A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

  In the fairly short amount of time that he’d lived at Master Erliand’s home, Randall had completely lost his revulsion at the thought of being a Mage. On the contrary, his days were generally filled with daydreams of him impressing pretty girls with amazing feats of magic. He fantasized that he was back at Frank’s Inn, shooting fire from his fingertips and facing down all of the soldiers that he had seen harassing Melinda. Surely she would swoon and offer him a kiss in gratitude! Or perhaps he would meet a fine noble lady on the road, waylaid by bandits. He would turn them to stone, or call up the forest creatures to rise against them. Then she and Randall would fall in love, marry, and live happily on her estate…

  Compared to what he could have done as a Mage, all of the crafts at job fair seemed rather common and pathetic, except perhaps for mercenary or soldiering work. And Randall was painfully aware of his natural inclination for that kind of work. Life as a Mage meant excitement and adventure. It meant facing new challenges and constantly learning new things. Instead, it looked like Randall was going to get to be a baker after all—or something just as dull.

  Well, I’m not going to give up yet, he thought with determination. I’ve still got a couple of days. Who knows? I might get lucky. Even so, he felt like he’d come to the right conclusion: Erliand had made a mistake and it was someone else that was supposed to be here, not Randall Miller. But for the money Erliand had paid, Randall was going to at least try his best until Master Erliand sent him home.

  Over the next few nights, Randall had the usual success in drawing magic from Llandra: none. He tried everything he could think of, including visualizing various ways of breaching the veil between the two worlds: doorways, windows, tearing veils, breaking glass, and tearing down walls. He tried humming tunes, or thinking of his family. He even tried swinging his rake around like a practice sword in the yard, thinking maybe that his swordfight with Bobby might have had something to do with it. Other than feeling extremely silly, there was no effect at all.

  Randall went to his next lesson with a heavy heart. By this time, he was convinced that Erliand had made a mistake, and that he simply didn’t have the fundamental ability for magic. Erliand was waiting for him in the living room, already puffing away at his pipe. Randall flopped down in the chair opposite him and slouched back with a huge sigh.

  “Well,” Erliand chuckled, “I see your teenage years are fully upon you. Sit up straight, lad. Very good. Now, do you wish to talk about what’s bothering you now, or wait until after our lesson today?”

  Randall slouched back again, and looked at the floor dejectedly. “What’s the point? We might as well not have a lesson today, anyway.”

  “Oh?” Erliand asked, with raised eyebrows. “Giving up after only one lesson then, are we? Well then, if you’d do me the kindness of telling me where I went wrong, so that I can avoid making the same error in my next apprentice, I would be ever so grateful.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” Randall answered, missing the bite of sarcasm in Erliand’s voice. “I think you mistook me for someone else. I just can’t summon the magic.”

  “What are you talking about?” Erliand asked, with genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Are you or aren’t you the boy that got thoroughly whipped on the practice field in Geldorn that day?”

  “Yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Randall felt his cheeks burning. He still hadn’t gotten over the embarrassment of that incident.

  “But I think you got me confused with Bobby. He suddenly got really good with his sword. Maybe he was the one using magic! I sure can’t.” Randall slouched back into his chair with another sigh as he finished.

  “Then you don’t remember being infused with magic? I dare say that the effect is quite memorable.” Erliand peered at Randall closely.

  “Not really. I don’t remember the fight so good at all. It’s kind of fuzzy when I think about it.” Randall said, truthfully.

  “Well, I admit, I may have made a mistake.” Erliand clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times. “Since you don’t remember the fight very well at all, maybe we should go over what you do remember. We might be able to figure out who in your town caught my eye that day.”

  Randall’s heart sank. He half-hoped and half-expected Erliand to give him some kind of pep talk, telling him to keep trying and not to give up hope. But instead he was readily admitting that Randall’s worst fears were true, that Randall was no Mage. Maybe Erliand had already been suspecting it. The thought caused Randall’s mood to darken even further.

  “Then I guess I’ll be going home? Will my father be able to keep his money?” Randall asked timidly, barely above a whisper.

  Erliand waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, of course, lad. But I did pay good money for you, so you’re still my apprentice until I dismiss you. So help me figure out who’s supposed to be here, so we can quit wasting each other’s time, eh?”

  “Well, I think that it’s Bobby you want,” Randall started.

  Erliand interrupted, eyebrows furrowing. “You just tell me what you did that day and everyone you met, and I’ll decide who I was wanting, if you please. I’m the one most qualified to judge, after all.”

  “Yes, Master,” Randall said, chastened. “I was with Bobby pretty much all morning until we got to the tent where the militiamen were set up.”

  “Pretty much?” Erliand asked.

  “Well, Momma did make me hunt down Melinda in the morning to deliver some flour. But she was mean to me, as usual, and we only talked for a few moments. After that, I met up with Bobby and we went to see the militia pretty much straight away.”

  Erliand’s eyes unfocused and he tapped the stem of his pipe against his chin while he spoke. “Melinda…Melinda…Oh! Oh yes, the pretty little strumpet at the inn.”

  Randall gasped in outrage. He knew very well what a ‘strumpet’ was. “She is not! She’s just a serving girl for her father. She’d never be like that!”

  “Much to the disappointment of her father’s customers, I’m sure, lad,” Erliand retorted. He went on while Randall silently fumed. “So, you met Melinda, and then hurried right to the soldiers’ camp with Bobby, and then the next thing you know, you were unconscious?”

  “Well, no. Bobby and I were kind of making fun of this boy who was taking a turn swinging practice swords at the dummies. We didn’t know a soldier was behind us, and he heard us. He told us if we could prove we were better, he’d sign us up on the spot.”

  “Ah, and then you were trapped by your own mouths and youthful pride. I begin to get the idea. I take it that this is the part of the story where you find out sword fighting is not as easy as it looks.” Erliand’s smile stretched to become a big grin.

  “Hey, it wasn’t my fault!” Randall protested. “My armor was too big. The helmet wouldn’t even stay straight on my head. It must have been made for someone huge!”

  “Oh ho!” Erliand burst out into a full belly laugh. “When I heard the stories about you running around the practice field with your helmet on backwards, I thought they were just exaggerating! Oh what a sight that must have been!”

  Randall’s face turned so red he thought he might burst a vein. “Stories?” he squeaked.

  Erliand laughed even harder. “Hell yes, boy! It was the only thing people were talking about in the pubs all day! Half the folks at the job fair had to have seen it, and the other half ended up wishing they had. Didn’t you notice? That had to be the funniest damned thing I’d ever heard!”

  Erliand’s taunting jogged a memory. The image of a jeering, screaming crowd welled up in his mind, Melinda in the heart of it screaming gibes and insults, right along with the rest of them. People were always insulting him! There was Joshua, shaking his butt and running to Ma for protection, Eric punching him in the arm and calling him names, his father’s constant reminders that one day Eric would inherit the land, so Randall had to get used to being second. And Melinda! All he ever wanted was to be nice to her and for her to like him, and all she
ever did was heap scorn upon him. Even here it didn’t end. Here, he at least had the hope that he could fit in and make a name for himself. But even that hope was gone now, as Erliand made his true feelings known. Erliand was laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. The pain built up until something snapped inside of Randall, turning his anguish into cold fury.

  “It’s not funny!” Randall screamed as he surged from his chair, his hands balled into fists.

  Erliand leaned back in his chair, surprised at Randall suddenly towering over him.

  “Whoa, lad. Easy now,” he said softly, all trace of humor gone from his expression. “Let’s not do something we’re going to regret later, hmm? Have a seat, why don’t you?”

  “I’m not going to just sit here while you make fun of me!” Randall screamed. “It’s not funny! And I don’t have to take it!”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Look, I’m sorry. Half the things I said weren’t even true anyway. But I was hoping my guess was correct. Can’t you feel it?” Erliand asked.

  “Feel what?” Randall snapped, his fists clenched so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He stubbornly decided that he wasn’t going to sit back down.

  “If you’d calm down you’d feel it for yourself, lad. There’s a reason you’re feeling man enough to strangle me right now, and it’s more than just hurt feelings.”

  What is he talking about? Randall thought. I don’t feel anything… Except, now that Randall thought about it, he was feeling something. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up like he was in an electrical storm and lightning was about to strike nearby. His nerves felt jittery and on edge, like it was his birthday and he couldn’t wait another minute to open his presents. His mind seemed to have so much energy it was buzzing, like the time that he and Bobby had tried smoking some tobacco that Randall had stolen from his father. Only this time, he didn’t feel sick. He felt big and powerful. The man in front of him seemed old and feeble by comparison.

  “I see by your expression that you feel it, lad. That’s what it’s like to touch Llandra. We call that feeling ‘power euphoria’. It’s one of the reasons too many Mages end up turning bad. Right about now, you’re probably thinking about how you’re ready to take on the world, and wondering why you’re wasting your time with such a foolish old codger. Don’t expect you to deny it.”

  He looked up to meet Randall’s gaze, and Randall stared back defiantly, his expression wild.

  “Thought as much. Let me put things in perspective for you, lad. Since you’re chock full of power, you ought to be able to notice this easy enough.”

  Suddenly Erliand had presence. He hadn’t stood up or moved, but Randall could feel that Erliand was somehow bigger. Like he was taking up more space in the room than that occupied by just his body. And with each passing moment, Erliand’s presence grew. Randall had felt big and powerful before, but as the seconds ticked away, he realized that compared with Erliand, he was insignificant. An insect to be crushed and forgotten.

  In the space of a couple of heartbeats, Erliand seemed to fill the entire room they were in, squeezing Randall into a smaller and smaller space. Randall began to feel crowded, like his personal space was being violated, and he started to cower and back away from the Mage. Erliand had not even moved.

  Erliand’s hand suddenly shot up from his lap and pointed toward the window against the far wall, making Randall jump.

  “Look!” Erliand commanded, and Randall found himself whirling around. From his vantage point, there was nothing to see but a thick-trunked tree of ash that Randall had often rested under when taking a break from the yard work.

  A word tore itself from Erliand’s throat. The sound of it was painfully alien, and Randall would have felt it impossible for such a sound to come from human vocal chords. The three-syllable utterance seemed to have a strange sing-song rhythm that Randall found oddly familiar. On each syllable, light flickered from the sky outside and Randall felt power pulsating around him. On the third beat, Erliand finished with a hoarse croak, and a jagged shaft of lightning exploded from the clear sky, slamming into the ash tree and cleaving it lengthwise! Randall started and screamed in fear.

  “Lesson over. Talk tomorrow.” Erliand said hoarsely, his voice trailing off into a coughing fit on the last word.

  Panic-stricken, Randall turned back to Erliand, his hands held in front of him as if he hoped to ward off the Mage’s power. All sense of strength and confidence had fled him the instant the lightning bolt had struck, only to be replaced by sheer terror.

  “M-m-master?” he stammered.

  “Tomorrow,” Erliand commanded, covering his mouth for another coughing fit. Randall noticed that there was blood spattered on the back of Erliand’s hand.

  Wide-eyed and pale, Randall didn’t need any more prodding. He spun around and fled the room. He was so frightened that he completely skipped dinner and went straight to his room. There, he cowered under his covers, heart pounding, until a fitful sleep finally claimed him.

  The next morning, Randall woke and prepared himself for the day, more out of habit than anything else. He washed his face and hands in the small bowl beside his bed, and pulled on his clothes. His mind was still buzzing with all that had happened yesterday, and he’d slept terribly the night before. What little sleep he’d gotten was filled with nightmares. When he finally shuffled his way into the living room, Erliand was there waiting for him. Randall had grown so accustomed to Erliand being locked away in the mornings that he was halfway to the front door before he noticed the old man sitting in his chair. He started and took an involuntary step backwards.

  “G-g-good morning M-master,” Randall stammered. His heart had started pounding in his chest again, and he subconsciously stepped backward, away from the Mage.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, boy, come sit down.” Erliand said with exasperation in his voice. That voice was healthy and strong, with no sign of the strain it had carried last night. “I’m the same man I was yesterday. We didn’t get to finish our talk, and so I wanted to do it this morning. Now sit down. I won’t tell you a third time.”

  Randall nodded quickly at the command, and the implied threat in that last sentence, and hurried over to the chair opposite Erliand. He sat on the edge of his seat, looking like he could bolt and run at any moment.

  “I’d say I didn’t mean to scare you, lad, but that would be a lie. I meant to scare you right proper.” Erliand chuckled. “Power euphoria is dangerously seductive. It can make you feel like the master of everything around you. You’ll have to learn to control that feeling, lad, or it’ll end up controlling you. So, I thought I’d establish the pecking order right away before Llandra started putting dim-witted thoughts into your little head.”

  Randall ducked his head in shame, and slumped back in his chair. The truth was, when he was filled with power, the thought of being more powerful than Erliand had crossed his mind. He tried to justify it by telling himself that they weren’t his thoughts, that power euphoria had made him think them. But the justification seemed hollow; they certainly felt like his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Master,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t worry about it, lad. It’s a lesson we’ve all had to learn and it won’t be the last time you have to struggle with those particular feelings. Now, let’s go over what we learned yesterday. I assume you don’t have any more doubt about being here?” Erliand asked.

  “No, Master,” Randall replied.

  “Good, because I never had any doubts myself. At your age, a boy goes through a lot of changes. You sometimes find your body doing certain things against your wishes whether or not you want it to. Like when you find yourself thinking about a pretty girl, for instance. I’m sure you know exactly what I mean. Totally natural of course,” Erliand chuckled.

  Randall flushed and looked away embarrassed as Erliand continued. “Well, lad, there’s a reason I’ve been holing up in my study nearly every day: I’ve been getting some shut eye. You’ve been drawing power in
your sleep and keeping me awake damn near every night since you got here.”

  Randall’s gaze snapped up to meet Erliand’s. “Really? Oh,” he said, taking a moment for it to sink in. When it finally did, Randall’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked down at his lap. “Oh! I’m sorry Master, I didn’t mean to…”

  “I know you didn’t,” Erliand interrupted. “It’s a natural thing. Your body’s just flexing its muscles a bit, getting ready to use parts that’ve gone unused so far. That goes for other things, too, lad.” Erliand winked at Randall, who was blushing so hard his cheeks had started to hurt. “Nothing to be ashamed of; it’ll all resolve itself in good time. And until then, I’ll be getting extra sleep in the mornings after you’re up and about.”

  “Now, let’s talk about what you did yesterday,” Erliand said, changing the subject much to Randall’s relief. “You hadn’t been able to draw power all week, but you managed to yesterday with only a little provocation. What had you been doing before?”

  Randall explained all of the visualization techniques he’d used to try and summon the magic. Each of them had been completely unsuccessful, though he was getting a little better at calming his mind before each attempt.

  Erliand listened to Randall’s descriptions silently, nodding his head occasionally. “But that’s not what you did yesterday, is it?” he asked, when Randall was finished.

  “No, Master. I don’t know what I did. I was just mad, I guess. And embarrassed, too. Melinda had seen me making a fool of myself, and I guess I just wanted…”

  “Easy there, Randall,” Erliand commanded. “Can’t you feel it? You’re drawing a little power now.”

  Randall did feel it. There was a subtle tugging sensation somewhere in his mind, and he felt the buzzing sensation start to build up. But, as soon he noticed it, the pulling sensation faded away, and Randall found himself with only a little reservoir of power.