“Good to see you again, little lady.” Apple wheezed through exhausted breaths. He had run to Funky Frank’s Tavern without pause, his desire to see Maxwell’s book and be free of the cold spurred his haste.

Mula looked up; her attention completely focused on the leather-bound book sat in her lap. “What took you so long?” She huffed.

“Oh, I don’t know...” Apple shrugged, whilst removing his damp surcoat. “Sneaked into a manor, pretended to be a guard; may or may not have killed a bloke; walked into an old man’s bedroom; had a nice chat; he eventually told me his spell book had been stolen earlier by a little girl. So yeah...”

“You never said you had to be one to find it first,” she argued. “I found it first. Mula fast, Apple slow – simple.”

Apple sighed, sitting down on the pillow next to Mula with a thud, embracing the poor comfort of straw on his behind. “You could have at least waited for me.”

“Where? Manor is big y’know. Waiting in the inn made most sense.”

Apple could not argue with that, no matter how much it made his role in the heist completely pointless. “Alright, fair enough. So, having fun reading, are we?”

Mula pouted with inflated cheeks and pursed lips. “No, it’s hard. Harder than Apple’s writing. He uses bigger words than you.”

Apple coughed at that comment, “well, that’s because I use smaller words for you, so you understand.”

Mula just grunted in acknowledgement, her eyes and attention once again completely focused on the book on her lap.

“I can read it to you, if you want?”

Mula was quiet for several minutes, seemingly debating whether to admit defeat or not. “Fine,” she eventually said.

Apple smiled and carefully picked the grimoire up. He traced his calloused fingers around the softness of the leather cover, and breathed in the smell of old parchment. A smell he once loathed and now found himself enjoying fondly, with the soothing feel of nostalgia.

He skimmed the cursive handwriting of the author, before finally reading it out loud for Mula.

For a magician their grimoire is without a doubt their greatest and most valuable possession. More beautiful than their shining silk robes. More powerful than their jewel-encrusted wand. Even more precious than their very family! Yet, here at I sit, at the ripe age of seventy-six and even without the dullness of time upon my mind, my shaking hands fail to note anything of worth.

A long life I have lived. My wife gone twelve summers ago and my children have either failed to visit me, or have simply perished somewhere in the vast space of the world, most likely a mixture of the two. My magic, the ability to alter the world itself – something I used to believe made me superior to most, has been little more than a parlour trick used to instil fear in those beneath me, and to amuse those above me.

Seventy-six years and not a single crumb of information I can add to the magical archive of Loncia. No spells. No applications of practice or theories. Nothing but the reprints and plagiarisms of those that achieved what I could not.

So, here it is... My grimoire. My seventh and final edition. Few things have changed I am afraid. My handwriting is now janky and painful, my laments larger and touched with an unapologetic level of loathing.

There shall be no philosophical debates or revolutionary information about magic or dwimmer within the tome. Instead the civil dispute of the plagiarising other’s book this edition foretells, alongside my own melodramatic writings shall be scrawled on these pages as well.

I had originally planned to write this for any grandchildren of mine that should happen upon the dwimmer like myself. However, the chances of any grandchildren stumbling their way into my abode appears to be quite doubtful these days. I do hope my children will forgive me one day for my behaviour towards them in the past. I was so desperate for a magical sire – someone to do what I could only dream about, and when none showed promise, I dismissed them! Just as my father had done so to my brothers and sisters.

Now, I simply wish to leave my mark as a magician upon this world, no matter how insignificant it may be...

Apple was not expecting an autobiography of the author’s life in this grimoire. Although, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. A grimoire was not just a spell books, but also something extremely personal to its creator. Magic was not just about spells either, philosophy, anecdotes, and stories of those who studied it were also important to the application of magic.

Whilst Apple would definitely read this book in its entirety many times in the future, for now he wished to simply see the more magical topics and skipped ahead.

At the age of nine, my father in his desperation approached his greater Baron of the county we lorded a small portion over, wielding sums of his dwindling gold – a time in which the material was in abundance. There he pleaded with the Lord for his court magician to test his children for geist (now known commonly as dwimmer). Seven sons and six of them wasted his coin and the time of his betters, yet I did not fail him. His eldest and therefore successor even betrayed the man with his lack of mystical lineage. Something I would never allow my older brother to forget.

At the age of seven it was known of my capability to alter and create nature with unclear means; an act and concept typically referred to as magic. The pitiful squire my father was, once he knew of my blessing, my siblings were long forgotten from his mind. His four daughters not even worthy of being tested; many fools still refuse to admit the dwimmer does not discriminate between the sexes. Even the belief of a noble's superior bloodline beguiles themselves, with the hidden privilege of being able to choose the superiority of their sire’s blood. I am begrudged to admit that I – even in my old age, like my dwimmer-blessed brethren, looked down upon those without magic with a smugness that rivalled a tower that pierced the heavens themselves.

I set fire to the peasant's livestock with glee. I tore their precious barley from the dirt with a wave of my wand and waggle of my tongue, laughing at the prospect of empty bellies. Forced they were to ignore my attempts to stir the winds and form a typhoon. Their faithful pets choked on tendrils of water shoved down their throats, given to them in my lackadaisical boredom... And why did I do it? Because I could, of course!

I was both a noble and a future magician, my life was worth more than a Baron’s or even a Marquis! More than my entire siblings combined! Such a fool I was to believe such a thing.

My mother – a mousey little woman, could not even look me in the eyes by the age of ten, her own flesh and blood! But not my father; never my father... For in me he saw our family’s future. So, what if his precious surfs go hungry? So, what if his other children beg and plead to be rid of me because I test my new magics upon them? So, what if everyone he knows refuses to be his company any more, due to his wonderous fifth-born son? So, what?

All these thoughts and more filled my mind every second of every day, whilst I played gleefully in my father’s modest manor. Every single life there was a toy waiting for me to play with.

At the tender age of fifteen my father sent me to the first grand university of magic and philosophy in Loncia. There for the first time since the age of seven did the feeling of being a complete and utter nobody come flooding back to me. There I was surrounded by those vastly grander then myself – my joyous days as a demi-god had come to an end. I was now a just another toy in other children’s toyboxes.

Apple paused. He was surprised to discover he enjoyed the writer’s biography and was impressed with how honest he was with admitting his own failings. However, he was beginning to find Lord Maxwell just a bit too relatable and when the topic of mediocrity around his magic peers came to be. Apple could not bear to read further for the unwelcome memories it brought him. A fouler nostalgia was creeping its way into his mind.

He decided to skip ahead, Mula did not seem to mind, she was most likely eager to hear more about magic, than the magician’s story.

Principles of Magic – I

Many great scholars of Loncia will tell you that magic was both birthed and developed upon this very island of ours, the island we now refer to as Loncia. However, that could not be further from the truth! Before patriotism became nationalism, in my days as a sprout of a mage, we were taught with an impressive neutrality that the first evidence of dwimmer-magic originated in the faraway empire of Goar. Whilst it is commonly believed for beings such as elves and fae to have possessed magic before the findings of man-magic, I never bothered to study such theories. So, if you are looking for such knowledge, I am afraid you will have to go somewhere else.

“Those bastard teachers lied to me...” Apple grumbled.

Omri El Haddad, at the time of my education, was considered to be one of the most influential people to understanding the principles of magic. Omri was a great lahash (magician) of his era and would create the text: "The Four Forms of Ob”, a work of wisdom still used today. Its explanations on the importance of a strong foundation in magic still unmatched in this era.

In in his writings, Omri states that the physical world is comprised of four basic elements: earth, wind, water, and fire. This information even in his time was not revolutionary, however, it was how he went on to describe the four elements that would change the very future of magic.

Earth was not just the dirt beneath our feet, but it is also everything that is dry. Stone is dry; sand is dry; the bark of trees is dry; parts of man are also dry. So, all could be manipulated.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Wind was not just the gales that rustled a maiden's skirt, but also the cold. Wind is the absence of all and cold is the result of said absence. This method of thinking quickly led to the discovery of ice magic.

Fire was not just the crackling of orange wisps but heat itself. All light is heat and even the passion of men is argued by many to be a form of this very heat.

Water was not just the liquid we need to drink but liquid in its entirety. Everything wet is potentially under a magician’s control. The dubious acid and blood magics would eventually be born from this ideology.

Wet and dry were the opposites on one another, for dry was the absence of the wet, and vice versa. Hot and cold were also the opposites of one another. For heat and cold could not exist in the same space without changing one another.

Cold and dry elements are what most refer to as the “lonely elements”, as they exist in absence of something else; they are inaction. Whereas the wet and hot elements are referred to as the "social elements”, as they require themselves to exist and flourish; they are action.

With Omri’s teachings, magic was able to evolve beyond the four basic elements and birth a wide variety many types of sub-elements in time. Ice is the combination of the wet and the cold. Dry, wet, and a smidge of heat creates basic life, allowing one to harness the plants of the world (more useful than you would expect). The rare lightning magic, whilst believed even by Omri to be a type of heat magic, in actuality it is the combination of hot, cold, and wet all working in unison. Although, I have heard rumours of a few magicians reaching such a level of heat magic that they can manifest pure bolts of lightning, instead of imitating the clouds above – as is typically known.

Perhaps the rumours are true, I remember at the age of forty-five witnessing a woman – with a snap of her fingers caused a mountain to appear at she beside in an instant. And with another snap, the giant grey peak became completely blossomed in the most beautiful array of flowers I have ever seen to this day.

Even my own affinity for the wind element has had constant whispers of grand magicians being able to use it to soar the skies and bend air in such a way the weight of things becomes distorted. My own grandest achievement was managing to create a tornado just big enough to swallow a few common huts, and even that gave a nasty nosebleed and headache.

“Whoa... I did not know this... This changes everything...” Apple breathed.

Mula stared hard at Apple, “Dint you go to a academy like this magician?”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I actually paid attention to my tutors though.”

“Your magic is wasted on you...” She sighed

Apple coughed, breaking the silence. “Well, let's carry on reading shall we.” Apple said, as he hurriedly flipped the pages.

Spells and Incantations – I

It came to my attention a few summers ago that many young magicians are actually unaware that the words they use when they cast their spells are merely an ancient language, and not some mythical sounds we just use all willy-nilly.

Magic is simply the result of desire, fuelled by dwimmer, and controlled by skill. In theory, a magician could simply wish for a castle in front of him to spontaneously combust and it would do so; if it only it was that simple...

Magic is merely the result of belief; and belief is merely the result of magic.

Why does a magician simply not shout: “wind shield”, instead of “potiagin worden”, which it translates to? The answer is simple, we believe the language of old holds power because we BELIVE it to. For generations now, magicians of Loncia have been taught with a zealous enthusiasm that the once common tongue of a past country is actually a mystically-charged lexicon.

I have come across several magicians in my years that have attempted to cast spells using their normal tongue to limited degrees of success. Apparently, it is easier for those who have not sought formal education from an academy or university, due to not having the power of the old language drilled into their minds.

With time and training a magician will grow accustomed enough to certain spells, that omitting what is considered to be unnecessary words within a spell will still yield the same result. Forgoing words such as, “ger” or “ond” could give a magician an extra precious few fractions of a second enough to perhaps save their life. It would be akin to one saying (if skilled enough): “fire, attack”, instead of: “fire, heed my call and consume my enemy with haste and power.”

Some magicians argue that the use of language in magic is in fact limiting its capabilities and simply wasting time. This however has been hard to prove as even the most rural of witches, or the most illiterate of sorcerers use some form of sound in their incantations. Even the indecipherable mumblings of a mad pellar, hurling globs of vomit-coloured fire, is still considered to be a type of incantation.

Another method used to aid in casting a spell is the act of gesturing. Mostly used in tandem with incanting. Gestures assist a mage in knowing what a spell is doing and where it is going. An extremely common example of this is pointing the heart of your wand at your enemy, when firing a spell at them. However, wands are not common bows and therefore do not require to be aimed at all. A magician can hold their wand in any direction and the spell with still reach its target if the magician wills it to do so.

Some magicians even take their gesturing a step further and move their body’s in ways that to them is akin to the spoken belief of the old tongue. At first, I thought this was pointless and idiotic, yet a wise-man once explained to me that if the act of placing one’s hands in prayer was powerful enough to communicate with God, why could the same not be done when speaking to one’s dwimmer? I personally never bothered this with this method of casting, as I believe myself too old to learn new tricks, although I must admit a magician able to master this method would most certainly have a substantial advantage against a mage not used to this method – of which there are plenty. Perhaps if they found a pattern of movements already practised in the same way the old tongue already existed, it would hasten the advancement of said method.

Apple found himself particularly enthralled with this theory of incantation. He had always hated declaring what he was going to cast to the world around him. In the past he had even attempted to learn how to cast spells without audible incantations, although to very little success.

Perhaps he could practice some simple gestures to assist with his spell casting, and no longer have to rely so heavily of the obviousness of the spoken word.

It was most certainly something to be mindful of in the future.

***********

The Discovery of Dwimmer – IV

To test to see if an individual is dwimmer-blessed is a simple matter in reality. All it requires is for an individual who has a least a rudimentary understanding of their own dwimmer to place their hands upon the person they are testing and look within – in the same manner they do when gazing upon their own. It will take more time than seeing your own for it is technically an invasion you are inflicting upon them.

After ten minutes and you have yet to find anything resembling a ball or thread of pale light, they are not chosen, if you do, well you should not need me to explain that.

To determine their affinity, once their dwimmer is discovered, assess it to its most minute details.

If it is blazing hot, they strong with the fire elements, but weak with water. If it is freezing, the opposite holds true. If it is warm or tepid, their affinity is roughly the same, usually meaning they will be average with both, instead of good with one and bad with other.

If the dwimmer is stoic and unmoving, the earth elements are their companion. If it is wily and swirling, the air elements favour them. Anything in-between is the same as the fire and water elements – average.

Typically, if a mage is for example, strong with fire, their next strongest element will be followed by wind (as it is part of the social pair), then earth, and finally water. Nevertheless, there have been rare cases of this pattern not being true, with some magicians being both beloved by the fire elements and water elements almost as equally. What causes this? I do not have the foggiest idea unfortunately.

If the dwimmer is any other hue than white or doing anything other than I have described, I would recommend consulting a different grimoire or magician, as it is far beyond my knowledge.

Mula jumped into the air and giggled with unrelenting joy. The part of the grimoire she had so desperately wished for had finally found itself coming from Apple’s lips.

The moment that Apple had been dreading had at last arrived. It was time to finally find out if Mula would be able to become a magician.

“I just want you to remember, Mula, that the chances are incredibly low, so don’t despair if you are not dwimmer-blessed".

Mula simply nodded and yelled: “kay.”

With no point in waiting, Apple placed his hands on Mula and sent his dwimmerforth in search of its own kind. He was actually mildly annoyed with how easy it was.

Minutes passed with Apple’s dwimmer, the shape of a roaming snake, explored Mula’s body for magic.

And there it was... Something Apple never expected to find.

Hidden away in her back, the hot scurrying of dwimmerlurked within. The way it thrashed and hummed with a pulsating blaze made Apple feel as if he was watching a panicked centipede; set ablaze.

He opened his eyes and pulled his hands towards himself, “well, I’ll be dammed...” He whispered.

Mula’s face looked worried, her head tilting from side to side in curiosity. “Well, well?”

The speech Apple had been rehearsing in my mind for so long, about consoling Mula had turned out to be a waste of time. “You’re dwimmer-blessed, Mula. You can become a magician.”

***********

Hours had passed with the pair basking in the hopeful glow of their futures. Apple now had a repertoire of spells and knowledge to implement, whilst Mula was now too privy to such wonders.

Apple was nervous for the future too – however. He was barely more an apprentice himself and now had to teach a little illiterate girl all he knew about magic. To make matters worse for him, she appeared to be the complete opposite of him in regards to elemental affinity. The way her dwimmerburned and darted around heavily suggested a strong connection to the fire and wind elements. Apple on the other hand was strongest with water, followed by earth and wind of almost equal mediocrity, and lastly fire. The flames were most certainly his weakest affinity.

Also, Apple was reluctant to say it for fear or damaging his pride and inflating Mula’s own, but he was almost certain the size and intensity of her dwimmerwas far greater than his at around her age. Even now the difference between the two was not so great that they were incomparable.

He vowed to tell her the truth one day, however for now the information was pointless to her. Perhaps in time she would discover it herself in meditation. On the bright side, this discovery caused Apple’s desire to become stronger to double with dedication. The envy he possessed towards a child would become his secondary source of passion to surpass his limits.

He did wonder where her magic stemmed from. Maybe his joke about her being the bastard of a noble was truer than he realised.

Shaking his head of such thoughts, Apple once again picked up Maxwell’s grimoire and began to read.

**********

I am ninety-nine now, or at least I believe, seasons seem to blur with haste the older one gets. Writing this is requiring every last drop of strength these bones of mine still possess.

It would seem my grandchildren have failed to show up and claim this book after all. I do hope my great-grandchildren will stop by at some point – or I guess great-great-grandchildren is more of a possibility these days. It has become difficult to find the strength to leave my bedchambers lately and I’ve grown quite tired of the view out of my window. I miss my children, I wish I could have told them that...

I do wonder, if it is a blessing that the dwimmer inside me prolongs my life, or simply a curse...

Apple stopped reading. Not because the emotion behind Maxwell’s words brought him to a halt, but simply because that was the end. At least a third of the parchment was devoid of words. The curse of dwimmer... Perhaps the old magician had lost the strength to finish his book. Perhaps he just no longer cared to.

“What was the man’s name again?” Mula asked.

“Maxwell. Sir Arthur Maxwell.” Apple calmly replied, closing the book and placing it carefully on the floor beside him.

“I think I’ll remember that name.”

Apple smiled, “I think I will too, Mula. I think I will too.” In that moment Apple vowed to himself, without realising he had done so, to always keep his ears ready to hear the name: Maxwell.

“Let us get some sleep, Mula. It’s been a bloody long day, and I think we’ll be having a lot of long days in the future too.”

Mula smiled warmly. Her large canines ever so slightly poking out of her small-childish mouth, “Kay.”