The Choice of Magic

by Michael G. Manning

  “You’re lucky he isn’t dead, Erisa,” said an older male voice, one he recognized as belonging to the hermit.

  “How was I to know he’d do that?” returned his mother. “You said this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  The old man sighed. “I said it wasn’t likely. Left on their own, they usually go on to live normal lives. Stressful events have a way of bringing these things out. If he was grown, this wouldn’t have occurred. Puberty is a sensitive time.”

  “Next time I’ll take him with me,” said Erisa, “and to hell with my business.”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  Erisa’s voice went up in alarm. “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll have to come with me,” answered the old man. “He can’t stay here any longer.”

  “He’s my son!”

  The hermit’s voice grew harsh. “Do you think you can protect him? The first time is always uncertain, but now that it’s happened once, it will happen again. The next time he probably will kill himself, or worse, be noticed. If word gets out, they’ll either lock him up for unlicensed magic or execute him as a warlock.”

  His mother sounded angry when she replied, “My son is no warlock!”

  “Do you think they’ll care or bother to check?” pointed out the old man. “Besides, no one starts out a warlock. If he fully awakens, who knows what might happen? They’ll be on him like flies on shit, all sweet words and irresistible temptation.”

  “You don’t know that,” Erisa argued, but she didn’t sound confident.

  “The hell I don’t!” swore the hermit. “They’re everywhere, even in this house. Just because you can’t see or hear them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. If he learns to notice them, they’ll notice him right back. Do you think a thirteen-year-old boy has the maturity to make sound decisions?”

  “So, what? You’ll make him like you?”

  “Hah!” said the old man, raising his voice. “You think I’d train that pox-ridden bastard’s son? That I’d teach him the keys to power? Not likely. I’ll teach him enough to hide. With a little luck, he could still have a normal life.”

  “Oh? You’ve finally given up on your private war?” asked Erisa.

  The old man snorted. “I gave up on the world a long time ago, just like it gave up on me. As far as I’m concerned, it and everyone in it can all go to hell. It’s none of my concern.”

  “You still sound bitter,” Erisa pointed out. “You’ve never given up your grudge. That kind of hatred will shorten your life.”

  The hermit laughed sourly. “My life is almost done. And it isn’t a grudge—I simply don’t give a fuck anymore. I’m not bitter, I just don’t care. I did my best and all they want is easy power to further their stupid games, like mud-covered swine fighting for slop.”

  “If you really don’t care, why are you helping us?” asked Erisa.

  “That’s your misconception,” said the old man. “I’m not helping you. If I leave this alone, he might do something and draw them down on the village. Then I’d have to move again. I’m getting too old for that crap. I just want to live out the last of my days with what little dignity I have left. I’m doing this because it’s less trouble than the alternative. I don’t give two shits about your little bastard in there.”

  “Don’t forget what I said before,” warned Erisa. “If you hurt him, I’ll shout your name from one end of—”

  “That threat is getting old, girl,” interrupted the old man. “If I were as cold hearted as that I’d just get rid of both of you, especially with you continually trying to extort me for help. It would be a damn sight easier than putting up with an apprentice. Give me a couple of years. By the time he’s fifteen, he’ll know enough to hide it. After that, you can have him back and I can get on with forgetting the world and all the stupid people in it.”

  Will heard the door open and immediately closed his eyes, pretending to still be asleep. Heavy footsteps sounded as the old man crossed the room to his bedside.

  “You’ll have to do better than that boy,” said the old man. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  Erisa put her hand on the hermit’s shoulder. “He’s still sleeping. Let him rest.”

  “I may be ancient, but I’m not addled. He’s been awake for several minutes. There isn’t even a trace of dreaming about him.” The bed shook suddenly as the old man kicked the mattress. “Get up, boy. I don’t have any more time to waste on you. We’re leaving.”

  Will opened his eyes warily. He was pretty sure his acting had been perfect. “How did you know?”

  The old man smiled down at him maliciously. “That’s one of several things you’ll have to learn, or else…”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else you’ll wind up dead,” said the old man.

  Erisa started to protest, “Don’t threaten him…”

  “Stay out of it, Erisa. The boy’s mine now.” Glancing around the room, he searched for something with his eyes but didn’t find it. “Oh, this is your room, isn’t it? Go get a bag and put his clothes in it. I don’t think he’s fit for packing right now.”

  Will’s mother left. While she was gone, at the old man’s urging he made another attempt at sitting up. This time he succeeded, but he still felt weak as a kitten. The old man didn’t let up, though. He kept prodding and poking until Will got to his feet, where he stood swaying for a moment.

  “You’d better pull it together, boy,” said the old man harshly. “If you pass out on the way back, I’ll leave you in the woods. I’m damn sure not carrying you. It’s your spirit that’s tired, not your body. Learn the difference. You’ll feel worse than this before I’m done with you.”

  Will felt the first stirrings of anger at the rough words. “I’m not faking it,” he protested. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  The old man reached out with one hand and lifted Will’s chin so he could stare into his eyes. “You think I should feel sorry for you? Maybe I should be nicer? After all, you’re like this because you saved that little boy. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Will pursed his lips for a moment, then answered, “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it, weren’t you, you selfish little prick?” accused the hermit. “What you didn’t stop to think about was how dangerous what you did was. How would your mother have felt if she had come home to find you cold and dead on the floor? That never crossed your tiny little mind, did it?”

  “I didn’t know it was dangerous,” protested Will.

  “Then you shouldn’t have done it!” said the old man. “Lesson number one, if you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, then don’t do it.”

  Will didn’t understand why the old man was so angry. Especially since it was clear he hated Will. If saving Joey was dangerous, then Will’s action was all the more heroic. “I’d do it again,” he said rebelliously. “At worst, it’s a life for a life.”

  Erisa returned with a sack stuffed full of his meager belongings. The old man took it and slung it over one shoulder, then ushered Will out the door. He stumbled trying to keep up. For some reason, he was extraordinarily clumsy today.

  His mother followed them a short distance, uttering an endless stream of advice and warnings. “Be good for him, Will. Learn whatever you can. He may seem rough, but he’s not as bad as all that. I love you.”

  “I will, Momma,” he told her, wishing he could reassure her. The old man said nothing at all, ignoring both of them equally as he walked.

  Eventually, Erisa stopped following them and they were left alone, following a small trail through the Glenwood. Will knew it well. He had followed it often in the past, during his many adventures with Eric. The hermit’s home had been a favored destination since it seemed strange and dangerous.

  Now he was going to live there. It boggled his mind. I wonder if he’ll let me visit Eric, thought Will idly. Almost as soon as his thoughts drifted, he stumbled and fell.

  “Get up, fool,” s
napped the old man.

  Will stared sourly up at his antagonist, then shakily got to his feet again. “You could help me,” he said bitterly.

  The old man stretched, running his hand through the bristly white hair that stood out from his head. “I am helping you.”

  “You could have fooled me, then.”

  “This is a lesson,” said the man. “A lesson in consequences. Don’t forget it. Learn it well and you won’t do this to yourself again, or at the very least, if you do, you’ll do it knowing the price you’ll pay.” He watched Will struggle to coordinate his legs as they began walking again. There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in his hard, grey eyes.

  They walked for fifteen minutes without a word when Will’s new guardian broke the silence without warning. “The worst isn’t a life for a life.”

  Startled, Will replied, “Sir?”

  “Earlier,” said the old man. “You said at worst it was a life for a life. That isn’t true. There are worse things than dying in this world.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’ll learn about those things later, if you live long enough,” said the hermit. “For now, you just need to do as I say. Pay heed to my words, and I guarantee the worst that will happen to you is dying.”

  “You’re a real charmer,” said Will sarcastically.

  “You want me to be nicer? Fine. Here’s another lesson for you,” said the hermit. “There’s nothing wrong with your body. It’s your spirit that’s worn thin. It’s a big surprise to most, learning how hard it is to function when your heart and soul are grey and empty. You’ll recover in time, but for now you’ll have to put all your attention on your movements. Focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Don’t let anything distract you. You don’t have the energy for stray thoughts.”

  Will did as he was told, and it did seem to help. So long as he kept his attention firmly on his body, it worked properly. His muscles weren’t tired, though it still felt as though he was walking uphill. It was some sort of internal resistance he had to fight against.

  He couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying completely, though. After a short while, he asked, “Is this what happened to you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Did you use up your spirit? Is that why you’re so crabby and mean?” explained Will.

  The old man began to laugh, long and loud, a hearty laugh unlike anything Will had heard from him before. When he finally stopped and caught his breath, he continued walking without answering.

  Chapter 6

  When they finally arrived at the hermit’s house, it was just as bad as Will remembered. It didn’t even merit the name ‘house.’ A better term would have been shack, for the place had certainly seen better days.

  It was about twenty feet across when viewed from the front, and perhaps as long as that from front to back, although it was hard to tell. The back of the dilapidated structure was completely overgrown with small trees, brush, and a stupendous quantity of thorny brambles. If there had ever been a back door, it was certainly no longer accessible.

  “Wait here,” said the old man before stepping up to the front door.

  “Can’t I come in?” asked Will. It wasn’t that he was particularly keen on seeing the inside, but even a dirty shack would be better than sleeping outdoors.

  “I don’t want you fouling up my home,” said the hermit bluntly. Then he went in and shut the door.

  Will stared at the door, angry and confused. Fouling up his home? Is he serious? He was near certain he was cleaner and better smelling than the old man had been at any point in the last ten years.

  The door opened again, and the hermit stepped back out, a small glass vial in his hand. He held it out to Will. “Drink this.”

  “What is it?” asked Will suspiciously.

  “Something to make you feel better, unless you’d rather be a wet rag for the next few days. You’re of no use to me like this.”

  As soon as he took the vial in hand he felt something, and when he unstopped it he could see a strange though faint light stirring in the dark fluid. It reminded him of one of his mother’s herb infusions, except that the energy within didn’t remind him of any plant. It reminded him instead of the old man who had just handed it to him.

  “Is this blood?” he asked in alarm.

  The hermit began to laugh again. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it feels like you,” said Will, unsure how to communicate his feeling.

  The old man’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re a little more perceptive than is good for you.” Then he chuckled. “Blood—that’s a good idea. No one’s done that in a long time. It might be easier to make that way, though I doubt it would keep as long. Drink it.”

  Will clenched his teeth. “No.”

  “Suit yourself,” said the hermit. “You can sleep out here tonight. We’ll call that your second lesson.” He turned away and started to go back inside.

  “Wait,” exclaimed Will. “I don’t want to sleep out here.”

  The old man looked back at him. “Then drink it. Those are your choices. Drink it and come inside, or don’t and sleep on the ground.”

  “What is it?” asked Will sullenly.

  “Elixir of turynal,” answered the old man.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  The hermit sighed. “Turyn is what the old wizards called the energy that fueled their magic. Think of it as mana, spirit energy, or just as magic, if that helps you understand. Drinking it will help restore what you’ve lost.”

  Will’s eyes lit up. “This is magic?”

  The old man nodded, his face serious.

  Tilting his head back, Will drank the contents in a single gulp, ignoring the bitter taste. It burned as it went down his throat, and he felt a warm glow begin to radiate from his belly. A moment later, a wave of nausea passed through him.

  The old man stepped close and grabbed his head then, gripping his skull with one hand and holding his mouth shut with the other. Will struggled in his grasp, but the man’s hands seemed impossibly strong.

  His stomach rebelled, sending their contents upward, but the old man wouldn’t release him. “Hold it, boy. Just a few seconds, that’s all it takes,” said the hermit. Then he began to count backwards from five. When he reached ‘one,’ he released Will and leapt back with surprising speed.

  Choking and coughing, Will began to vomit, emptying his stomach onto the weeds at his feet. Even after his belly was empty, he continued to heave for several minutes, retching and spitting. His abdomen was sore and tender even once the heaving had stopped, and the nausea was far from gone. “You poisoned me,” he gasped at last.

  “That’s a valid observation,” said the hermit, grinning down at him. “From your limited perspective, at least. I prefer to think of it as teaching through experience. The sickness you feel is called ‘spirit poisoning,’ but my intent wasn’t as malicious as you might think. Once your body recovers from the shock, you’ll find that you feel much better.”

  Will’s stomach contracted once again. It relaxed a moment later, and he drew a deep breath. “I think I’m dying.”

  The old man arched one brow, then replied, “I highly doubt that, but given your lack of ability, I suspect you’ll feel ill for half an hour or longer.”

  “Why?” asked Will, spitting to clear his mouth of the taste. “Why would you do that to me? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Besides being born?” stated the old man, answering his question with a question. “Nothing. I don’t hate you, boy, though I’ll admit to disliking you. But that isn’t the reason I gave you the elixir.” He sat down on the porch and stared at Will thoughtfully. “My real reason was to get you back on your feet quicker, and to illustrate a valuable lesson. The turyn in that vial was mine, as you correctly observed. If it had been yours, you would have suffered very few side effects, or even none at all. Why do you think that is?”

  Glaring at him, Will answered, “Because you’re evil.�
��

  The hermit laughed. “Guilty as charged, but that isn’t the reason. Try again.”

  “You aren’t human,” Will suggested. “Or maybe you’re a half-fiend, the wicked product of the union of a demon and a human woman.”

  “Better,” said the hermit. “You certainly don’t lack for imagination. Still wrong, though. At least your answer has a testable element to it.”

  “Testable?”

  The old man nodded. “If you could convince a half-fiend to produce the elixir of turynal for you, you could take it and see how it affected you.”

  Will was dumbfounded. “But, demons aren’t real. Right?”

  “Oh, they’re quite real,” said the hermit matter-of-factly. “And while I’ve never had one make the elixir for me, I did devour the essence of a demon once, which amounts to almost the same thing. It wasn’t too different from that of another human.”

  “You what?” Will gaped at him.

  Waving his hand, the old man went on, “That isn’t the point, boy. The important thing for you to know is that even if the elixir I gave you had come from your mother, or a saint, the effect on you would have been much the same. Try to reason out why that is.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Will abruptly.

  “As if I give a shit, boy,” said the hermit dryly. “Stick to the question at hand.”

  Will stared at the dirt in front of him, then scooted back to put some more distance between himself and the mess he had expelled from his stomach. He didn’t know what to make of the old man’s claim regarding demons. It couldn’t be true. He’s just trying to scare me, he decided. Glancing up, he saw that his new guardian was still waiting for an answer.

  He thought about his mother’s herbs then. Each one was different from the others; they all had their own subtle properties. Even plants of the same species were different, as he had come to learn from his newfound insights. If people were the same, or rather the magic within them, would that account for the sickness he felt?

  “Because they’re different?” said Will hesitantly, unsure how to explain his thoughts.