The only one who didn't seem too concerned about me was grandpa. To my surprise, mother had introduced him to my brothers as her father. A truce? Or maybe she acknowledged that my brothers weren't idiots and had access to mirrors. At least that distracted my brothers a bit, as they would glance at him while trying to feed me.
After the most uncomfortable dinner of my life, I quickly stood up.
"I'm feeling quite tired. Boys, Big Sis is going to sleep. Want a goodnight kiss?"
They all came to hug me. Even Sam, who was in his kisses are icky stage, gave me a kiss. I went towards the door, but then heard mother's call.
"And what about me? Don't I also get a goodnight kiss?"
After I kissed her cheek, I also gave father a hug. Me and father did not do kissing.
"Goodnight, Sam, Billie, Mikey. Mama, Father. Gramps." I said, now going to my bedroom.
I love my family, but they are exhausting.
25
I spent an entire week recovering, eating, sleeping and not doing much at all. Grandpa, who slept in father's office, just kept sitting either in the kitchen, or in the living room, observing my family the entire day, sometimes reading some of the books that filled the bookshelves around the house. For a man who worked so much, he didn't seem to get too bored by just lazing around.
That morning, I woke up in my usual, pre-accident early hours. It seemed like the food and rest had done its work. I was feeling active and energized. I quickly showered and went down for breakfast, feeling a huge appetite. Grandpa, who sat in the kitchen with one of Sam's books on insects, observed me with quiet amusement, and then decided to ruin my day.
"So your magic has recovered," he said. "Seeing you full of energy. This means you need to practice."
"Don't say nonsense, Gramps," I said. "I just slept and ate, and I regained some of my weight. Look," I showed him my wrist, "you can't see my veins bulging anymore."
"And that's good," he said. "You can go outside now without scaring everybody. So we can go practice."
"Practice magic? What can you teach me about dark magic?" I asked.
"The basic techniques for managing magical force are the same for light and dark mages," he said. "And I've studied a few of the dark magic basics. I even brought the books with me. Wait a bit."
He went to father's office, where he kept his suitcases. He then brought a suitcase and put it on top of the dining table in the kitchen. As he opened, I could see stacks of books on dark beginners' magic.
"I already know my theory solid," I said, eyeing the huge pile of books. "And what did you do, rob the library?"
"I bought them around the time you started with your experiments with universal magic. And no, you don't know your theory. At least, you don't know this theory," he said, pointing at the books.
"I don't know, Gramps," I said, skeptically. "I got a pretty solid foundation in University."
"Sure, you got a solid foundation on patterns and math and how to combine magic with alchemy. But that is higher level magic. Do you know how to do the most basic things? How to actually put all that theory into practice?"
I had to admit -- I didn't. It never was my goal to become a mage in the first place.
"Not really sure," I admitted. "But why would I need to learn how to use magic? My magic is so weak, I doubt that it would be hard to control it. And I already know the most basic techniques."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. You had enough magic to burn a ton of nitroglycerin -- so fast, it only produced a small fire. When it should have been an explosion that blast the whole building to rubble!"
"Yeah. I was surprised when that worked. I wasn't expecting it to. But then, I almost killed myself doing that, and I don't want to kill myself every time I try to do something."
He sighed, and sat down next to me, getting uncomfortably close. Then he put his arm on the back of my chair. I turned around to face him, sitting as far back from him as I could.
"You don't want to put your family in danger, do you?" he asked, getting closer to me. "Sam, Billie, Mikey, your mother, father? You don't want to see them burn like that nitroglycerin?"
I was about to say no, I didn't want to put my family in danger, but then I started to feel the rage that usually filled me. This whole week, I'd been unusually calm, allowing my brothers to feed me, my mother to order me around, and father to avoid me. But grandpa implying I was endangering my family -- after everything he did! I pushed him hard towards the wall, as I did with all strangers who invaded my space.
"Listen, Gramps," I said, putting an emphasis on 'gramps'. "You might be mother's father, and I might need your help. But don't think that me getting into this mess means you can push me around. I won't allow it. I'll kick you out, guest or no guest, if you continue to stick your nose uninvited."
I was going to continue with my rant, when he calmly freed himself from my grab, and locked my hands in his, putting them in front of my eyes. My hands were burning -- a faint, dark magical fire was covering them.
"Definitely not level one anymore," grandpa said, with an incredibly satisfied look on his face. "I'd say at least a four or a five, with possibilities of growth. The magical channels were formed correctly, lots of room to grow."
I stared in horror, first at my hands, then at him. He'd been expecting this -- which is why he provoked me.
"But... but..." I stammered. "Initiation is not supposed to make a mage unstable. You don't lose control..."
"You didn't go through the proper Initiation," he pointed out the obvious. "This is why the modern ritual was created. It's hard enough to teach teenagers to control their magic when it's weak, but to teach a mage -- who's gone through what you've gone -- control... That risks everybody around the mage, and, without the skills to control it, a young mage is both a danger to others and an easy target. Which is why masters were needed. To guide through the first stages of magic, and protect the apprentices. I've never guided anyone who went through an unauthorized Initiation, but nobody I know has, either, and you need guidance."
I was skeptical a light mage could teach me, but I needed any help I could get.
"Is there any place," grandpa said, "that's rocky, flat, and far from people and water?"
"Yes," I said, thinking through all the places. "The cave. It's quite far from here, though. We'll need to walk for an hour or so."
"No problem," he said. "We'll walk. And let's take some food with us, too. We'll spend the entire day there."
"We need to take some lamps, too. It gets dark here very fast."
Mother wasn't too happy about me going to the caves with grandpa, but when I explained to her that I had almost lost control of my magic, she understood.
"At least we'll get some use out of that old fool," she muttered.
Mother and grandpa had come to some sort of truce. She didn't talk to him, but she always put an extra plate on the table for him. He was always gracious and polite but said his compliments to father. He never asked her for anything, making tea for himself and straightening the sheets on the mattress in father's office daily. He tried to leave some money, but I politely reminded him that I hadn't paid for food in his house either, and he shouldn't insult mother's hospitality like this.
Father, who no doubt was aware of the whole story (my parents never kept secrets from each other; from me and my brothers, yes, but never from each other), chose to stay away from it. He was polite to grandpa but never invited conversation. Whatever their disagreement was, it was not serious enough that father would take sides. Although, obviously, father was always on mother's side. Always.
I took the pies left from yesterday's dinner -- mother had been cooking all my favorite foods for the entire week. I then went outside to fill the lamps with oil -- better to have some leftover oil than it is to run out.
I didn't want to go to the cave wearing a dress -- so I went to Sam's room and took some of his clothes. Usually, a teenage boys' clothes would not fit me, but in my current skeletal stat
e, I had to put suspenders on. I looked like a schoolboy.
As I went out, grandpa was waiting there, with the backpack full of food and the lamps packed inside. I was going light, with nothing on my back. The one hour walk was more than enough for me.
"So," he asked, not making any comment on my childish appearance. "Where are we going?"
Learning to use magic was boring. I thought, after spending four months visualizing magic, it would slowly get better, but no, it didn't. It was as boring as ever, with a slightly different bent.
"The main channels for your magical channels were already burned into your aura when you created that fireball," grandpa said when we arrived at the cave and sat on the blanket mother had thoughtfully put in the backpack. "And, during the time you were recovering, all of your body's energy went into strengthening them. Which is why you lost that much weight. You wouldn't have lost it healing the burns. But now that they've been strengthened, and your body has recovered, your magic will start coming back. You need to concentrate on it, so it stays circulating within the channels, instead of being diluted through your body like it was before."
I sat, trying to focus my energy, collecting everything from my body towards my core.
"Hey" grandpa shouted, from the other side of the cave where he sat, "you're doing it again."
I looked at my hands. They were burning again. I swore.
"That's actually a good sign," grandpa said, taking a nibble out of one of the pies. Judging from the smell, the filling was beef. "Your channels conduct magic easily, and you can pump it outside with ease. Some mages really struggle with taking their magic out. But for now, you need to learn how not to do that."
"Don't eat all the pies," I said, taking another sniff. "I'm starting to get hungry. All this magic you're making me do makes me ravenous."
"As soon as you manage to meditate for at least half an hour," he said, taking his pocket watch out. "You can eat. But for now, sit and continue focusing."
I sat, trying not to think of the delicious beef pie he was devouring. There was also some apple pie there. Mmm... apple pie... I could feel the tart sweetness of the soft apples, with the crispy buttery consistency of the well-baked pie crust, melting in my mouth.
"That's it," grandpa said. "Keep it on. Half an hour, remember."
It seemed like thinking about food was working, so I focused on imagining eating the foods. My stomach grumbled as I imagined eating various cakes, steak, barbeque, rabbit stew, and even the bacon and potato combination I used to cook when I was hungry. Fry the bacon well, until it becomes perfectly crispy, and then fry the potatoes, cut into tiny pieces, until they become perfectly crispy outside and soft inside. It's a poor student's food, since potato is cheap, and bacon, although more expensive, keeps very well, so you can salt it yourself in autumn and keep it for quite a while. Eating food at grandpa's house, I'd gotten too used to fancy steak, beef, and even the veggies Bettie kept trying to feed me. A student's food is the potato. Fried, baked, boiled, sometimes with meat, sometimes just with salt, the potato was cheap, filling, easy to cook and store. I should make some potatoes today. I'll cook it for dinner. Mother never cooks with much grease, but cooking with a lot of fat is how you make this dish.
"Time's up," said grandpa, suddenly. I looked down at my hands and could see they weren't on fire anymore. I tried to touch my magic, and the fire came back. I looked at him. He'd taken out a thermos full of tea and filled two stainless steel cups with it. He'd also warmed the pies with magic, I think, since their steamy smell was caressing my nose, tempting me.
I sat on the blanket next to him and took a bite of the pie. This one was pork. Downing the greasy meat with warm tea, my stomach quieted.
"What did you think about while meditating?" grandpa asked, observing me eat. He wasn't nearly as hungry as I was.
"That's easy," I said, taking another generous bite. "Food. I was thinking about food."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"That's a good choice. Focus on the body, away from the magic. On the physical aspect of your body. You should do that after you eat, too."
I finished all the food we'd packed quite fast, downing it all with the tea.
With my stomach full, thinking about food didn't have the same urgency, so my magic escaped almost every time I tried concentrating it. But by the end of the exercise, I was so hungry, I kept dreaming about food all the way home.
26
Mother wasn't too happy about my daily trips to the cave with grandpa, but she seemed to understand why I needed to control my magic. The first night, after the exercises, grandpa took the mattress out of father's office and placed it on my bedroom's floor.
"I need to make sure you don't burn the house," he explained.
While I didn't worry about the scandal or anything, it was really weird to have a grown man in my bedroom, especially my grandpa. I hadn't slept in my parent's bed since I remember; having my grandfather, who, while not a stranger, I didn't know that well, was weird. So I put on the strictest of all the camisoles I had (it's not like any of them were particularly revealing or anything), and turned my back to him, staring at the wall. Surprisingly, I didn't sleep too badly that night.
The next day, I got a letter with no sender. I looked at the envelope through the light, and even gave it to grandpa for examination. It was just an ordinary letter. I opened it. It was from Jack.
For a letter from my boyfriend, it was extremely dry. But then, I did leave him after spending a night together, called him to demand a huge favor, and left town without explaining anything. And then spent five weeks without communication. In my defense, I was pretty shocked by the whole thing. And I really needed that favor.
Dear Dana,
I have found a way to legalize your Initiation. There is a loophole that allows for a special Initiation that is conducted by a magister of magic. I've prepared all the forms you'll need to file. I can find a magister for you, but, considering he'll be your master for three years, I think you might prefer to find one for yourself. Just fill the forms and sign them, and I'll make sure they're filed at the correct date. If you can't find anyone, just fill them and sign them, and I'll find a master for you.
Best Regards,
Jack
And that's it. No "I love you", no "are you OK?", nothing. At least he didn't assign me a master (which he could have; I gave him that power myself, by asking for that favor).
As for the magister... There was only one candidate I could think of. If he wasn't, then whoever Jack found would have to do. So I went looking around, and found him in the living room, for a change.
"Gramps," I said, trying to get myself to ask for this huge favor. "Are you a magister of magic?"
He looked at me, lifting his head from a newspaper he was reading. It was probably at least a week out of date, but that's the freshest news we get in Crow Hill.
"I am," he said. "Awarded by the Inquisition College. Full Magister of Light Magic. They didn't use that 'Interpersonal' and 'Practical' magic nonsense then, they just called things by their proper names. Not like today. Dark magic is 'Practical' now. Ha!"
"That's great. So, if you're a magister of magic, could you be my master?"
The silence I got as an answer was almost deafening. I quickly handed him the documents, and Jack's letter. He read it, wordlessly.
"And could you also backdate my Initiation date? To something earlier than five weeks ago."
"While the solution is quite ingenious, Miss Bedwen," he said, quietly.
There we go. Miss Bedwen again. He always got formal when he was angry.
"I think your young man meant a magister of dark magic. I'm sure we can find one to your satisfaction. I have contacts in the Practical Magic Department -- I know a couple of magisters."
"Oh, I'm sure you do. But would any of them be willing to backdate my Initiation date for me?"
"And why do you think I'd be willing to do it for you?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning back
on his chair. That's it. He's negotiating.
I sat in front of him, trying to read his expression as best as I could. Last week, his calm reaction to my story, some of the things mother had let slip, had taught me that this man was not the softie I thought he was. He loved his family, and he was willing to do anything for them, but he did want to assert his authority. He saw himself as the head of the family, and he wouldn't let me keep it for myself. I was willing to let go of that responsibility, certainly, especially considering what a failure I'd been. But I had to make sure I didn't give him a lot more than that.
"Well," I started, "you came here when I asked you, didn't you? So you do care about the family's safety. About my safety. As is your responsibility."
"My responsibility?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I knew I was treading on thin ice here. He could certainly make it sound like me making him the head of the family was a favor he was doing to me.
"And privilege as the head of the Bedwens," I said quickly before he could say anything else. "To whom I owe my respect and loyalty."
Giving him the power seemed to soften him up a bit.
"As is due," he said, accepting the gift I made him. While there wasn't any kind of formal ceremony, this was real. We take family very seriously in Caerland, and the head of the family has considerable power in deciding what needs to be done. Of course, the head needs the acknowledgment of the family for that. I already gave him mine.
"But forging a document for you is one thing, accepting you as my apprentice is another," he said. I could see by the gleam in his eyes that he was going to bleed me dry. It's not like I could do that much to avoid it, either.
"I would also give my master a gift, as is traditional. Even within family."
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 19
