Eri Webb | they/she

@weaverwebb.bsky.social

25 Followers 26 Following

I write tales of trauma and transformation. Co-author THOSE WHO CREATE AND DESTROY #AmQuerying #UF🌃📚 #ContemporaryFantasy #DarkFantasy #EpicFantasy 🖋 https://formandvoid.substack.com 🎨 https://epiphanycreations.art

TEXT: When at last the Pythia spoke, her voice resonated strangely, sending a slow chill down Jules’s spine: “She is weeping.” When she didn’t elaborate—“Who is?” asked Jules. After a moment’s silence: “She is … dying … alone … in the dark.” Max. “What do I need to do? How can I save her?” For a long time, the Pythia was silent. “We diviners,” she intoned at last, “know what you scientists too easily forget: that the object of your study is the mirror of your own mind.” Jules felt her eyes settle on him, through her veil, through the mists. “Look to the void within you, Jules Nimri; ere you be devoured by the one without.”
TEXT: Jules was already way ahead of the rest of the class in Numerology and Divine Mathematics, so the instructor’s repeated explanations of the polygrams were putting him to sleep. Today, he found himself leaning his cheek on his fist, zoning out on the profile of the boy who occupied the seat next to him, courtesy of Professor Fernyhough's alphabetical seating chart. They had a hypnotic concinnity to them, the details of this boy’s face. In profile, the lines of the nose ran perfectly parallel to those of the brow, the chin, and the lips, as well as the angle of the eye. Jules was certain he’d never seen anyone so mathematically perfect in appearance, and he’d spent considerable time analyzing the subject this first week and two days of the semester. “All right, class,” said the Professor, “let’s return each other’s worksheets that we graded last night and go over them together.” Jules snapped his head frontward as the boy’s eyes swung his way. He reached into his binder for the homework assignment belonging to his geometrically endowed classmate, which he’d graded the night before. It was covered in a grid of gory red correction marks, with lengthy explanations crammed into the margins. Jules glanced at the name scribbled across the top, not having bothered to look at it while he was grading. Apparently, “Rory Navarrete” wasn’t anywhere near as smart as he was aesthetically blessed. Or else he just didn’t try, which was worse.
Stylized portrait of a guy with burning red eyes looking pissed-off against a blood-red background. His face is in shadow.
TEXT: “Before our world came into being, the Book of Cipher claims, there was another. A realm of darkness and void. It is said to linger on, a mere step out of phase with our own. Because we are creatures of the material realm, our senses were not made to detect it. Yet, in some intangible way, we perceive it—in the cracks between things. In lack and in loss. Beyond the boundaries of forms.”
“You can also try remembering there are people who’ve never tried to hurt you or leave you. Who’ve always been here for you. And … always will be.” “Like who?” “Like … me.” Jules dared a glance at Rory. Found him gazing back intently. “So, um, you know. Maybe start with that. Next time you think you’re gonna end up alone, remember me sitting next to you on this bench. ’Cause … you know … that’s a pattern, too.” He glanced up in search of the stars; found them winking down through a nude patch of sky high above. “Me beside you … now, and again, and again, for the rest of eternity.” “You’re so weird,” said Rory. Jules felt his stomach drop. God. Why’d I say it. “In a good way,” added Rory. “Everybody else is full of shit. I feel really lucky you’re my friend.”
“Who are you guys?” she grinned, surveying them both. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “We don’t want to hurt you,” said Jules. “But we’re gonna need you to cooperate with us.” “You’re those investigator guys, huh.” She started twirling and swinging her torch again. “Boss told us to look out for you. Guess you found us. Good job investigating.” “Look,” said Caliban, “I really don’t like putting bullets in kids. So let’s do this the easy way. Come quietly, my friend here will cuff ya, and you wait here while we round up the rest.” “Why? So you can turn me in to the Auctoritas Magicae, so they can tranquilize me?” The girl tapped her forefinger against her lower lip; rolled her eyes upward in mock consideration. “Nah, I’m good. In fact … I’d rather light myself on fire.” She held the torch in front of her, dangled one of her braids in its flames.
“Yeah? Let’s see what you got.” Mom passed Grandma her champagne flute. Lowered herself into a defensive stance. Shay handed off her sketchpad to Daddy and mimicked her mother’s pose: feet apart, knees bent, forearms protecting her torso and face. Mother and daughter began circling one another. Daddy and Grandma backed up to give them space. A few of the more fuddy-duddy-ish guests watched with looks of disapproval. Leshayva feinted several times, trying to get Mom to break her guard—as always, without success. When she got tired of waiting, she finally lashed out with a kick. Mom dodged easily, then caught Shay’s leg midair. Her foot knocked Shay’s standing leg out from under her, while her forearm struck her in the chest, knocking her to the floor. The next thing Shay knew, Mom was more or less sitting on top of her and had her kicking leg braced in a leg-lock. “You are too impatient, girl!” Devisha chuckled, as Leshayva squirmed uselessly beneath her. “How many times I gotta tell you, you wait till you have an opening.”
He knocked gently. Cracked open Max’s door. She was asleep underneath the covers. Jules stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, discarded his street clothes and binder on the pile of her stuff on the floor. Crawled into bed close beside her, braving the perpetual breath of ice that rose from her chest; the familiar, queasy magnetism of the void. She stirred, made a sound. He enfolded her, sighing at the sensation of her kisses on his neck. “Hey,” he whispered. “How you feeling?” He could hear the grin in her voice as she fondled his backside. “Real good now.” He smiled in spite of himself. Rested his head against hers.
Jules wandered through the halls of the Enclave in a daze. They’d patched him up easily enough in Medicinal Magic; slathered panchrest on his bloodied arms and chest, given him clean robes to wear. But he felt broken beyond repairing. All his hopes of being more to his father than a pawn had been laid to rest with two simple words: You’re fired. Hunter was his ride today; they were supposed to go on a date after work. Jules drifted through the winding halls of the Alchemy department—the “mole tunnels,” as the alchemists called them—toward Lab #1, where Hunter was working today. Stood outside the closed door. Raised his fist. Knocked. Hunter appeared at the door in his lab coat, pushing his goggles up on top of his head so that his normally-perfect hair stood out in wayward spikes. It made him look almost human. “Julie.” He stepped into the hall, pulled the door to behind him. “My God. You look awful. What’s the matter?” Jules gazed at him. Thought to himself, calmly: You’re it. My destiny.
WIP unofficial book cover for Those Who Create and Destroy by Mabel Harper and Eri Webb, featuring protagonists Jules Nimri and Rory Navarrete. Art by Eri Webb.
WIP unofficial book cover for Those Who Create and Destroy by Mabel Harper and Eri Webb, featuring protagonists Jules Nimri and Rory Navarrete. Art by Eri Webb.
WIP unofficial book cover for Those Who Create and Destroy by Mabel Harper and Eri Webb, featuring protagonists Jules Nimri and Rory Navarrete. Art by Eri Webb.
I never told anyone what Hunter Lockwood did to me. When I dumped him and came out as trans, the Delphi press had a field day. I shut myself in my room and devoted the next three years to my alchemical studies. I swore that the next time I made headlines, it would be for my genius—not my private life. But I should have said something. Because now, Hunter’s running for my dad’s High Council seat. And his poisonous rhetoric’s tearing the Alliance apart. I’m no longer a victim. I’m Delphi’s youngest-ever Grand Philosopher. I invented combat alchemy. And, much as I wish I could just leave the past in the past, it’s time I raised my voice. Because my ex-fiancé is a power-hungry monster. And because we’re going to need a united Alliance to face the even more dire threat that just showed up on our doorstep.
In front of his inner eye, forces and particles danced in dazzling array. Jules tuned himself to the vibration of the universe, his essence swelling with the ecstasy of fullness. The alchemist held a formula, a pattern, a shape in his mind; funneled prima materia into his left arm. His right hand flitted along the tattooed channels, skimming here and there, completing circles in rapid sequence as the celestial substance flowed. Heat pooled in his palm. Atoms arranged into molecules; linked together in a crystalline pattern; reproduced at accelerated speed. When his body had cooled, Jules felt a new weight come to rest in his hand. He opened his eyes. On his palm sat a shining piece of rose quartz in the shape of a blossom. Max was slack-jawed—and a few feet farther away than she’d been before. “Oh, God—sorry,” said Jules. “I should’ve warned you I was gonna do that.” “Wow.” Max stared. “Um … take it.” Max crawled over and plucked the stone from his hand. “It’s, uh … it’s wet.” Jules grinned. “That’s only water. It’s a byproduct of the reaction.”
“Take him down, Nimri!” Caliban raced to reload his gun. A vortex formed behind the Nihilite’s head. “NOW!” bellowed Caliban. Jules launched into motion. Closed the distance to the convulsing young man in seconds. Planted a hand on his bony chest. Did it the fastest way he knew how. The Nihilite shriveled to a husk in under a second. Collapsed in a pile of dust. Just as sudden as the chaos—stillness. Jules tried to shake the dampness off his hand. The layer of dust, clinging. Water pooled around his Chucks. Every drop of moisture that man’s body had contained. The puddle reached the dust and mingled with it, forming mud. Just water and earth. Just matter. Was killing really that easy? Destroying a human body? Ending a life? Flash, bang, done. He didn’t feel anything. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal after all.
"Minutes ticked past while Jules sat under the light of that lonely globe, waiting for indifferent masked guards to bring Max from Medicinal Magic to Scaeva Hall. The spectators eventually began to murmur. There was a general aura of excitement—this was all very sensational for them, wasn’t it? His humiliation and downfall, the very real plight of the woman he loved … their entertainment."
"I first learned about alchemy from the introductory course all us magi had to take in school. And I remember like it was yesterday the first time the professor told us everything in the universe springs from the same root—prima materia. I was immediately obsessed with that idea, that the forms of this world are all manifestations of the same thing. That, at some level we just can’t see, everything exists in perfect harmony."
"Cyrano stood rooted in place for the rest of the speech, letting the rhythm of Hunter’s mounting tirade, the ovations of the crowd, the savage energy that flowed through the room wash over him in waves. Listened as Hunter fulminated against the Hermetic Order of Khmun, the Auctoritas Magicae—even Arcanus’s own Council of Elders, making grave insinuations but always stopping just short of outright treason."