I screamed in frustration, my fiftieth attempt at this stupid spell fizzling out just as I was about to fuel the spellform. I had been sitting, standing, shouting, cajoling, pacing and hitting my head off of the wall, both literally and figuratively for the last 30 minutes, becoming more and more frustrated and anxious each time I glanced at the hourglass.
I was about to try one final time before giving up, and finding some hedge wizard to teach me, when I suddenly realized how thirsty I was. Not seeing any water or food, I could only wish for a cup of water. Even a small one.
As I moped about my terrible thirst, I subconsciously said “Menas!” again, and I felt a sudden disconcerting clarity, similar to stepping into cold water after having a hot bath, my mind reassessing reality as though for the first time. I could virtually see the Mind rune in my normal vision, with how strongly it was flaring in my mind’s eye.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and I glanced about, only to find a teacup of water sitting in my hand.
This time my scream was not one of frustration, but of exuberance, both my problems having been solved. Finally I could take a drink, and I lifted the cup to my mou-
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, anything produced via legerdemain will vanish once you dismiss the spell, including the effects of eating or drinking anything. Here.”
And with that, my master appeared as though from thin air, tossing me a water skin after I dropped the cup on the ground, and it disappeared, which I drank heavily from before putting it on the table, and turning to face my master.
“I thought you said you would be gone for an hour, what happened, did the Imperator no longer need you?” I queried, confused.
“Ahh, that” My master replied.
“Yeah, I lied.”
I stood, my mouth agape in shock, as he continued.
”You honestly think I would leave an untrained apprentice in a laboratory full of the most dangerous things in Imat, all by himself?”
He scoffed, a single eyebrow raised. I shook my head hurriedly. “Good job with Menas, it normally takes a few days to get right.”
He praised. Relief flooded through me as I realised that I wasn’t meant to pass.
“Wait a minute, if you were sure I’d fail, then why would you threaten me with expulsion if I did so?” I hesitantly asked, a sinking feeling building in my chest.
“Good question. I was checking if you would respond well to stress, which you fortunately did. That makes teaching you much easier.” He said, innocent smile plastered on his face.
I groaned as my head fell into my hands, missing the feeling of relief from only moments before, because I was fairly certain it would be the last time I felt like that in a while.
The following few days were a whirlwind of memorising, pronunciation of strange words, doing all sorts of silly things to increase finger and hand dexterity so I could form the appropriate ‘icons’ for the basic spells I was learning.
I also learned that some spells target specific things, such as Whisper, which is done via a coil of wire wrapped around a small crystal. Something to do with vibrations, I think.
Each rune and word I added to my spellbook, which was rapidly becoming filled with half-baked spell scrawls, most of which were scratched out after some kind of horrible, smelly or just flat out strange misfire. We still can’t make the spot on the ceiling change back from orange.
Then I finally got my first break that Maker’s Day. Though I wasn’t to get a day off every time Maker’s day rolled around, Moro said I could have every second one off, as ‘13 days in a row with you is enough for anybody’.
With my newfound abilities rattling around in my head, I was excited to show Lisa and Dad what I could do.
In my haste to get home and awe my family, as I turned a corner onto a larger street, I barely got a glimpse of tunic before being barrelled over by the giant of a man wearing it.
“You roughed up my shirt, runt.”
Snarled the balding giant of a man.
”You gonna pay me back for that.”
I groaned as the brute lifted me by the collar single-handedly. I was fairly certain this fellow was at least half troll. Uncertain what to do, as my more recent successes in cantrip forming were combat oriented, and I didn't really want to hurt anyone, I tried my best and earliest success.
“Menas.”
I hissed with the remaining air in my lungs, forming the mind rune and picturing my eyes glowing.
With the now familiar feeling of the Weave re-writing reality, I knew legerdemain had taken effect. Further validating my theory was the colour draining so fast out of the man’s face he could have been mistaken for a gekar, though minus the scales and forked tongue.
He brusquely dropped me to my knees, his face still pallid and began to walk away, glancing in my direction every few seconds, before breaking into a full on sprint.
Laughing as I rose to my feet, I suddenly grew very quiet, as many of the other people on the street were staring at me and whispering. I started walking away as quickly as I could but I still caught bits and pieces of the whispering as I passed.
“Wizard….”
“…..he had glowing eyes…”
“…cursed him….”
“…idiot...”
I finally stopped a few streets from my house, heaving as I fought to get my breath back. I hoped no one was following me, though I didn’t have the experience to find out. I walked the last few streets home at a calm but brisk pace, excited to see my family and put the previous few minutes behind me.
Opening the door to the house with the key Dad had given me before leaving for the tower, I was greeted with the sight of my father on the floor bleeding, while my sister cried.
The last few day having inoculated me somewhat against heart-wrenching surprises, courtesy of Master Moro, it only took me a few moments to respond.
I ran over to my shouting father and realised he had a piece of wood stuck in his leg. Just as I was about to reach forward and pull it out, Dad suddenly stopped shouting and held up the sliver of wood and wiping away the ‘blood’ on his leg, showing there was no wound.
My sister, having stopped sobbing moments before, had just erupted in giggles and refused to stop. They had gotten me good.
“Clever” I remarked, “but it’s a pity about the pen.”
I had recognised the sliver of wood as the handle of my father’s favourite pen. “Yeah, Lisa broke it earlier” He said, pulling the other half out of a pocket.
“I was going to give this to you, but unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I can no longer supply you with your gift”
Dad rattled in what I call Merchant speak, a long-winded and utterly pointless way of doing things, unless you are trying to sell someone something.
“Damn” I began “If only you knew an almighty and wise wizard who could solve that problem for you”. Holding out my hands expectantly, Dad looked confused before handing me both pieces of the broken pen.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the two objects that Master Moro had given me for my newest cantrip, Sympathetic Repair.
The spell could be cast without materials if mastered, but at my level required two lodestones, and was done by saying ‘Gata’ to invoke the sigil for earth, and forming the linking rune, by crossing the first two fingers of each hand and holding them symmetrically, with the lodestones held in the bottom two fingers of each hand.
Then the hands are brought together, and it has to be at the same pace or the spell will fizzle. It happened to me more times than I can count.
I laid the two broken parts in front of me and cast the spell, a slight glow emanating from the lodestones in my hands, and the two parts of the pen rose slightly into the air as they sealed together, green sparks running along each crack and splinter, forcing them back together.
Dad and Lisa looked at me in astonishment before I was hit by a flying tackle, also known as one of my sister’s hugs. I’m almost certain she cracked a rib.
We spent the evening catching up, Dad more animated than he had been in the last few years, Lisa who was 3 years my junior had just finished Temple school, and was looking to become a physiker. She had been accepted in to a famous herbalism school near Imat.
After a grand meal, Lisa went to bed, and Dad and I shared some of his special wine, a rare bottle of Lyolan kwarine, from 3434, a fine kwarage according to Dad anyway.
We talked a bit about Mom, and about Maht.
There were tears, but wheter from the wine or the subject, I'll never know.
Master Moro said he wanted me back that night, as we would be starting bright and early the following morning.
Feeling slightly tipsy as I closed the front door behind me after saying my goodbyes, I paused for a moment to look up at Sera and Loi, the two moons that graced the Ralin night sky.
Not paying attention to my surroundings, whether the fault of the stargazing or the wine, lead me into the waiting trap, blissfully unaware that I was about to be attacked.
The first inclination I had that something had gone wrong was a *THUMP* to the back of my head, and the ground suddenly in a rush to meet my face.
I awoke abruptly, to the sound of metal clanging.
“Up ya get, freak.”
As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I noticed a thin, rat-like man dozing on a chair. I realized my hand were bound behind me with some kind of rope, and my ankles were tied to the chair I was sitting on.
I wasn’t sure if the pounding headache I was currently experiencing was due to the fall or being thumped on the back of the head, but I was thoroughly convinced that it damned hurt.
“Your gonna pay me back for the insult you done payed me, brat.”
The source of the voice revealed itself as a man stalked out from behind me, circling my chair. I recognized him immediately as the brute from earlier.
“Sykin!” He roared, causing the ratfink, who I assumed was Sykin, to jolt awake.
“You watch this weasel while I find the brandin’ iron.”
“Yes, Boss”
Sykin whimpered, hands pawed at his sides, completing the rat-like aesthetic. As the ‘Boss’ stalked off in search of branding irons, which I was trying desperately not to think about, I began to panic, fear flooding through me in a cold torrent until I felt frozen solid, and sick to my stomach.
As I struggled to breath, a memory from the previous day’s training bubbled to the forefront of my mind.
We had been covering how to cast while distracted, when I raised a question. “Master Moro”, I began “How do wizards who fight monsters or armies stop their hands from shaking while casting?”
He stopped speaking for a moment, considering his response, before replying. “Jon, I'll give you three pieces of knowledge that very few other wizards would ever share, even with their apprentices."
"We have yet to cover the Echelon but suffice to say, spells beyond cantrips are hard for even accomplished wizards. However the first of those three you would be able to learn yourself, given enough time, so we will speed along the process.”
He stopped talking for another moment, eyes closed, then snapping open to reveal his changed demeanour.
His face was completely neutral, but his eyes looked as though they could pierce through inch thick steel with a glare. He began speaking again, his words not toneless, but lacking the usual emotion that he displayed.
“This” he gestured towards himself “is the Calm, perhaps a war wizard’s greatest ally. What the ‘spark of magic’ really means is that someone has a connection to the Weave. You must open your mind to the Weave, letting emotion, but not thought, flow into it like a breath into the air, the immense size of the Aether diffusing your emotions until you are calm.”
His normal quirky smile and raised eyebrow returned “Which, as you can probably guess, is why it is called the Calm. Inventive creatures, us wizards.” he joked.
“Why not let thought into the Weave, Master?”
His smile faded, replaced by a grim look. “Because it’s very easy to get lost.”
Returning to the present as my chest continued to heave, I attempted to do today, what yesterday I couldn’t. Namely, enter the Calm. Assuming you are of the arcane persuasion, the following may help you in your endeavours.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
In the event that you are not, it’s also a fairly good memory tool. I began by imagining my mind as my home, with all my knowledge stacked on my bookshelves, every memory and idea in a certain place, so that when I returned to it, I would be able to recall the memory.
This is where things get wizardly. After entering your ‘mind palace’, which I think sounds rather ostentatious, you imagine some kind of connection to the outside, be it a door, window or hallway.
In my mind I approached the front door of my house, feeling the pressure ‘outside’ as mental strain. This is the point at which I had always failed before. Using the fear I felt in my current situation, I pushed against the mental weight, and wrenched the door open.
Almost immediately I felt the Weave pulling at me. I surrendered my emotions, feeling them flow into the Aether, careful to keep ‘myself’ in my mental housing.
Turning my awareness back to my surroundings, I realized with perfect clarity how ridiculous the situation was. I started breathing normally, relaxed my muscles and began scanning the room while running through possible escape plans in my head.
This fluidity of thought was exhilarating, as if I had been living my entire life half blind, deaf, and drunk. I quickly remembered one of the simpler runes I had been taught, the rune of separation, which as it happens is the inverse of the linking rune used in Sympathetic Repair.
With my mind already bared to the Weave it was easy to project the rune onto the Weave after completing the icon.
Thinking of the ropes around my hands and feet, I was amazed to feel the ropes simply fall apart, the bonds holding each strand of rope together now undone.
About to push the newly found emotions into the Aether as well, so I could continue my escape unimpeded, I suddenly stopped as a moth that had been flying around the room rested on my shoulder, and began to whisper.
“You’ve done well. Good job with the Calm.. Rest, I’ll take it from here.”
After saying this, in my master’s voice no less, the moth vanished in a puff of sulphur smelling smoke.
A few moments later a shout echoed through the room “Sykin ru-” the shout was cut off, as a massive *BOOM* thundered through the walls, flames licking up from underneath the door.
Sykin, already incredibly scared, jumped as soon as two light raps were issued from outside the room. Even though they were faint, the door slowly toppled into the room, revealing a smoking and heavily charred far side, embers fluttering through the air as it fell.
My master stepped in through the doorframe, eyes glowing a pale amber, looked at the shaking ruffian and with a word and a contemptuous flick sent him crashing into the wall.
He smiled at me, raised his eyebrow in the usual manner, gave a single glance around and asked “Well apprentice, are you going to sit there all night, or can we go home?”
We walked through the streets towards the Tower, the night eerily quiet, Sera still visible while Loi had gone past the roofline of the city. We walked along unfamiliar streets, a quiet settling over us.
Not the awkward kind, more akin to a tired kind of quiet, where nothing more needs to be said. After a few minutes, though I knew the silence wasn’t awkward, I felt the urge to strike up conversation, the instinct born of many awkward silences too deeply ingrained in me to ignore.
“How on Feldor did you get a moth to speak to me, Master? Or was it an illusion of some kind?” I asked, equally out of anxiety and curiosity.
“That wasn’t a moth, Kerijon. That was my familiar, Screek.” He raised his hand, to forestall my questions.
“Familiars are a wizard’s companion, a summoned being from another plane of existence, which takes on a form of the caster’s choosing. I had Screek follow you today in case anything had happened. Lucky too."
"I suspected something like the meeting in the street with that thug would happen, but I never thought it would go so far.” A troubled look crossed his face, before he continued.
“I will teach you about familiars in a few months as you won’t be able to cast the spell for some time, because it is of the First Echelon. We will go over what the Echelons are in a few days.”
We approached the entrance to the Tower, the orbs of light that seemed to perpetually light the entrance at night spilling a pale blue light into the nearby streets. As we entered and Master Moro activated what he called the ‘elevator’ he turned towards me and began to speak.
“One thing, Jon. You’re still in the calm. While you might be feeling a few things, the vast majority of your emotion are still being dissipated in the Aether. The bad news is that although those emotions are gone, when your body doesn’t react to your emotions, the body panics, and produces a chemical to help you fend off whatever is stopping you from reacting. "
"The thing is, the chemical keeps building up, until you release the calm. Basically, as soon as you let go of the calm, you’ll black out, so I recommend getting into bed before you let the calm go. Also you’ll need to-”
Unfortunately, what he had told me managed to scare me enough to undo the Calm, and feeling a simultaneous horrified fear and ecstatic joy, I blacked out.
The dreams I had that night I will never forget. Everything from beautiful, ethereal creatures, swimming past me through a grey mist, to strange and twisted looking shadowlike forms, floating dully through the void.
It was an experience that can only be described as psychedelic. The colours, shapes and strange sounds that I experienced were nothing short of otherworldly.
This barrage of insanities continued for what seemed to be hours, though I’m certain it was only a few minutes. Eventually, I was given a moment of lucidity, and recognized my surroundings as those of my mind palace.
I was standing in the doorway where I had opened my mind to the Aether. Looking around, the room was in disarray, books strewn about, tables and chairs flipped or broken. At once, I realized what had happened, I had left the ‘door’ open, and the aether had flooded my mind while I slept causing the strange dreams.
Once I had realized what was happening, I immediately swung around, only to see that same stream of multi-coloured light and sound flooding in through the door. Fortunately, one of the first few things Master Moro had covered was dream mastery, that once you had achieved the Calm, you were the master of your own mind, and it was far more difficult to invade.
By what, he had yet to mention, though I was sufficiently grateful to have some defence. The trick to being the master of your own thoughts was knowing that you were the master.
With that knowledge, I simply willed the door to close, and it slammed shut with a sharp bang. I could feel the energy that had been suffusing my mind begin to fade, and slowly my mind palace began to put itself back into place, but instead of in its original creation, in which an image of me was seen putting the books onto the shelf, or sitting on the furniture, the books began to flutter through the air, like birds, and return to their shelves, while the furniture grew limbs, and picked itself off the floor.
This type of magic was occurring throughout the mind palace, and after it seemed to be done, I tried to pull out a chair to sit on and rest, only for it to waddle out by itself and get behind me. As soon as I had sat down, tiredness overcame me, and the subconscious world faded to black.
I awoke from the void slowly, sunlight tickling my eyelids. No, wait, I was in the tower, so that was probably- Opening my eyes I saw Master Moro dozing lightly in a chair at the foot of my bed, an unpleasant expression on his face, with a glowing ball of light hovering above his left shoulder.
As I opened my eyes, a raven sitting on his shoulder cawed twice, waking him from whatever nightmare he was having. “Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” He exclaimed, righting himself in the chair.
“What happened?” I croaked, “I know I left the door open, but aside from that….”
Moro sighed, deeply “What you’ve experienced is normally done at the end of the yearlong apprenticeship, under supervision and with many safeguards in place.”
Seeing my interest, and that I was perfectly lucid, he sighed again and pulled out a pipe, packed it, and lit it with a very small flash of flame from the end of a finger.
“What happened to you is commonly called the apprentice's awakening. Since you are still with us, I’m sure you understand that you had to close the door, otherwise you would have been driven insane.”
He grimaced as he said this, before continuing “What the awakening achieves however, is extremely important, but also extremely dangerous for a new apprentice to have access to. Are you feeling up to breakfast?” He abruptly asked. After nodding, he motioned to follow him.
Getting out of bed was something of an ordeal, as every muscle in my body felt stiff and sore. Making it upright, I tentatively began to follow Master Moro to the classroom, where a loaf of bread and some cheese and milk sat on my desk.
After eating slowly, I felt some strength return, and I was ready to continue the lesson. Noting that I was ready, Master Moro began the lesson anew.
“What the apprentices awakening actually does, as I’m sure you figured out, is flood the mind with arcane energy. This energy suffuses the mind to the point where the subconscious forms a permanent connection to the Weave."
"This connection allows for the mastery of cantrips, on a subconscious level. Though you may be able to cast, and master any cantrip you can think of, this will allow you to cast some cantrips as easily as breathing. Essentially, based on how much arcane energy your mind became accustomed to, that marks how many cantrips you can embed into your subconscious."
"You’ve seen my firebolt, I require no preparation and can alter it by making it bigger or smaller, and I don't need to concentrate, or even say the incantation. This is because it is one of the cantrips I was able to embed into my subconscious."
“Why is it important to have a subconscious access to the Weave, Master?”
“Several reasons. First, it allows some spells to continue even though you aren’t concentrating on them. For the second reason, some preface is required."
"When you have cast spells before now, you were projecting your thoughts onto the Weave, and using enough willpower to enforce the change. Unfortunately, this method of casting is poor, and only allows for cantrips."
"You see what the Echelon is, is a tier system that divides wizards. I myself am of the 4th echelon. Each level, or ‘echelon’ increases the difficulty of spells by an order of magnitude."
"For each echelon, a series of things is required to become able to access that tier of spell. Therefore, the second reason you want a subconscious access to the Aether is one of the prerequisites of the First Echelon. To cast spells of the First Echelon, it is required to have a subconscious flow of Aether stabilising your spellforms.”
“So what now?” I asked tentatively.
“Well first things first, we need you to pick your cantrips. Be prudent, these choices can’t be unmade. Lucky for you, based on the length of your exposure to the Aether, which is something of a record, as far as I am aware, I think you might be able to manage several. Congratulations, I suppose.”
He winked as he said it, reassuring me that things were going to be alright.
They were not.
If the next few months could be compared to my first span, it would be like comparing an ogre to a pixie. I had chosen several potential cantrips;
Light, Firebolt, Whisper, Puppet hand, the spell Master Moro had used to pluck my spellbook from his shelf, Mirage, a cantrip which allowed a mirage to be created in a small area, a cube with roughly a few metres to a side, and finally Legerdemain, which was just to useful not to master.
I spent these months practicing these cantrips over and over, perfecting them, until Master Moro said it was finally time to attempt to embed them. I meditated in silence, entering my mind palace.
There I saw, as Master Moro had described a wall which until now was hidden from view.
On this wall there were a series of tiles, blank, as though waiting to be filled. I looked down, to see a wand in my hands. I had some practice with a wand, as they could be used in place of most components.
Lifting the wand to the first tile, I imagined a blue blade, extending from the wand a few centimetres, and began to carve the sigil for Firebolt. The concentration required to enforce a structure on the arcane energy pouring into my head was enough to drench me in sweat only a quarter hour after starting.
Over and over I traced the symbol, fixing mistakes as some energy leaked and marred the perfect sigil. Several hours later, I was done. I had completed the first step.