My Path to Magic

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  Dropping by the school just to check, I discovered that my diversion with the trip brought unexpected results: instead of playing pathfinders and building huts, children enthusiastically argued. It looked hilarious in the performance of the white: they stood and talked very quickly all at the same time, perhaps not even catching the meaning of each other's words. I got so curious that came up closer to listen to them.

  "Thomas!" Lyuchik finally noticed me.

  I got surrounded by kids with such speed that I even started.

  "Tell me, tell me," Lyuchik was tugging at my sleeve, "why the snake takes off its skin?"

  "Because it has always done that," I shrugged. "Why not?"

  "But I do not shed my skin!"

  Dear god, was that the reason for their hysterical quarrel? No, I will never get the job of an empath; I cannot grasp such things.

  "Bro, in fact, you are shedding constantly, and the snake only once a year. It's questionable who is better off—you or the snake."

  "Really?" Lyuchik frowned in puzzlement.

  "Of course! The snake doesn't have to wash, and they don't stink." If I remembered correctly, the snakes did not have sweat glands.

  "But the snake will get cold," sobbed a girl in bows. "They need clothes."

  I pictured a snake in the coat and gave a raucous neigh. Perhaps it was wildly anti-pedagogical, but I couldn't stop.

  "How about buttons?" I squeezed the question through tears. "How will they zip up buttons?"

  The children became puzzled. What bedlam! Of course, I knew the white had a peculiar vision of the world, but not to that extent... I should be lenient and make allowance for age, after all. I tried to formulate my thoughts in a simpler way: "Clothes were invented by people because humans were bald, but the snake and mice do not need coats. In the areas where they live, their skin is exactly what they need. They're animals! Don't your teachers tell you anything about animals?"

  "The snake is a reptile," a bespectacled kid with a toy bear corrected politely.

  "Good for you! Then you know that the snake is cold-blooded. Why would it need a coat if it is heated from outside?" I ruffled Lyuchik's hair. "Do not worry! The snake has lived on earth for millions of years, so all that is necessary for their survival they have already acquired."

  "Our teacher told us that some species of snake have become extinct," the four-eyed kid said.

  That was where the problem originated! Quite a bizarre run of associations.

  "Animals become extinct because people plough virgin lands and build houses. Animals need wilderness; if we do not interfere with them, they will be all right. Got it?"

  Everybody calmed down. Good. I was lucky that the kids didn't ask the sacred question about a fried piglet; I cannot talk on this topic, but I know a bunch of jokes. Like, once a vegetarian married a butcher's daughter... 'Maybe the kids' moronity was the result of the rollback,' suddenly came to my mind. On the other hand, teachers also ought to think before they say something. Anything. I fished out my brother from the crowd of pacified whites and took him for a walk to the park, vaguely sensing the lack of something of great importance.

  "Where is Petros?"

  My brother sighed. "Mr. Fox does not let him out for a walk."

  "How is it possible that he doesn't let him out?" I was taken aback.

  "Mr. Fox said that Petros got sick, but Petros wrote me a note that he wasn't sick, only his feet hurt a little."

  My God, they were exchanging notes already, teen-conspirators?! Should I have a serious talk with the assistant principal? If I wanted to get that crazy kid under my wing, then yes, I had to immediately rush into a quarrel. But a sudden idea came to my mind: if Petros disappeared from the horizon, it would be much easier to take Lyuchik away from Mihandrov. So I decided to act in a civilized manner.

  "Let's go talk to the headmistress of the school."

  Mrs. Hemul was glad to see me, but she looked tired and agitated. You know, the emotional and physical conditions of a magician are strongly related. As if by magic, a cup of jasmine tea and a basket of fancy cookies appeared on the table (Lyuchik began to dig into them, searching for the sun-shaped ones). She understood the meaning of my question at once, saying, "This is an unfortunate incident, a totally unacceptable situation. Mr. Fox unpleasantly surprised me. To put it bluntly, he reacted very painfully to your visit; however, I was sure that he was coping with his emotions. But it happened so suddenly—and absolutely without a motif! The problem is that Mr. Fox is the legal guardian of Petros; it's in his power to simply take the boy out of the school and leave. I need time to find Mrs. Kormalis and resolve this issue. Unfortunately, she is not in Mihandrov."

  "Suddenly left the town, am I correct?" an unpleasant ache developed in my stomach.

  "Just before the holidays," Mrs. Hemul nodded. "I'm sure she is about to come back."

  Maybe she will return. I thought that Clarence's attention to the missing people and the commission's work calmed down the maniac, but what if they didn't? Though such complex coincidences just could not happen.

  "I am glad that you are not letting the matter slide."

  She became a little confused. "Regarding this, I have a favor to ask from both of you..."

  I already knew what she was driving at.

  "Mr. Tangor, could I ask you to refrain from visits to the school for some time?"

  "What do you think, brother?"

  A heavy fight between a few mutually exclusive desires reflected on Lyuchik's face. "If that is necessary for Petros... But for how long?"

  "For a couple of days," Mrs. Hemul soothed him.

  "Please keep in mind that I can stay here only until the end of the holidays," I warned her.

  "Do not worry; the misunderstanding will be resolved very quickly."

  "Good. I'll call tomorrow then."

  Lyuchik and I finished the tea and said goodbye to Mrs. Hemul.

  Lyuchik followed me to the gate; we sat in the park for a bit. I finally came to the conclusion that I would not leave my brother alone with the curse and the nutty teachers at Mihandrov. I didn't have custody rights, but I was paying for his tuition, and Joe would follow my advice.

  "I'm being serious with you; think hard about changing schools. Redstone is a big city with plenty of entertainment and a zoo."

  "What if everywhere is like here?" Lyuchik asked sadly.

  "No, there is obviously something wrong with this place."

  "And what do you think is wrong with our school?" Fox turned out to be near.

  The assistant principal looked cheerful—no doubts tortured him. He seemed to be in a hurry to push me out of the gate. He hung over Lyuchik in such a manner that I could hardly restrain myself from hitting him with a curse. Watch out, Mr. Fox!

  I shrugged indifferently. "For example—you. A normal teacher would not lie right in the students' faces."

  He was taken aback. "I've never..."

  "To Milos the day before yesterday? Why did you lie to him that his cat would be with him forever? As if you do not know that animals and humans have different life span!"

  He was surprised; maybe he thought that I was blind and deaf to everything around me.

  "Would you have had me say that his pet would die in his hands?" Fox softly smiled having recovered from the surprise.

  "You should have said that the kitten was not invented for his entertainment. The kitten wants to walk on roofs, make love with she-cats, and piss to mark its territory. Wanting from the kitten something that does not conform to its nature is selfishness, and to demand its immortality is pure necromancy. Do you expect to raise a necromancer from Milos?"

  Fox went pale. "The zombie is more up your alley," he almost hissed.

  I did not argue: "Yes, I make them, but I can destroy them. But Milos will manage only the first part, at best. What will the guy do when he realizes that the animated corpse is not his pet?"

  I sensed growing attention on me with all my skin; I was looked at from all
sides, and I felt like making a speech. "The world must be loved for what it is; we must not pick out the most delicious parts of it, like raisins from a bread loaf. Not all of what we like is good, and not everything that hurts us is evil. Among your pupils there are girls—how will you explain to them what childbirth is?"

  He even turned green at that.

  "Don't you like babies?" I purred softly. "Don't you know where they come from?"

  Fox turned and fled. I showed him us—the dark! All the white minnows in the park ran to the side with a soft shur-shur-shur. I beat Fox with means specific to the white—I gave a different explanation—and now kids would not calm down until they determined which of us was right. Poor teachers! To be honest, the phrase about the bread loaf was prepared ahead of time; I came up with it when tried to get rid of the nightmares caused by visions of White Halak.

  The dark, having nightmares! If I said that to anybody, I would be laughed at.

  "If you decide to stay here," I told Lyuchik, "never trust to what that guy says. He is crazy!"

  "I thought so too," the kid nodded very seriously, "but I do not know why."

  God knows how sick I was of their gooing!

  "Don't be puzzled about 'why', " I chuckled. "Teachers must understand more than students, not just talk convincingly. He is a theoretician on life, damn it."

  So, I finally got two days off. Now I had plenty of time to wander around and visit Mihandrov's barely any sightseeing spots. Still, the town itself was quite interesting. It was in the condition of "antiquity without decrepitude". I didn't mean miserable huts hanging onto each other in clusters. This condition is laid with the first stone of the foundation, ripens for centuries, and is lost if the ancient brew is diluted with even a drop of contemporary design. So, Mihandrov was soaked in the antiquity so strongly that its age was nearly impossible to determine. I was sure that the town was like that before the deadly spell, and it would maintain the same appearance many, many years later: white walls, slate roofs, low stone fences—like the pictures of ancient towns in school textbooks.

  Vines did not grow in the neighborhood of Mihandrov (Alfred had said something to that effect, but I did not save it in my memory); however, there was a man living on the lakefront who regularly supplied the town with fresh beer. I knew the road to his pub, a stylish basement with huge barrels, wooden tables, and indispensable bundles of garlic. Compared to the best Redstone restaurants, it differed only by the absence of a fireplace (the latter was not needed here) and by a shorter menu list (mostly fish was present). I seriously considered buying a house in Mihandrov, although it will be scorching heat here in the middle of summer...

  I know it sounds selfish, but I vitally needed a break in communication with the white. In the end, a mage's physical state depends on the condition of his soul, and my contacts with the white drove me crazy lately. Besides, the "cleaners" from Artrom were expected to come to town any minute now, and a sharp transition to communication with the combat mages could be harmful to my health. Who would need me then as a cripple?

  I did not manage to get drunk on light beer, and stronger drinks were unavailable in Mihandrov at all. I was too lazy to drag to the train station for liquor and went back to the mansion to swing in a wicker chair, take a nap, and think how nasty Satal felt in Redstone now (it was freezing cold there). Clarence didn't bother me. Twilight began to darken, dinner was getting closer, and the smell of fried fish wafted from the windows of the kitchen. Fish was everywhere in Mihandrov.

  And then it struck.

  No, there was no sound; it just felt as if a big toothy saw touched the nerves of Max and me. The dog that had been soaking in a tub with some preservative since morning howled hoarsely. I told it to shut up and stay in the bath, clicked the "whistle" in my pocket, and ran to pick up my traveling kit. The unforgettable feeling that mauled my nerves could mean only one thing: the supernatural was hovering nearby.

  With the staff and the suitcase in hands (just like in a fairy tale), I rushed to where my intuition strictly forbade me to go. In a hurry, I burst straight in, cutting corners on the slopes where one wrong move would make you fly headfirst to the lake below. Yet I was glad that I wasn't running in the direction of the school. Somewhere halfway up hill, I caught up with Fox, who wheezed on the rise. I wondered where the man was going to. Pulling up my socks, I overtook him, and while the white climbed the slope, I made a loop and broke into the overgrown park from the other side (first!). There it was! A large open space covered before with grass and bushes was now filled with ash-gray dust.

  "Witch's baldness!" Fox breathed out, having made his way up through the thickets of the wild rose.

  I wondered how come he knew what that was. Witch's baldness was a rare type of supernatural phenomenon, surprisingly difficult to get rid of: the source of the supernatural was deep underground. That is, a normal pentagram won't decimate the bald unless you draw it after removing the top five feet of dirt, standing right in the centre of contamination. I had to move backwards - the border of the baldness shifted significantly closer to me.

  "I have never seen them growing so quickly!" I gasped in shock.

  "What should we do?" Fox screamed in panic.

  That was a good demonstration of his self-control.

  "I will take care of it, and you run and tell people to get out of their homes. They are too close!"

  "Close" was not the right word: roofs were already visible at the bottom of the hill slope. They were within a stone's throw! The NZAMIPS' "whistle" was of no use—they were too far to help. Alfred, sent as a courier to Artrom, wouldn't be able to come back earlier than in twenty-four hours, and I didn't need another white here. The lieutenant would be a burden.

  The bad news was that I could not kill such a huge otherworldly creature alone, and at the speed it grew (thirty feet in diameter for half an hour that we took to reach the place) very soon the power of the combat mages of the whole Ingernika wouldn't be enough to cope with it. When the "cleaners" arrived at the place (if they hurried up), only one remedy would be left: the armory curse. It required five to seven victims - people who did not manage to get away from Mihandrov in time. Theoretically, one experienced dark mage would be enough to kill the supernatural with the armory curse. But I wasn't taught at the university on how to perform it.

  I wasn't taught...

  And then I thanked all the gods for putting in my way that loathsome creature, Edan Satal. No, he did not teach me the deadly curses—he was not suicidal—but he set my teeth on edge with all sorts of high-level shields and barriers. I recalled what I needed; however, my knowledge was purely theoretical. But when had it stopped me before? After assessing the growth rate of the witch's baldness, I breathed out a fire weaving that burned down bushes in a sixty-foot radius, took a marker out of the bag, and began to draw. That would be a perimeter, a simple ward-off perimeter, only turned inside out: it would keep the creature inside.

  There was no time to measure out the sectors; I had to act by eyeballing it. As a result, instead of the minimal twelve signs per perimeter, I drew eleven. I hoped it would work anyway! The marker ran out before the last couple of lines were drawn—it was not meant for spells of that size—and I didn't have time to look for a replacement. No more than half a meter remained between the baldness and the line. Simple chalk was no good for such a surface, and to redraw the pentagram on a larger scale was meaningless. A perimeter of such size could not be activated. This was the end, not for me, but for most of the townsfolk for sure. Such a crowd of people would not be able to leave the town quickly.

  I threw off the empty marker tube and screamed hoarsely, like an animal.

  "This? This?" someone poked me in the back.

  That was Lieutenant Clarence, white as chalk, with the exact same bag as mine and with the same token from the sorcerer's traveling kit. My God, what did he need it for?

  I snatched from his hand the white tube and finished drawing in feverish haste.

 
"I-isabertana dar-ram!"

  A wave of power from the Source, zonked from such treatment, swept through the line of signs, activating the spell—akin to what Uncle Gordon used to scare mice. Smaller in size, but with a higher price tag. The toothed crown of the three-dimensional perimeter soared above the ground and struck inward.

  I had done what I could. If this failed, I would have to grab Lyuchik and run away. I heard a thump behind my back—Clarence fainted. Of course, he was drenched in my power! I looked—the witch's baldness stopped growing and even slightly leaned back from the burning line of signs—then I heaved the brave warrior on my shoulder and carried him to the road, bypassing the baldness.

  Fox was waiting next to a striped police car; hence, he had not warned the residents of nearby houses. What a jerk! Well, at least he didn't run away.

  "What's the situation?"

  "I have locked the witch's baldness by a reverse perimeter; meanwhile, it's holding up, but I can't do any more alone. We have already called the 'cleaners'; they should be here soon. Can you drive? Go to the train station and wait! Bring Clarence to life and let him call the 'cleaners' and prepare for evacuation in the event of the armory curse. I will stay here and maintain the perimeter."

  For a white mage, Fox recovered very quickly, but he couldn't steel himself to follow my orders.

  "Why?" he demanded explanation.

  I thought his question referred to the strange supernatural entity.

  "Your town's suburbs are absolutely sterile—I mean, relative to dark magic. No disturbances, no complex flows. If an otherworldly creature comes into such environment, it begins to develop explosively. Have you ever heard of Nintark? Here you go! Something similar happened there. When you meet our team of mages, tell them about this; the 'cleaners' are not that bright and may not guess themselves."