by Tim Susman
10
First Spell
On Monday, they were taught their first spell: a basic levitation spell, the other one Kip already knew. He chafed at the slow pace, at the small wooden blocks they were given to practice with, but when Coppy reminded him that he’d said his magic gathering was better after last week, he forced himself to practice at the same pace as the other students.
His prior knowledge of the spell allowed him to spend some of his practice time watching the others in the class. Most of them were having difficulty gathering magic still, and spoke the spell while their hands were not glowing. Coppy and Emily did quite well, and Malcolm faltered but appeared to be learning quickly. Farley and Jacob Quarrel, a tall, thin student, did the best of the others, which surprised Kip. Farley had not done very well at gathering magic at first, though he’d gotten his hands to glow a steady lime-green by the end of the week. Here he was reciting a spell—out of a book, but still—and his wooden block rose, wobbled, and fell. Yet that was more than most of the others were able to do.
And then there was Victor Adamson.
Victor alone had not managed any kind of glow to his hands the previous week. Now he sat reading the spell book, and though Kip could not see his expression from behind, the boy’s head was bowed, his shoulders bent, his whole frame turned inward in concentration. He sat in the front row, directly before Master Patris, and though the old sorcerer strode through the class berating students for their failures, Adamson was as ignored as the Calatians, though his wooden cube never so much as budged an inch from his desk.
When Cobb sat back in his chair, his cube stubbornly unmoved, Patris suggested he revisit the methods of gathering magic. When Quarrel managed to lift his cube and then drop it with a clatter, Patris told him to practice his focus and concentration. But though Kip and Coppy kept their cubes aloft, they were never recognized; though Emily’s and Malcolm’s wobbled, they were never given instruction; though Adamson’s never moved save when he picked it up with his fingers, he was never reproved.
Kip wanted to ask him about his studies, but that afternoon, the questions of Adamson and Farley were driven from his mind. Master Argent took them up to the library.
For the other students, the staircase up was nothing new; they all lived up those stairs, and talked all the way up them about spells or letters they’d gotten from home. But for Kip, simply getting to see another part of the tower kept his senses alert, his ears perked and whiskers twitching at every motion. He looked at the stones, at the nicks and marks left by knives and hands, and wondered if Saul had left any trace of his short time here. If he had even been up this stair; the students had previously stayed in one of the outside buildings, one of the ones that was now a pile of rubble in a shattered foundation.
But yes, of course Saul would have come up these stairs to the library Kip was being shown to now. They passed the second floor, where Master Argent pointed out Master Splint’s quarters. “In case you suffer any injuries during your time here,” the sorcerer said, and looked back toward Kip and Coppy. Kip’s back still ached, but it would be fine in another day, and it would be more awkward to tell someone about the attack now, four days later. He kept his lips shut and his eyes forward, even when Coppy looked up at him.
Then another set of stairs, another set of marks and lines in the wall, and the scents of sorcerers gave way to the scent of paper and cloth, leather and age, similar to the scent in the basement in the way that the smell of a freshly opened bottle of cider was similar to the scent of week-old spilt beer. Kip flared his nostrils and drank it in. Here, at last, was the heart of the Tower, the spirit of the College, all the collected wisdom of sorcery, finally open to him. In his mind he saw himself ensconced in the library for hours on end, learning spells faster than the masters could keep up with him, earning his Selection in the scant two months allowed to him…
“Here is the library.” Master Argent had stepped several feet into the third floor hallway and stopped at an ornate wooden door with the terse word “LIBRARY” over it. Carved into the face of the door were enough decorations to render the label superfluous: books, men reading books, and three verses in gold leaf, one of which Kip recognized from the introduction to his first book of spells.
“Since you have begun your education in the art of spellcasting, you will be granted access to the library to increase your knowledge. But be warned that only the first set of shelves inside the door is open to you at this time. The books that sit farther inside are still beyond your mastery.”
Well, Kip thought, even the first bookshelf was bound to be interesting.
“Just inside the door, you will find two stacks of books. Take one from each. These are to be your spellbooks for the second month of your courses, but if you would like to read ahead,” and here his eyes definitely settled on Kip, “you may get started now.” That was more promising. Two more books of spells, and ones he could take to the basement and study. “The other books in the library are not to be removed, but you may read them under the supervision of the librarian.”
As if the person inside had been listening, the library door creaked open. A gaunt man dressed not in a sorcerer’s robe but in a black suit and white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons stared out at them from deeply shadowed eyes. “This is Florian,” Master Argent said. “He maintains the library.”
“Hello, students.” The man’s voice sounded exactly as deep and hollow as Kip would have expected from his appearance, but with a lilt akin to Malcolm’s Irish. “It will be my pleasure to assist you in using our library. Provided you treat the books with the respect their age demands.”
Florian’s hair stuck out white in a fringe around his balding head, and his eyes were a very normal brown. Wrinkles creased the lines around his downturned mouth, and his mottled skin hung in folds around his chin and throat. His eyes lingered on Kip and Coppy, but otherwise he showed no sign that he’d even noticed two Calatians in the group. “Many students in the past have attempted to deface books, or play pranks,” and this word was spoken with deliberate slow contempt, “and have discovered that a library is not a place to be…” He drew out the last word as his head swiveled to take in the entire group of students. “Enjoyed.”
He looked very human, and yet the moment he’d opened the door, Kip’s nose had tingled with that magical feeling. He searched Florian’s appearance for anything that would suggest a demonic nature, but found nothing. Still, his nose stung enough that he rubbed it. Coppy didn’t seem to have noticed anything.
“If you are ready to proceed,” Florian said, “you all may enter.”
Only Kip and Adamson, and possibly Emily, seemed honestly pleased to be entering the library. Most of the students made directly for the stack of spell books and picked up their two, and then stood looking at them. Kip and Adamson walked past, straight for the large bookshelf that faced them and the dozens of books on it.
Kip picked one book out at random while Adamson scanned the titles before selecting one. Kip’s was A Specific History Of The Persian Empire, With Particular Detail On The Use Of Sorcery In Colonization.
He stared at the title and then looked up at the rest of the shelf. They were all history books. Turning to Adamson, he saw the boy holding a book titled Roads of the Roman Empire.
“Is this all history?” he said.
“Yes,” a deep voice at his shoulder replied. He jumped and turned to meet Florian’s eyes. The other strange thing about Florian was that even up close, he didn’t have a human scent about him. He smelled of old words and dust, of wood and earth—very much like the library itself.
“Are there other spell books we can read?” Kip asked.
“After your Selection, perhaps.” Florian pointed back to the stack of books. “Those should occupy you sufficiently until then.”
Kip and Adamson turned to see four books left on the small polished desk. They walked over to it, and Adamson picked up both books from the stack nearest him, handing one to Ki
p. “Both too eager, I suppose,” he said with a rueful smile.
“We’ll just have to be Selected.” Kip took the book Adamson was holding out and picked up one from the pile remaining on the table to hand it to the blond boy. “Still, there’s much to be learned from history.”
Adamson took the book and met Kip’s eyes. “Indeed there is.”
Kip felt that Adamson was trying to communicate something to him that he’d missed, but he didn’t have the chance to pursue it, because in his excitement he had let his tail hang down to the floor, and Farley took that chance to tread firmly on the tip.
The two books were the ones that had been present in their examinations: A Foundation of Translocational Sorcery and Altering the Fundamental. He, Coppy, and Emily paged through them in the basement that night, Emily wrapped in a thick blanket she’d bought in the town.
The first book explained the theories and dangers of translocational magic for pages and pages before getting to any spells. Kip was two pages into the theory when Emily thrust one of her books at him. “Here,” she said. “Fire-fox. Learn this one.”
The book was Altering the Fundamental, and the page she was holding out to him was a spell titled, “Simple Fire.” Kip glanced down and then back up at her. “Fire-fox?”
“Your story had fire in it, that one you told me. So isn’t it something you have an affinity for, or however it was Master Argent said it?”
“Maybe.” He set down his book, picked up hers, and studied the short spell. Something seemed familiar about the words. He bent his head, cupped his ears forward, and murmured the syllables. They rang with familiarity, as though they had been sung to him as a lullaby long ago, or taught to him in a long-ago lesson. He read the first part of the spell, and each syllable seemed to fall into place for him, though he could swear he’d never seen it before. As he read, he thought about fire, about the smell not only of the smoke but of the burning itself, the way it changed the character of the air around it.
His finger traced one of the notes around the spell, which said, Although spontaneous fire generation is common in children with magical ability, in fact an affinity for fire in the mature sorcerer is quite rare. Unbound magic manifests often with chaotic results and combustible energy, but few sorcerers have the patience and discipline to control such chaos beyond bringing a Flame into existence. He skipped ahead to the text above the spell itself and read aloud. “This will create a Pure Flame which the Sorcerer must feed with his mind. It will create neither smoke nor ash but requires great will to maintain. It may be used to create a Non-Magical Fire.”
“Let’s have some heat down here,” Emily said.
Kip looked around at the piles of old paper. “You want to start a fire? In here? Where will the smoke go?”
“We’ll clear out a spot. And you can make a fire. Go on, Kip, it’s below freezing. Even Coppy’s shivering.”
The otter was not, but he smiled obligingly. “I’ll help clear paper if you want to practice the spell.”
“I’m not casting fire if Master Windsor’s not here.” Though in his head, he saw Farley and Carmichael again, outside, saw a simple spell and fire raging around them. That would be a show of force they could not ignore.
“Oh, what’s the worst that could happen?” Emily stood, keeping the blankets around her torso, and kicked papers out of the way as she walked to the far wall. “Here. We’ll make a clear space here.”
“And why am I the one learning the spell? We could all learn it.”
“We’ve not mastered physical spells yet.” Emily began shoving paper away and sweeping the stone beneath with her foot. “Eugh, insects again. You’re the most advanced, and you made fire that one time, therefore you learn the fire spell.”
“Fine.” Kip bent over the spell again, reading the syllables to himself and memorizing them. By the time he’d gotten to sleep that night, Emily and Coppy had cleared a small area against the wall, and he could recite the spell to himself with his eyes shut and his paw resting in the otter’s warm grip.
Despite the restrictions, Kip and Emily spent a good deal of time in the library that week, Kip because it smelled better than the basement, Emily because it was warmer. Kip could not stay for long; after an hour, the tingle in his nose brought water to his eyes. But he insisted on keeping Emily company, and in the meantime, Malcolm and Coppy went out to the practice tents to work on their physical magic.
Kip read much of Altering the Fundamental that week, though he was not yet ready to try casting any of the spells. Each one was accompanied by a lengthy and often convoluted description of the mental component, and warned that if the spell were not imagined properly, the consequence could be not only failure of the spell, but some irreversible transformation.
All the spells were interesting, but the fire one nagged at Kip, and sometimes he found himself reciting the syllables of the spell in a sing-song undertone without realizing he was doing it until he’d sung it twice through. Once, deeply engaged in reading about the condensation spell he’d attempted during the examination, he actually began to gather magic, only stopping himself when his paws began to glow. Patris had begun to teach them to dispel magic without casting a spell, but the compulsion left him wary of actually casting the spell.
And yet he and Emily and Coppy were casting about desperately for something to distinguish them from the other students, something to bring them to the attention of a sorcerer in search of an apprentice. None of the other students could cast a fire spell, and Kip could not shake the feeling that perhaps he was suppressing his only chance to succeed, especially if sorcerers with a fire affinity such as he thought he felt were as rare as the notes had stated.
Master Windsor, after a week of neglect, began visiting them in the evenings after dinner, and they had asked him whether he would be taking an apprentice. “If one of the students impresses me sufficiently,” he said, “which I will be unable to judge until another month has passed.” When they asked what they could do to impress him in a month, his lip curled, and he said, “More than you are doing now.”
“Not much hope there,” Coppy said once the sorcerer had left. “Mostly I’m worried for you two. If I learn to build roads and walls, I’ll be happy. I can go back to London and work on the Isle. Not as if our roads and walls are falling down, but they can always use a little help, eh?”
“You’re not going back to work on roads.” Kip held Altering the Fundamental open to the water spell. “You must have some affinity with water, right? Think how much more help you’ll be if you can cast water spells.”
The otter’s whiskers drooped slightly. “Would be nice to get fresh water from the air,” he said. “But I’ve not even mastered the physical magicks yet. How am I supposed to learn that one?”
“With practice.” Kip bent over his own book.
Malcolm had taken inventory of the other sorcerers, between his own research and what he’d heard from the boys in his room, and he reported to them later that week as they crowded around the fire in the Great Hall. “Patris and Master Sharpe work with physical magic. Not too fancy, but Patris is some kind of political marvel, that’s why he’s Headmaster. There’s Master Vendis, he works with translocational magic.”
“He’s done a lot of exploring westward for the Empire,” Kip said. Emily’s eyes lit up at that.
“Aye.” Malcolm ticked off on his fingers. “There’s Master Warrington, he specializes in defensive magic, best I can tell. Sort of alchemical-translocational cancelling out of spells thing.”
“Sounds useful,” Coppy said.
“Masters Campbell, Waldo, and Odden, they’re alchemical sorcerers. Odden works more with demons, Waldo with elementals. Master Argent is translocational but works a lot with demons as well, and Master Brown is another translocational sorcerer. Master Splint is the healer, we saw him the other day.”
“Here’s hoping we won’t have to see him often.” Kip exchanged looks with Coppy.
“Then there’s t
he spiritual magic sorcerers.” Malcolm spread his hands. “Don’t know aught but the names. Masters Jaeger and Barrett. They keep to themselves.”
“They all keep to themselves,” Emily said. “How are we to impress any of them?”
Coppy indicated the long perches two-thirds of the way up the wall, now bare of hunched black birds. “The ones who’re interested send ravens to watch.”
Kip thought of the raven who’d met him atop the tower, and wondered again how he might find out which sorcerer that had been. Perhaps he would be willing to take on a Calatian as an apprentice. He certainly had seemed friendly enough, and amenable to Kip’s cause. He still wasn’t ready to share that with the others, not until he knew more, so he voiced the other thought he’d had while Malcolm went through his list. “So there’s someone for all the disciplines.”
Malcolm nodded. “It sounds like the best in each one lived in the Tower. Lucky, that.”
Flashes of memory: a rumble, a dark night, the tension of fear of what would come next. Coppy leaned against Kip and said, “Aye,” sounding tired, and Kip knew that Coppy, like himself, was remembering the night of the attack. They’d avoided talking about it even though everyone else had wanted to at first, and for the most part the others had respected their silence.
The memories must have been visible in their eyes, since humans couldn’t ordinarily read their faces, or else Emily had gotten better at reading them. And they knew each other well enough now that she dared to ask again. “Was it very bad, that night?” she asked quietly.
“Not at first,” Coppy said.
The noise had come like thunder, but longer, and there was no smell of lightning. Kip and Coppy, in the small attic room, woke side by side and sought each other’s eyes shining in the dark.
