The Young Magician tlt-1

by Michael Foster

  ‘A little-but I want to ask you-I was wondering about magic. I felt very strange just now and a little sick. I heard about the boy that caught fire and I wondered if that’s what it felt like. Can you let too much power in?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Master Glim conceded. ‘That can happen to untrained magicians and, unfortunately, seems to be happening more and more of late. If one lets too much magic in and not enough out, the power can be dangerous-overwhelming. If too much magic fills you, burn it out somehow while you temper your connection to the source. Make a knot of power as we have today and throw it away. Cast it out into the sky, for magic must be consumed once summoned or it will consume you. And magic will not return to the ether easily. It is a skill that must be slowly developed. All this is why you are here, to learn the simplest yet most important of lessons: you must master yourself if you are to master your magic.’

  Samuel thought he understood some of what Master Glim told him, but his mind was focussed on a terrible image of wild, uncontrolled magic tearing across his skin. He only hoped it never happened to him.

  Archmage Ordi hurried out onto his balcony, perched high atop the Mage Tower, where he very often felt like a god looking down upon the earth. Such feelings of grandeur, however, were far from his mind at present, as something powerful and unsettling had disturbed him from his napping and had brought him rushing outside.

  It took only a glance over the city to see what was tugging at his senses, for hovering above the School of Magic was an enormous blue sphere of extraordinary power. It paled the sun and the streets below were suddenly still and quiet as every person in view shaded their eyes and gawked at the spectacle. The city folk were used to occasional mystic events from the magicians, but this was a wondrous display and the denizens of Cintar had all stopped in place to observe and marvel.

  The Archmage stroked his long, gnarled, wooden staff absentmindedly, with his thumb, and watched on thoughtfully as the spell flashed and glimmered below him.

  The fiery sphere then flashed from existence and was gone, leaving the world dull again and pale by comparison. The throngs of people below all at once lowered their gazes and went back to their scurrying and shouting and selling and bargaining, and the spontaneous wonder was quickly forgotten.

  If this was meant to be some sort of display from Grand Master Anthem, the Archmage was not impressed. The man had been a thorn in his side for far too long and he had long since stopped believing that the wily old Anthem was as passionate about the Empire as he claimed. No, Anthem had dipped his fingers into too many cookie jars and the time of his comeuppance was quickly approaching. He had been given more than enough time to prove his worth-years and countless resources-but still there was nothing to show except more excuses. Old Anthem was quickly losing all precious favour with the Emperor and all such past gratitude would soon be worthless. Archmage Ordi knew it had been a mistake from the start.

  The Archmage slowly scratched his chin and went to adjust his splendid purple-hemmed robes, before realising he was completely naked. In his hurry to get to his balcony, he had leapt straight out of bed without thinking. Chuckling to himself, the bony old magician strolled back inside. He put his staff back in its place beside his great bed, before crawling back onto the mattress and pulling the masses of thick and fluffy blankets back on top of himself and preparing to continue his comfortable nap. There was no need to hurry. He had waited a long time already and events would unfold of their own accord soon enough.

  Lessons with Master Sanctus were hideously tedious. He was responsible for teaching the apprentices to speak in the Old Tongue, the language of magicians. The Old Tongue closely followed the lines of power and was, therefore, more useful in magic than the Turian language that was now common about the land. Samuel was well behind in the lessons and realised he would have to spend all his free time studying to catch up, although the two Erics both said they would help. The Old Tongue was strange and alien to him, difficult between his lips. Other students were already forming sentences and starting to converse with it, while Samuel stuttered and baulked on the simplest of words, like talinyi-hello.

  He managed to spell a splendid mage-light the next day and Master Glim was very pleased. It actually felt much easier than the time before, and required much less effort. In the following days, however, he found he was far behind in every area of his studies. He had history lessons with Master Kalbak, mathematics lessons with Master Fraser, literature with Master Yule and magic lessons with Master Glim, although the teachers all seemed quite flexible and exchanged roles on occasion.

  Samuel spent hours every day in the Great Library, jotting notes and such, trying to get his mind around the perplexing mannerisms of the Old Tongue. To help him improve, Samuel and Eric Goodfellow made a resolution to initially say everything in Old Tongue, and then only in Turian if one of them did not understand. It was ridiculous at first, as Samuel never understood what was being said, but even after a few days, he began to notice some improvement, recognising some of the basic phrases.

  Samuel also spent considerable time in the Great Hall when it was empty, practising his mage-lights. Day after day, he practised in every spare moment. He was not happy with just making one or two, and he forced himself to keep trying until he could make up to a dozen. He felt quite proud at this one accomplishment and finally began to feel all his extra study was starting to show results. Soon, he found he could manipulate the shapes of his lights, giving them different tones and colours. Blues spheres became green ovals, yellow squares, and red triangles. By combining the shapes and colours, Samuel could make the semblance of a tree or flower or even a basic man.

  Every few months, one teacher would leave or another would come, but Master Glim and Master Sanctus still led the bulk of the lessons. They received new classes from Master Rubrick and Master Jod. Every teacher had a different perspective to share regarding their education and would instruct them on every conceivable aspect of being a magician. Master Dividian even began teaching them the history and philosophy of magic. Most students found these lessons tedious, as Master Dividian was a self-important and pompous old man. Not all the teachers were as popular as Master Glim, but Master Dividian was as far from likeable as any student thought possible.

  Master Rubrick would teach them all the ways of positioning the body, so that magical energy could be gathered more efficiently. Samuel recognised some of the strange positions and movements he had seen in the Burning Oak. Some were low, almost squatting positions with arms and hands all curled and bunched up, while others were tall, outstretching, even one-legged stances. Samuel could feel the magic course through him whenever he practised these positions. He remembered the deftness with which Grand Master Anthem and Lomar had performed the movements and vowed to be at least as good as them.

  Master Jokkle later arrived to take over all their intermediate schooling, such as grammar, science and mathematics. He was an energetic and dedicated teacher and seemed to enjoy any gains they made, so it made the classes more interesting. Some students objected to such mundane lessons, but Master Jokkle always managed to think of some example where a magician with good schooling was better than a magician with good magic. They did not need to reach the level of the scholars in the Emperor’s university, but many members of the Order did lecture there, such was their considerable knowledge. Samuel could see the point of all this, but somehow, the three-four-five rule for squaring corners just did not compare to the ability to lift and move objects with a magical spell.

  They even received lessons in riding and horsemanship, as this was the chief method of transport around the inland regions of the Empire. A magician, especially in his early years, would be expected to travel far and wide performing the various duties of the Order. Samuel’s experiences from his youth actually helped him greatly, and although he had spent much more time under the animals than on them, he quickly found himself becoming a fairly competent rider.

  One sunny afternoon, Samuel and
many of the apprentices were resting in their bunkhouse-either lying idly in their cots or studying at the tables below. Samuel was leaning on the balcony rail, staring out into space and thinking about some new spells he would like to try, when he noticed an old man come wandering in through the bunkhouse door. The man wore a simple surcoat down to his knees along with some stockings and buckled shoes, and he was peering around the room almost as if he had lost something. If not for the fact that his clothes were all of deepest black, Samuel may have thought the man an old vagrant who had wandered in off the streets. Taking a closer look at the fellow’s wispy, white hair and straggly beard, Samuel was taken by surprise as he realised they had met before. It was the old man from the Burning Oak-the one he had first seen do magic.

  ‘Grand Master!’ some boys exclaimed and hopped up from their bunks and raced down the short stairs.

  The old man laughed as he was quickly surrounded by all the boys in the room. Samuel made down the stairs after them and stood at the edge of the small crowd, waiting expectantly.

  His voice was as warm and youthful as Samuel remembered. ‘It’s good to see you all again; each taller and more manly than before, as I can see. I’ve been away far too long once again.’

  ‘We’re happy to see you again, Grand Master,’ Goodfellow declared. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Oh, I’m always being sent all over on Order business these days,’ the old man replied. ‘Almost too busy to care for my precious school-it’s criminal. But I shall remain here awhile now. Now, what can you show me? What have you learned since I last had time to visit you? I’ve been away far too long.’

  ‘Look, Grand Master!’ Chadly Doon, a blond-haired boy, exclaimed and immediately created a star-shaped formation of lights above them.

  ‘Look, Grand Master!’ called another, making a spell of his own and letting a plateful of beans go hopping and jumping across the table.

  ‘Look! Look!’ they each cried.

  ‘Calm now, calm now!’ retorted the Grand Master, holding up his hands. ‘Hold your spells for the moment. Go back to your places and I will come and chat with each and every one of you before I leave. Go on!’

  The boys all dispelled their magic and slowly dragged themselves away back to their cots and tables. Samuel returned to the second floor and looked down upon the old man as he made his way amongst them all. They would chat a few minutes before each boy summoned his best spell and the Grand Master would nod and exclaim ‘wonderful!’ From time to time, the old man would look around the room, as if looking for something, and the smile on his face would fall away for the briefest moment, showing some dark concern. Then, he would laugh and make some joke with the boys and his face would be free of its fleeting vexation.

  Samuel soon became bored of watching on and collapsed onto his cot. It was wearisome watching all the boys fawning over the old man with their tired tricks. Fetching some notes out from his chest, he lay on his back and began practising some Old Tongue.

  After some time, a deep smooth voice sounded beside him. ‘Now whom do we have here?’

  Samuel dropped his notes and quickly sat up as the Grand Master sat down beside him at the end of bed.

  ‘Grand Master Anthem,’ Samuel greeted.

  ‘So you are the boy who liked to spy through the window?’ the old man said, and Samuel immediately felt his cheeks burning. ‘Samuel, isn’t it? I heard you had joined us here in the school. You seem to be fitting in well enough.’

  ‘Yes, Grand Master. I like it here very much.’

  ‘And what about your studies? I hear you had some catching up to do?’

  ‘Yes, but I am studying very hard,’ Samuel explained.

  ‘Well let me see what you have learned.’

  ‘I don’t know what to show you, Grand Master,’ Samuel admitted.

  ‘Now don’t be shy, my boy. Just some small thing is fine. Any trivial spell you care to muster up,’ the Grand Master urged him.

  Samuel thought a moment and then created a few coloured mage-lights in the air beside them. They looked somewhat pale in the afternoon light.

  ‘That’s it?’ the old man quizzed him disappointingly. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that. I can tell that took you no effort at all.’

  Samuel dispelled his lights with a gesture and paused again to think. Gathering himself for a moment, he put out his palm and began to spell. A tiny speck could be seen in his hand.

  ‘Oh?’ said the Grand Master quizzically and bent his head to look closer. ‘What’s this?’

  Soft light began to shine from Samuel’s palm and the speck began to grow and became a short green sprout. Samuel poured his magic into the spell and the thing became as tall as his longest finger, then buds and leaves began to form. Slowly, the sprout thickened and the tiny leaves became fuller and the stem wider until Samuel finished and a small shrub sat in his palm.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Grand Master Anthem exclaimed. ‘Quite a complex spell.’

  ‘It’s an apple tree,’ Samuel stated. ‘A very small one. I’m still experimenting.’

  The old man leaned in even closer to inspect the creation. ‘Why, it even has tiny apples. Samuel, what a marvel!’

  Samuel laughed. ‘It’s only simple. I have a lot of work to do to make it better.’

  ‘Nonsense, boy. It’s a grand illusion. You just need to work on it a little more and make it a bit bigger.’ With that, the Grand Master stood. ‘Well, I have a few more boys to chat with. I will keep an eye on you and talk with you another day, young Samuel.’

  The old man then took his turn to sit with Eric Goodfellow and then Eric Pot, who took great relish in showing the Grand Master his favourite trick: making a pebble leap magically between his two clenched fists. After the aged magician had done with them all, he started back down the stairs, grasping firmly onto the rich, hardwood hand-rail as he went to help him descend.

  Samuel was somewhat disappointed and placed the plant on the floor beside his chest with a few others he had made previously. He had been secretly hoping to impress the Grand Master, but the man had not even noticed the spell was not an illusion at all. He was the only apprentice in the whole dormitory who could even start to grow a real tree-in the whole school for all he knew. Samuel reached into his pocket and dug out the last few apple seeds he had collected and threw them out the window with disappointment.

  After a few more minutes, Samuel heard the Grand Master call out his goodbyes from below and looked down through the balusters as the old man left, almost hurriedly.

  ‘I’m getting worried,’ came an insistent voice, penetrating Samuel’s dreams.

  ‘I’m sure there’s no need for alarm,’ came another.

  Samuel had been having a pleasant dream about the mountains around Stable Waterford. It had been wonderful playing and running through the woods again, but the voices had started interrupting him and would not go away. It became hard to concentrate on the trees and branches and adventures, and all became grey and foggy until just the troublesome voices remained.

  ‘He’s just a boy, but he could be the one everyone is searching for-here, with us!’ the first voice stated.

  ‘Yes, yes. You may be right,’ mused the second-a thin and whiny voice. ‘At the very least, it deserves further investigation. I will begin searching the ancient manuscripts and you keep an eye on him. Tell me of anything you learn-any clue or hint at all.’

  ‘Of course, but what should we say to him in the meantime?’

  ‘Nothing. Watch him. It’s too early to be sure. He shows all the signs of great power, but we could be mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps I can try to guide him to our cause.’

  ‘Very well, but take great care. I’m sure he has been noticed already, and others will be seeking to sway him. It is fortunate we found him first. We don’t want to lose another one to their side, at least not until we learn what makes him so special.’

  ‘It could be nothing-a simple curiosity.’

  ‘Or
it could be something. He plays with the makings of a Great Spell as if it were trivial. Such a spell could prove pivotal-for either side-and at this, such a crucial time. We just cannot afford to take chances.’

  A moment’s silence.

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ the voice sounded almost optimistic.

  ‘Very well. I will trust you with the task. Do whatever it takes to earn his trust.’ The second speaker finished.

  ‘I shall,’ the initial speaker finished gruffly and Samuel was sure he had heard this person before, somewhere in the real world beyond such haze-ridden dreams.

  Some days, Samuel found it harder to use magic than others. The teachers said this was normal, as a certain frame of mind was needed to use magic, but it frustrated Samuel greatly. At times, casting a spell was as easy as taking a breath, and these times were exhilarating. As more months passed, the bunkhouse became a constant display of various magic feats, with each boy practising the skills that best suited him. Samuel would lean against the balcony banister and watch closely. He had the advantage of being able to see the weaves of magic they made, and quickly learned how to read every flow and turn of power. The weaker boys’ magic was composed of thin and wispy strings of energy, which wavered and shuddered, barely able to hold together long enough to form a spell. Strong spells were rich with tendrils of energy, and the magic flowed smooth and sure.

  It was a simple matter for Samuel to copy the simple spells, for he merely had to summon some magic and bend the weaves to match whatever spell he desired. More complex spells, however, were another matter. There were far too many weaves and flows to remember, and by the time he finished placing the final parts of the spell, the first parts had already dissipated. It proved difficult to copy such spells, but Samuel kept trying every day. Each success gave him only a moment’s satisfaction before he began again on something even more difficult-and each failure filled him with frustration and rage.