discovery has its price
The hottest flames this side of hell flick from a hole on a hill nobody noticed much. Not until something started streaming out. People started changing. Not dying. It wasn’t that kind of invasion. ( Well, some did. Green globs aren’t edible. Discovery has its price. )
Most folks dummied down, regressing to primitive habits. Living off the land, writing haiku, eschewing the Internet. What goes for ‘primitive’ to others. It took some time to trace their habits to the hole. Habits for a long while ascribed to a fad diet.
It took a while to trace the hole as the source of green gobs of flotsam from another world. Meanwhile, they spread skyward into a net. Under its shadow IQ diminished, along with good reading light. The net effect was a negligible annoyance that meant re-routing traffic. Except for those under it’s shadow, for whom traffic was now a future invention.
This was more unsettling because what came out of the hill wasn’t in the hill. It came from another world. Some place that stood evolution on its head, engineering a way to lower intelligence. A very sophisticated way to become the opposite of sophisticated.
The hole is now guarded by these flames, hottest this side of hell. Guardian flames at the portal set to scorch whatever emanates from that other world. To burn with fury and burn forever. It says so on the plaque posted by the hole. Until something more flame retardant pokes itself out, the hill is secure.
The hole itself wasn’t a mistake. It was a happy accident of sorts. The result of a discovery that transformed human interaction. That would be the Way of the Hex. The Way is a catalogue of patterns. Hand shapes traced out in sequence while thinking, not saying, certain sounds.
Some sheep farmer ( it’s always a sheep farmer ) gestured toward his wandering stock. He had nothing in mind but what he later described as those eerie sounds, you know the kind made on a Theremin. Oooh eee aaaah ooh. A roar ripped outward, a tad beyond arms length, and through Eunice, his prize ewe, into the hill and beyond. It was from beyond that the green IQ altering globs flew.
As luck would have it, the shepherd recalled the sound sequence. Recalling the precise pattern of gestures was a matter of trial and error. Trials conducted, by then, under the auspices of men with dark suits, serious shoes, and a large pool of water. Something about water makes it impervious to Hex.
This blast into another dimension was only one type of Hex. A blast into the beyond. The hole isn’t in the hill so much as in reality. Cement can’t fill the void. Nothing fills nothingness. A nasty hot flame only helps with inter-world traffic control.
Other hexes are now known. Sounds of all sorts qualify, as do the strangest of gestures. What results is levitation, combustion, headache cures, and memories to vanish. So far no teleportation, mind reading, or raising from the dead. Although serious-shoed people are working on them.
There are hexes that make a person ignored. Invisible, after a fashion, like hiding from a school-yard bully. Another will slow every tiny bit of a person to a halt and leave it that way while the world turns at its natural pace. When one so frozen moves again, time has moved on for him or her. The Statue Hex is time travel of a sort, always forward, never aging.
Many spells seem half baked, as if needing another ingredient. A pop or whoof, shimmer, wail or stench. But otherwise no noticeable change. At least not in this world. It may be there was payback in the beyond. ( There was, and debts would mount. )
As seems to be in the genetics of humanity, it was the less humane of this grimoire that first found application. Trial and error accumulated a catalogue of delights — and horrors. People took to weaponizing the Way of Hex. Holdups and hostage-takings with Hex. Hex wars loomed. The world took to an uneasy peace. One where everybody could exterminate everyone else with a well-placed grimace. Schools of Thought speculated on hex sneeze, hexing between mirrors, and hymns for hex.
No hex ever required more than one person to cast. Gestures made by hand and eye movements can be difficult to detect. Especially behind dark spectacles. Cool looks that could kill.
There are counter-hexes and those versed in the ways of counter-hex hired out. Throwing up bullet-proof shields against those who would cast harm from afar. Politicians adopted counter-hexers into their entourages. Entertainers followed suit.
Outro was the name given to one who would counter-hex. Often as guard to somebody above his or her pay-grade. Protection against some unsavoury Intro hexer. Outros cast invisible walls of bulletproofing as the star exits the building. A wall of water would do the same, but outros are much more mobile.
Arthur is an outro. He isn’t very good at it, but so far there has been no real test of his skills. Arthur got the gig by being the only candidate to not die during the interview. It lasted less than sixty seconds. A few are still frozen and it will be an awfully long minute for them. Arthur was the one lucky enough to not be standing in front of a reflecting pool.
Also, Arthur’s left-handed. That puts a spin on his hex. They produce little more than a pop, or a wicked odour. Arthur excuses himself rather than acknowledging his hexing flops. It was one such flop that caught the attention of the wife of a well placed Minister of Misinformation. Things would never be the same again. Truth told, they never were to begin with. This was the Ministry of Misinformation, after all. If you can believe that.
