Magician In Training (Power of Poses Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  He would worry about those questions tomorrow. He yawned as he unlocked his door and slipped inside. Trak couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face as he drifted off to sleep.

  ~

  Trak opened his eyes and sat up in the morning light brightening up his rooms. He knew who he was and that made him smile, but then he frowned. What to do next?

  He just hoped he wouldn’t get another dose of the absorption spell the guild used on him. He couldn’t pull such a thing out of his memories. That meant, at least, that there were many more spells and poses out in the world. His experience with the light poses taught in that first class just days ago proved that. He felt like his magic education begun anew to move far past the sixty-seven poses.

  A shield spell would help, but he didn’t know the power word of one that would automatically protect him. The pose that he knew would set a shield on someone else and last as long as he concentrated on it. Perhaps a variation existed.

  His biggest quandary was Honor. Was she friend or foe? Now that he would soon be judged a Master, it might be easier to talk to her. But could he make it through a panel without revealing his restored memories or should he just run?

  A knock on the door ended his train of thought. Trak threw on his spare robe and opened the door.

  “Sleeping in?” Master Borega said.

  Trak yawned and rubbed his head. “I am sorry that I did. I haven’t even looked at the clock in my room. What time is it?”

  “Just past breakfast. Master Riotro returned last night and would like to see you in the council room in one hour. If you go to the commissary right now, they might have something left to fortify you.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Nervous?” Borega said.

  Trak nodded. “I am, does it show?”

  Borega squinted his eyes. “I think it does. I will see you there.”

  “Thank you for waking me up.” Trak bowed to Borega.

  The man walked down the corridor. Trak peeked to see if he was gone before he closed his door. He could feel the sweat on his palms and wiped them on his robe. He needed to be cool, like Neel. Trak took a few deep breaths. He had never anticipated a sparring match with as much trepidation as he felt now.

  He slipped the ubiquitous sandals that all magicians wore, on his feet and left his rooms. He did talk a Yellow at the commissary into a large breakfast. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day and needed the nourishment. Eating alone had been fortunate. Trak didn’t need to talk to another soul, except for the Yellows who were spelling the dishes clean. That was another pose that Trak never learned, but he observed the poses and heard the power word, “Aket” said by the acolytes. Now he’d never have to wash a dish again. Would that make his father, no Able Bluntwithe, his uncle, mad? Trak smiled.

  “Another thread of those memories of yours?” Mistress Nullia said as she entered the room from the opposite side.

  Trak flinched as if hit. “Oh, I’m sorry. No. I just observed the Yellows over there. I now know the pose and word for cleaning dishes even though I’ve never had the opportunity to do it.”

  “You need to remember how to do that. When you are out on assignment, you might find yourself having to fix your own meal in a camp somewhere.”

  Trak shrank back, remembering the feeling of leaving the Guild, yesterday. “I don’t think I could leave the guild’s grounds.”

  That made her nod her head. “We can fix that in time, Trak. Come, it’s time for the panel.”

  As he followed Mistress Nullia out the door, Trak let out a silent sigh. A colored version of the truth might be the best strategy to use if he were to last out the day.

  His anxiety increased with each step. She opened the door for him. A single chair faced the panel. Nullia took the final seat behind the table.

  He looked for Honor and found her not sitting, but standing in the back. He forced his eyes to move past her.

  “Trak Bluntwithe.” The Black Master, Riotro, stood and leaned on his hands placed precisely on the table. It looked like a pose to Trak. The man was young, for the leader of the Magicians Guild, maybe about the same age as Neel. He was shorter, but broader. What was the word that described him? Swarthy. He had the heaviest beard he had seen in Santasia even though he was clean-shaven. The man had very light blue eyes that burned with intensity. Riotro threw back his black hood and his bald head with its bushy fringe surprised him.

  “Trak Bluntwithe, you have been judged worthy to ascend directly to a Master level that we will determine today. Are you ready to perform?”

  He didn’t even think to put on pants beneath his robe. He squeaked out, “I am, Master Riotro.”

  “You didn’t wear anything over your underclothes?” Mistress Nullia said with a sly smile. She reached down beneath the table and threw him a pair of breeches. “Put these on, and then entertain us with your poses.” She looked around the room. “It is a beautiful sight.”

  She sounded like she meant it. Trak put his back to the panel and donned the breeches. They were cut just below his knees, but with a slit that went up above his knees a few inches. He tied the drawstring at the waist and removed his robe.

  His body felt hot and he looked at the sheen of sweat on his arms. Trak couldn’t feel more nervous. He had to set all of his worries aside and do as Nullia said. He turned to face them and closed his eyes, finding that center as he had every time before. His body wanted to do sword forms, but Trak concentrated on his portfolio. In his mind, he opened the folio to the first page and assumed the form of the pose, with an innate grace that he knew he had. After than it was just a matter of letting the poses flow. He lost himself in the poses as he progressed through the book and at the end he added the pose that he had learned that morning.

  Nullia’s laughter brought him out of his focus. “You even added the dish cleaning pose!” Nullia clapped and then the others followed, including an astonished looking Riotro.

  “It is very unusual for a Yellow to remember the spells that brought them to the guild,” he said. “Nullia said you know the power words. Repeat them to me, without the poses of course.”

  Trak put his robe on and sat on the chair. “I’m not sure how many I know.”

  “Don’t worry I’ll do the counting,” Mistress Nullia said after a sly smile at Borega.

  He closed his eyes and thought of the marks on the portfolio and recited all of the words. “I learned another this morning, Aket, as well as an alternate word for illumination, buckle.”

  “Lukee is the better one,” Riotro said. “I’d rate him a low to mid purple. What say the rest of you?”

  Trak heard them bicker for a few minutes. “Low-Purple,” the black master said. “That will go higher as Nullia and I teach you more words. In my memory, we’ve never had a purple of any level younger than thirty-one and that was me, Master Bluntwithe.”

  Trak bowed his head. The trial was over, but there would be more before he could finally escape from the Magicians Guild, he had no doubt. Trak sat as they all filed out but he noticed that Honor had stayed behind.

  He stood as she approached. “You have done well, Master Bluntwithe.” She had said that before, but Master had a different meaning then. “I am pleased that you retained so many of the spells that you learned from before.”

  “So am I. No more scrubbing the floors,” he said, smiling as vacuously as he could. “I had my worries about today and could barely sleep last night, but they seemed unfounded.” He put the same emphasis on the worry word as she did. Her eyes widened. “I wish I could honor my tutor, but I can’t seem to remember who he was.”

  “Perhaps it was a she.” Honor said. “You would have made him, or her, proud.” She nodded to him and left him alone in the room.

  Trak sat back down and put his head in his hands. He’d feel as old as Coffun Cricket in a few days at this rate.

  Borega put his head through the door to the council room. “Go to the commissary. We will celebrate your elevation.” T
rak forced a smile and closed the door behind him as he left.

  ~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE GROUND SEEMED TO HEAVE as Valanna began to walk on the dock at the port of Tachium. She staggered when she stepped up on the stone walkway. Asem took her arm to help her up on the walkway and until she found her bearings.

  Valanna could hear a muffled giggle behind, as Kulara must have enjoyed her discomfort. Asem’s wife had re-assumed her position as maid to Valanna once they disembarked. The relationship was thoroughly fictitious, however. Kulara was her strict taskmistress and Asem, the interested observer. Sometimes Valanna thought he showed up at their sessions just to look at his wife where Kulara’s beauty couldn’t be hidden.

  At least the two Warishian’s relationship was unambiguous. They loved each other and when they were together, it showed. She wondered if she would ever find a partner that she could share as they did. Prince Nez couldn’t be a candidate since he had no idea what sharing meant. She made a sour face as they walked and decided that she would drink in the essence of Tachium.

  Each city had its own flavor. Valanna had never found a city that really appealed to her. Tachium wouldn’t. She had developed a distinct aversion to the smell of the sea and Tachium reeked of the ocean. A broad flat delta, submerged at high tide, showed it’s muddy surface when the tide went out and the smell of whatever had died lately fell over the city like a burial shroud while they waited for the ship to unload its cargo before disembarking.

  The Colcanans spoke a close variant of Pestlan, so Valanna had no problem listening to the calls and louder conversations of the people she passed. The people were darker than the Pestlans, at least in hair color, but not as dark as the desert people and that included Asem and Kulara. Her blond hair seemed to be as unique as their Warishian features.

  She looked back at Kulara, who grinned at her, and then further behind as a sailor pushed a cart rented at the pier filled with their belongings. The twisting made her a little dizzy. She grasped Asem’s upper arm.

  “I’m sorry, I looked back—“

  “No need to be sorry. I’m a bit wobbly myself, but I’m more practiced at not showing it.” He graced her with a smile, no smirk from him.

  She resisted another glance at Kulara, who she didn’t like as much as her husband. She turned her attentions to the architecture of the city. Once past the blocky stone warehouses, stores and taverns for sailors, they entered into a section of inns and shops more oriented to the city’s inhabitants.

  The people held their emotions close. She saw laughing and joking on the docks, but that seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps the Colcanans were a morose lot. Honor would fit right in with these people, in fact Valanna wondered if she was originally from this country. Perhaps Asem might know.

  “Do you know if Honor Fidelia was from Colcan?”

  Asem lifted his eyebrows and nodded. “She is. You can tell from her last name. Colcanans use Pestlan first names and surnames that are more like Santasians. That is astute of you.”

  “Not really, not if you met her. She could walk these streets with her severe face and not be noticed.”

  “It is wise not to apply Pestlan or Warishian behavior to these people. They take their independence very seriously.”

  Valanna hadn’t considered the political situation, but Asem would. She continued to let him lead her on until they came to a very presentable inn. The front was clean, steps scrubbed, with its windows washed. It bore the name, The Witch’s Tree, on a white sign. A tree with a door in gold leaf sat behind the name of the inn painted in bold black lettering.

  “You wouldn’t get away with a name like that in Pestle,” she said.

  Kulara laughed behind her. “Nor in Balbaam, if truth be told. Inns in our capital city like desert connotations. This might be called ‘the witches cave’ in Warish.”

  Valanna had to smile. Kulara’s features might be more Colcanan than hers but Kulara’s easy laughter or vicious smirks betrayed the woman’s fiery emotions sitting right on the surface. She liked the Warish attitude more than the Colcanan one.

  They stepped inside. Asem walked up to a counter and talked to a well-dressed man. Their sailor-servant stood just outside the door and looked at Asem. At a nod of the man behind the desk, well-dressed boys, perhaps Trak’s age or a little less, hustled to the sailor and began to pluck their bags from the cart.

  “Follow me, please,” one of the boys said after conferring with the man at the desk.

  The insides of the inn matched the outside. Thick rugs muffled the sounds of their passage through the lobby and up wide stairs to rooms above looking out over the stable yard of the inn. Valanna was shown to a two-bedroom suite. One nice bedroom and one much smaller that she assumed was for a servant.

  Asem must have a room close by, but he kissed Kulara on the lips, out of sight of the waiting inn-servants and left them alone in the pleasant sitting room.

  Valanna looked at Kulara and said, “Which room?”

  She smiled seductively. Valanna knew what was on her mind. “I’ll take the one appropriate for the servant. If I need a larger bed, I know where to go and it won’t be there.” She nodded towards the larger bedroom. “Get unpacked. It’s time you learned a another pose while we have the time.”

  Valanna began to lug her two bags into the larger room. “How many poses do you know?”

  Kulara had her back turned to her carrying her own possessions. “As many as you will, plus a few I’ll never teach you.”

  What a strange comment until Valanna thought about it for a bit. The woman would always structure her teaching so she never gave Valanna an advantage. She pressed her lips together and wished that she could speak with such confidence as Kulara, but also act to maintain an edge. Was she capable of thinking that way?

  She narrowed her eyes as she unpacked. Perhaps there was more to learn from the woman than poses and words. Valanna began to think of what those things might be. She vowed to write them down. How to act, how to think. A new way of thinking of herself and how to react to her situation had just dawned on her, prompted by Kulara’s example. In some way, she felt liberated. The trick was to make that feeling last until the next moment or two when Kulara would begin her instructions again.

  “Come into the sitting room when you are done,” Kulara said.

  Valanna had just finished her unpacking. She wanted to snap back and say something to put Kulara in her place, but Valanna knew that Kulara was superior to her in many ways. So she walked into the room, with her new attitude of observation.

  For the first time, Valanna realized she was taller than Kulara. That surprised her, since in her mind Kulara was the taller. She stood a little straighter.

  “When we are on the road to Espozia, Asem will find camping spots where we can move off the road and practice more aggressively.”

  “How many more poses?”

  Kulara stared at Valanna. “How many do you know?”

  “Eight, with words to match. You’ve seen me do them all.”

  “I will teach you a few more until we leave.” Kulara shrugged. “Most magicians have enough magical strength to power about ten or fifteen poses. You’ll soon enough exceed that. How many did Honor Fidelia propose to teach you?”

  Valanna searched her mind. “I don’t remember. She taught me five before I had to leave. Those were among the six I already knew. How many poses are there?”

  “Basic ones? Over seventy, including variations of poses and power words.”

  “But you said that most magicians know fifteen.”

  “For many, less than that. It’s a matter of pose precision, concentration and the ability to draw power from the earth. For most magicians, they don’t have the power to make many poses work. Magicians can work together in groups and use the same pose. That can give them collectively the power that a master magician has by herself.”

  “Can I learn fifty poses?”

  Kulara looked at her accusingly, “Do
you even want to?”

  The words stung Valanna. “I do.”

  Kulara shook her head. “You won’t learn them from me. I can’t manage more than forty, but I’ll teach you thirty.” She smiled.

  That made sense to Valanna since Kulara had already said she wouldn’t teach her all she knew. “That’s twenty-two more than I already know. I’ll try to.”

  Her instructor’s eyebrows rose. “No ‘try’?”

  “Do. I’ll do it.”

  Kulara’s smile seemed more genuine. “Then we’ll do it.”

  ~

  The celebration didn’t really seem to be focused on Trak’s elevation. There were congratulations and introductions to more people than Trak could ever remember. He tried to look excited, but Trak had no idea what kind of an actor he was. Perhaps his trepidation seemed to be normal for one in his situation, but then what was normal if he was the youngest Purple ever?

  Honor studiously avoided him. Trak took that as a good sign. The celebration lasted until lunch, which crowned the festivities. Trak sat with Mistress Nullia and Master Riotro at either side of him.

  He kept his head down, concentrating on his meal most of the time as everyone had their own conversations going that didn’t include him. He came out of his shell when everyone clapped. A Yellow, acting as a server, set a purple cake with a candle burning on top right in front of him.

  Everyone looked at him expecting a speech.

  He sighed and stood. “I’m sure others have more to say than I do. I came here with my mind nearly gone and quite honestly can’t remember what I should say. Thank you all for your congratulations.” They all looked on expectantly and then Trak realized what it was they anticipated. He went through a few poses as he would forms and ended on one that expelled frigid air. He whispered the word of power and a stream of air from his finger, held close to the flame, blew out the candle and turned into snow that quickly melted on the stone floor.

  All of the Masters laughed at his performance and clapped. He moved out of the way while a Yellow came to cut the cake into small pieces to be shared among Trak’s new peers.