Preternatural Forces
Introduction
Any discussion of the realm of Arborea would be incomplete without an examination of the preternatural forces which suffuse it. These forces may be loosely divided into the Psychic and the Magical - though, as I shall argue presently, the boundary between them may be less distinct than one might suppose. There is, however, one firm distinction that can be drawn. Psychic abilities are inborn, present to a greater or lesser degree in every being of Arborea - for all are telepathic at the very least, and many exhibit talents far beyond mere mental communion. Magic, by contrast, is an art that must be learned and practiced, though not all possess the innate faculty required to wield it.
I have chosen the term preternatural quite deliberately, rather than the more common supernatural. In Arborea, such forces are neither unnatural nor even regarded as unusual. They form a part of the natural order - no less intrinsic than gravity, light, or sound. While I cannot claim to offer a complete explanation of their mechanisms - indeed, many aspects of their operation seem to elude rational comprehension - they do not appear to arise from any external agency, as magic is sometimes presumed to do in other realms I have visited. Rather, they are wholly of this world, woven into its very fabric, and as natural as any physical law might be.
Psychic Abilities
Psychic ability is a most remarkable and pervasive trait throughout the Arborean ecosystem. As I have already remarked, telepathy is universal here - found in every branch of life, from the smallest insect to the towering Trees themselves. It permits the People to communicate with one another despite their diverse anatomies, and grants them a degree of connection with their environment unparalleled in any other realm I have had the privilege to visit.
Ceph Bequeathal
There is one particular application of telepathy which deserves special mention, for it is among the most extraordinary phenomena I have encountered in any world. During my travels with the Ceph Odysseus, I was astonished to learn that his species enjoys but a fleeting span of years - rarely exceeding a single decade. I was left to wonder how such short-lived beings could attain the depth of learning and refinement I observed in him, for Odysseus seemed to me an ancient intellect clothed in a youthful form, possessed of knowledge far beyond what a mortal of ten years could hope to gather.It was then that he explained to me the process of Bequeathal - a marvel both biological and psychic. When the Ceph mate, an event that occurs but once, near the close of their natural life, each partner withdraws afterward to lay their own clutch of eggs. As the eggs near hatching, the parent enters a trance of profound concentration, during which they telepathically impress their memories, instincts, and even a semblance of their personality upon the unborn brood. In so doing, they transfer the greater portion of their mind into their offspring.
The Bequeathal is not without imperfection: each egg receives a slightly different portion of the parent's memories, with preference given to the most recent or most vital experiences. Yet when the young Ceph emerge, they do so already furnished with knowledge, language, and understanding - a living continuation of the mind that gave them being. In this way, the Ceph use their telepathy to elude death itself, if not in body, then in spirit and memory.
In daily use, this mental speech resembles our own vocal communication more closely than one might expect. Messages may be projected only so far as a shouted word might carry, and they consist solely of those thoughts which the speaker intentionally selects for transmission. It transcends the barriers of language, of course, yet it requires a certain discipline to shape one's thoughts for another mind to receive. This, however, is a skill learned from infancy, and to an Arborean it is as natural as learning to walk or breathe. When they converse, only that which they choose to share is revealed, and their mental discourse possesses all the nuance - and all the capacity for deception - of ordinary speech.
Some among them, however, refine this innate gift to extraordinary levels. By practice and concentration, they may extend their reach far beyond the ordinary range, though such communication is possible only with individuals well known to the sender. This extended communion is particularly developed among the Roark, whose ability to enter into collective consciousness allows familiarity to flourish with remarkable rapidity. Others devote their study to more subtle arts - learning to project emotions and thus sway the moods of their companions, or to delve, most invasively, into the hidden recesses of another's mind to uncover what the subject would prefer remain concealed.
I am certain that I have not witnessed all the refinements to which this natural faculty may be put, but the examples I have recorded here are among the most common - and, I must admit, among the most fascinating - manifestations I encountered.
But while telepathy is the universal psychic gift in Arborea, it is far from the only one. I have already spoken of the telekinesis of the Telatextrices, but the same faculty is found in many other creatures, both among the People and throughout Arborea's wildlife. Among the People, it appears most frequently in those species that glide rather than truly fly, serving to extend the range of their glides to remarkable distances - among other applications.
Pyrokinesis and aerokinesis are particularly prized among the balloon pilots of the People, who employ these gifts to heat the gases within their airships and to guide the winds in their favor. My friend Odysseus was blessed with the former talent, and thus never feared a loss of altitude for want of hot air - a most enviable advantage during our excursions.
I also encountered several forms of clairvoyance, including manifestations of precognition, retrocognition, and psychometry. Another of my valued acquaintances in Arborea - a Roark whom I have named Minerva for the purposes of this volume - was notably skilled in such arts. She could, with astonishing precision, observe distant places within her mind's eye and recount the conditions there with unfailing accuracy.
One curious omission from the psychic repertoire of Arborea is the complete absence of mediumship. The People possess no concept of communion with the departed, nor do they entertain the notion that consciousness persists after death - a belief so common in my own realm. When I inquired about this, they seemed puzzled by the very suggestion, for to them death is final. They know with certainty when a mind ceases to be telepathically present, and find it unreasonable to suppose that some invisible essence might continue beyond that silent dissolution.
As with telepathy, each psychic gift may be refined through study beyond its simplest expression, and many individuals are endowed with more than one such faculty, combining them to produce a truly astonishing variety of abilities. Nor are these powers confined to the People alone. The wildlife of Arborea abounds with creatures that see without eyes, that react to an attack before it comes, or that move objects by thought alone. Psychic force is woven into the very wood and bone of the world, an invisible current flowing through all things. It would, I believe, stand as the supreme power of existence - were it not for the still greater mystery of Magic.
Magical Powers
Unlike the psychic gifts, the ability to perform magic is not innate, nor does it manifest within the wildlife of Arborea. It appears to be the province of the People alone - and even then, not of all of them. To practice the art of magic, one must both possess the inner capacity for it and undergo deliberate training. An infant born with the gift of telekinesis will move objects by instinct; but a Person endowed with the potential for magic may live an entire life unaware of that talent, unless it is tested for and cultivated. It is my personal belief that the ability to work magic is itself a form of psychic gift - an art I have termed Thaumokinesis, the capacity to manipulate magical energies directly. This would explain why the practitioner of magic seems to draw upon the same internal well of energy as is tapped for the use of psychic gifts. This, however, is a hypothesis of my own devising, not shared by the People, and I confess I have no means by which to prove or disprove it.
Who May Wield the Art
While it is traditional for each species possessed of a magical art to restrict themselves to the practice of their own style, this is a cultural limitation rather than a biological one. It reflects a broader social convention among the People, who expect every individual to conform to the roles their species has been assigned by long tradition. There exists no physical law that prevents a Bohra from practicing magic - but such a one would be ostracized should they pursue that path, for it would violate the social order upon which the People pride themselves. Likewise, a Karapax who embraces sorcery, or a Ceph who disdains it, will find it difficult to secure a place within the greater society.In many ways, this insistence upon remaining within prescribed roles reminds me of the conventions of my own home world, which dictate the conduct of each gender according to custom. In my youth, I accepted those rules as natural and right, and saw no reason to question them. Yet travel broadens the mind - and travel between realms broadens it immeasurably. In witnessing societies with differing norms, I came to understand that the rules of my homeland were products of artifice rather than nature, and I have come to admire those who strive to unshackle themselves from such constraints.
I feel much the same toward those among the People who choose to defy their own conventions, taking upon themselves roles deemed unfitting for their kind. During my years in Arborea, I met several such souls who had banded together in small, itinerant communities - often aboard a single balloon-ship, drifting from place to place as the winds carried them. A few even became heroes of renown, undertaking quests that more settled folk would never dare. The stories of the People are rich with such outcasts, cast both as heroes and as villains. Yet, despite their feats, I observed little sign that the wider society was prepared to treat their example as cause to alter its long-standing traditions.
The gift of magic may appear among any of the seven species of the People, though it is found most frequently among three: the Ceph, the Karapax, and the Avara. Each of these has developed its own distinct tradition, shaped by the character and temperament of the species that practices it.
Nearly all Ceph are capable of wielding magic - it is so common among them that to be hatched without the gift is regarded as a grave infirmity. I have termed their tradition Sorcery, and it bears a resemblance to magical practice as I have encountered it in other realms. To cast a spell, a Ceph sorcerer must bring mind, body, and spirit into concert - aligning thought, motion, and inner energy into a precise configuration that shapes and releases the desired effect. They must remain free to move and to sing their trilling incantations while they cast, and they must maintain concentration to sustain the magic for any duration. The limits of this art are difficult to define: while it cannot reverse the passage of time nor restore the dead to life, nearly all else seems possible given sufficient skill and strength. Yet every spell draws directly upon the sorcerer's own vital energies, and exhaustion of this inner reservoir can cripple or even slay the practitioner. Thus, a wise sorcerer restrains their ambition within the bounds of endurance.
Interestingly, the ability to cast spells is not perfectly conveyed during the Bequeathal. The knowledge may be passed to the offspring, but the skill itself must be reacquired by practice, and so young Ceph spend their first years relearning the powers once mastered by their progenitors.
The Karapax tradition, by contrast, bears little resemblance to the fluid improvisation of sorcery. I have named their discipline Arcane Geometry. It is founded upon the precise inscription of lines and sigils, each bearing mathematical relationships of power. These patterns, once drawn and infused with energy, retain their potency so long as the lines remain unbroken - making them durable, but time-consuming to create. The cities of the People abound with such geometries, woven into the very structure of their homes. They lend strength to the walls, preserve stores of food, illuminate chambers with steady light, and can even form intricate defenses. Yet the art has its fragility: should the lines of a pattern be damaged, the enchantment fails, and repair may take many hours or even days. For this reason, the Karapax conceal their sigils in protected recesses, out of reach of harm.
The grandest works of Arcane Geometry - those vast patterns which encompass an entire city - cannot be powered by a single practitioner. For these, the Karapax have discovered a remarkable solution. They inscribe the master pattern upon the heartwood of their settlement's Tree, inviting the Tree itself to breathe power into the design. The Tree cannot be compelled; it must choose of its own will to awaken the lines. The Karapax, therefore, incorporate into their geometry inducements - spells of protection, nourishment, and renewal meant to serve the Tree's own wellbeing. If these offerings please it, the Tree may empower the entire pattern, though none can know for certain until the final line is drawn whether their entreaty has been accepted.
Lastly, we come to the Avara and their distinctive form of magic, which I have named Somatic Magic. It bears a passing resemblance to Ceph sorcery, yet differs profoundly in scope and intent. Somatic Magic is instantaneous - its expression is bound to the motion of the body itself. It affects only the practitioner, and serves not to reshape the world, but to heighten the capabilities of flesh and sinew. It is an art of enhancement, conferring bursts of prodigious strength, speed, or endurance beyond natural possibility. I have witnessed an Avara master deflect a falling branch the size of a small boat, pluck a missile from the air, or leap the distance of a dozen spans in a single bound. I have even seen them knit grievous wounds before my eyes, the torn flesh flowing like wax restored to shape. While a sorcerer may call down lightning, it is only the somatic magician who can move swiftly enough to evade its strike.
Culture Amongst the Trees
And now, dear reader, we come to the close of this section. I have endeavored to describe the conditions that surround the People - from the great architecture of their world and the boundaries which define it, to the preternatural forces that pervade and shape all of Arborea. We shall now turn our attention to the People themselves: their culture, their settlements, and the seven remarkable species that together comprise the People of Arborea.
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