by Rick Field
“Fail to gain promotion, however; and you will be allowed to Apprentice yourself to a Master, usually in perpetuity. An Assistant is valuable, but an Apprentice can actually be expected to complete tasks on their own, and may be set to work on simple tasks without supervision. Next is the Apprentice level, depending on your chosen field. These years will teach you the more complicated magics, and prepare you for independent tasks. You will learn how to exist within society as an independent Mage or Warlock.”
The Doctora stopped speaking for a moment, and regarded the students. “You will not fail here. Failure to promote at this level is an insult to yourself and your Doctorii, and you will be cast back as an Apprentice.” She calmly regarded the students. Of course, they were all shaking their heads; as if it was of no doubt that they would ever fail. Failure was something that happened to other students, but never themselves.
“The final level coincides with your final year. The Master Level is optional. This final year teaches you things that you never before thought or believed possible, yet, in return, it demands more of you than has ever been demanded before. It will demand you create new ways of magic, it demands of you that you master the magics you have chosen to study. It will demand of you a masterpiece of magic, evidence that you have reached the necessary level to gain credence as a Master. Only ten percent of the graduates of the Mage or Warlock level decide to take the Master Level. Of course, as Assistants are chosen in the sixth year, it is expected that any Mage or Warlock who takes an Assistant will automatically go for the Master Level.”
Again, the Mage was silent, letting them digest that. “This is one of the reasons why Assistants do better than their peers, as they come into contact with Master level magic in their third year.”
By the end of the day, they were indeed shown a basic light spell, and shown how to perform it.
Liane whispered the incantation, as did the other students. Most of them got the small ball of light to settle above their upturned palms. Liane felt her magic ignore her, as usual not paying attention to any standardized spells. It was as if her magic didn't even understand the words she was speaking, let alone act upon them.
Having expected her spell to fail, she reached into her bag. She took out the notepad upon which she had transcribed the altered spells she had modified under the watchful eyes of her tutors. The first page held this same light spell, and she read it once more, even though she already knew it.
Whispering the strangely altered words, Liane cast the modification to the light spell. The magic in her chest woke up, as if finally recognizing that she wanted it to do something. The spell fizzed out, not forming fully.
Liane frowned, looking over her notes. Her magic had recognized the spell, but had failed to perform as predicted. The others, long finished by now, were starting to whisper. Their noise stopped with a single glance from the Doctora. Everyone was staring at Liane in silence. She was used to having people stare at her. After so many tutors watching her every move as she worked, it made no difference – even though she felt herself working against the clock.
Her heart rate went up despite herself, and Liane drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as her pen flowed across the notepad, re-working the modification to the spell, subtly altering it. After a year and a half of nearly daily drills in runes and spell modifications, the small change posed no challenge. She drew another breath, and cast.
The magic formed in her cupped hand, almost settling into a ball of light, before making a curious popping noise, and dispersing. Having watched it under her mage sight, she knew what had gone wrong, and substituted one rune for another in her results, and casting again as she calculated the change in verbal incantation. The ball of light settled into her hand, glowing a bright blue where everyone else's was yellow.
She didn't care about the color. She had done it, and Liane let out her breath. The class started to mutter again, only to be silenced by the Doctora once more.
Liane raised her head. “May I have a few moments of your time after the end of the lesson, Doctora?” she asked softly.
A few seconds of silence greeted her. “If you wish, My Lady. I have a few moments to spare.”
“Thank you, Doctora.”
“Very well,” the woman said. “I believe I shall end the first lesson here. You may all be dismissed. My Lords and Ladies, thank you for your attention and please gather here tomorrow morning at eight.” The woman spoke to the wall, the door reappearing upon the given command.
“Good evening, Doctora,” the class chimed, before the students left in an orderly fashion, leaving Liane alone with the teacher.
“You wished for a few moments of my time, My Lady?” the Doctora asked, not bothering to re-seal the room.
Liane nodded. “Yes, Doctora. It is about my magic.” The girl swallowed. “My magic does not react to spells. I was here at the Academy for the last two years, attempting to make up for damage done to my magical ability. It is why I must wear these.” She held up her hands, covered by a pair of gloves that left half her fingers free while crystals adorned four fingers on each hand, as if she were wearing rings.
The older woman blinked, then nodded. “I believe I understand. You were the Lord Master's special patient, My Lady?”
Liane nodded. “I was, Doctora.”
The teacher studied her for a little while, putting her thoughts in order. “Very well. I will not enquire further in a private subject. I will, however, caution you. I will not treat you differently in class because of this revelation. I will expect you to perform each spell perfectly.”
Liane nodded eagerly. “I would not expect differently, Doctora! And I will be perfect! I want to learn magic!”
“If I may suggest some further tutoring in Decorum, I do believe you have a fair chance, My Lady,” the Doctora said. “Permit me to bid you good evening.”
“Good evening, Doctora,” Liane said, standing up, taking her bag, and leaving the room, recognizing when she had been dismissed. Right outside, Milor was waiting for her.
“I will not enquire in what looks like a private subject, My Lady,” he said when she saw him. “However, I must comment upon the fact that you were performing the spell in a non-standard fashion, using a multitude of incantations, and in the end, achieved a different result than any of us.”
Liane drew a breath. “Thank you for not asking about a private matter, My Lord,” she replied, hoping that it sounded good to him. “As to my spells, it is directly related to that private subject.”
Milor nodded to himself, as if she confirmed something he had been thinking about. “In that case, please forget I asked. However, may I offer a trade of sorts, My Lady?”
“A trade, My Lord?” she asked, ignoring his unusual comment about forgetting his question. How could she forget his question if he had already asked it? Decorum was weird sometimes!
“Yes, My Lady,” Milor said. “Should you consent to assisting me with magic, a subject you seem more familiar with than I am; I will consent to assisting you with Decorum, a subject with which I seem more familiar.”
Liane had to think for a few moments, deciphering his convoluted sentence. “I must warn you, My Lord, that my familiarity with magic only seems that way,” she phrased delicately.
“Even if it only seems that way, I believe that your tutelage will still be of benefit to me, My Lady,” Milor said, once more nodding to himself.
“In that case, I accept, My Lord,” Liane replied, happy to have someone who was finally going to teach her more about the Decorum.
Hours later, after an intense discussion about Decorum and a nice dinner, Liane entered her room and sat heavily behind the small desk. Taking the notepad from her bag, she started work on the spells.
Her earlier problems had shown her that the work she had already done was nothing but a good basis, yet no more than that. She would need to work on the spells she wanted to cast, and unfortunately, there was no guide or book that told her what spe
lls would be covered by the course.
And so, she would work through the notepad, filled with the example spells she had worked out under the watchful gazes of her tutors.
She re-cast the light spell, its bright-blue color lighting up the room. It was supposed to be a soft yellow in color, rather than a bright and harsh blue. Stopping the spell, she started her work.
Fifteen minutes later, she finally got it to do as she wanted it to do – and in the process, she had learned how to manipulate the light spell, up to the point where she could now get it to glow red and green and any other color she wanted.
It was a good thing, too, as she was running out of space on that first page of her notepad. Flipping the page, she looked over the second spell. This one was supposed to create a small and straight gust of wind.
She timed herself using her alarm band. It took her five minutes of work before she was happy with the results. Casting the spell resulted in a wind that was far stronger than intended, and she dove after her notepad and pen. Another five minutes was needed to recalibrate the spell, and in the process learned how to change the strength of the spell. She frowned.
What if she used what she learned from the second spell on the light spell?
Flipping back to the first page, she made some additional notes on some empty corner of the page, and cast. The dim red pinprick of light hovered above her hand like a tiny glowworm, and a big smile spread across her lips.
She cancelled the spell and tried to do the next modification in her mind, without writing down her work.
It was hard, and it took her far longer than writing things down, and the resulting ball of green light nearly blinded her in its intensity. After canceling the spell and waiting for her eyes to stop watering, and filled the last remaining space of that first page with as much notes as she could squeeze onto it.
By the time she went to bed, her voice was hoarse with casting sentences, and her fingers, hands, and arms were hurting from writing notes and making casting motions. She fell straight asleep, at once glad for the work she had done and apprehensive about the long and hard road still ahead of her, as well as the other students' reactions.
*****
For the next month, Liane fell into a steady routine. During the day she studied the various aspects of magic under the ever-watchful gaze of the Doctora. This usually involved some hurried re-writing of spells, and some degrading muttering from the other students. After class, she usually worked with Milor on her Decorum, lessons that were progressing very well. Usually, after he tutored her for a few hours in Decorum, she did her best to teach him what she knew of magic, and the Runes and Glyphs she had learned. It had come as a welcome surprise that her magic sight allowed her to see where Milor was having trouble getting spells to materialize, allowing her to help him compensate.
It was a marvelous help to her as well, as it gave her time to study the results of a well-cast spell by a normal magical person, allowing her to better match her own results.
During the evenings, she usually worked on changing the spells already present in her notebook, as well as the new spells introduced during class, until her throat hurt from speaking and her arms hurt from writing and waving. There was hardly an evening she did not immediately fall asleep when going to bed, and hardly a night passed with more than six hours of sleep.
By the time the month was over, she was getting noticeably better at both writing her own spells and compensating already existing spells to enable her to cast them.
Liane awoke when the alarm band vibrated on her left wrist. A band wrought of magic, the alarm band vibrated or chimed at the set time, depending on its wielder's wishes.
Jumping out of bed, the ten-year-old didn't dwell on the fact that she hardly slept last night, and rushed to the en-suite, containing a cleaning stall, a lavatory, and a small washbasin-mirror combination. She made her way into the cleaning stall, shedding her nightclothes along the way.
The moment she was completely in the stall, its magic detected her presence, and activated its primary function – to clean its occupant to the best of its ability. As the air started to vibrate, Liane giggled with the tickling sensations it elicited from her body.
Opening her mouth, she allowed the air to enter, cleaning her teeth. Despite tickling her, the sensations of vibrating hot air was quite luxurious to the girl who had never had any luxury until two years ago, and she stayed in the cleaning stall for ten long minutes, ensuring that, not only was she totally clean, she was also thoroughly relaxed by a lengthy hot-air massage.
Stepping out, the stall deactivated, and Liane picked up her discarded nightclothes, which she dumped in a hamper. The hamper blurred, vanished, then returned five seconds later, completely empty. Her clothes would be cleaned and pressed by nighttime, and she would find them in her dresser.
Opening said dresser, she retrieved the white robes she had thrown in the hamper yesterday evening, as well as the necessary undergarments. Hurriedly dressing herself, she threw a long look in the mirror, making sure that everything sat right.
Taking an automatic brush, she lifted it to her hazelnut-colored hair, then started to release it. She almost dropped it before tightening her grip once more, and brought it back down so she could look at it. Pressing on a specific spot on the handle, she heard a latch disengage, before twisting it and removing the handle from the head of the brush. Liane's fingers pried out an octagonal disc made out of clear crystal.
Placing the disc down, she stood up and walked back into her room, pulling out a drawer on her desk and opening a wooden box, only to retrieve a golden-glowing version of the same disc. Replacing the disc in the head of the brush, she latched the handle back in place and returned to the en-suite and stood in front of the mirror once more. She brought the brush back to her hair, and released it once more. Now with the power token replaced, the magic in the brush detected its primary function, and got to work, brushing out her hair. While she waited for the brush to finish, she took a comb.
When the brush chimed its job complete, Liane reached up, took it, and put it down. She let the comb go through her hair, styling it at the same time. When the comb, too, chimed its completion, she put it down and nodded to herself. Once again, magic had made her clean, washed her clothes, and done her hair in less than a fraction of the time it used to take her to do everything by hand at the orphanage. Thankfully, she couldn't see the symbols on the magical items in the en-suite bathroom unless she concentrated, and so she could enjoy her morning ritual without getting into a staring contest with groupings of magical writings, unlike the main gate of the Academy, the magic of which was so strong it remained visible to her no matter what she did.
The last thing she did before leaving the room was to put on her focus gloves, created specifically for her, and the only way for her to be able to focus her magic enough to cast spells with it. The soft cloth slipped on her hands with almost no resistance, and Liane spent only a few seconds making sure that they fit correctly, and that the four crystals on each hand were fitting snugly to each finger.
Today was the last day in what had been a month long introductory course on the fundamentals of magic. They had learned spells and explored the principles upon which magic was founded. It had been enlightening, as well as hard work for Liane. Where the other students merely had to learn the theory, Liane's troubled magic made the practical much harder. Her excellent, nearly perfect memory had no problems learning magical theory, but her damaged magic forced her to adapt each and every spell for her own use.
Thankfully, Milor had remained a loyal friend, even when some of the other students made disparaging remarks as to her ability with magic.
As she approached the classroom, Liane joined the other students in an orderly queue, waiting for the Doctora to join them. It was a measure of respect that no student entered the classroom without the teacher preceding them – even when the classroom itself was open.
“Good morning, My Lady,” Florindra told
Liane. “My offer for added tutelage remains valid.”
Liane looked at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl that had become the ringleader of the band of students pressing her about her magical abilities. “Thank you, My Lady, but as always, I must refuse,” Liane replied back, as if by rote. They had been having this conversation, in its various myriad forms, for the last couple of weeks, and Liane was getting tired of it.
Before Florindra could make a reply, the Doctora arrived, and preceded them into the room. They remained standing while the teacher readied her desk. Finally, she walked to the center of the room. “Good morning, Doctora,” the students chorused respectfully.
“Good morning, Lords and Ladies,” the Doctora replied. “Please be seated.” The students sat. “As today is your final day, we will be having a test of aptitude. In front of each of you is a book. Upon my say so, please open it, follow the prompts, and answer the questions. Please allow me to say that there are no wrong answers. This test will result in a list of recommended courses, courses that will allow you to reach your full potential.”
“Contrary to the Ceremony of Determination later today, this test has less to do with magic, and more to do with your minds and abilities. The Ceremony will test your magic, and assign you a name based upon it. The test will challenge your minds, and will tell you what areas of magic would be most suited to you.”
Liane looked at the faceless black book in front of her. “I invite you to ask questions now, as no questions are permitted during the test,” the Doctora finished, waiting for anyone to ask questions.
There were no questions.
“Please begin.”
Liane opened her book.
The page was empty, yet filled itself in before her very eyes, as if text was being written by a thousand invisible hands holding a thousand invisible pens.
Accept that blue is red and red is blue.
If green is yellow, what is yellow?
Four different answers appeared, four different colors waiting for her selection. Liane blinked, accepting in that instant that blue was now red, red was now blue, and that green was now yellow. What would yellow be? Green, black, purple, or white?
