— ...it takes years to learn something like that. — says the woman very seriously, looking into my eyes; I don't feel any pressure or 'tickle' in my head, but the woman's tone doesn't let her interrupt, doubt. — Not because it is very difficult, although it is there in no small measure. Not at all. It's dangerous because such pictures are painted by magic, magic — it doesn't matter what you call this power, what matters is that it allows us to create miracles like the one you created today. We WANT and SHE creates, IMPLEMENTS our wishes and desires. — The level of seriousness has increased, the woman doesn't even blink. — The danger is that in order to fulfill a desire, one must have enough strength and sensitivity, and to a lesser extent, concentration. SHE creates, and if there is not enough magical power, the life force is taken! All for the purpose! EXECUTION! Magic never stops halfway, remember that! Whatever is being done, rituals, spells, sorcery, — nothing can be interrupted, only changed! And THIS, — the woman pointed to the painting. — can't even be changed until the creation is properly completed. Not only could you die — that is not as terrible as many simpletons believe, no, your afterlife was threatened! Soul!
I felt my insides crusted with ice and crunching dangerously, ready to shatter into ringing shards. I didn't even think of anything, just trying to survive the cold horror, because I don't need to believe in the afterlife anymore, I KNOW it's there. Ceasing to be is scary, if you know what I mean. My hands are shaking so badly that I can't even hold a cup. The others in the room — Goro-san, Hana-chan, and the two maids — were silent, though the man looked at me with open interest. I had never seen that in his eyes before.
— You should know, Arata-kun, — the man said quietly, his eyes looking calm and collected. — Your creation is a true miracle, of which there are VERY few in the world. The painting is priceless. Since ancient times, such marvelous landscapes (which for some reason are always landscapes) have not been sold, but only given away, always receiving reciprocal gifts of great value in return.
— Why? — The voice is still hoarse with fear and fatigue, although it is slowly beginning to let go.
— It is impossible to determine the value of such paintings, for they are all unique, but that does not mean that there are few in the world who would not wish to possess such a treasure. For things of far less value, blood was shed in rivers. — The man sipped his tea and continued. — But the world has balanced the power of the creator's TALENT and the power of the thirst for possession in others: paintings cannot be obtained if the creator does not want them — they simply do not fall into the hands of the thief or robber. Paintings become invisible, intangible, disappearing until the threat is gone. And then there are the four battle scenes in the world that have killed thieves and extortionists. The creator cannot be made to give up his creation by force, trickery, or stupefaction — brutal punishment of the offender follows. That's the way it is.
The man was watching my reaction to his words, or waiting for an answer — I don't know, I was interested in something else. Besides, since this thing has such a cool "anti-theft" system, I shouldn't worry too much. I'm interested in how to not fall into such a creative trance again and not die. That is important. Then I was told that there is a magic art that is studied for a long time, and the peak of mastery is considered to be the creation of such masterpieces.
But not every master dares to create the crown of his career, because it is dangerous not to calculate the powers, and there are few fools who risk their lives and souls. By the way, there are much more realized, spontaneous creatures like mine. Not all survive.
When I mentioned the danger of "creating" again, I was informed that if I were free of my obligations, I would be trained by a Master immediately. And since I am "owed," a printed manual for aspiring magicians will be delivered to me in the near future. It will contain control techniques to prevent such things, as well as the basics of magical drawing theory.
I'm already interested. And the book, a thick tome of seven hundred pages, was brought to me on the third day of my recovery from magical exhaustion. And since I can't practice for two whole weeks until I recover from massive exhaustion, I was loaded with dry theory and more.
By the end of the first week, Goro-san was talking about how this house had been in the planning stages for a long time, and how they were going to renovate it, update the paneling, and so on. I couldn't help myself and was happy to get to work. The light-directed meditations read in this volume helped me not to fall into "creator mode," but I used the light trance quite often and a lot.
In just three days I painted the main hall of the house and the owner's office in the traditional style. Evening motifs of forest lakes, scattered flowers and berries, bright birds, juicy grasses and lush greenery.
All this, in spite of the peculiar style, was so alive, so real, that sometimes it seemed as if one was looking into another, fairy-tale world. I literally felt that what I was depicting was reality, distant, perhaps unattainable, but alive. The walls and ceilings were completely covered with paintings, weaving into a continuous volumetric landscape.
With each stroke of the brush my skill grew, I literally felt that the movement toward the ideal never stopped for a moment. Doubts in the strokes disappeared on the sixth day, on the eighth day — I stopped thinking, my hand simply embodied what I saw somewhere deep inside. A corner of my mind noted that I was being reprimanded, demanded or threatened, but it didn't matter. I felt I had to finish, and I had no desire to stop.
I barely touched my food and drank some juices that Mayuri-san used to bring me. I can't even remember the last time I slept for more than a few hours or bathed. My face and hands were covered in layers of paint, but none of that mattered, secondary. At sunset on the fifteenth day, I sat in the middle of a large room, tired and immensely happy, looking at the culmination of this work.
The mountains covered with dark green, the golden-red temple on the slope of one of the hills, the long winding descent to the lake, surrounded by the purple color of spring. Everything on the volumetric image came out perfectly real, and at the same time you can see that it is a painting.
The red gate, the gold of the temple columns, the tenderness of the flower petals, the lush solidity of the surrounding forest. I looked and looked and couldn't find any flaws. It is complete. Complete. I smiled a fool's smile and fell asleep right where I sat.....
***
POV Goro Mori
The man stared blankly at what his young son-in-law had done. Out of the corner of his ear he heard the maids carrying the sleeping child out to rest, but he just couldn't look away. For years, the man had come to this house, but he had never felt it as such — an inn, yes, but not a home. Now his mind was a mess, and for the first time he wanted to call this place his home, even though the plan was to give it to his daughter and son-in-law after they married.
However, the moment he was able to enter this room (the whole time the guy was drawing, there was no way to enter the room — there was some kind of barrier), once a meeting place for the clan elders, Mori Goro-san realized the simple truth: he wouldn't be able to part with this place for much longer, let alone give it away to anyone.
Mayuri-chan had always liked the islands and had been a frequent visitor throughout the year, but she had never been able to bring her husband here. Now Goro-san was determined to bring the Mori clan's mansion back home, and the Hokkaido estate would be secondary, as it had been before the Miyazaki clan took it under their wing. No, still, what a talent! If he were my son, I wouldn't let that TALENT, no — GIFT, dry up under the crust of another clan warrior's blood. What a foolish thing to do! Too bad, yes... too bad... too bad...