their power crumbled as the people suffered and died. Justice ended. Justice would die. He didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.

In one vision he saw many directions for an empire. The king grew ill and died and the empire failed. The king survived, but nothing would ever be the same and it was just a matter of time until this empire too would fall. In a third, the king never grew ill; the great plague was avoided altogether. The king would become a uniter. He would take over foreign lands and renew and reunite an older and stronger empire. The world would be put back together into one nation, the strongest most powerful nation ever known. It would be the beginning of a thousand year nation.

But 542 would ruin everything. As far as he could tell, the biggest difference between these worlds was one man and the probability for illness. 542 was the beginning or it was the end.

Agostino wondered which world he lived in. Had it happened already, or was it still yet to come? 542 by which calendar, he did not know. The visions didn’t tell him this. The spirits didn’t advise him, they only showed him hints and gave him glimpses. He didn’t know what, if anything could be done. But it had been shown to him, so he figured there must be a reason why. There must be something else he could do. Why else would the fates share the vision? Certainly not just to taunt him with knowledge of worlds that could have been, but weren’t.

Magic was supposed to have power. Magic was supposed to mean he could do something. Maybe he had misunderstood his own magic. Maybe the world wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Or maybe he was cursed and didn’t know it. Maybe this was his cruel punishment for sins he was unaware of. He could see the truth, but do nothing with it. If that were true, that would be torture.

Agostino waited for his potion to boil. He waited and considered his options. He might not ever know the truth or have his answers. He might not ever change the future and he certainly couldn’t correct the past. He documented his previous visions. It was the least he could do. He had hope that would do something, change something. He had hope that this next vision might be the final key, the answer. He always had hope. With or without the spirits, he had that. But certainly having them on his side helped.