The Dragonfly in the Tower

-Director's Cut: The Secret of the Tower-

[Entries from the first page of a leather bound journal found on a shelf in the study in the west wing.]

Entry: May 2, 1930

This can’t continue. I just can’t take this anymore. Every day I am inundated in letters, calls, asking me to help so and so from the War. The War. It always comes back to it. I have had no time for nearly two decades to relax and work on my personal projects in peace.

If only I could disappear in a tiny island that no one has ever heard of! I would like to cast off my obligations for once. In my youth I had none, and now in my middle age they cripple me. I would have never foreseen this day coming, when I was a poor but happy – and unknown – art student.

After months of making discreet inquiries, I have finally found a plot of land, where I think – if all goes right – I can finally find the solitude I crave. It is a tiny little island in the States. No one would expect that of me.

Entry: May 8, 1930

I have heard back from some architects and engineers I commissioned. They sent me blueprints, which are rolled up beside me in a mailer tube.

I have a basic layout in mind for my next home. Yes, it is going to be high. I want the halls to soar, and the arched windows to stretch floor to ceiling.

The central motif is flight.

I have been following the work of the psychoanalyst Carl Jung with great interest. He is starting on a novel project, building his own stone tower from scratch. He says it is to be an external correlative of his internal subconscious.

This idea appeals to me, but of course, my building spells will allow me to build a tower with much more sophistication and finesse.

I will write more tomorrow. There has just been a phone call, from another paraplegic from the war, begging me to use my now-famous anatomical magic to heal his disability.

I can’t say no, but I can’t keep this up. I never wanted to be a mage, anyway.

Entry: June 4, 1930

The only thing I want to do is disappear, now, forever. Not die. Dying is an ending. I want to vanish into the ether and begin: be part of the wind and trees, be part of the greater pattern and beauty of cosmos.

I have not told anyone, not even my closest friends, of my plans.

I think the only way to leave magical society is to fake a death, and regrettably this is my only way out of the responsibilities that threaten to crush me.

Of course there will be a hunt for the missing mage, but I think that if I only go out to town every couple of weeks or so, my cloaking spells will hold out well.

This makes no sense. There should really be a legitimized way for a mage to simply reenter human society under the guise of a human.

Entry: August 17, 1930

I am here, and the glory of this place is beyond my wildest dreams.

At the promontory of a cliff, the sea roars, and behind me are rolling hills of green.

Eagles glide as fall approaches, and doves coo on the branches.

With my blueprints in hand, and cartfuls of stone I have acquired from humans, I estimate building this tower will take a month. But there are some fancier features I am very proud of that may take up to a year.

I haven’t felt this exhilarated since I was young.

It did make me feel guilty to leave magical society, but I have done so much good, I think on the whole it balances out. Anyway, it’s not right to expect so much from one man. How much can I do? How much of my life is supposed to be charity work for others?

Entry: September 12, 1930

I was going to write in my journal with some happy news. The building of the tower is complete! It is a sheer gray edifice, beautiful and tranquil, but fortified. Just in case The War wasn’t The Last War.

But instead I have bad news.

SOMEONE FOUND OUT WHERE I LIVE.

And now I am receiving the same deluge of letters and phone calls as ever.

What is wrong with people? Can’t they see that I’m just a man, not a hero?

I am writing from a study high up in the tower, looking out from the window. Right now I want nothing more than to cast off this life and transform into a bird. Even a common house wren would do. I want to open the window, spread my arms, and fly, and never return to earth.

Entry: September 20, 1930

I am at my wit’s end. Since absconding didn’t work, I think maybe I am going to have to come out with a public announcement of my retirement. Unfortunately, I think the Magic Council will place a limit field on my magic from here on out. Is it worth it?

I’d better complete everything I want in the tower if that happens.

Entry: October 2, 1930

I have just completed the design of the central elevator. It is really quite cunning, if I do say so myself.

But first, I realize now I never recorded the basic layout of the tower itself.

The tower is split in two wings, the east wing, and the west wing:

The west wing faces the sea, and the east wing faces the hills.

The elevator I am planning will connect the west and east wings. It will not be easy for a newcomer to discover how to get to the west wing from the east. After the last decade, my need for privacy and dislike for intrusion has grown. Since my tower has already been found out, this is an extra layer of privacy.

The trick to the elevator will be noticing the wire paneling behind one of the diamonds in the library wallpaper:

There will be a marble dais from the library which can take me down to the basement of the tower.

From there, there will be a path to the study in the west wing:

I have even grander plans for this, but one step at a time. First I need to run a few tests to ensure that what I am hoping for succeeds. It would be a blend of magic and mechanical engineering, but on a large scale. I have seen this succeed on a small scale but never on the scale I am envisioning.

Entry: April 6, 1931

The propulsion fan works, and I am utterly thrilled with it.

Six steel blades lay underneath the tower, which can hover, lift, or descend as triggered by the control panel at the top of the library. The control panel is hidden by the façade of a lovely gold birdcage. I always do feel caged in by my own life, so I thought the imagery was appropriate:

The only issue is that the load of the tower is so heavy, I needed to rely on Old Magic as the engine for the fans.

I had not anticipated this in advance, but there is so much wildlife around, it is fairly trivial to bring in a bird, a bee, or a dragonfly, and utilize them as triggers in Old Magic. I do not think I am harming the ecosystem.

I don’t see it as killing them either, because Old Magic releases them into the ether. As a matter of fact, one could argue I am freeing them from their mortal shackles.

Entry: June 1, 1938

After getting settled into the tower, I nearly forgot about this journal, until I was cleaning the other day and found it in a drawer.

It has been interesting and entertaining to see my thoughts from years ago.

Although I have not succeeded in throwing off my obligations, I find my creativity has increased in the tower. I have been immersed in art projects and still have several more in the works.

My renowned status remains a thorn in my side. I have gained a reputation as a curmudgeonly old man, though, which helps.

Entry: January 14, 1939

I have come across a new term in the news: “ubermensch.”

It means, roughly, “superhuman” in German.

Why can’t I achieve this perfection? In fact, why shouldn’t I achieve this perfection?

Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man is an inspiration to me.

I cannot help but feel that angels are the supreme being. Sometimes I wake up with an ache between my shoulderblades.

Is it too farfetched to imagine that once, we did have wings?

Entry: July 2, 1939

I have been puzzling the mysteries of flight, and today a dove crashed into my window and fell to the ground. Since it was already dead, I decided to see if I could find out anything by applying my anatomical skills.

Bird bones are so light! So hollow! Immediately after retrieving its bones I realized the flaw of the human design. We simply have too many limbs. As a matter of fact, cut off our arms, our legs, and put in some wings, and I think that we could be supported, at least for a short distance. It would depend on how big the wings are, of course.

Entry: September 15, 1939

I have realized that in order to go further in my anatomical studies, I needed more bird specimens.

Since we eat chicken, and other poultry, and so forth, I am reasoning that to kill birds for the sake of science shouldn’t be that far of a leap to kill them for the sake of living.

I know how this makes me sound, but I believe I am close to finding out knowledge that, combined with certain corridors of magic, may actually have the potential to transform our meager, limited existence on earth.

This becomes even more important as Dark magic threatens to overtake mankind, if the news from Poland is right.

Entry: March 5, 1940

Still need more birds.

Entry: November 23, 1940

Still need more birds.

Entry: February 19, 1941

I have sacrificed many avians to the cause of my research, and in the process, have decided to make use of different body parts to be resourceful. I took their feathers and bones, cast a sizing spell, and tried to create a first mock up of what wings on a human would actually look like.

The vision entranced me. I know what my old colleagues would think if they saw this, but they just don’t understand. No one understands me. No one did ever understand me, even back when I was just sculpting away in art school as a young adult.

Seeing the Vitruvian man with angel wings, it strengthens my determination to make this into a reality for myself. My deepest desire is to affix these wings to my person and then see what transcendence really is, for myself.

A year into The War (how frightening it is that there is now to be a second world war) and I am struck again by the inherent faults of mankind, of this world.

Entry: October 3, 1941

I was tired of using death spells on birds. These leave too many traces for the Magic Council. I have devised a system to electrocute four at a time – I wired several birdcages to the light circuitry. This is much more efficient, I believe. Plus, I am not a Dark mage.

Entry: June 20, 1942

I can’t believe what just happened, and even though I deeply regret it, part of my mind is already thinking how I can make use of it.

Two old friends visited me last week, with their daughter and son in tow who I have never met.

Somehow the son figured out the puzzle to enter the west wing, and there, together with his sister, entered the study and the furthest chamber.

Upon hearing their screams, their parents immediately followed.

A confrontation ensued where they – as I knew they would! – accused me of perverting Light magic for my own twisted ends.

I tried to explain that I was trying to free mankind, but they seemed to just think I was a violent, disturbed scientist. Then the father said he was going to teleport now to the Council to report me.

So my only option was to kill them.

I copied the birdcages in the other room and sized them up to become human-sized birdcages, and forced them in. I did not want to kill them with a spell, because that would mean using a Dark spell. That goes against my ethos as a Light mage.

The youngest one, Ilya, put up such a fight. A terribly accomplished magician for his age.

I am glad he is dead. He nearly upset the Vitruvian man’s head.

Entry: July 28, 1942

Since I was not about to report their deaths to the Council, and I was not going to waste such an intriguing opportunity, I set to work last month to attach the angel wings to the bodies in my study.

Unfortunately, after I began the reanimation spell I realized the human-angels seemed to lack the instinct for flight.

They still walk around like they did in life. They have not even tried to unfold their wings, even though I know they have the musculature to do so.

I am thinking about other organisms and how their instincts are governed by their minds.

Could it be that the human-angels need the instincts of a bird?

I still have dove heads left from my experiments from last winter. I can cast a sizing spell on them, and surgically attach them to the human-angel bodies.

Changing their neurology could be the key to the great metamorphosis.

Entry: August 4, 1942

I have changed the key to enter from the chamber to the elevator in the west wing.

Entry: September 18, 1942

After researching human journals of medicine, I believe that keeping a human prefrontal cortex but a bird amygdala – a human “thought processing center” but bird instincts – may work.

This should leave the capacity for rational thought intact. Maybe even the “self.”

But of course, escaping this cage of “self” is exactly what I want.

Entry: April 14, 1943

My human-angels can fly, and they can speak. I have deanimated them for now. All I can say is this experiment was a triumph.

Entry: May 2, 1943

In a few hours, I will have finally succeeded in entering the body of a higher being. I can finally leave this limited body, this terrible world that asks too much of me, behind. The Great Metamorphosis will be complete.

I wonder what I’ll write here once I am an angel?

[No more entries.]

Next Chapter: Epilogue

Previous Chapter: 9. The Choice of the Tower

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