Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  "Rony?" asked the younger sister as she closed her eyes, hoping his response would draw her to consciousness for a few more minutes. But when all she heard was a deep inhalation followed by an equally deep exhalation, she knew he had succumbed to that which she would soon. In the last few moments of her wakefulness, her thoughts subconsciously drifted to many things. She remembered who her father was, or at least who she thought him to be. She remembered the last night both she and her brother shared with their mother. However, her most vivid most memory was that of Inglorca's rough and thick fur beneath her fingers as she lovingly scratched her growing hide. For that is what she desired most, to feel the bond of closeness, both physically and beyond, with the one thing she felt closest too, with the one thing she felt, no, she knew, understood her the most. But that would have to wait for just one more night. "One more night," she unconsciously whispered. Just one more night. Then, like her brother, she too inhaled one more wakeful time only to descend into the depths of sleep. There, in the warm confines of her memory of Inglorca, she slept and dreamed deeply.

  Luos

  (Lost)

  "Initiate Intellos," said his teacher, "Do you know the answer to the question I just asked?"

  As Intellos stared out of the window, as he often did in this class, his mind drifted to many places and times and ideas, each ending in a central thought: governing dynamics. Not just the dynamics of the superficial observations, but those that ran deeper. Those that were yet to be explored and uncovered; and perhaps those yet to be even just a thought. For that is where his mind felt most at home, inside the realms of impossibilities and unprecedented ideas. Though he was still only in his first year at the University and had just begun his second class in The Alchemy of Life coursework, he was already scheming of possible ways to improve the already perfected techniques of imbuing magic into liquids.

  Obviously, he had already deduced the key was in the specific ingredients of each potion, but why? Why were some ingredients conducive for some magical effects and not others? And why was its base always water? While other students were busy memorizing the endless ingredient lists for the endless number of potions, he was busy exploring the endless possibilities of understanding the why's of it all. However, because his mind was ever exploring topics not related to the current lesson, he would fall behind in his note taking. Consequently, although he possessed the mental wherewithal to answer just about any question asked of him if given the appropriate preparation, he was usually lacking in that preparation if put directly on the spot. And Master Thronor did enjoy putting initiates on the spot, particularly those prone to the useless endeavor of day dreaming.

  "Intellos!" said the voice more sternly.

  "What?" he said as he jerked his head quickly back to focus on Master Thronor, the potions master. When he saw the disapproving look on the potions master's face and heard the muffled laughter from his fellow initiates, he quickly adjusted his initially abrupt response, "Oh, I am sorry Master Thronor. What was the question again?"

  Even further displeased, the potions master walked slowly over to young Intellos’s desk standing above him with his towering height and even more towering demeanor. "The only question now is, will you be able to successfully negotiate the halls from this class to the Grand Wizard's office. If he is not expecting you, I am sure he will not be surprised with your presence."

  Intellos looked down and gathered his belongings as he sheepishly said, "Yes Potions Master Thronor." There was no doubt that Intellos had an auspicious beginning to his yet young wizarding career; however, being told to visit the Grandmaster's office on a weekly basis had his young mind questioning more than just whether or not he was competent enough to become a wizard. He had begun to doubt the purpose for which he had been taken from his family, which meant he had begun to question himself, and not just his ability.

  Having been to the grand wizard's office more times than he could remember in a short enough time rendering his geographic memory automatic, he aimlessly walked through the halls of the esteemed university innately aware of the correct turns. Whereas most if not all other Initiates of his limited time would have required instructions to the Grand Master’s office, Intellos needed none. The path had been burned into his subconscious so much so that his feet walked the path all by themselves without the engagement of his mind.

  Every time he approached the Grand Wizard's office, he expected to place his hand on the latch, apply the light and necessary pressure required to push it down, and sheepishly swing the door open. But that is never what happened. Without fail, and only a moment before his hand contacted the cool iron, the door would slowly and easily swing open on its own. And every time the door swung open, it would always reveal the Grand Wizard sitting behind his desk pouring over some papers, either loose or bound together.

  "Intellos," said Darkinian, "I did not expect to see you again this soon after the last time. What is the nature of the complaint against you? I believe you were in Master Thronor's Potions seminar?"

  The young boy entered the elder wizard's office with his head down and his shoulders slumped, obviously feeling poorly regarding his mandated visit. "I am sorry, Grand Wizard, but I am not sure this time," he said as his head continued to remain downcast.

  When Intellos had first entered The University halls, he was filled with confidence, never showing signs otherwise; however, over his first several months, he slowly began to lose this confidence. This was not uncommon amongst students as it was the first time many of them would be away from their home and parents, but the successes they achieved in class soon replaced the worth they felt they lost being away from any sort of familiarity. This was not the case, however, with Intellos. Not because the successes would not affect him, but rather, because he had so few of them.

  It had been inadvertently, or perhaps intentionally, leaked that Intellos was expected to become one of the most powerful wizards the realm had ever seen because of his vast reservoir of talent. So, it was only natural with every failure he experienced, his fellow initiates, out of jealousy, would ridicule him relentlessly. Understandably, the young initiate assumed a very withdrawn demeanor, preferring the company of his thoughts and mind over that of his peers and instructors. The more he was ridiculed, the more he withdrew. The more he withdrew, the more he was ridiculed. And the combination of the two manifested as more frequent visits to the Grand Wizard's office for correction.

  "You are not sure?" asked the Grand Wizard as he lifted his elderly face from his pile of papers. "Surely you still possess the wit I felt when I first came to talk to you." Instead of responding to The Grand Wizard's question, Intellos lowered his head again, and slightly lifted his hands before allowing them to fall and rest by his sides in resignation.

  "Well, Initiate?" pressed the Grand Wizard. But when Intellos remained silent, he continued his pressure and asked more forcefully, "What is your answer?"

  "I do not know," the young boy answered quietly.

  "You do not know?" asked the Grand Wizard again, showing his agitation. "Initiate Intellos, failure is allowable and expected as part of the learning process. You will fail more times than you will succeed in this early part of your learning. Likewise, the occasional lack of behavioral etiquette is also expected and even welcomed at times. But what will not be allowed nor tolerated is the lack of awareness of one's actions. Now, I ask you again, what is the nature of your transgression?"

  "I already told you I do not know," said Intellos, his voice beginning to show his own agitation.

  "You will have to do better than that. In all things, you are a wizard first!" challenged the Grand Wizard.

  "How can I do better when I do not know?" asked Intellos as more of a challenge than a request for guidance.

  "You are a wizard, figure it out!" said the Grand Wizard sternly.

  "But I cannot!" yelled Intellos, his frustration had built beyond the point of his ability to deflect.

  "Yes, you can," responded the Grand W
izard emphatically.

  "No, I cannot!" erupted Intellos. "How can I do better when what I do will never be good enough? How can I be better when what I will be will never be good enough," he said as the months of emotions came streaming out of his eyes and mouth equally.

  "Because, young one, you are a wizard!" answered the Grand Wizard, standing up and walking out from behind his large and ornate desk.

  "No, I am not!" said Intellos. "I cannot even do the simplest of tasks," he said, his voice showing the deflation of his anger into pity while his eyes continued to cry.

  Without asking another question, and without the use of magic, Grand Wizard Darkinian could see the breakdown of value within the young Initiate. Perhaps he had pushed him too far too early. Perhaps he should have waited before approaching his parents about his magical talent. But the boy had manifested early and to delay might mean a degradation in his magical training. By waiting, he would have inadvertently allowed the young boy to develop it on his own resulting in a myriad of potential complications. No, he had not recruited him too early, nor had he pushed him too far. So, while Intellos expected yet another barrage of unanswerable questions, Darkinian the Great silently strode over to him and embraced him, allowing his tears to wet the fabric of his robes.

  Intellos did not return the Grand Wizard's embrace immediately, but after a few seconds, his arms rose and he squeezed harder than he was being squeezed. They remained there for a long time, at least it seemed like a long time to the young boy whose appreciation of stillness was founded in his youthful inclination to move. But when they did move, they both walked to the Grand Wizard's desk. Once there, Darkinian bid the young initiate to sit in his own chair, to which Intellos indulged with an exhausted flop. The Grand Wizard sat down on his desk and waited in silence for the Initiate to speak.

  "Grand Wizard," he said between deep inhalations, "how can you say I am a Wizard when I have the toughest time concentrating in class?"

  "What do you mean?" he responded.

  "I guess what I am asking is how can I be a wizard when I am not acting like a wizard?" he asked as he seemed to further sink into the plush and soft leather of the Grand Wizard's chair.

  "What do you believe makes a Wizard?" he asked.

  "The ability to use magic," answered Intellos.

  "Well, if that were true, then the Orc and Ogre Shaman would be considered Wizards, would they not?"

  "Yes, I guess they would."

  "But are they wizards?" asked the grand wizard.

  "No," Intellos said, and then paused to consider his response. Sensing the young boy had more to say, the elder wizard waiting in silence. "Yes, I think. Well, I do not know actually."

  "Well, which is it," he said as he chuckled.

  "I do not know," said the young wizard.

  Laughing again, he asked, "What do you know then?"

  "Not that much it appears," answered Intellos as his head returned to the downcast position it had when he first entered the office.

  "Follow me, Intellos," said the Grand Wizard as he got up and walked toward his door, "I would like to show you something." Intellos rose from his chair and followed the Grand Wizard into the hallway. After only a few turns down the mazelike halls, he knew where they were headed. Because of its vast size, the Great Library of The University was not located in a wing of the building, but was its own wing. In truth, the Library was the only place the young Initiate felt something resembling the peace of his home. Not because of any emotional connection with anyone associated with it, but because of its books. How he still loved books. And while his access was severely limited to only one shelf, the eventual possibilities were endless. And the best part about the library is that his older brother would not be there to interrupt his reading.

  When they entered the huge library, Darkinian did not stop to look around and marvel at its contents, the most expansive in the land, as nearly all of the Initiates instinctively did. Instead, he maintained his purposeful strides and walked through several isles, turning this way and that, until he came to stand before one nondescript shelf that contained no books of wizarding significance. After pausing for a minute to identify where the book he was looking for was positioned, he reached up and pulled it from the shelf. As he opened it, he thumbed through some of the pages slowly, smiling as he did. When he reached the specific page of his intent, his eyes scrolled its contents. When he found what he was looking for, he stopped and began to read:

  "There is nothing more noble than the persistence of action in response to failure. For in our persistence, we begin to understand the most difficult of all questions. It is easy to learn from those who predispose our own paths, but a much more difficult thing is to learn from the forging of our own way. For in that learning is held many more failures than successes; hence many more times we must face the mirror of our own doubts and overcome them."

  When he was finished reading, he closed the book and handed it to the young initiate, "There is, of course, more to this book than that single paragraph, but this is the most important. Do you know why?"

  Intellos reached for the red bound book and wiped the front and back cover to free it of its dusty coating. "Why is it so dusty?"

  "Because, my young initiate, it is disregarded by most who walk within these walls. But I believe it to be a work of great importance," he said as he knelt down to Intellos’s level.

  "Why is that?" asked the young initiate. But noticing he had asked a question with a dual answer, he clarified, "Why is it disregarded if it is so important?"

  "Because, it was not written by a wizard," answered Darkinian.

  "Why does that matter?" asked Intellos as he opened the book and began thumbing through its pages, mimicking the elder wizard.

  "It should not matter at all, but often times, when one practices something, we believe it to be our sole property. This is especially true for us Wizards. Anyone who is not a wizard could not possibly add to our collection of knowledge. At least nothing of pertinence."

  "Do you believe that?" asked Intellos as he handed the book back to Darkinian.

  "I would have thought our discussion of this book would show that I do not share that sentiment; but that book is yours now, Intellos. And that question is now yours to answer," said the Grand Wizard as he pushed the book gently back to Intellos.

  "Really?" he asked with excited disbelief. "Thank you Grand Wizard Darkinian! I will read it right away!"

  "As you should, young initiate; however, do not let it interfere with your studies. You still must learn how to control your talent if you are to be a great wizard one day."

  Intellos almost plunged himself into the warm but surprised embrace of the grand wizard. There they stood, embraced in a warm hug and all the while, Intellos repeated "Thank you" over and over again.

  The warm memory faded quickly, as all things did. So removed was he from those emotions of inadequacy he felt as a first-year initiate that he felt they had been defeated once and for all. Yet, here he was, gazing deeply into the bottom of his ale mug after taking a deep pull, battling them all over again. Indeed, his gulp would have been much deeper had it not been for the mug’s untimely lack of liquid. As he tipped his head back shaking his tankard to get the absolute last drop, more so because he enjoyed its mind-numbing effect in his current emotional state than the taste. However, he did find his current ale of choice, a dark and heavy stout, quite apropos. Though heavily influenced by its alcohol, he was not without the mental lucidity to draw more than an unconscious parallel between its dark and viscous fluid and his dark and heavy mood.

  This was indeed a drink of deep intentions and even deeper contemplations. It was not one that would produce the boisterous laughter among friends so common in taverns like this. Nor would it allow for rapid consumption. An ale like this was meant to be savored from beginning to end without disregarding its changes during its consumption. For this moment, in this time and at this hour, this dark and thick, barrel-aged ale from the dee
pest caverns of the dwarven caves was, in all emotionally supportive ways, perfect.

  It allowed him to focus his attention within, to the intentions of what he was struggling with all those years ago. He admitted that while he was at home, before attending The University, he and his identity were quite content to continue in their respective paths of development linked to his parents and their instructions. And during their lessons, he would always excel, even beyond his older brother. So, quite naturally, he developed his identity on the foundation of his parents' praises. As such, he expected his successes, part of who he was, to be continued in the natural course of his development at The University. However, when the founding understanding of who he was had been repeatedly challenged and proven contrary to the praise he garnished from his always approving parents, the walls and trusses of his self-worth naturally began to erode.

  But such things were beyond the mental capacity of a young boy, albeit gifted, to comprehend let alone analyze and correct. Yet, it was not beyond him to feel, and interpret, what felt right. So, while he was reading that book as a young initiate, even though he did not mentally identify with the principles it was explaining as applicable to himself, he did know they felt right. And so, he began to understand that his identity, who he was, was not based on his shared qualities with others, but in the qualities that were solely his. It is what made him, him; unique and hence, valuable. Yet, even though that young boy was lifetimes removed from the man he was now, he found himself right back in the middle of that quandary. If he had not been indulging in his self-pity as heavily as his ales, he might have even chuckled to himself at the irony of it all, but such as he was, instead of shaking his head in amused disbelief, his eyes teared up as he stared at the bottom of his utterly empty ale mug.

  "Barmaid!" he shouted as he clumsily thudded his emptied, pewter tankard on the hard and unfinished wood table, "I believe I need another!"