Jan. 14, Year One
This morning’s test got marked down as a failure. Well, obviously; not only did it not improve my eyesight, it nearly turned me into a rat. That would have been inconvenient, to say the least. It’s not even worth writing down the spell, since we’ve already got about five dozen ways to turn people into rats, and no real application for them, though the strength of this one is remarkable. I brushed it off, made like I was fine. I lied.
That spell was a truly catastrophic failure, on a scale nobody realizes except maybe Fallor because he’s the creepy diviner. That was the first thing he started doing when we got here, and he’s shown frightening skill with it. If he does know, though, he’s not saying, and that worries me a little, but I’m not going to dwell on it.
In any event, I certainly don’t plan to turn into a rat. At the same time, though, I don’t know how to stop the spell; I can only delay it, but in a few days it’s going to be very obvious that something is happening. I’m going to have some long, sleepless nights trying to figure this one out. Maybe I can get Lee to help. I won’t tell him what’s going on, of course. That would be stupid. I can’t let on that I even have a problem, because his favorite solution to problems is explosions. But once he starts trying to figure something out, he won’t stop. It’s something we have in common. So, I need to present this as some sort of trivial but fascinating puzzle.
A puzzle related to rats.
I suspect I won’t be able to completely halt or undo the effects of the spell. What I’m going to focus on is taking control – steering the course of the transformation so that I don’t wind up a plague-carrying sewer crawler. In theory, that should be easy enough to do. The spell is trying to change me on the level of the biological order, and that’s a lot to sustain. If I can direct it to do something different, perhaps a lot of smaller changes in place of the one big one, I might have a chance. In fact, I think I have an idea already.
Luckily, the weather patterns here seem to imitate those back home, so it’s cold enough out that nobody will notice if I wear a coat and gloves for a while.
From the journal of Ezekiel Moon, biomage