"An 'in-your-eyes' story, seen through the eyes of Abram Wintersmith"
by Kevin Corcoran

"Well its not like I have to worry about my sanity." you mumble to no one in particular. Suddenly you reach what to most would appear to be a dead end. The landmark stone and brick surface of the New York Public Library's most impressive building spreads out before you. Turning to one side, you tug at the grate in the street. A blast of warm air flows past you as you enter into the service corridor of the forced air heating system.

You pull a small map out of your pocket. Following its instructions, you think back to the odd message that accompanied it. It was only slightly more ambiguous than usual, and if it wasn't for the fact that he decided to make it explode into flame after you had finished reading it, you would have told him to wait until you got about a hundred winks of sleep in.

As you approach the end of your walk, you look up and speak to the silence, knowing he can hear you. "A little over dramatic on the note dontcha' think? If I had read it at work, I could be talking to the ATF right now!"

Lowering your voice to a more conspiriational tone you whisper to the shadows, "Whenever he gets excited, he gets dramatic, never fails."

In answer, you hear the echoing reply, "Curiosity draws more crowds than information. Just ask P.T. Barnum."

You turn the final corner and come face to face with the broad carnivore's muzzle of face that would belong in the wilds of Africa rather than the subterranean depths of the NYPL.

"Hello," grinned SpotWeld, his hyena face smiling it usual smirk. "Glad you could make it. I think I may have figured out something of interest. Go ahead sit down at the table; I'll get everything assembled."

He gestures across the room to an odd collection of maps and globes that he has collected in one corner of his jumble of gadgets and tools that he has squirreled away in his 'nest'. He turns his back to you and begins to sort through a haphazard pile of notes and diagrams in a file cabinet that appears to be the two better halves of some rusted office desks welded together.

You walk over to the indicated area, ducking a few hanging models of the solar system, space station Mir, and the U.S.S. Nighthawk. As you sit in the chair, you gaze at the central item on the desk before you. At a glance, it appears to be a normal globe of the earth, but upon closer inspection you note a large number of hand (paw?) drawn lines curling in an almost crazy-quilt pattern of loops and whorls. Tracing your finger along one of them, you note that they do not pass through any particular landmarks or cities in particular. Instead it meanders around the world, swooping over the ocean, curving to pass through a lonely part of the Sahara desert, and losing itself in a erratic series of insane spirals near Hoboken.

Dragging a nearly collapsing classroom chalk board behind him, SpotWeld returns. "Don't go cross-eyed on me now. I want you to hear all this. It is very interesting" he retorts, noting the puzzled expression on your face. "Okay, first things first. I know you're familiar with Modernism. Heck, you're the guy who introduced it to me!" Snapping his fingers, a green glow sparks over his clawtips. Extending his arm, he taps the globe before you, causing the odd swirls to shimmer to life before your very eyes. "I've always been a sucker for visual aids. Now watch your head!" he chuckles.

Turning to the board, he draws your attention to the maps he has posted there. In front of you are two large projections of the world. The upper one you recognize from high school science. In addition to the usual topographical and geographical markings, there is a series of nearly parallel lines denoting the lines of magnetic force around the earth. The other is covered in a series of shaded regions; each region ranging in color from a vibrant electric blue to a rather dingy gray. The borders of these areas are vaguely reminiscent of the lines on the globe; each color touching at least four or five others as its sides cover the globe. Suddenly, you realize that all the shapes are the same. Some are stretched, other are filled, but sure enough, in a insane M. C. Escher-like way, the pattern emerges.

Nodding his approval at your obvious realization, SpotWeld begins to speak, a serious tone to his normally humor filled voice. "Now that you've looked it over, let me give you the background." He flips the map, a sudden creak filling the room. The bottom of the chalkboard swings forward and the slate surface on the other side comes forward. "Now, as you know every time a Modernist performs magic, he pulls the energy to do so from a source. If it was fay magic, that source could be linked to the realm of Oberon; but in our case it must be something different."

He draws a series of lines over the board, the image of two parallel planes appearing. "Now we can draw this power because we are attuned to it, a certain essence of our being moves in sympathy with this energy, allowing us to draw from it. But I have noted that the power we hold varies a little from time to time. Surely you have noted a little difference in each spell you cast, no matter how many times you repeat it."

He continues on, the excitement building in his voice. "Here is our world, this city, this earth, this universe as we know it. " He draws a small X on the lower plane. "If we supposed that the energy we use is from our earth, then there should be a discernible change to our surroundings every time we cast a spell. Energy is energy," he intones, a mantra-like quality to the phrase, "and you just can't ignore certain immutable laws." Brushing his paw over the cool surface of the board, he erases the mark in a signal swipe. "But no change has ever been detected.. not on any wavelength, or in any form. So instead I have hypothesized that this energy is from a different plane."

Looking at you sheepishly, he confesses, "Okay I thought it up when I was watching a "Dr. Who" marathon, but the theory still stands." He draws an X on the upper plane. "If the energy comes from a different plane, then it would explain why our magic can avoid certain natural laws.. like the fact the "Hammerball" spell essentially creates matter from nothing." Turning his head, he looks at the board. "The final question remains. How does this energy get transferred from here," he taps the upper plane, "to here?" and taps the lower earth plane.

In a sudden burst of motion, he sketches another set of lines, now forming a plane perpendicular to the other two; crossing through both of them. "I think that our world and the plane I am suggesting cross each other, and that our magic is fueled by the energy produced by this interface; our very bodies becoming conduits for this power."

Flipping the board again he returns to the maps. "Now you know of the earth's magnetic fields, and by studying a few old texts, tapping into a few government research files, and examining the 'unusual' occurrences that pop up from time to time, I was able to find a second set of fields." He points to the second map, indicating the tiles of color over the map. "This is only part of it. Remember that slight variation I mentioned earlier? Good. Now for the pop quiz. Why does it vary? What is the reason for the shift in a power at certain places and certain times of the year?"

He pauses a few seconds, humming the "Jeopardy" theme. "Ehhhhh time's up. The answer is fields. When you plot the points of interface between the borders of these areas and the earth's magnetic fields you get this" and he lifts the now shimmering globe in his left paw. "As the magnetic field changes with shifts in the earth's core and flares from our sun, I have found there is a correlation with the changes of the magic fields of the earth." He begins to point at various location across the globe, highlighting areas where the glow of the line seems the most concentrated. "These lines, these magic-netic lines, are what are more commonly known as ley lines.. lines of primal energy that cross our globe. Look here, the Salisbury plains of England, home of Stonehenge, the Nazca lines of South America, the Valley of the Kings, Egypt, Kalamazoo, Michigan, and here, New York, New York."

He looks at you, this final location on the globe illuminating his face with a foxfire glow. "A veritable hotbed of odd occurrences, wouldn't you say..?"

Setting the globe back down he sighs. Letting the glow fade, the room returns to its normal nocturnal dimness. "I know its a bit much to take in at once, but I think that I have something here. Something important. Think it over. Make a few inquiries of your own and get back to me."

As the two of you walk to the door, he gives you a parting smile. "If I'm wrong, then what's the harm? If I'm right... " he trails off, tossing you the globe; the small metal caps at the poles flashing the dim light. You realize that they his trademark coins, a smirking hyena on each one. As you catch it, your eyes rest on the southern hemisphere.

You walk into the tunnels, preparing to send yourself home; planning to get a few hours of sleep in before morning. Picking out another area of concentration of SpotWeld's ley lines, you note with a flash of recognition its location......

Australia.

Back to SpotWeld's Page

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page