by A. Giannetti
The surface of the pool was suddenly broken again, but to his intense disappointment, Elerian saw the sleek, round head of a large brown otter appear above the water. The beast studied him for a moment with soft brown eyes, demonstrating an unusual curiosity before it dived in a smooth, sinuous roll that barely disturbed the surface of the water. Without a backward glance, the otter darted downstream and disappeared at the outflow of the pool. Elerian ran quickly around the margin of the pool, but the swift flowing stream that formed the outflow was empty when he reached it. He turned and examined the pool carefully, but there were no other signs of life in its waters. “Did I really see someone in the water, or was it only the otter all along?” wondered Elerian to himself. It had all happened so quickly that he was no longer sure what he had seen.
Still searching the pool with his eyes, he retraced his steps as far as the gray beech growing by the pool. Carbo was sitting there, patiently waiting for him, the silver drops from the mist raised by the falls beaded on his dark fur. It immediately struck Elerian as odd that Carbo had not chased after the otter. “Did he see it?” he wondered to himself, “or did I imagine the otter, too?”
Next to Carbo was a moss covered hollow formed by two of the beech’s great roots. It made an inviting chair, and Elerian sat down there to think about what he had seen. He leaned back against the tree’s smooth trunk and stared at the shifting waterfall and the silvery mist rising off the rocks. In his mind’s eye, he saw the emerald eyed face in the water once more. He became certain that he had not imagined it.
A sudden splash caused him to start and brought his attention back to the pool, but it was only one of the large trout that made its home there, breaking the surface as it made a savage strike at some floating prey. Elerian leaned back against the tree once more and received his second surprise since entering the ravine. He had always felt a certain affinity for trees, especially the gray-skinned beech trees of the forest, but now, through the thick cloth of his tunic, he felt, for the first time, the life force underneath the smooth gray bark of the tree, as if it were some great animal crouched behind him. His startled mind briefly touched a consciousness that was like the pool of deep, clear water before him, serene on the surface but with unknown depths.
There was awareness in that consciousness, but he saw that it perceived the world in a way that was far different from his own. It did not understand sight, but through the vibrations felt through the ground with its fine network of roots, the tree was aware of all that went on around it, including Elerian’s presence. Through its roots, the tree could also communicate with other trees, and Elerian heard strange whispers echo in his mind as the trees around him talked to each other in an unknown language. A shiver suddenly passed up the tree’s trunk, and overhead, its leaves fluttered wildly although there was no wind. The whispers ceased, as if the trees had suddenly realized that Elerian was eavesdropping on their thoughts. He was left with an unspoken sense of disapproval and suspicion echoing in his mind, as if he were being rebuked for listening in on a conversation he was not meant to hear.
Carbo suddenly rose, drawing Elerian’s attention. The dog lapped water from the pool before turning toward Elerian. There was a questioning look in his warm brown eyes. Carbo had little interest in trees and clearly thought it was time to move on. Elerian rose reluctantly to his feet. It was time to leave. He had a feeling that he would see or feel nothing else that was unusual no matter how much longer he remained in the ravine. Followed by an approving Carbo, he climbed back out of the ravine. When he reached the end of the path and stepped back out on the hillside, he looked back between the two trees that marked the entrance to the ravine. The path leading to the gully had vanished, and there was no sign of the green barrier of light. His unpredictable third eye had closed once more.
Elerian fixed the position of the two sentry trees in his mind. Then, certain he could find the ravine again whenever he wished, Elerian turned his footsteps toward Tullius’s house once more.
“I wonder what Tullius will say when I tell him about what I saw in the pool,” he wondered to himself and began to run so that he would not draw the mage’s ire by being late.
FIRST LESSON
When Elerian arrived at Tullius’s house, the mage was already waiting impatiently in his open doorway. “Where have you been?” he asked with a frown. “I expected you an hour ago.”
“I stopped to explore,” said Elerian, entering the house and seating himself at the mage’s rickety table. Carbo lay down at his feet.
“You should save your explorations for days when you have no lessons,” said Tullius irritably. “I have better things to do than spend my time waiting for you to decide to show up.”
“This was something that could not wait,” said Elerian. Excitedly, he told Tullius about the hidden path he had discovered and the pool which lay at the end of it.
“There were people in this land before the Hesperians,” said Tullius with what Elerian considered a strange lack of interest when his story was all told. “You may have discovered one of the places they inhabited long ago, protected from all eyes up to now by a concealment spell.”
“What about the girl I saw in the pool?” asked Elerian. “If the people who cast the spell on that ravine have all vanished, why was she there? She was unlike anyone I have ever seen before.”
“Perhaps,” said Tullius, “she was just a part of the spell that was placed on the ravine. It may have been just an otter that you saw from the beginning.” There was an air of finality in Tullius’s voice, as if he had no further interest in discussing the enchanted ravine.
“Maybe,” said Elerian doubtfully. He was not entirely certain of what he had seen in that magical place, but there was a hooded look in Tullius’s dark eyes that troubled him. It was as if Tullius had thoughts he wished to conceal, and Elerian began to wonder if the lack of interest the mage had displayed was only a ploy to avoid revealing what he knew about the ravine. He resolved to return there at the first opportunity. Perhaps he could discover on his own what Tullius was concealing from him.
Tullius interrupted his thoughts, turning now to the business of Elerian’s first lesson in magic. “In your desire to become a mage, Elerian,” he said in a solemn voice, “you have chosen a difficult, dangerous path for yourself that contains many obstacles.”
Elerian groaned inwardly when he realized that Tullius was beginning another lecture. He wondered with irritation how long he would have to wait for Tullius to actually teach him how to perform magic.
“Do you still wish to be a mage?” asked Tullius, giving Elerian a searching look, almost as if he was aware that his pupil’s thoughts were already wandering.
“I have wanted nothing else for years,” replied Elerian impatiently.
“We will see then if that desire is enough to carry you through your training,” said Tullius, giving Elerian a measuring look. He fell silent for a moment, as if trying to decide where to begin. In fact, Tullius had never trained an apprentice before, and was uncertain of how he should proceed.
“For a human,” he said finally, “magic begins with a staff or a wand. The other races of the Middle Realm and even some animals are able to use their powers directly, but men need a bridge to their power.” Here Tullius paused and took up his own staff from where it leaned against the table by his right hand. Elerian was quite familiar with Tullius’s staff, for it was never far from the mage’s hand. It was a crooked piece of rowan about five feet long and nearly two inches thick. The smooth, gleaming surface of the staff was unmarked by any carvings or other adornment.
“For an old man such as myself, a staff is best, since it also serves as a support,” said Tullius with a smile. “Younger mages often prefer a short wand. Of all the wood one can use to make a staff, rowan wood is the best, for the wood from this tree seems to make the best medium for the magical forces.”
“If all you say is true, why have I been able to perform magic without the use of a staff then?�
�� asked Elerian in a puzzled voice.
Instead of answering the question, Tullius gave him a stern look. “You will pay attention and not interrupt,” he said quietly, “or you may go home now!”
For the second time that day, Elerian felt as if Tullius was concealing something from him, but he immediately fell silent. Tullius was quite capable of carrying out his threat to send him home. The unanswered question remained in Elerian’s mind, however. Although he had used a stick to shoot spells of destruction at the mutare, there were other times when he had performed magic without the aid of any staff or wand.
“He will explain it all in his own good time,” thought Elerian resignedly. He promptly forgot his question when Tullius raised his staff and pointed it at an earthenware plate that stood up on its edge on a shelf hanging on the far wall of the room.
In a firm voice, Tullius said, “Ruere.” Elerian’s unpredictable third eye opened, and he watched in fascination as a small sphere of golden light flew from the end of Tullius’s staff. The sphere flashed across the room, striking the center of the plate. With a single, loud crack, the plate burst into fragments that flew all about the room and rattled to the floor. Carbo immediately jumped out from under the table and began barking loudly, until Elerian spoke softly to him and stroked his head.
“This spell is the same one which I used against the mutare,” said Tullius. “Did you see anything with your third eye?” he asked with a light of eager curiosity in his dark eyes.
“I saw a small golden ball of light leave the end of your staff,” said Elerian happily, for he was pleased that Tullius had finally decided to show him some actual magic. “It flew across the room and struck the plate which then burst into pieces.”
“I have often wondered what shape or form, if any, spells might take,” said Tullius thoughtfully. “You see Elerian; most mages apply their art blindly, for they do not have your gift. We see the results of our spells, if they are successful, but we cannot see the forces which achieve those results. I, for instance, saw the plate burst and nothing else.”
Tullius did not seem to expect any reply from Elerian, for he pointed his staff at the fragments of the plate that were scattered across the worn stone floor of the room and said, “Reddere!” Again, Elerian saw a flash of light, and a moment later, all of the fragments of the plate flew back together. Eagerly, without being asked, Elerian sprang out of his chair and ran over to the remade plate that was now lying on the floor. Curiously, he picked it up and turned it round and round in his hands, but there were no missing pieces or cracks to indicate that it had ever been broken. Elerian thought it was an impressive display of magic, and his eyes shone at the thought of having such power for his own.
Elerian replaced the plate on its shelf and returned to the table, a renewed determination to learn Tullius’s art driving all other questions from his mind for the moment. Tullius began to speak again as soon as Elerian had seated himself once more.
“When performing magic, most mages, human and nonhuman, use the spoken word to direct their spells,” said the mage in his best lecture voice.
“I can perform magic without saying a word,” objected Elerian at once. He quieted immediately and hung his head as Tullius frowned fiercely at him from under bushy gray brows.
“The common belief,” continued Tullius as if he had never been interrupted, “is that the power resides in the words themselves, but mages know this is not true. A person without mage powers can learn the words to a spell, but he will never be able to cast it. If you were listening carefully to what I said,” here he looked pointedly at Elerian for a moment, “you will recall that I said the words only direct the spell.”
“Then why use words at all?” asked Elerian, unable to stop himself from interrupting once more.
Tullius glared at Elerian for a moment, and Elerian knew he was very close to being sent home. He sighed with relief when Tullius began to speak again.
“Words direct the spell so that it does exactly what the mage wishes and nothing more. This is important because an improperly formed spell can cause great harm. In extreme cases, it can even cause the death of the mage. There have been apprentices who did not live out even the first year of their training.” Tullius ceased speaking and looked closely at Elerian, a searching look in his dark eyes.
The idea that his new craft might be dangerous had not occurred to Elerian before. He was pleased to find that the thought did not frighten him. He still felt only a desire to learn.
“He is not afraid,” thought Tullius approvingly to himself, as he observed Elerian’s undiminished enthusiasm. “He must, however, learn some caution to temper that fearlessness. I can assist him there,” he thought to himself, and a half smile almost hidden by his beard and mustache quirked his lips.
Tullius inclined his staff toward the battered surface of the table before him and said, “Lumen.” Elerian saw a small, golden sphere flash from the end of the staff and stop a few inches above the center of the table. As it hovered there, it blossomed into a small yellow ball about three inches in diameter which gave off a steady light.
“You know what this is, of course,” said Tullius to Elerian.
“It is a Dwarf light,” said Elerian. “Everyone has at least one in their home. They are made by Dwarves in their northern cities.”
“And sold at a handsome profit the length and breadth of the Middle Realm,” finished Tullius. “The spell which creates a mage light is a simple one and makes a good first lesson for an apprentice. Before you begin to learn it, however, I have something to give you.” Placing his right hand flat on the table, Tullius said, “Existere charta,” and a thick book appeared under his hand. It was about twice the size of Tullius’s hand and was bound in soft brown leather. The edges of the pages were gilded with yellow gold, and Elerian’s name was written on the cover in elegant, golden letters. Next, Tullius pointed his staff at a small bottle of dark ink and a gray goose quill that were both sitting near each other on a shelf across the room. Tullius spoke a single word, and both articles appeared on the table next to the book. Elerian’s third eye had closed of its own accord, so he did not see the spell which brought the articles to the table, but he did not mind.
“Finally, I am seeing some real magic instead of listening to boring lectures,” he thought excitedly to himself as Tullius pushed the book under his hand across the table. Without being asked, Elerian picked it up and held it in his hands, enjoying the feel of the soft leather against his fingers.
“Open it,” said Tullius.
Elerian immediately opened the book and leafed through the pages. To his disappointment, he discovered that that they were all blank. Tullius smiled at the look of surprise on his face.
“The book you hold in your hand is a spell book of the type possessed by every mage,” he said good-naturedly. “Because spells can be forgotten, the only way to keep them safe is to write them down. The pages of your book are blank now, but they will fill up as you record each new spell that you learn.” Tullius pushed the ink and quill toward Elerian. “Write down the spells which I will now recite for you.”
He leaned back in his chair, and a second book, a twin to Elerian’s except that it had Tullius’s name on the cover, appeared in his right hand. When Tullius opened the book, the pages at first appeared blank, but at the touch of his fingers, words written in a neat hand appeared on the pages.
Noting Elerian’s curiosity, Tullius explained. “The concealment spell placed on the book hides what is written on its pages. The words only appear at the touch of the mage’s fingers. No one can read a spell book without the owner’s permission.” Tullius closed his own book and pushed it across the table to Elerian. As Tullius had warned him, the pages remained blank when Elerian opened the book and turned the pages.
Tullius retrieved his book and began to read the words of two different spells out loud. The first brought a mage light into existence, and the second spell extinguished it. With fingers that shook sligh
tly from excitement, Elerian carefully wrote both spells on the first page of his book.
“Memorize the spells,” Tullius ordered after Elerian was done writing.
Elerian eagerly read over the words he had written until he had memorized them. Once Elerian proved to Tullius that he could recall the words of the spells from memory, Tullius said “Extinguo,” and the small mage light floating above the table went out instantly. “Now, try casting the first spell,” said Tullius to Elerian.
“I have no staff or wand,” objected Elerian at once. “You said I would need one to cast a spell.”
“As I recall, you said you have performed magic before without a staff,” said Tullius carelessly. “Try and cast the spell unaided.”
Confused, Elerian prepared to cast his spell; unaware that Tullius was watching him with a look of intense curiosity which contradicted the casual tone of his words. Had he chanced to look up, Elerian might have wondered what the old mage found so interesting, but his attention was focused on the tabletop. He had never succeeded before in casting a spell without the aid of heightened emotion, and he was doubtful that his unpredictable powers would obey him. Carefully, he spoke the words of the light spell, but to his disappointment, nothing happened. Then, just as he was about to repeat the spell, Elerian felt something flow through his right arm into his fingers. A small orb of golden light suddenly leapt from his fingertips to hover above the tabletop before changing into a yellow mage light. A pleased smile spread across Elerian’s face as he regarded the small sphere of light hovering a few inches above the table top. So great was his excitement, that he barely heard Tullius speak.
