Magician In Training (Power of Poses Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  She looked at the sail and back from where they were going. The ship was moving in a different direction from the wind, but she would do just as Asem said. She struck the pose and then adjusted it to be as perfect as she could make it and then said the power word her father taught her. The sail belled out just a bit more for a moment and then returned to its former shape.

  Kulara stood with her hands on her hips. “You can do better than that.”

  The fear that Valanna always felt when performing magic still ate at her, but she didn’t want Kulara to look at her with so much anger. She assumed her pose again and concentrated yelling out the word of power. The ship lurched forward and the sail tore open.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Lashan,” Valanna said, bowing to him.

  “Stand up straight,” Kulara commanded.

  Valanna looked at Asem, who looked a little pale. “Was that better?”

  He nodded. “I do think there is a more appropriate word than the one you just used, my dear.”

  Kulara smiled. “You’ll do just fine, Valanna. We can go down and practice with less of a fuss.”

  The crew had gone silent. Captain Lashan yelled to his mate. “Get that sail down and sew it up straight-away.” He looked at Asem. “Prince, I would guess that we can use your ward if we are stuck in a doldrums?”

  Asem laughed. “She will need a bit more tutoring but,” he looked at the split sail flapping in the wind, “it will be our pleasure.”

  ~

  Asem stroked the smooth skin of his wife’s upper arm as they lay in bed. “Did you think she was that powerful?”

  Kulara laughed, the kind that reminded Asem of tinkling bells. “When she said she was able to make half of the spells work with that horrible form of hers, I suspected it. Just think if all of her poses were as disciplined as her wind form, she could be formidable.”

  “How formidable?”

  Kulara turned around and looked at Asem. “More formidable than you or me. Her fears never permitted the use of any substantial force or she would have killed herself. It’s a wonder she’s alive. ”

  His eyebrows rose. “You are one of the best magicians in the Arid Lands and she is more powerful?”

  “And she could be better and from how she described the Bluntwithe boy, he puts her to shame. Even with Pestle stupidity coupled with Ferezanan ferocity, Marom wouldn’t stand a chance fighting an army with those two in the vanguard.”

  Asem wondered if he should stop his plan to expose Bluntwithe to the Magician’s Guild in Santasia and become friends with the boy. “Can you train her to move more quickly?”

  “You read minds, so well, my dearest. She took an age to assume an accurate pose. If she can’t gather herself more quickly, she could easily be killed before she formed a shield spell with her body.” Kulara paused. Asem patiently waited. “We won’t give her new poses, but first work with her in bringing everything together quickly.”

  He waited during another pause.

  “Didn’t you just read my mind?” she said, leaning forward and giving her husband a kiss.

  Asem smiled. He loved this wife so much. “Of course.” He wrapped her in his arms.

  ~~~

  Chapter Twenty

  TRAK LOOKED UP FROM THE BOTTOM STAIRWAY, a pail of water by his knees and a brush in his hand. He shook his head like he often did in the past few weeks to clear away cobwebs that wouldn’t come loose. The sun came through the large multi-paned window illuminating two flights of steps. Once his task was complete he could eat lunch.

  He struggled to remember his life past that moment when they said he had committed his life to the Magicians guild, but it wouldn’t come. The woman in the scarlet robe reminded him of an elusive thread that kept breaking when he tried to follow it backwards.

  “Get to work!” a senior acolyte said, standing behind them. She didn’t have the grime from work on the knee area and around the cuffs that he and the other three who had scrubbing duty. Each of them scrubbed a section of the steps. Trak had taken the far right.

  The brush dripped on the step. Trak watched the drops descend and shatter on the white, smooth stone. He thought of a pattern that he could use to scrub the steps. Up and down, and then side to side. He used the same rhythm as he moved up, passing the others struggling with their sections.

  Trak found solace in the precision of his strokes and in the time it took for each step. As he continued to work his pace increased as his body reacted to the form. Onward and upward he went, lost in his task. When he reached the top step, he looked down at the others who had just about finished the first flight.

  Grinning, Trak nodded to the senior and returned to the ground floor, returned his bucket and brush to the storage room. He only had to walk down a longish corridor to the commissary. He’d not been given much for breakfast, so he would make up for that at lunch.

  The commissary had a wall of windows facing out towards a maze of brick walls where magicians practiced various poses that might endanger others. Trak remembered many more poses than he did the words that powered them. He wondered why. He finally arrived at the food table, waiting a little impatiently for the line to dwindle.

  The food was not particularly good. Somehow he had the impression that he had spent time in a place that served meals, but that was another thread that broke before it gave him any kind of useful information about his misty past. He sat down on a bench with other acolytes with stained yellow robes. His fellow grimy acolytes were used as servants, but that was fine with Trak. It just gave him more time to struggle with his thoughts.

  The woman in the scarlet robe walked in. She spotted him and glared. He could see her mouth a word. What was it? ‘Worry’. That was the word that she spoke to him when they first met. Or was it the time when they first met? Another thread. Worry. It had to have special meaning, but Trak couldn’t figure out what.

  After going back for thirds, Trak heard the bell that signified that the midday meal was ending. He put his tray on a long table. Another acolyte would pronounce a spell on the implements to clean them. Trak hadn’t been put on that duty yet, but he knew it would come. The guild had a progression to learning. His first class on magic was to begin right after lunch. He had learned that classes lasted for two-month terms and today was the start of a term. Before now, he had been withheld from all classes and worked from dawn to dusk, manually cleaning the common areas of the guild.

  He fished the scrap of paper that contained the room number for the first meeting of the term from the single pocket sewn into his robe and had to ask questions to find the proper room. After the bell had already rung, he hustled, with a few more acolytes with dirty robes, into the classroom. A woman in deep blue robes stood at the bottom of a room filled with tiers of seats.

  Trak sat down and, with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his palms, he looked down at her from the very top.

  “For those of you who are new,” the woman said. Her cowl was thrown back. He noticed her iron gray hair and wrinkled face, an old magician. How many times had the woman said the same thing? “A list is being tacked on the board outside of this hall. Go to the room indicated. If you can’t read, ask another acolyte to find your name and give you the room number. All of the rest of you know what to do. I have no other announcements to make today.”

  Since Trak had taken a seat at the top, he jumped up and looked at the announcement board. Room 7 in the South Wing. There were four other names. He recognized them all as fellows who he had worked with. He knew where the room was since he had polished the desks and chairs there a week ago.

  One of the other acolytes, a boy of similar age, came up to him. “I guess we get tested. I can hardly wait to learn the poses.”

  “You don’t know how to do any magic?” Trak thought they all would know the poses like he did before they came to the Guild.

  “Do you?” The boy’s eyebrows rose. “I can’t remember a thing other than the fact that I was told I had some power by some
one.” He shook his head. “What an inconvenience! I wish they could have left us with a few memories.”

  Trak smiled. “I can agree with that.” He didn’t say another word as they traipsed across the guild grounds to the South Wing. It really wasn’t a wing, but a separate building. Was he the only one who remembered poses? He furrowed his brow while he walked. He remembered being told that the guild removed all memories of the acolytes when they joined. He vowed to keep pulling on those threads of memories until he succeeded all of the way through to the end. He didn’t believe that his memories were removed, but that they were still in his mind, just tucked away.

  They walked in and waited until the others had all arrived. A young woman wearing a clean darker yellow robe entered the room carrying a portfolio and a pencil. She had dark hair, but fairer skin than most other Santasians and wore a stern expression. Trak thought that if she smiled, she would be rather pretty.

  “We wait for Master Borega,” she said. “Take a chair. Today you will be taught a pose and a power word, so you can be tested.”

  Trak was sure he had been tested before. He wondered if Borega would know the poses that ran around in his own mind? The others all fidgeted, while waiting, but Trak ignored them as he mentally went through all of the forms he knew. Suddenly he pictured a sword in his hand and he proceeded to let sword practice forms parade through his mind. He had discovered another thread. He had been tutored in swordsmanship and the flow of the forms made his mouth twist into a smile that he wiped off the moment he realized that he probably looked rather foolish.

  He opened his eyes and found the young woman staring at him.

  “What were you doing?” she said. He didn’t like the accusation in her voice.

  Trak looked back at her angry eyes. “I remember poses and power words and was practicing them while we waited.”

  She squinted at him and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

  “What is your name? You have an accent, Pestlan?”

  “How should I know?” he said. “I think in Pestlan.” That realization made him smile and he didn’t try to conceal it. “Oh, my name is Trak Bluntwithe, does that help?”

  “Pestlan, you’ve got a Pestlan name.”

  “Is that important?” Trak’s mind began to picture his world’s geography.

  “You will remain silent until Master Borega arrives.”

  Trak threaded his fingers together and looked out the window. They were three stories up and all he could see were other buildings and rooftops and look down into the twisted passages and practice ‘rooms’ in the maze.

  A few minutes later, a tall, pudgy man entered the room. He moved very slowly. Trak wondered how many poses the man could perform, he was so large.

  “I am Master Borega,” he said, straightening out his brilliant blue robe. “Welcome to the Magicians Guild. This will be your very first exposure to magic. When you arrived, your mind was wiped clean of your past. Think of it as a rebirth. Today you will learn your very first pose and your very first power word. Malena?” He looked at the young woman. “Would you produce a ball of light?”

  She flashed a smile at the master and stood. She removed her robe. She wore a simple dress underneath. Trak shuddered. He only wore underwear under his robe. He looked at the others and saw the uncomfortable looks on their faces.

  “I removed my robe so you can note my pose. Right hand on right hip. Left arm bent into a square with your left little finger pointing towards the ceiling.” She moved her body to the pose. She held her feet together. That was different from the pose Trak learned. The feet needed to be a foot and a half apart. “Lukee,” she said. A tiny ball of light twirled above her little finger.

  “You try,” Master Borega pointed to the acolyte on the other end of the line of chairs from where Trak sat.

  The first acolyte, a girl, tried it and failed. Malena, the young woman, adjusted her pose. At least they wouldn’t have to remove their robes. That made Trak relax a bit. “Lukee, say it just so.”

  “Lukee,” the girl said. A point of light, barely noticeable appeared.

  “Say it louder, dear girl. Concentrate.”

  “LUKEE!” she said, producing a ball a little larger than Malena’s that replaced the point of light.

  The master nodded and smiled a bit too smugly, for Trak’s taste. “Next.” He pointed towards the next acolyte in line.

  All of them were able to produce a ball of light, some did a bit better and some couldn’t come up with more than a point of light. Only one didn’t need help in producing the pose. Malena documented all of their results.

  Finally the master pointed to Trak. “Your turn.”

  Trak stood. He’d use the pose he learned and hoped they wouldn’t notice underneath his robes. His power word was different, but he’d try the new word. “Lukee,” he said, with not a lot of concentration. He had to squint his eyes. He had never tried this spell before. His ball was too bright. “Lukee,” he said as a whisper and his ball of light was fist-sized. He moved his finger from side to side and realized that he could throw the ball, so he just tossed it up a foot or so, letting it fall back to just above his little finger.

  Trak didn’t like the silence in the room. He closed his fist, ending the pose.

  Master Borega sat staring at Trak for a moment. “Your pose was in the Colcanan style. You remembered?”

  “I remember nothing of my past, but I do remember a number of poses and power words. I have learned a different word for the pose I used. This one seems to work better,” Trak said.

  He glanced at Malena, who had just begun to furiously write on her piece of paper.

  “The class is dismissed,” Master Borega said. “You can all leave the room now. Bluntwithe, you will remain with Malena and me.”

  Another thread of memory gave Trak the impression that in the past he had restrained showing his abilities in front of others. He knew he had more power than he showed, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again at the Magicians Guild, not with the astonishment that Malena and the master showed.

  Malena stood at the door and closed it when the last of the acolytes exited.

  The master pursed his lips. “Quite a performance. It is not typical that an acolyte remembers a pose before he or she arrives with us. What more do you remember?”

  Trak shrugged. “Nothing, maybe some impressions about my past life. I think I used to serve food or something. It is like a ghost fading in and then out. I think of them as threads that break when I try to remember.”

  Master Borega nodded his head. “But you do remember your poses?”

  “Yes, I do, master,” Trak said. Now it was no use denying the fact. “And some of the power words, as well.”

  “The power word for that spell?”

  “Buckle, not lukee.”

  “Colcanan,” Borega said. “That’s to be expected.” He sighed. “Can you produce a breeze, a light breeze?”

  Trak nodded and assumed the pose and whispered the power word. He pointed his finger at Malena and Master Borega, seeing their hair ruffle a bit. He closed his hand.

  “Mobility,” Malena said to Bodega as if Trak wasn’t standing there. “Even I haven’t achieved that yet. He was able to bounce his light, too.”

  Trak felt like he was an object being described, while she made more notes. The wind pose brought another thread of a memory. His first attempt blew someone over, but then the thread broke as it always did.

  “How many poses?” the master said, putting his hand to his chin.

  “Do you want to count them? I don’t really know.”

  “No power words and we will count the ones we recognize. You will take your robes off.”

  Trak colored. “I’m only wearing underclothes.” He looked anxiously at Malena

  Borega turned at Malena. “Leave the room, but I will call you back momentarily.”

  She opened the door and a few other acolytes backed away. “Leave,” she said sternly. Trak could only smil
e at their curiosity. He might have been tempted to do the same.

  “The robe,” the master said.

  Trak removed his robe and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and saw a figure of himself in his mind.

  “Now, perform them.”

  He remembered writing the poses in a book and mentally turned the pages as he went through the forms. He had practiced them enough in his mind and with his body, they flowed one into the other like the military forms he had remembered earlier in the session. When he finished he stood, sweating from the exertion in front of the master.

  “How many words to go along with the forms?”

  Trak had to go through the forms in his head again. “Twenty, thirty?”

  “Put on your robe. You won’t be wearing yellow after today,” the master said. “Malena!”

  She slipped through the door while Trak still had his robe over his head. He hurriedly smoothed out the filthy thing.

  “Sixty poses as near as I could count. Twenty to thirty words, so he says. I’m not interested in being around when the boy practices. Who knows what would survive.”

  “T-twenty or thirty?” Malena said.

  Borega nodded. “He is at least green class right now. He will be a black master when he learns the other words. I’ve never seen such a demonstration of poses. He flowed from one to the other as if it were a dance. Each pose perfectly done.” Trak could see the man shiver.

  Malena stared at Trak. “B-b-black?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  ~

  Trak didn’t understand why he was so special, but Malena and Master Borega took him to the office of another Master and left him there, sitting, as they departed to find that person. He noticed feminine touches here and there. The Master had his wife decorate the office or he was to face a female master. The furniture and shelves were painted white and fresh flowers were in a vase on the desk. He noticed that the flowers were not in season. A growth spell?

  Malena returned to the room without Borega. “He sent me ahead to make sure you were still here.”