by Duncan Pile
“The practice of enchantment is not complicated,” the professor explained. “As with most magic, it is a question of focus, willpower and release. For instance, if you wanted to enchant this piece of chalk to divine water, you would have to first of all focus intently on the chalk; the stronger your focus, the more effective the enchantment. Then you would have to imagine the chalk being able to achieve divination. Picture it in your mind until you can feel it, until you know in your bones that the chalk is able to sense water. Developing a fertile imagination is one of the keys to exceptional magic. Once the picture is strong, the last stage is to release your power. This is the interesting bit. Everyone releases power in different ways. Some use a motion of the hand, some use words. Healer Emelda sings her magic into being. I’ve known a man who could only release his magic through dance.
As some of you already understand, the release of your magic is like a signature. It is something unique to you, and something that will come quite naturally. Watch!” The professor picked up the piece of chalk, took out a small knife from his pocket and made a nick in one end of it, and placed it on his open palm. There was nothing dramatic to see as the professor imbued the piece of chalk with the desired property. After a couple of moments of quiet, he simply shut his eyes, closed his fist around the chalk, whispered something under his breath and opened his eyes again. Gaspi was certain that as Professor Worrick whispered he had felt something, a kind of tingling in his belly, a tickling against his skin, and then it was gone.
In the professor’s still-closed hand was the same stick of chalk, but in the dim light of the classroom they could all see that the top of it, peeking out of his closed fist, was now glowing gently. It was subtle, but there could be no doubt that the previously normal piece of chalk had been magically altered, imbued with magical properties. Professor Worrick opened his hand. The small stick of glowing chalk burst into movement the second it was free to do so, spinning rapidly for a moment on his palm. It stopped, twitching like a navigator’s compass, before settling into position, the end with the nick in it pointing right at a half full glass of water sitting on the professor’s desk. Gaspi was impressed. This was the first magic he had seen consciously performed, and the excitement of the possibilities it opened up to him sent a thrill along his spine.
“Everand, you’re able to release your magic consistently now,” Professor Worrick said. “Come and have a go.” Everand slid out of his desk, and walked straight-backed up to the front. Professor Worrick gave him a different piece of chalk, again marking one end of it. “Now remember to focus, Everand, and imagine the chalk is able to detect water. You want the marked end to be your pointer.”
Everand screwed up his eyes in concentration, staring forcefully at the chalk. He stood like that, shoulders hunched, for several moments, before closing his fist tightly around the chalk. “Seek!” Everand pronounced in a loud, ringing tone. He looked down at the now glowing chalk sticking out from his fist, and smiled. Looking confident, he held out his arm, and opened his hand. The chalk twitched into life, but instead of spinning in a circle it flew right out of his hand, across the front of the room (narrowly missing a surprised Professor Worrick), and smashed into the glass of water. The chalk exploded into shards, white dust billowing into the air, and the glass, perched on the edge of the table, toppled off and smashed on the floor, its contents flowing away from the glass and pooling at Professor Worrick’s feet. Several students burst out laughing, but a furious look from a red-faced Everand silenced them.
“What did you imagine, Everand?” Professor Worrick asked, without a hint of mockery, though Gaspi thought he could detect a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“I imagined it finding the water,” Everand said indignantly, glaring at the smashed chalk as if somehow it was to blame.
“Ah yes, perhaps I should have made it clearer,” Professor Worrick said. “A divining device points to water; it does not itself go to the water, or find it. Well, well. Let’s not be discouraged. This is a good lesson in the importance of focus and accuracy, wouldn’t you say? And anyhow, Everand, your enchantment may not have been right, but it was certainly powerful.”
Everand straightened his shoulders, mollified by the inference of potency, and went back to his desk. Professor Worrick set the class some homework; to imbue a small fragment of rock with the power to resist heat. He handed out the fragments of rock to each student except for the three newcomers, who he asked to stay behind once the other students had left.
He explained to them what the rest of their day held. Students only attended communal classes in the morning, and in the afternoon divided their time between personal studies, projects and one-on-one tutoring. Professor Worrick explained that each of them was to be paired up to an appropriate tutor; one who best understood their talent and could train them in its use. Emea was to study with Miss Emelda, one of the Healers at the infirmary and a teacher at the college. Professor Worrick‘s secondary gift was prophetic, and so he would be Lydia‘s mentor. The professor explained that as there were no Nature Mages, Gaspi would study under Voltan, a warrior Mage skilled in martial magic.
Before they began their mentoring, however, they had to learn to release their power, a process which would begin after lunch in the adjacent classroom. Gaspi was full of conflicting emotions when the professor sent them on their break. Seeing magic performed up close had awoken a kind of hunger in him. Up till that morning, magic had been something that had threatened his life, something very serious and frighteningly powerful. Having seen the controlled way in which magic could be used had started to make Gaspi feel for the first time that he might actually want to be a Mage, but it wasn’t easy to cast off the terrible memories of his first experiences with magic. He just hoped that whoever taught him how to safely use his power was able to cope with the strength of his gift. After all, they didn’t have any other Nature Mages around, so how could they be sure they knew how to teach him to control his magic? Full of uncertainty, Gaspi followed his friends out of the classroom.
The three friends went to the refectory, where lunch was still being served. They each grabbed a steaming chicken pie, and piled their plates with roast potatoes and onions. They chose an empty table and sat down, pulling up the long bench with a loud wooden screech. On the tables around them, the other first-year students were talking excitedly about the dJin; Everand, recovered from his embarrassment in the classroom, was holding forth on demonic creatures, the attention of several pretty girls raptly fixed on him. Gaspi felt a sudden surge of resentment at this pompous boy, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to make his time at college harder than it needed it to be. It was hard enough learning to tame his magic, without having to deal with this kind of thing.
Emea caught him glowering at Everand. “Gaspi, why are you staring at that boy?” she asked. Unable to hide his feelings, Gaspi told the girls about the conflict in the dorm that morning. “Oh Gaspi, I’m sorry,” she said sympathetically. “You really don’t need this.”
“Tell me about it!” he said. In a transparent effort to distract him, Emea started talking about what their next class would be like, and was inadvertently successful. She couldn’t hide her nerves about what would be revealed about her, or more to the point what wouldn’t be revealed, and Gaspi’s sympathy for her did what her conversation failed to do, and drew his attention away from Everand. He put his arm around her shoulders. “You’ll be fine Emmy. I know you will,” he said. It sounded vacuous, but it was all he could think of to say.
“I know you will too,” Lydia added confidently. “And I’m a Seer, remember?” Emea smiled unconvincingly.
The lunch hour passed quickly, and soon they were heading back to the classroom next to the one they’d studied in that morning. No-one was in the room and the door was slightly ajar, so they went inside.
“Oh, how lovely!” Emea exclaimed in surprise. The desks they expected to find were nowhere to be seen, and across the floor were scattered deep,
comfortable cushions, surrounding three padded armchairs in the middle of the room. The light coming through the windows was warm and golden, almost orange, filtering through stained-glass windows, caressing the leaves of enormous plants that sprung out of giant pots placed liberally around the room. Gaspi felt immediately restful; the worries that had plagued him over lunch seemed somehow less of a problem, less urgent. Emea began to explore, pinching the large, heavy leaves of the plants, testing out the cushions. She was humming happily to herself, obviously delighted by the peaceful atmosphere, until her musings were rudely interrupted by a large cushion slamming into the side of her head. An impudent Gaspi grinned at her from across the room, daring her to retaliate. She had caught the cushion reflexively, and held it defensively before her.
“Gaspi, we’re not here to play!” she admonished. He laughed and bent to pick up another cushion, not spotting Emea’s cushion sailing across the room until it caught him across his face.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” he said, raising his arm to toss another missile. Emea was grabbing frantically at the nearest cushion on the floor, when the door swung open and an enormous, white-robed woman entered the room. They froze - Gaspi holding a cushion behind his head, ready to throw, and Emea stooped over, hands reaching towards one on the floor, head raised and turned towards the door, a grimace fixed on her face. Only Lydia looked innocent, standing over by the window, no cushion in her hand or anywhere near her. The large magician stopped in her tracks, staring at the now frozen tableau before her, then let out a throaty chuckle and entered the room, the door swinging shut behind her as she shuffled over to a chair at the front of the room.
“Make yourself at home,” she said with a wave of her hand, then sank into her chair with a sigh of relief. “I’m Healer Emelda,” she said. Emea, red faced, looked mortified that her mentor had met her in this way. The three students looked at each other, at the cushions on the floor and at the three chairs, and sat down in the chairs as one. Emelda chuckled again; a warm sound filled with mirth.
“Do you like the room?” she asked.
“Yes, very much,” piped Emea, still looking thoroughly embarrassed. Lydia and Gaspi said they liked it too.
“Well, that’s good,” said Emelda. “How you feel in this room will influence how quickly you learn to connect with your talent.”
“What do you mean…Healer Emelda?” Gaspi asked, a little formally.
“Gaspi, is it?” Emelda asked. Gaspi nodded. “In the classroom I like to be called Miss Emelda, or just Miss if you like. Healer Emelda is a bit of a mouthful,” she said warmly. Gaspi immediately liked her. She was friendly and informal and he suspected she’d be a good mentor for Emmy. “And what I mean, young Mage, is that a calm atmosphere, where you feel comfortable and rested, will help you achieve the optimum state for connecting with your talent,” Emelda explained. “Your magic lives in the deepest part of you, in the very seat of your being, and I am going to help you get in touch with it. I am going to teach you to meditate.”
Gaspi felt a surge of anxiety. He raised his hand. “Yes, Gaspi?”
“Miss, I’ve already connected with my talent, and don’t know if I want to do it again,” Gaspi said.
“Don’t worry, Gaspi,” Emelda replied in a comforting tone. “Hephistole has told me about your experiences, and you are not in any danger here. I think he has already mentioned to you that we have put a block on your power, and however powerful you are, you won’t be able to get past it. Your talent is what makes you powerful, and if you can’t touch it then you have nothing to fear, do you?” Gaspi nodded, but must have still looked uncertain. “What I’m going to teach you today,” Emelda continued, “is a technique that will enable you to control your talent. Once we release the block you can start to use it straight away, and if we have any problems we’ll put it right back, okay?”
“Okay,” Gaspi responded, with a little more confidence this time.
“Just relax, and enjoy the lesson,” Emelda said. “Let us worry about releasing your block when it’s the right time. Can you do that?” Gaspi said he could.
Emelda waved her hand in a deliberate-looking motion, and a gentle hum filled the room. Gaspi recognised it as similar to the sound he’d woken up to that morning, but this one had deeper, bass sonorities underpinning the harmonies, and was more steady and repetitive. He found it extremely relaxing, and one look at his friends’ faces showed them that they did too.
“We use sound and light to help you achieve the optimum state for performing magic,” Emelda explained. “The greatest magical innovators of our day work in enclosed, restful environments like this to enhance their work. All of our enchantments are done in just such an atmosphere to ensure the highest infusion of power into the object. You will find, with magic, that peace is power.” Gaspi noticed that Emea was listening to Emelda with rapt attention, eyes wide as she drank in every word. Again he felt that this wise, assured woman would be a good mentor for her.
“Magic resides in the deepest part of you,” Emelda continued, “where everything is pure and your potential is unlimited. As we grow we all learn to consciously restrict ourselves, to live in the outward part of the soul that interacts with its environment, struggling with the strains and stresses of daily life. But the deepest part of you, your spirit, is unaffected by these struggles, and is all-knowing. The techniques I’m going to teach you will enable you to touch that part of you, and that means to touch your talent. If you’re all ready, I’ll take you through a simple exercise.”
She paused, looking intently into each of their faces. “So, are you ready?” she asked significantly. She received a mixture of nods and murmurs in response. “Then get yourselves comfortable. Until you’re used to attaining an optimum state, you may fall asleep lying on the cushions if you try to meditate lying down, so the chairs are the best place to start. Just settle yourselves in, legs and arms uncrossed, your feet flat on the floor and your hands resting separately on your lap. Feet uncrossed, Gaspi. That’s it. Now, roll your shoulders a few times to iron the kinks out…that’s good. Now close your eyes, and allow your breathing to deepen…”
As Emelda took them through some breathing exercises and simple visualisations, Gaspi found himself teased by feelings of elation. His toes and fingers tingled, as he became increasingly relaxed. Emelda’s voice drifted in and out as his own imagination took over at points, creating fantastical visions, the warm-hearted imaginings of his soul. Once Emelda had taken them through the initial relaxation exercises, she took them deeper into a trance.
“Imagine you are in a safe place…somewhere you feel completely at rest…it can be anywhere at all, somewhere you’ve been or somewhere you create…allow the image to form in your mind…”
In Gaspi’s mind’s eye he saw a secret mountain valley, hidden from everyone but him. It was tucked away between two peaks, sheltered from the wind and bathed in sunshine. Thick green stands of firs skirted the slopes, surrounding a shining blue lake in the centre of the valley.
“What can you see?”
Gaspi found himself in the centre of his vision, standing by the lake. A gentle wind caused the crystalline water to ruffle, sunlight flashing off each tiny wave, and piercing into the depths of the sparkling water with long, golden shafts.
“What can you hear?”
Behind him, the sweet sound of birdsong bubbled from the throat of a thrush. Other birdcalls sounded crisply from the trees. Water lapped gently at the lake shore, making a shushing sound as each tiny swell swept over pebbles.
“What can you feel?”
A gentle breeze tickled against Gaspi’s cheek. Cool grass and soft, springy soil pressed comfortably against his bare feet. But, above all, he felt a deep, peaceful rush of contentment, and surging joy, as if a deep well of his spirit had been opened. In a semi-rapturous state, Gaspi found himself wondering where this joy was coming from. What produced these feelings of bliss and filled his two-dimensional pictures with colour and dept
h and sound? What caused him to feel the wind on his cheeks, to taste the moisture in the air on his tongue? What made him feel more comfortable in his own skin than he had ever felt? Was this some form of magic?
“Affirm to yourself that you are in a safe place. Nothing can enter your secret place unless you allow it…” Gaspi didn’t think he had ever felt more safe, more comforted.
“As your feeling of safety grows, let your attention turn inwards. Let your consciousness search in, towards the centre of your being…”
Emelda’s words drifted through his consciousness as he moved more deeply into stillness, scraps of sentences catching his attention, directing his thought.
“Become aware of your flesh, strong and solid…now move deeper…past the body and into the soul…become aware of your emotions…examine them from a distance…unaffected…let them go one by one…leaving them behind…until all you have is stillness…”
Gaspi was a small, softly glowing light in the heart of his being, still as a pond, utterly restful, gently curious.
“In the centre of your being, residing in perfect stillness, is your spirit…feel it drawing you in as you approach this sacred, inner space, where you know all and all is known...”
Emelda raised herself out of her chair, and moved quietly to behind where they sat.
“Expand your senses, exploring the depths of your spirit, and become aware of your power.”
Gaspi peered intently with the eyes of his soul, searching for something in that inner light of his spirit. At first, he could sense nothing at all, and intensified his gaze, feeling a glimmer of frustration mar his otherwise peaceful experience.
“Not being forceful…” Emelda said. “Your inner senses gently exploring…remaining open to your power.”
Gaspi breathed deeply, letting go of his frustration and softening his inward gaze, sending his probing thoughts gently roaming through his inner landscape, until he sensed it. Within his spirit there was a force; not obvious at first, but there nevertheless. It swirled within his being, a light within the light, part of him and yet separate, moving in perfect harmony with his own spirit. Gaspi thought he smelled a faint scent of freshly turned earth, of greenery and new growth. The faint scent grew stronger in his nostrils, so that he almost opened his eyes to see where it was coming from, but he instinctively sensed that this was all part of connecting to his magic, and kept his eyes closed.
