Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  He was so absorbed in thought he walked past the door to the Lab.

  Trevor’s cheerful laughter brought him back. “Wake up, child. Come now, open the door.”

  Viper willed the door open, but nearly got it stuck halfway. Could all the talk of age mean that Trevor feared he was losing his powers? The old sorcerer had him open the door every time they came down together, and it seemed that he could open it far more quickly and easily than his teacher could. Lightning strike the thought.

  But his worries didn’t slow the old man down. Trevor searched through the Lab for a particular pile of papers, and through the pile for a little folder. “Here it is.” He handed the folder to Viper. “Sit down, child, clear a space. And find a writing utensil. Preferably a pencil with a large eraser.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Viper eyed the unmarked folder, which looked exactly like the one he’d suffered through yesterday. “Copy another series of lists?”

  “You’re to take these examinations, of course.” Trevor looked up in surprise. “You’re ready to advance to third level, so we must officially close out second level. Remember that if anything goes wrong, we can attempt these exams again in three lunars.”

  Anything going wrong was not allowed. He was already lunars behind where he should be, curse Kraken and the gang. He had to pass all of these tests and move on.

  All of the good stuff happened in the third level. He’d gotten a glimpse at the lessons schedule two lunars ago, had been looking for it ever since. Why hide what he was supposed to learn?

  “Please get started, and don’t bother me unless you can’t read my writing. I have a task I wish to finish before noon.” Trevor wandered through the Lab’s chaos toward the far side of the room.

  That sounded bad. The old man had never said ‘don’t bother me’ before. “Do I have to face another Sealed Room, or something else as awful?”

  “Nothing awful. Not today, certainly. You have another test of will, but you’re prepared for it, don’t you fear. Now, get to work. I want you to be finished by noon.”

  Viper riffled through the test papers. Trigonometry, geometry, chants, botany, vocabulary in Old Tongue, Duremen-Lor, and Nashidran; the subjects covered everything he’d studied over the past few lunars. He could even do all the chants and make them work right, if he didn’t rush the wording.

  Trevor lit the laboratory oven and pulled out a series of glass bowls. He measured quantities of beige powder into largest.

  Viper watched as the old man measured six pennyweights of white powder, but returned to his papers when Trevor looked up and glared at him, green eyes bright and sparkling. He heard the addition of liquid, and a great deal of stirring, but he kept his mind on the questions and equations on the paper under his pencil.

  Later, when he looked up to rest his eyes, he saw Trevor industriously rolling what appeared to be a small snake.

  He hated snakes. Was the old turybird making them?

  Trevor picked up the snake-thing by each end and flipped it over to a tray, crossing and tucking with dusty fingers. He noticed his audience, however, and glared until Viper went back to work.

  A few minutes before noon, Viper stretched his back. His spine popped like the Cantor’s warning drumbeat. He’d been hunched over too long. His joints sounded even older than Trevor’s. “I’ve finished the written part.”

  “Well done.” The old man closed his book, opened the oven, and slid the tray inside. He chose a medium-sized hourglass and wound his way through the clutter to sit next to Viper. He shook the glass gently and turned it over.

  Fine gray sand flowed into the lower chamber.

  “We have twelve minutes to finish your examination.” The old sorcerer looked over the exam papers and checked the answers against a key. “Good. Very good. All of your responses are correct. I’m quite impressed.”

  Viper bowed from the shoulders, Nashidran style.

  “We shall recommence with the turn-the-page incantation. Use this tome.” Trevor opened a large book with thick vellum pages.

  Blast. He’d practiced on paper books, but he’d never played with the old man’s expensive sheepskin. What if he couldn’t make the chant work on vellum? It would hold back his progress by lunars.

  Three whole lunars. He didn’t want to waste that much time.

  A page was a page. No point in frightening himself into failure. He took a moment to gather his will before he began the chant.

  “Pagina, turnen.

  “Ih neowe demande

  “Thy leef changen

  “Aet min commande.”

  The vellum wafted over, far more slowly than a page normally turned when he chanted at it, but it did obey his will.

  “Very good.” Trevor grinned and applauded. “Now the pest-be-gone chant.”

  “But I don’t have a pest.”

  The old man pulled a small clay jar out of his coat pocket and popped the cork off with his thumb. A blue fly crept out and clung to the opening. “Now you do.” Trevor shook the jar until the fly dropped off.

  The bluebottle buzzed in slow circles around the Lab.

  Getting rid of a fly would be easier than teasing Lorel into chasing him. Pest-be-gone was his favorite chant. It always worked.

  He strutted to the door and willed it open before he turned to face the lazy fly. “Listen, you, beat it.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  “Peste, geweggehe,

  “Git ut af siht.

  “Thy praesentia unvanted

  “Put yn horied fliht.”

  The fly buzzed out the door and down the hall. He twirled in a satisfied little dance.

  “Well done.” Trevor raised one eyebrow at his twisting feet. “But you only said one verse.”

  “You didn’t pick a very resilient pest.”

  “True.” The old man checked the hour glass. “I believe one more will do. Let’s hear the open-the-basket chant.”

  Oh, I hate that one. It’s so dumb. Bright eyes, indeed. “Which basket do you want me to open?” he asked politely.

  Trevor looked at him askance, as though to ask, What are you up to now? But he said only, “The copper chest over there.”

  “That’s not a basket!”

  “I told you that these chants are very flexible.” Trevor tapped his fingers on the table. “It will work if you put your mind behind the words. Weaver speed the Shuttle, you’re too old to whimper at every new idea I present. Now try it.”

  Viper shuffled over to the chest and glared at it.

  You’re about to ruin a perfect exam. Well, I won’t let you. You’re going to open whether you like it or not.

  He checked to make sure the chest wasn’t locked.

  Trevor grinned. “I wouldn’t do that to you, but it’s a good habit.”

  The day he believed people wouldn’t trick him, he needed to feed himself to the bahtdor. But maybe he shouldn’t measure everyone by Lorel’s love of silly stunts.

  He held his hands over the chest and concentrated. He’d have to be careful. This was one of the most childishly-worded chants, and it usually distracted him.

  “Basged, openian,

  “Thy hlid reisen.

  “Schew ealle thy contentum

  “To min bryht eyen.”

  He waited. He concentrated harder.

  Nothing happened.

  What was wrong with him? It was just a chant. He was practically an expert at chants, he’d been working on them for so long.

  What was he doing wrong? When he told the chest to open, it…

  Of course it wouldn’t open. He was calling it a basket. He modified the wording, increased his concentration, and chanted.

  “Cofre, openian!”

  And the chest opened wide.

  “Amazing!” Trevor shouted. “Absolutely beautiful. I’ve never seen it done. Do you understand what you’ve done? You made a modified chant work the first time using only the first line. Congratulations, young man.”

  “Thank you,
sir.” Viper scuffed his feet on the stone floor. Warmth spread across his cheeks. What had he worried about?

  “Amazing.” Trevor scribbled in his notebook furiously, his words splattering all over the page like turybird tracks in the mud around the only water hole in three days travel.

  “Am I done now?”

  “Done?” Trevor looked up, and reluctantly pushed his notebook aside. “Not yet. Now we come to the final test. You are required to create a shield.”

  A shield? Out of bahtdor ribs and abuelo snake hide? Where would he find such things in Zedista? He’d had a horrible time finding a bahtdor arm bone to create Lorel’s swords.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to throw anything fatal at you.” Trevor plucked a snake’s skull off the shelf behind him and weighed it in his hand. “As long as this bounces off before it touches you, you’ll pass the exam.”

  If anything could make him want to create a shield so it couldn’t touch him, it would be a snake. Even a dead snake.

  The trouble was, he’d never attempted a shield. He’d never read about a magical shield. He’d never even guessed it was possible.

  Trevor tossed the skull at him. It bounced off his chest.

  Viper caught the blasted thing with his fingertips and dropped it on top of the mound of specimens on the nearest table. It tumbled down the pile of clutter, thumped against his hip, and slid toward the floor. He trapped it against his thigh as soon as it cleared the edge of the table.

  Dead fangs poked his palm.

  He shuddered and turned the skull upside down.

  Trevor shook his head. “Give it here. I obviously didn’t give you time enough to prepare. We’ll try it once more.”

  And then what? Would the old man reject him as a failure? Maybe he was a worthless failure. His father thought so. He’d never have been Outcast otherwise. He was so short his whole tribe considered him crippled. Maimed. Unwhole.

  Is that how the old man would see him? Would he send him away?

  Trevor bounced the skull on his palm. He drew back his arm, preparing to toss it again.

  “Wait. Could you give me a hint?”

  Trevor’s eyebrows soared to his hairline. “Why would you need a hint? Didn’t I lecture you on shields a couple of lunars ago?”

  “No.” Not that he recalled, anyway. If the old man had told him while he was recovering from blood loss, broken ribs, and pneumonia, he didn’t remember anything about it.

  “But surely I gave you a couple of books…”

  “Nope.” Definitely not. He’d remember books, no matter how sick he was. He’d never met a book he didn’t love. Well, rarely, anyway.

  “Oh, dear.” Trevor’s shoulders drooped. “This is awkward. I can’t very well test you on a topic I haven’t introduced.”

  Blast. He was failing second level purely because the old turybird forgot to teach him the subject matter. It wasn’t fair.

  Three lunars lost in a sinkhole. Though to be reasonable, he’d probably need three lunars to figure out this shielding business. He couldn’t imagine where he’d even start.

  Trevor closed his notebook. “I do apologize. I was certain I’d taught you about shields. They’re critical for the next steps of your education. Unpleasant things can happen when one practices third level sorcery without proper shielding.”

  He’d been doing third-level illusions without shields for a lunar. Were they really that important?

  “We’ll start on the grounding for shields right after the Society meeting tomorrow.” Trevor shook his head. “I feel so foolish.”

  Poor old man. Nobody could remember everything. Especially not when you’re one hundred thirty two years old.

  He’d be sure to read ahead, from now on. Nothing worse than a surprise to ruin an apprentice’s day.

  He glanced over to the table. “Your hourglass is empty.”

  “What? Oh, dear. Oh, dear!” Trevor dashed across the crowded room.

  Viper peeked at the papers on the old man’s desk. Levels of Sorcerous Sciences Instruction. A list of all the subjects he’d be studying. He’d finally found it.

  He had to see it.

  Trevor would be annoyed, if he noticed, but he should be busy with his snakes for a few minutes.

  There might never be another chance. He pulled the list toward him.

  ‘Level 1: Neophyte. Beginning mathematics, languages, science, geography, chemistry, animal anatomy. Introduction to Will Control.’

  He’d covered all of that successfully already, even the segment on will. The note below was ominous, though: ‘All sorcerous effects are temporary; wizardry can be permanent.’ Trevor had forgotten to mention that.

  ‘Level 2: Direct Willed Influence and Affective Incantations.’ He was fairly certain that meant willing something to happen, and chanting to make something happen. Trigonometry, botany, basic physics, intermediate languages; he had those subjects covered.

  It was the last line of the section that had ruined his examination results. ‘Introduction to Shields.’ Who’d have thought that Trevor would forget to lecture him on anything?

  ‘Level 3. Periphery Shielding, Ophthalmic Illusions, and Talismanic Objects.’ What on Menajr was that? Hm. ‘Limiting magical effects, creating visual effects (magician’s tricks, Trevor had written beside it), and placing a spell on an object,’ the list said.

  He’d never heard of the first and third, but he could create illusions in his sleep. And had a few times. He hoped Trevor never walked in during a nightmare. If he didn’t frighten the old man to death, he’d be grounded for reading so far ahead.

  How was he going to fake learning about illusions? If he was lucky, Trevor would skip them altogether, with another long lecture about them being a waste of time. Maybe he could cut the lecture short by agreeing up front he didn’t see any need to study them.

  ‘Level 4. Delineated Illumination and Balanced Pyromancy: light without fire and fire control.’ Creating fire might be useful. He needed to find a book and read ahead. But he’d be careful with his experiments. Just the thought of setting himself aflame made his stomach clench.

  ‘Level 5. Explorative Scrying and Hydromancy: looking for objects using magic, and water magics.’ Looking from afar might be useful, but water magics seemed like a waste of effort.

  ‘Level 6. Alchemy, Spectral Summons, and Investigative Scrying.’ Spectral Summons? Calling ghosts and communicating with them. Yuck. Who’d want to talk to a ghost? Why bother? According to the shaman back home, the dead could only remember the past.

  Though he had to admit, the Setoyan shaman had been wrong about a lot of things. According to Trevor, anyway.

  ‘Level 7. Ethereal-Physical Manifestations: pulling mental images into reality.’

  Is that what he’d done with the spider? He didn’t want to try that again until he knew exactly what he was doing. These days, just looking at a spider made him nervous.

  ‘Level 8. Divination: predicting the future.’ Seriously, who wanted to know? Even the list noted it was an unreliable science.

  ‘Level 9. Thaumaturgy: introduction to the metaphysical web of magic, its uses and dangers.’ He needed to find a dictionary to figure out what thaumaturgy was.

  The end of the list was followed by an interesting note: ‘Upon completion, the student is ready for the Wizard’s Route.’

  It would take years to learn all that stuff. Decades, even. He really would be hobbling around on a cane before he got halfway through the list. No wonder the old man didn’t make sense half the time. He could actually be one hundred thirty two.

  Trevor might be ready to take the Wizard’s Route.

  If the old sorcerer left, where would that leave him? He couldn’t go back to the Setoyan plains. Didn’t even want to. Would Faye take him in? She always made him feel safe. Wonderful, beautiful Faye.

  No way would he go live with Lorel. She’d make him crazier than a turybird with seven hundred millipedes crawling under its feathers.


  The old man reached the oven and wrenched the door open.

  A scrumptious aroma wafted across the room. What could it be? Viper hurried through the clutter to the old man’s side.

  Trevor thrust his hand into a padded mitt, pulled the tray out of the oven, and set it on a wooden table. He yanked a bowl of white crystals out of a drawer and chanted softly while he sprinkled the crystals over the tray of baked snakes.

  What was it with Trevor and snakes?

  The old sorcerer grabbed a spatula out of another drawer, scooped up one of his twisted snakes, set it on a plate, crystal-coated side up, and handed the plate to Viper. He quickly loosened each of the remaining twists and set them back on the tray.

  Viper inspected the steaming twist. It smelled good, but did he even want to hold a plate with a fake snake on it? “What is this thing?”

  “An old family recipe. It’s called a soft pretzel.”

  When Trevor finally took one for himself, Viper bit into his sweet-smelling twist.

  Hot, soft bread filled his mouth. Crunchy salt melted on his tongue. Whatever this thing was, it was wonderful.

  Trevor might be older than the sun, and more forgetful than all seven moons, but he was a thundering splendid friend.

  The old man shoveled another pretzel onto his plate. “It’s too nice a day to stay inside. Go visit your tall friend.”

  Too nice? The Thunderer was peeing flashfloods out there.

  But he was too wound up to sleep, no matter how tired he was. Besides, the whole house needed cleaning. That, at least, was something he could always do right.

  Chapter 3.

  Her braid was coming undone again.

  Lorel pushed sweaty black curls out of her face with her free arm. Her sleeve was covered with grass blood and wildflower petals. Her hair felt matted with pine needles. She must be carrying half the forest around with her.

  Mom was gonna be so mad. She could hear the scolding already, hours early. Can’t you stay clean one single day?

  Clean wasn’t important when she was learning warfare. She crouched into a defensive position and thrust her short sword upward.

  Ahm-Layel whirled forward and snapped her sword down.