“I don’t think I know enough to have an opinion,” Emily said. “I was always under the impression that wands and staffs were quite limited.”
“Oh, they are.” Void smiled at her. “But they have their uses, as you know.”
He waved her to a chair, then picked up the wand. “We do know that certain materials carry magic better than others,” he said. “We don’t know why. We also know that trying to make a wand can end badly, alas. It’s more a case of carving the wand. Why might that be?”
Emily hesitated. “Because the wand would still be a solid piece of wood,” she guessed. “If you were gluing pieces of wood together, it wouldn’t be solid.”
“That’s the basic theory,” Void agreed. “It might even be true. And yet, there are ways to make wands that work... for a short period of time.”
He waved a hand at the piles of wood. “I want you to produce four wands for me,” he told her. “Use any material you like.”
Emily stood. “What for? I mean, what are we going to do with the wands?”
“Brew potions,” Void said. “But first, prepare the wands.”
He watched, his eyes unblinking, as Emily found a piece of wood and started to carve it into a wand. She’d never liked woodwork, even though she had to admit it was neat to create something herself. The students - mostly the boys - had spent years mastering the art, even before they’d come into their magic. They’d been surprised to note how many holes there were in her education, although they’d blamed it on her supposed father. One couldn’t expect a Lone Power to have a conventional approach to childrearing.
Emily tested the wand gingerly, then put it to one side and started carving the second. They looked crude and unfinished, but she knew the only thing that mattered was the wand’s ability to conduct and host magic. She reminded herself, sharply, she didn’t want to do too good of a job. Getting too used to using a focus - any kind of focus - would hamper her magical development beyond repair. Very few magicians used wands regularly. It was almost always a sign of weak magic.
“Good, good,” Void said, when she’d produced all four wands. “What do you make of them?”
“They’re ready to host the spellwork,” Emily said. “What sort of spellwork do you want me to use?”
“Nothing, yet.” Void waved a hand at a table. A cauldron sat on top. “Give me a moment to heat the brew.”
Emily watched as Void used a firelighter, rather than magic, to ignite the flame. “You want to brew a potion with wands?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Void said. “You’ve used wands in brewing before, have you not?”
“Only a couple of times,” Emily said. “It was never encouraged.”
“No.” Void glanced at her, sharply. “There are two significant dangers involving wands in alchemical work. The first lies in accidentally triggering a surge of magic that will, in turn, trigger an explosion. The second lies in altering the potion beyond repair, without being entirely sure what you did. And, of course, it’s quite easy to lose the ability to brew properly if you come to rely on wands. That’s why we won’t be doing this that often.”
He looked back at the cauldron. Pink smoke was starting to rise. “Done properly, one can use this technique to help mundanes brew potions,” he said. “But it requires a considerable commitment from a magician.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “Because someone has to prepare and charge the wands.”
“Yes.” Void produced a set of parchments and held them out to her. “Prepare the wands, as directed. And then put them in the cauldron.”
“Understood,” Emily said. She scanned the parchments quickly, then went to work. The instructions were deceptively simple. On one hand, she had to insert the spellwork into the wands; on the other, she had to avoid even a tiny fragment of magic leaking out. It wasn’t anything like as easy as it sounded. “If I couldn’t sense magic, this would be impossible.”
“Yes,” Void agreed. His eyes never left her as she worked on the wands. “There are ways to help a mundane sense magic, as you know. But not, I’m afraid, to channel magic.”
Unless they owned a battery of magic, Emily thought, as she finished preparing the wands. But even then, they’d have to get the battery charged somehow.
She considered it, thoughtfully. Theoretically, one could use a nexus point to charge a battery. Practically, she wasn’t sure anyone would let her try. The risk of accidentally causing an explosion would be far too high. She could do it at Heart’s Eye, but there would be hundreds of lives at risk if something went wrong... she put the last of the wands on the table, then walked around to peer into the cauldron. The liquid looked like melted candyfloss, with a sickly-sweet smell that made her stomach heave. She’d never smelled anything like it.
“The wands have to be charged, then used in a particular order,” Void said. “Place them within the liquid.”
Emily tensed as she picked up the first wand and lowered it into the brew. Alchemy had never been her strongest subject, if only because it was dangerously unpredictable. It was governed by laws that never quite made sense, directed by factors neither she nor the alchemical masters truly understood. There were times when even a well-understood potion would go wrong, either fizzling out or exploding with disconcerting force. She resisted the urge to jump backwards the moment the wand touched the liquid. The magic field surrounding the cauldron shifted...
“Good,” Void said. “Now the second, if you please.”
Emily felt sweat trickling down her back as she inserted the second wand into the liquid. The potion started to bubble, the magic field changing time and time again. There was no time to hesitate, not now. She inserted the third wand, then the fourth. The magic field seemed to steady, then - suddenly - grew vastly more powerful. Emily threw herself back, rolling over in midair as the potion exploded. Pieces of debris crashed down around her, droplets of hot liquid striking her back. She gritted her teeth against the pain, muttering a spell to cool the droplets down. The experiment had failed.
“It could have been worse,” Void opined. He seemed unmoved by the devastation. She wasn’t sure he’d so much as raised a shield to protect himself. “It proves that something was working.”
“Something,” Emily repeated. “What went wrong?”
“I think there was a tiny leak of magic,” Void said. He cocked his head, thoughtfully. “But I may be wrong.”
Emily frowned. “What were we trying to brew?”
“One of the more complex potions,” Void said, vaguely. “One that only a master can brew, without wands. It’s quite rare, as you will understand.”
“And what does it do?” Emily knew she sounded like a brat, but she couldn’t help herself. “What is it for?”
“Work it out.” Void gave her a stern look. “And, while you’re considering it, tell me why I didn’t tell you.”
“Because you thought my preconceptions would interfere with the spell,” Emily said. “The spellwork wouldn’t be so... so generalized?”
“In a way,” Void agreed. “It’s not safe to cast spells, or brew potions, without knowing what you’re trying to do. It does, however, give you insight into how certain levels of magic actually work.”
“At the risk of being hurt, or hurting someone else,” Emily said. The idea of discarding a safety precaution that had been drilled into her years ago didn’t sit well with her. Alchemy could be incredibly dangerous. “It doesn’t always make sense.”
“No,” Void agreed. “There’s a lot we don’t understand about how magic works. A lot of things that should be possible, but aren’t. And a lot of things that shouldn’t be possible...”
Including magic itself, Emily thought. She’d been a magician for over six years and she still had problems, sometimes, believing it was real. Why are some of the hardest things so easy and some of the easiest things so hard?
Void turned away. “Give the mess time to cool, then clear it up,” he said. “And then you can go back to bed.”
“After a shower,” Emily said. Her back still ached. She hoped the liquid had burned through all the magic before it hit her. “I...”
She paused. “Can I make a request?”
“You can ask for anything you like,” Void said. “I make no promises about actually giving it to you.”
“No,” Emily agreed. She couldn’t expect him to promise her anything without knowing what it was. “Frieda invited me to Dragon’s Den, next week. Can I go?”
“You mean... you want to take a different day off?” Void smiled, wryly. “How terrible. I’m sure Jan will be very upset.”
Emily blushed. Her relationship with Jan was... slow. It simply wasn’t easy for them to coordinate their days off, let alone meet up somewhere they both knew. It was a long-distance relationship in the truest possible sense. And Void hadn’t been too eager to make the relationship any easier for either of them. She’d always had the feeling he wasn’t keen on her having any kind of relationship during her apprenticeship.
“I haven’t seen Frieda for months,” Emily said. “And I’m sure Jan will understand.”
“If you say so.” Void didn’t seem convinced. “Of course, I’ll be working you very hard over the next few days. You may want to spend the day in bed instead.”
“I won’t have a chance to see her for a while,” Emily reminded him. She felt another pang of guilt. They’d both been very busy, but... she should have made the time. It wasn’t as if she’d need to spend hours in transit to reach Whitehall. An hour or two out of her apprenticeship wouldn’t have made any difference. “She’ll be ramping up to take her exams before going into sixth year.”
“Then she should probably spend the day in bed,” Void commented. He shook his head. “Go, if you wish. I’m sure I’ll find something to do around the tower.”
Emily blinked, then realized she was being teased. “I’m sure you’ll need the time to devise an even harder test for me.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Void said. “You might just get it.”
Chapter Three
EMILY...
Emily doubled over as the teleport field snapped out of existence. Her vision blurred, as if she’d been hit with a blinding curse or a confusion hex. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was. The cold struck her like a physical blow, despite the cloak she’d donned and charmed before leaving the tower. She forced herself to straighten, unsure of what had just happened. She’d heard someone calling her name... hadn’t she? She wasn’t sure if she’d heard anything or simply imagined it. Nothing should have been able to touch her in the teleport field.
She rubbed her forehead as she stumbled off the teleport pad and peered down at Dragon’s Den. The town was covered by a layer of snow, the grimy streets and rough houses looking almost charming in their white overcoat. A dozen children were playing just outside the town, running between the boundary markers and the edge of the forest. Emily felt a twinge of envy as she started to walk into the town, half-wishing she’d grown up there. It wouldn’t have been easy or safe, but... she might have had friends. She might have had a family that cared. She might...
There’s no point in thinking about what might have been, she told herself, as the cold started to ooze through her cloak. You just have to make do with what you have.
She chanted a pair of warming spells as she kept moving, heading down the street towards the inn. Students from Whitehall thronged the streets, laughing and joking as they enjoyed a day away from school. She spotted a line of upper-class students outside a tailor, clearly hoping the school robes could be sewn into something a little more individualistic. Emily smiled, remembering when Alassa and Imaiqah had taken her to look for clothes. She hadn’t really enjoyed the shopping, but she’d enjoyed spending time with her friends. And she still had the dresses in her trunk. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of giving them away.
Frieda was waiting for her outside the inn, looking surprisingly comfortable in the cold winter air. Emily frowned, then remembered that Frieda had been born in the Cairngorms, where it wasn’t unknown for villages to be cut off or suffocated under the snow. The winter wasn’t that cold, not for her. Emily ran forward, giving her friend a hug. Frieda seemed to have grown taller in the last few months. She was nearly Emily’s height.
“Emily,” Frieda said. “You’re looking pale. Are you alright?”
“I think it’s the cold.” Emily pushed open the door, leading the way into the inn. The heat was a welcome change. “How are you?”
“You look as if you haven’t slept for a week,” Frieda said, sternly. “Is he keeping you awake?”
“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” Emily confessed, as the innkeeper’s daughter directed them to a table near the fire. “How about you?”
“I’ve been working too hard,” Frieda said. “Do you know, this is the first time I’ve been to Dragon’s Den for a month?”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “Hoban didn’t come to see you?”
“He’s off on another dig,” Frieda said. “Apparently, they dug up something dangerous and want it buried again. Or something like that. The letter they sent him wasn’t that clear.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. “Are you still going with him this summer?”
“If I pass my exams,” Frieda said. “If not... I’ll have to spend the summer revising instead.”
“Good luck,” Emily said. She let out a breath as the landlord’s daughter returned with a pair of menus. “My treat. I insist.”
“As long as you let me do something for you later,” Frieda said. “Can I order a burger and chips? Or is that too expensive?”
“Order it,” Emily said. It still amused her that burgers - and a few other dishes she’d imported - were regarded as high-class fare. She ordered a curry, then sat back in her chair. “I can pay.”
“I’ll pay next time,” Frieda said, firmly. “Now, are you being worked to death or not?”
“I’m working hard,” Emily said. “But I’m not being worked to death.”
“You look wretched,” Frieda said. “Did he black your eyes? Because you look like a raccoon.”
“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” Emily said. “Bad dreams.”
Frieda looked sympathetic. “I know the feeling,” she said. “Do more exercise before you go to bed?”
Emily shook her head. “How are you coping in fifth year? How are you getting on with your charges?”
“I’m trying to teach them all the things you taught me,” Frieda said, slowly. “It seems to be working.”
She kept talking, outlining everything that had happened to her since she started her fifth year at Whitehall. It sounded less eventful than Emily’s fifth year, although Frieda was smart enough to understand that wasn’t a bad thing. Whitehall had nearly collapsed in on itself two years ago, then thrown Emily into the past to meet Lord Whitehall. Emily felt an odd little twang as she thought about the ancient magician, the man who really had done everything - almost everything - the legends said he’d done...
“Emily!”
Emily blinked. Her food was in front of her. She stared at it blankly, then looked up at Frieda. Her friend was watching her, concerned. Emily thought fast, trying to understand what had happened. She’d zoned out, just for a moment. She’d zoned out and .. and what? Something was nagging at her mind, but it seemed to fade into nothingness every time she reached for it. It didn’t feel wrong - it didn’t feel as if she was under attack - and yet, she couldn’t place it either. What was wrong?
“Emily?” Frieda sounded concerned. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Emily reached for her fork. “I’m fine.”
“You looked as if you were about to fall into your food,” Frieda said. “Are you sure you’re...”
“I’m fine,” Emily said, a little sharper than she’d intended. “I’ve just not been sleeping well.”
“We could find a room in the town, if you don’t want to go to your house,” Frieda sai
d. “And you could have a nap.”
Emily had to laugh, even as she shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just need some food and a rest.”
Frieda didn’t seem convinced. “Emily, you’re asleep on your feet,” she said. “I kicked you twice and you didn’t even react.”
“I felt nothing,” Emily said. She didn’t feel any pain, not even a dull ache. “Are you sure you didn’t kick the chair leg?”
“I’m sure.” Frieda pointed to Emily’s plate. “Eat.”
Emily forced herself to dig in. The food tasted good - the inn wouldn’t have lasted long, in Dragon’s Den, if the food wasn’t - but she found it hard to eat. Her vision seemed to be blurring, again and again. She blinked, feeling dizzy. Frieda’s eyes followed her, filled with concern. Emily knew she should be concerned, but it was hard to muster the energy to care. The blurriness seemed to creep up on her, only to jump away when she concentrated. Her fork slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
“I think I need to have a word with your master,” Frieda said. “He’s working you to death.”
“I’m fine,” Emily insisted. She had no idea what Void would say, if Frieda questioned his teaching skills, but she doubted it would be polite. He’d be within his rights to send her back to Whitehall with a flea in her ear. Or worse. “I’ve been drained before.”
“I’ve never known you to be this drained, even last summer,” Frieda said. “Let me talk to him. Let me tell him...”
“I’m fine,” Emily repeated. “It isn’t his fault.”
“You have to tell him you’re reaching the limit of what you can do,” Frieda insisted. “He’s not going to disown you for reaching your limits, let alone kick you out. You don’t have to finish your apprenticeship in a year or two. Jade nearly killed himself trying...”
“I’m fine!” Emily felt her vision blur, again. “I’m fine.”
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 3
