by V. St. Clair
What on earth is he talking about?
“I…don’t understand, sir,” Aleric essayed cautiously, being polite out of habit.
“My grandparents came to me in my sleep, appearing before me in my mind in perfect detail, except they both had yellow—golden—eyes. Their voices spoke inside my head and told me to ask my question—”
“What?!” Aleric interrupted loudly, too shocked to resist. Golden eyes, a voice in his head, telling him to ask a question…“But that same thing happened to me in the Forest of Illusions a couple months ago!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Not with my great-grandparents, obviously, but with Mother…”
His father looked surprised but also vindicated, as though he had doubted the authenticity of this dream for years but had finally had it validated.
“Then it is something to do with magic,” he sighed, somehow looking both satisfied and disturbed by the prospect.
“What did the voices say?” Aleric pressed, desperately interested. Once again, his father looked slightly uneasy.
“Since you had just been born, my thoughts were on you, and I asked them if you would be a credit to our House.”
“Did they answer you?” Aleric pressed gently after a moment of silence, still in awe over the fact that he and his father had experienced the same magical communication. It made him feel somehow closer to the man; it humanized him, in a way.
Cowen Frost closed his eyes as though dredging up the memory and said, “They told me you could be the most powerful mage in the Nine Lands, that you would discover magic that had previously been unheard of, that your name would be known in every house in every corner of the continent. Because of you, the Frost name will become an indelible part of history.”
Aleric’s eyes widened in shock. Him, the most powerful mage in the Nine Lands? Him, bringing glory to his family and making sure the world never forgot his name? It was everything he’d always dreamed of for himself…
“They also warned of a great darkness that was coming, something that would plunge the world into terror and chaos, something so powerful that only the last Frost has a chance of standing against it.”
Worry doused his momentary victory, and Aleric asked, “A great darkness? What kind of darkness? Did they say?”
“No, though I asked many times. They just kept insisting I have some role in preventing it, and that if I act incorrectly, only you—the last Frost heir—will have a chance at it. I gather that they mean I must prepare you to be as great and powerful as possible, so that you are ready to face this malevolent force if and when it comes.”
Aleric frowned thoughtfully, trying to contemplate what such a horror could even be. Some kind of monster? There were plenty of those in the Nine Lands, but surely something from the Forest of Illusions could handle anything that came from there…Bonk, for instance, could probably overpower anything if he mustered up the effort and stopped chasing squirrels.
Maybe it was something new, some creature the world had never seen before, that it was unprepared to handle. And only he could stop it?
“Well, the magical voices told you a lot more than they ever said to me,” Aleric sighed. “Is that all, or was there more?” he asked curiously, pushing the question of this ‘darkness’ to the back of his mind for now, since he wasn’t going to get any answers. There could be no doubt that he was the one the magic spoke of…he was the last Frost scion of the direct line, after all.
For a moment his father looked like he was going to continue, but then he changed his mind and said, “That was all.”
Silence fell between them, while Aleric looked at his father in an entirely new light, seeing everything the man had done over the years from this new perspective.
“Son,” Cowen Frost said at last. “If I have been hard on you, it is only because I know this dream will one day come to pass. You are the last Frost heir until you have children of your own; you must become great and save the world from whatever peril is coming for us, and when you do, our family legacy and contribution will never be forgotten. If I have to push you to your limits in order to ensure you are prepared, then I will consider that my small contribution to history and be unrelenting in my duties.”
Aleric nodded slowly, feeling inflated. All this time, his father hadn’t been pushing him to the edge because he thought him a failure, it was because he knew he could succeed, and desperately wanted to make sure it happened. In his own way, his father loved him and was trying to do what was best for him…
“I wish you’d told me this a long time ago,” Aleric said. “It would have made everything so much easier to endure.”
His father pursed his lips and said, “The golden-eyed voice warned me not to, but I can’t risk you abandoning everything and failing to become what you were meant to be. So I ask you now, Aleric, son…can you become truly great? Can you put aside your feelings of inadequacy and doubt, and become the most powerful mage in the Nine Lands when the time comes?”
“Yes,” Aleric found himself nodding without even thinking about it. “Father, I’m going to succeed, I swear it. I’ll do whatever it takes to become what I need to be; I won’t fail you.”
For a moment that strange look was back on his father’s face, but he blinked and it was gone. Cowen Frost rested a hand on his son’s shoulder and said, “I believe you, son. Make it so.”
Aleric returned to school with no further thoughts about leaving the House and abandoning his destiny. He was burning with energy and determined to work harder than ever, now that he knew what he was up against and that there was a deadline.
I wish I knew when the deadline actually was…
But things rarely worked that way. Magic never made things simple or clear, it left everything to chance and planning and luck. Well, it was about to find out how much ambition Aleric Frost had, how many resources he could call forth when he needed it.
Time to find out how much luck I truly have.
15
Asher Victorious
Asher stared at the glass bowl full of boiling water on his worktable, steam rising in wisps from the gently roiling surface. The skin on his face was still tender from being burned before he could pull his head out of the water, but he ignored that for now.
Could it really be this easy?
He had been coming at the problem of underwater casting from every possible direction for months and months now, and he knew he wasn’t the first person to attempt to solve the puzzle. As smart as he knew that he was, a part of him wasn’t actually expecting to ever find an answer to the seemingly insolvable problem of wide-band diffusion in water. Yet here he sat, staring at the result of his work.
The tingling burn on his skin was becoming difficult to ignore. Asher rose to his feet and turned his back on the miraculous bowl of boiling water, swapping prisms and using his clear one to create water. The water had barely splashed onto the table before he found the alignment for Freeze and turned it to ice, which he used to dab at the more painful parts of his face. He should see Mistress Razelle for some burn paste, and he would…later.
I can’t jump to conclusions and declare this problem solved just because I made it work for one spell, he acknowledged silently. I need to do more testing with a larger source of water.
He could search out a lake easily enough, but he preferred to stay on school property when experimenting with new and potentially dangerous magic. What if something happened to him and there was no one nearby to help? What if one of his spells went badly wrong and he killed off all of the fish in the lake?
Asher ended the Boil spell before it could deplete his prism any further and left the workroom, locking and warding the door behind him as he made his way to the infirmary. Mistress Razelle was probably teaching class right now, but she would have a mastery-level apprentice working the infirmary at all times during her absence as part of their required duties. Sure enough, when Asher knocked on the door and entered the room, Misha was restocking a shelf with cotton balls and bandages wit
h her back to him. She turned upon his entry and said, “What in the world did you do to your face?”
“Hi Misha,” he began, “I stuck my head in a bowl full of water and then boiled it. You don’t have any burn paste on hand, do you?”
For a moment she looked stunned, but then she let out a laugh and said, “I don’t know why anything you do surprises me anymore, Asher.” Then she sighed in almost a maternal manner and added, “Come over here and I’ll fix your face.”
Asher did as he was told, sitting down on a hard, wooden chair and remaining still while she smeared liberal amounts of orange paste onto his skin.
“I’m going to look like I fell into a pumpkin pie,” he observed, earning himself a mouthful of the foul tasting stuff.
“I could bandage you if you like, and then you’ll look like a mummified corpse,” she offered brightly. “One might wonder why you thought boiling your head was a good idea, but I’m sure you have some clever, witty answer all prepared for such a question.”
Asher shrugged.
“Not really. To be honest, I didn’t really expect my attempt to work, so I wasn’t quick enough on the uptake when pulling my head out.”
Misha looked mildly surprised by this, finishing with his face and stepping back.
“Well, you look ridiculous, but how do you feel?”
“Also ridiculous,” he affirmed. “But my face doesn’t hurt anymore, so thanks.” He got up and prepared to leave.
“I heard you were going out with Tricia,” Misha blurted out as he was about to depart. He was a little surprised to be asked about it at random, or that word had even spread so far, but then again, he was always surprised by the gossip network around Mizzenwald.
“We went out the other night, yes,” he confirmed.
Misha raised an eyebrow and asked, “But you aren’t exclusive or anything?”
Wondering why she even cared, Asher said, “No, nothing like that. Sorry to cut and run, but I’ve got to finish testing out this theory of mine before it drives me nuts. I’ll see you in class later…thanks again for the help.”
Once outside, he headed immediately towards the main foyer, ignoring the odd looks he received from passerby as he walked. His mind was already making leaps and bounds on the theory of underwater casting, and he was itching to find the answers to some of these questions before it drove him mad—or worse—until his surge of brilliance failed him.
He turned and moved towards the rear exit, acting on sudden inspiration for someone who might be able to help him. When he stepped into the sunlight on the grounds, he found Master Reede teaching a level-one Conjury class on the smooth black floor that was made to hold chalk lines.
“Hey Reede, I need your help,” he interrupted the Master midsentence, striding onto the smooth floor and making an effort not to slip from the change in texture. A couple first-year students scooted out of his way as he moved past.
Master Reede took one look at him and said, “I’ll say. What have you done to your face?”
Asher waved a dismissive hand at his appearance and said, “You’re good at using scriptures, right? Surely you took it as a complement to Conjury when you were in school.”
The Master looked mildly surprised by the question, which was probably the most emotion Asher had ever seen on the man’s face before now.
“Yes, I am proficient with scriptures. Why do you ask?”
“I need you to script me a giant glass bowl.”
Master Reede raised his eyebrows skeptically and said, “Are you particularly hungry? You do realize I am in the middle of a class, don’t you?”
Asher made an agitated motion with his hands and said, “I’m not talking about something to eat cereal in. I need a glass bowl big enough for a boat to sail in!”
Looking slightly more interested, the Master said, “As curious as I am to know why you’re covered in burn paste and barging into my class to insist I craft you a portable lake, the fact remains that I am in the middle of teaching a class.”
Asher rolled his eyes and said, “It’s a level-one; don’t pretend you’re not bored to tears. This will be much more interesting and you know it.”
Master Reede considered that for a moment and then said, “You’re probably right.” Then, to his students, “Enjoy a day off from your lessons, class. We’ll resume this discussion tomorrow.”
Pleased with his victory, Asher said, “Good, there’s plenty of open lawn space back here…” and began walking further across the grounds, in the general direction of the translocation circle for their challenge arenas, trusting the Master to follow.
Master Reede caught up easily and asked, “What is this all about, if you don’t mind my asking? You are drafting me as a workhorse, after all.”
“I think I’ve made a major breakthrough on my research project, and I need to check it on a larger scale before I can say for certain that I’m the most amazing prism-user I know.”
Now the Master of Conjury brightened with academic interest.
“You cracked the code on underwater casting through prisms?”
Momentarily diverted, Asher stopped in his tracks and said, “How did you know what my project was?”
“Antwar told me. Most of us know what the others’ apprentices are working on, so we don’t end up duplicating efforts. Don’t look so surprised,” he said after seeing Asher’s expression. “We certainly don’t share that information with other students or members of the community.”
Asher recovered from his shock and pointed to a large spot of grass.
“That should be big enough. Give me at least twenty feet in diameter on it, and make the glass as thin as possible so I don’t get unnecessary focal skew.”
“I’ll pretend I understand what that means,” Reede said dryly, withdrawing a long strip of scripting vellum from his robes and looking through his belt for an appropriately powerful ink. He finally found one that met his criteria, and began drawing on the vellum in dark green, annotating measurements occasionally in the margins. Asher hadn’t had time to take Scriptures during his studies at Mizzenwald, so he didn’t understand much of how it worked, other than it involved using special inks and vellums of varying power to draw and write objects a person wished to create from nothing.
Reede finished his work and said, “Stay here,” walking forward several yards and placing the vellum on the ground. He leaned down and completed one last line on the drawing before moving backwards rapidly, rejoining Asher where he stood as an enormous glass bowl seemed to spring into existence between one blink and the next, right where the vellum had been only moments before.
“It’s perfect,” Asher beamed at it, growing more excited by the minute. There was nothing quite as thrilling as magical discovery. “Now to fill it with water.” He lowered the eyepiece over his left eye and cast Water at the bowl, and it immediately began filling from the bottom up.
He heard Master Reede clasp his Mastery Charm behind him and say, “Hey everyone, Asher is either about to make history or become the shame of us all. Anyone interested in watching should join us out back.”
Asher turned around long enough to say, “Thanks for that, sir…” before returning to his work. He hadn’t really wanted spectators to his experimentation, at least not until he had all the bugs worked out. It didn’t look like he was getting a choice in the matter, especially not since he drafted Master Reede to help him.
Well, as he said, I’m either going to make history or look like an idiot in front of everyone. Maybe no one will show up. Most of them are teaching classes, and they surely wouldn’t all cancel lessons for—
Masters Kilgore and Willow appeared in a swirl of metallic red robes before he could finish his thought, soon joined by Master Antwar.
Great, my sponsor will get a front-row view of this spectacle.
He tried not to think of how his next performance review was going to go if this was a failure. It worked in the workroom…it should work here.
Of course �
��should” and “would” were two entirely different things, but there was no time for self-doubt now. He would have to act as though success was certain and hope for the best.
“What is that giant fish bowl and why are you filling it with water?” Master Kilgore asked. “Also, what did you do to your face that required that much burn paste?”
Asher was unpleasantly surprised to note that his Water spell was burning through his mastery-level clear prism much faster than he had anticipated. He hadn’t fully realized how much water it would take to fill such a large vessel, but now he was starting to wonder if he’d have to make a trip to Pounds of Prisms to get more instruments before he could actually begin the real work.
That’s all I need right now, more pointless wastes of time preparing for the main event.
“I think I’ve figured out underwater casting, and I need to test it on a larger scale, with a more diverse array of spells. As you can see from my orange face, the Boil spell worked quite well in my workroom.”
Master Antwar looked stunned when he said, “You actually made it work?”
“Nah, I just love smearing burn paste on my face. I’m trying to set a new trend in skin-tinting.”
The Prism Master looked like he wanted to smack him in the back of the head, but Asher was busy forcing the last bit of water into the bowl through the remnants of his clear prism. It got more difficult the longer he held the cast, and by the time the prism exploded into dust he only had the bowl about half filled.
Well, it’ll have to do.
“I don’t suppose you have another clear prism I can borrow?” he turned to his mentor, looking hopeful.
“I thought you said you only got one spell to work, and it took you months to develop it,” Antwar told him, frowning. “I can’t let you dive into a giant bowl of water and attempt experimental magic on something you haven’t even vetted thoroughly on the small-scale yet, and I’m certainly not going to watch you boil yourself alive in there, as entertaining as that would be.”
