“Darn it,” cursed Jeff. “Darn it all to heck!”

He slammed the book closed and hurled it across the room, then slouched down in his chair staring at the wall. The candles on either side of his desk flickered merrily, as if taunting him for his incompetence. He glared at them before looking sourly at the charred remains of the feather in front of him.

He’d followed the rules to the letter, drawn the symbols just so and spoken the invocation precisely. The feather should have wafted gently upwards to levitate around eye level but it hadn’t. Jeff could think of absolutely no reason for why it had burst into flames instead but there was no denying the charred mess before him. That he consistently failed in the candle-lighting exercise as well only made it worse.

The rank odour of burned feather wafted around him as he sat there, seething with frustration. It wasn’t fair, he thought, it should have worked. He’d done everything right, he was sure of it. Rising, he stamped over to the window, casting the shutters wide to let the crisp mountain air carry the stench of failure away before he choked on it. Leaning forward, with both hands on the sill, he looked out at the majestic vista before him. The snow-crowned mountains rose on either side, their summits wreathed in cloud. Below him, the valley dropped away into the distance, cupped by the soaring peaks.

Jeff hung his head. “What am I doing here?” he muttered, not really expecting an answer to the question. In his experience, you only asked the question if you didn’t already know the answer. If you did know the answer, sometimes you simply couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit it.

He’d dreamed of magic since he was only a child, shirking his chores on the family farm to listen to old Carson’s rambling stories hour after hour. He must have been crazy, thinking he could become a magister. Magic was the privilege of the nobility, after all. Only those with the time to do nothing but study, and the money to look after themselves while they did so, became magisters. If it wasn’t for the King’s subsidy on apprenticeships, his parents would never have been able to scrape together the fees demanded by Magister Marilax. Considering how much they’d sacrificed to give him the chance to fulfil his dreams, his continued failure was devastating.

Even his name was wrong, he thought gloomily. What kind of magister was called Jeff? Marilax the Magnificent, Gygax the Powerful, Aberfitch the Wise – these were magister’s names. Jeff was a mud name, for peasants and artisans, for farmers. Not that there was anything wrong with being a farmer, mind. Somebody had to grow the crops and tend the herds and Jeff had a lot of respect for people that could do such work day-in, day-out their whole lives. Though he loved his parents dearly they lived such… small lives. They never travelled, never looked at the sky except to check the weather, never wondered what lay over the next hill. Apart from the occasional market day, they seldom even visited the village. Perhaps it happened to everybody as they got older, he mused, the weight of reality slowly crushing their dreams under an avalanche of daily troubles until only ‘realistic’ hopes remained. That wasn’t the future he wanted for himself!

He’d been apprenticed to the magister for nearly three years now and with the sole exception of his utter and total failure to perform anything that resembled magic, they’d been the best three years of his life. There’d been no early mornings, no tilling fields or digging in the mud and no hauling water to fill the seemingly bottomless tank over the kitchen. There’d been no handling of dirty animals that seemed to be endlessly sick with a bewildering variety of illnesses. Above all, there’d been no interminable noise and constant shouting. Just calmness, peace and quiet; the echoing corridors of the magister’s residence providing all the solitude Jeff could desire and the ostensibly limitless library providing a ready supply of both knowledge and escape.

He marched over to his bed, thumping down onto his back without even removing his boots and closed his eyes. He considered working on some of his other assignments rather than the feather exercise, but couldn’t see the point. He’d already completed everything he’d thought useful. Geographics, Botanics and Zoologics were interesting and learning about the world around you was never futile. Alchemics and Mechanics allowed you improve on nature. Historics and Politics were enthralling, particularly those sections dealing with the lives and adventures of the great heroes of the past. He was even a competent student on the theory of magic, although he seemed unable to actually apply anything he’d learned. But this alley-jay-brah stuff? What kind of fool tries to count letters? Letters were for writing and even if you could add up two letters, how is that useful? And psycholology? No real person has all that nonsense going on inside their heads. They all have actual problems to worry about, so they certainly don’t need all this other made up stuff.

He was still lying there hours later, no closer to solving his problems, when he finally fell asleep.

**********

A few days later Jeff was working on the fractional distillation of the althisa plant. It took a great deal of concentration as the potency of the essence had to be exactly right to serve as an effective base for healing salves. Apart from the magister, Jeff was the only student able to reliably distil althisa essence so he was quite proud of his alchemical skills.

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A pop of displaced air sounded just behind him and Jeff shot to his feet, startled. Immediately he checked the alchemical apparatus to ensure that the distillation process was undisturbed and then rounded angrily on the intruder.

“For Hela’s sake, Aeri! How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me like that?” The little air elemental that served Marilax as butler, messenger and general assistant looked down at him unrepentantly.

“The magister will see you in his office immediately, Jeff,” said Aeri, in his whispery voice. “He didn’t look too pleased, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” The elemental vanished with a disdainful sniff and another pop.

Jeff bent to check the apparatus, adjusting the flame of the burner ever so slightly, before adding more fuel oil to the device. The magister may not like being kept waiting, he thought, but Marilax would be far more annoyed if he ruined the althisa essence. Satisfied that the distillation was proceeding smoothly, Jeff wiped his hands down with a towel and then hurried towards the magister’s office. He took the steps two at a time, nearly colliding with Aeri as he reached the top.

“Wait here. The magister will see you shortly.”

“But,” said Jeff, speaking to empty air as the elemental disappeared without waiting for a response. “…you said he wanted to see me immediately,” he trailed off lamely, looking around. There was nowhere to sit and nothing other than the stone walls to look at.

A few minutes later Aeri reappeared, swinging the door open. “The magister will see you now,” he announced as Jeff tentatively entered the office.

“Ah, do come in dear boy,” said Marilax, rising to his feet and gesturing Jeff to a chair. “Please sit.” Jeff sat down gingerly on one of the hard, straight-backed chairs the magister preferred, and waited for the magister to continue.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, child. The king has been receiving some very bad advice recently, listening to greedy money people who really have no business advising anybody about anything.” Marilax contrived to look aggrieved that the king would listen to anyone other than a recognised magister. “Not to put too fine a point on it, the kingdom is virtually bankrupt. The king is cutting costs everywhere he can, and it still may not be enough to prevent the Exchequer from defaulting on some of its loan payments. I’m sure you can see the problem.” Marilax peered expectantly at him.

“I understand the political and economic problems this could cause, at least at a simplistic level. I doubt I’ve considered all the intricacies that you’d be aware of, but I can give it some thought if you’d like? Should I write up a summary of my thoughts and considerations for the next Politics discussion?”

“Ahhh… yes. Um. As it happens, dear boy, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood the focus of my concern. With the kingdom in debt, the king is cutting costs all over the kingdom and that includes the apprenticeship subsidies. Over the past three years, you see, you have, well… not to put too fine a point on it, you see…” Marilax removed his spectacles and polished them industriously. “You just haven’t performed any magic, you see.” Marilax looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I know that this must come as something of a shock, but I think you need to consider whether you’re really meant to be a magister. I’m sure you understand?” Marilax sat back in his chair and propped his spectacles on the end of his nose, clearly satisfied.

“But, magister…” Jeff was too stunned to complete a coherent sentence. His hopes and dreams, the years of study, his parent’s sacrifices, all about to come to nothing.

“I’m afraid there’s really nothing more to discuss. I know this isn’t what you hoped for, and I’m sorry it turned out this way, but sometimes things happen for a reason, eh? I’ve made arrangements to teleport you back home tomorrow evening, possibly early the next day depending on the celestial alignments. I do hope you understand. Now, don’t let me keep you from your packing.” Marilax looked back at the scroll he’d been reading, the interview clearly over.

With nothing more to say, Jeff began the lonely trek back to his quarters, the althisa distillation completely forgotten.

**********

Jeff looked around his room. In the centre of the floor were his two packs, containing clothing, necessaries and a few small keepsakes. He had very little else. All the books and equipment belonged to the magister and there was little point keeping his notes and papers now. He could scarcely believe it. His whole world had come crashing down and all he had to show for the last three years of labour was the two small packs on the floor.

It wasn’t fair! He was the best student the magister had. Even if he hadn’t done any magic yet, he knew he had the ability so it was just a matter of time.

Jeff sat down on the edge of his bed and stared forlornly at the packs. What was he going to do now? Go back to life on the farm? To the repetitive, mind-numbing chores? Back to daily reminders that he was a failure? He couldn’t go back to that, he couldn’t. He sighed. What choice did he have? His scholarship was good, but any journeyman magister would know as much as he did. His alchemy was better, but again, anybody that needed an alchemist, and had the resources to support one, already had a competent magister.

If only he could prove to Marilax that he belonged, surely the magister would let him stay? There were magisters with almost no magical talent, how were they different from him? If he could just get that blasted feather to fly, surely… no. The feather trick wasn’t going to save him here. He’d need something more impressive. Something that set him apart from normal people, even magisters. Something… yes… that was it.

The audacity of the thought took his breath away, that he was even contemplating it was a measure of his desperation. He couldn’t stop to think though, couldn’t acknowledge the insanity of his plan or he’d never have the courage to see it through. Pull this off, and the magister would have to see that he was worth training. He could see the future roll out before him, everything he’d dreamed of, success and wealth and, most importantly, respect. All he had to do now... was summon a familiar.