A Mage in the Making

by Alastair J. Archibald

  Even the bullies of Grimm's year were pent by this constant discipline, as, where the Magemasters had once overlooked various infringements including the sporting of fight injuries, now they pounced on the least infraction with ruthless severity. Should any boy enter the class bearing inexplicable bruises, the Magemasters used Divination spells to ascertain the reason for this, and they were liberal with their punishments.

  Shumal and Ruvin now left Grimm alone, preferring to pick on Students in lower years.

  At one point, Argand caught Shumal tormenting a first-year Student and beat the bully without mercy, but he was careful to leave no marks that would be visible to the Magemasters. After pointing out to the prostrate Shumal that, next time, he would be given a black eye and a broken nose despite the risk of punishment, even Shumal took a sabbatical from his unpleasant activities. If the Magemasters had performed a Divination on him in such circumstances and discovered his bullying of smaller boys, he would surely be dismissed from the House, and he seemed aware of this fact. Some of the boys told Grimm that Shumal's father was a more brutal bully than his son, although the charity lad could not bring himself to pity his enemy. Nonetheless, even Shumal's wings seemed to have been clipped.

  * * * *

  "Now, Afelnor, you will demonstrate to the class the correct form of the secondary type of Joining spell for a round, inanimate object in no more than five fragments,” Kargan drawled to the twelve-year-old Grimm, who was now almost as tall as the Magemaster.

  Grimm composed himself and stood before the class. He knew the exercise well, but he worried that he might have difficulties with the higher notes. For some weeks, he had had to struggle to reach notes that he had sung on previous occasions without the least trouble. He felt sure that this was some passing minor malady, and he began to sing.

  "Churaah, aharantai, khohauugh nimaimetooreh ... ” Grimm broke off in confusion, as his voice descended to a ludicrous bass, rose to an off-key croak and then sank again on the last three syllables. A peal of laughter burst from the class, and, for once, Kargan did not admonish them.

  "Perdition on it!” Kargan sighed, adding: “I should have had you bloody castrated last year!"

  Grimm felt by no means certain that Kargan's words were given in jest.

  The Magemaster drew another deep sigh. “I expected that voice to last you at least for another year. Oh, well; once the instrument is broken, it cannot be mended again. You will just have to learn to cope with the new one, which I hope serves you as well. Gaheela! May I prevail upon you to lead the class in this chant for a little while? I need a private word with our newly disharmonious friend, Afelnor."

  Numb with shock, Grimm allowed Kargan to lead him into the corridor, while Madar ran through the same spell-chant with the other Students, his voice ringing out in its customary, clear treble.

  Closing the classroom door behind him, the Magemaster laid an almost paternal hand on Grimm's shoulder, as the boy fought to control hot tears. For once, the Magemaster's usual boisterous manner was absent, and he seemed almost like a normal human being.

  "It was a fine instrument, boy,” Kargan said, leaning close to Grimm's ear, “one of the finest I have ever heard, but it would be a great shame were you to reach my age with the same voice. Imagine if I were to stand before you, stern and forbidding, and then declaim in a dulcet soprano!"

  Grimm laughed in a hoarse, scratchy tone. Then he became serious again. “Lord Mage, will this affect my chances of progressing further? What if I can never sing again?"

  Kargan shook his head. “All men, including the greatest of Acclaimed mages, have been through this, Afelnor. It is part of becoming a man, and even the mightiest mage has had to cope with the change in voice sooner or later.

  "In your case, it is sooner, so you will have plenty of time to gain the measure of your new voice before you are shown how to cast spells. For some of the others, it will be far more difficult; indeed, we do not consider advancing a boy to the level of spell-casting until he has attained his adult voice and learned to control it.

  "For now, you must practice, practice and practice again with your new voice until it fits you. Most boys are admonished for singing in the halls, but I will allow a special dispensation for you to sing at any time out of class, of which I shall inform the other Magemasters. You will not be punished, except for singing at inappropriate times and places, such as during a study period or an Observance."

  Grimm nodded, not trusting his vocal chords with a spoken response, as a peal of laughter arose from the class.

  Kargan said: “We will go back into class now, for it sounds as if a herd of wild boar has been let loose in there. I suppose it is time for some semblance of order to be imposed once more. Promise you will not give up working with your man's voice, Afelnor. You will be a man soon; do not regret it."

  Still not trusting himself to speak, Grimm nodded again to the Magemaster and followed him back into the classroom, his head bowed.

  Kargan seemed to grow in stature, and the familiar, manic grimace came over his face as he flung the door open in his normal, energetic way.

  "Right!" he yelled. "That's enough of that! We will revisit the charm of Mage Light in its third form. Trune, you loathsome toad, be so good as to demonstrate the chant, if you can bear to drag yourself from your slothful reverie..."

  The relentless tutoring went on as if nothing had happened.

  * * * *

  During the evening meal, Madar and Argand joined Grimm in the refectory.

  "What did old Kargan say to you outside the class, Grimm?” Madar asked, his eyes wide and earnest.

  Feeling a little less self-conscious talking to his friends, Grimm spoke in a hoarse croak: “He told me to practice until I can sing again. It's not very encouraging, though, Madar. It feels as if I had a pineapple stuck in my throat. I sound like a bloody donkey."

  Madar gave a soothing, understanding nod, and Argand said, “Well; I must be more mature than you, because my voice hasn't broken yet, and I already manage to sound like a donkey."

  They all laughed, and Madar added, “You're flattering yourself, Argand. I'd shoot a donkey that made the racket you do."

  A feeble sally, but they all laughed anew, and Grimm's laughter was as loud as that of his friends; he recognised that the sounds of his mirth bore a distinct resemblance to the braying of an ass.

  Madar said “My father always moans about the loss of the fine voice he says he had as a boy, but he is first baritone in our local choir. He would easily be able sing our chants, and, so will you, once you have mastered your new voice.

  "I guess the main thing is that your ear hasn't changed, so you'll be harder on yourself than any Magemaster could be. In no time, I bet you'll be leading the class in singing again. Even though you sound awful now.” Grimm lightly punched Madar in the arm, and the redhead pretended to tremble with fear at the assault.

  Argand mused for a moment, and said, “I think I can see why they won't let us try to cast anything. I bet they wait ‘til your voice's broken; the chance of a miscast is too great otherwise. What if your voice broke in the middle of a Fire spell?” He shook his head. “The consequences don't bear thinking about. You could burn down the whole Scholasticate!” He grinned. “It might not be such a bad idea, after all!"

  They all laughed again, and Grimm felt better than he had at the start of the meal.

  Later, in his cell, he started to work his voice again, at first quietly, then louder, as some measure of confidence returned. It still sounded awful, but he was getting the feel of it now. He carried on with ever-increasing volume until the older boy in the next cell demanded that Grimm shut up so he could sleep.

  * * * *

  The novelty of Grimm's new voice wore off after a few days. Within a week, he had some control at least over his normal speaking voice, although singing was still a major problem.

  After a few months more, several other boys’ voices began to break, and Grimm was no longer alone
in his affliction. Indeed, those whose voices remained high and childish began to be the butt of humour, the more so when Grimm and others began to sport beards of one kind or another.

  The boys were allowed to wear beards, on the condition that they were maintained in good order. Grimm's beard grew like a patchy black bush, and he had to spend an inordinately long time tending and grooming it each day. It was a badge of manhood to be worn with pride; many of the other boys could muster only a sparse sprinkling of downy fluff on their cheeks.

  Crohn warned of growing physical urges that might afflict the boys, and he taught them further meditation exercises to overcome the problem.

  Stern lectures were given on vague subjects such as “pollution of the body and mind"—this ‘pollution’ was never defined in any specific detail—and “unnatural abuses". Any boy caught giving in to these urges would be dismissed at once, since it was evident that such people did not have the mastery of will necessary to become mages. Most of the Students feigned bafflement at what these practices might be, but the stern and imperturbable Crohn seemed remarkably reticent on the subject. All noted with glee his stammer and his red face when any Student pressed him on the matter, as they often did. For once, they had found a chink in the formidable Magemaster's armour, and they assaulted it with ruthless, boyish cruelty at every opportunity.

  Kargan told the boys that those who had already found and mastered their adult voices would be but a step away from being considered for early elevation to the rank of Neophyte, with all the advantages and privileges the title bestowed. The possible rewards of advancement, when compared to the prospect of remaining a humble Student for another two years gave Grimm the determination to persevere with his new, unmelodious voice.

  At times, he believed that he had gained full control of his wayward vocal cords, especially when he had carried a tune or a chant to the end without any error. However, on many occasions, when tasked by Kargan to attempt a more difficult chant, Grimm would find that his voice betrayed him at some critical juncture. At these times, Kargan would sigh and give a small shake of the head. At least Grimm was more fortunate than Madar, who all but lost his splendid voice in its entirety; for a while, he was quite inconsolable. All he could offer was a breathy growl in place of his once excellent treble.

  Argand was luckiest of all. His voice descended in short order to an impressive, booming bass register, although it was no more tuneful than before. He also grew prodigious amounts of hair on his face, chest and arms to the envy of many other boys and, his beard was stronger, faster-growing and more complete than those of the other boys. A beard was the mark of a man in the Scholasticate, and it was clear Argand was a boy no longer. Whilst Grimm's beard grew quickly enough, it refused to take root around the pale margins of his lower lip, a constant frustration to him.

  Shumal and Ruvin, who still swaggered around the Scholasticate like arrogant twins, seemed to be bound together even in the matter of bodily maturity. They retained their soprano voices, smooth skin and puppy fat long after Grimm had mastered both his beard and his new voice. This reduced their menacing presence even more in his eyes. With new respect from the less mature boys, Grimm felt that he was becoming accepted almost as an equal by the rest of the class.

  * * * *

  At last, the day came when Kargan pronounced himself satisfied that Grimm had regained full control of his singing; the Student now possessed a voice capable of ranging from a smooth baritone to a confident tenor. Grimm did not feel that it was nearly as good as his former, cut-glass treble had been, but, at least, he had to acknowledge that he could sing in tune again.

  By now, many more boys had lost their soprano voices and were struggling themselves, and Grimm felt some inner satisfaction at this. Madar was still having a bad time of it, and Grimm had often to console his friend and encourage him to persevere.

  "Come on, Madar, it's not the end of the world. You always said singing was a chore, anyway. It's just a bit more of a chore now."

  "I lied,” Madar croaked. “Music was the one thing I was really good at. Bugger it! My old man'd be laughing his head off if he knew.” He was close to tears, something that Grimm had never seen before in his self-confident friend.

  "Oh, just go on doing your creaking-door imitation if you want to, then!” Grim snapped. “It's something we've all got to get through, Madar. Stop moaning and practice; otherwise your old man'll really have a reason to laugh."

  "Oh all right then, Grimm, I'll have a go at it, but only ‘cause you asked,” Madar grumbled. “I just hate Kargan's idea of having to go around in my free time, caterwauling like a reject from the Royal Academy of Useless Bards."

  On the other hand, Argand's voice improved by a considerable amount, although the finer nuances of the most difficult chants were still as a closed book to him. Due to his considerable artistic and calligraphic talents, he was given extra tuition in Scribing, and his vocation appeared settled. Argand was the first of Grimm's year to be declared a Neophyte, much to everybody's surprise.

  Grimm was now given individual training in the summoning and holding of power, although still without any direct application to spellcasting. This gave him great satisfaction; not least for the fact that the tutoring sessions took him away from the class increasingly often. He had been placed under the personal tuition of Magemaster Crohn, who trusted him to study as he was bidden when the Senior Magemaster was absent. Madar, having gained at last full control of his new voice, was placed under Magemaster Kargan. The boys enjoyed the arrangement, because they only met the Magemasters for a few minutes a day to be assigned study topics and to receive work assessments. The new class Magemaster was the taciturn and sarcastic Magemaster Faffel, so Grimm was heartily glad that he and Madar only had to join the rest of the class for Herbalism, music, dancing and the other non-magical activities.

  Chapter 21:

  Neophyte

  Crohn placed a feather on the table in front of Grimm. The Magemaster and his pupil were sitting on uncomfortable, tall stools in a bleak, unheated room in a deserted part of the Scholasticate. It was a cold winter day, and Grimm wished he were almost anywhere else.

  "Make the chant of Levity for light objects in the third instance,” Crohn commanded. With the ease born of endless practice, Grimm produced the necessary singsong chant. Nothing happened.

  "You see,” Crohn said, “the chant does not speak to the feather. To what should it speak?"

  "To my mind,” Grimm replied, suppressing the urge to sneeze. “The chant is not the spell, but a device to pattern my mind and my power to achieve the desired effect."

  "That is correct, as far as your answer goes,” Crohn said. “The textbook answer, if a little glib. Nonetheless, however suitable rote learning may be as an aid to memory, it is no substitute for true understanding. Let us see what more you can deduce. You have already learnt to see another's power, and you know how it changes form when turned to true magic. You must learn to feel your own power so that you can allow the chant to shape it for the spell. It is not sufficient to control and gather your power as you have done before. The chant must be directed to the power, the power to the effect, and the effect to the object. Watch me, and pay attention to my aura."

  Crohn made the chant as Grimm had done, and Grimm noticed how the lines of power in Crohn's aura waved and twisted in exact counterpoint to the spell as they coalesced to a vibrating mass. Then a thin stream of golden light, which would have been invisible outside the dim cubicle, wound towards the feather. With smooth grace, the feather rose off the table as the chant ended.

  "Notice that I must divert only the smallest portion of my will towards the feather once the magic is cast,” Crohn said. “Once floating, the feather wishes to remain where it is. To all extents, I can now ignore the feather. This is made easier because the feather has a natural desire to float; this spell, in the tertiary form, is designed to take advantage of this. The first form is, of course, for objects that do not bear the signature
of buoyancy or levity. The second is for repulsion, and requires the constant application of force."

  Grimm nodded. He had been told this on many previous occasions.

  "Observe, Afelnor,” said Crohn, “I now relinquish the spell."

  Crohn's aura became neutral, and the feather fluttered back to the table. “Now, you try. Try to feel the spell patterning your mind as it did mine."

  Grimm started the chant, which was clear in his mind. At the same time, he began to feel the twists and turns of the spell. Remembering what the Magemaster had done, he tried to will the speckles of his power first into lines and then to move in unison with the chant. On the first chant, nothing happened and his head spun a little. He tried again, looking inwards to the depths of his mind. He felt convinced that the feather must move, but it remained firmly table-bound. On the third repetition, he felt his mind split in two, one part focused on a future vision of the rising feather and the other drawing the power into ordered lines inside him.

  With an internal hot rush, he felt the lines of power coalesce from the sparkling motes. A giddy sensation filled his head, and he tried to force the lines into the spell's pattern. He felt the power build and mass within his body, but it was too fast and too strong. Struggling to marshal the careering sensations within him, he began to lose control of the spell: the feather rose two inches from the floor, trembled and fell back, although there was no breeze within the room.

  Still, the chant echoed and rang in his head, growing louder and louder in his skull to an unbearable volume. In desperation, he aborted the chant, feeling nausea well up inside him. He leant, heaving, against the wall, his forehead beaded with cold sweat and bitter bile rising in his throat. He clutched his throbbing temples to try to quell the sensation.