Kayetan

Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise

I know how valuable the work I’ve done over the past few days is. If not the drawings themselves, then at least the data I’ve gathered about how the power of the Magic varies according to how much heart is poured into the ancient words will ensure that Master Iacopor will keep me as an apprentice. Maybe even a personal assistant, and shortly an esteemed colleague at the Council. It is all within reach, I think with a little smile. But still, I’m nervous.

I haven’t had time to work on the Vorvalus symbol yet. It still stands, my Magic to keep it upright had held, but there’s still a chip missing and when I walk through the hall, I can almost hear the scars running across the smooth surface call out at me. And I’ve dreamed at least seven ways in which Elrick rats me out — I can almost hear his words too.

At least Master Iacopor isn't made aware of certain kisses. That’s something to cling to. If Melena had wanted to tell on us, she would have done it by now.

Thinking about the kiss and about the intimacy of when I performed the Magic on her, makes my breath unsteady and my cheeks heat up. Swallowing seems impossible, but my throat is so dry that I have to do something.

Concentrate. Present your findings in a coherent way. I’ve practiced what I wanted to say, but my mind has gone blank. Hopefully the words will find me again. They have to.

Footsteps in the hallway. Hasty, not particularly angry — yes, I’m still analyzing Master Iacopor’s behavior in fear of the other shoe having been dropped. Will that ever stop? Well, not as long as I vividly remember the feel of Melena’s lips on mine. I can still see the golden hue around her and it reminds me of that weird, wonderful afternoon every single time. If I hadn’t startled her by kissing her too soon, what could have happened between us?

I snap myself out of this so fast that I almost give myself a shake. Right. Only speak of the task and the outcomes. Show Master Iacopor how the Magic works. Explain about the heart’s energy and how leaving the heart out makes the Magic unstable — it’s clearly visible in the patterns.

I breathe in heavily. Show him that I really know what I'm doing.

Elrick is sitting next to me, a bowl of scrawny excuses for peas in front of him on the table. He doesn’t look at me, but I can see the outline of a little tendon at his jaw. He’s nervous too. Like it’s exam day all over again.

His nervousness should calm me down, but it only adds to my agitation. Will my work be enough?

Master Iacopor swoops into the room, filling the space with an energy that is thick and slightly oppressive. I take a deep breath and find it doesn’t come easy. Even relaxing my face is difficult, and despite my deep belief that Melena hasn't breathed a word about our kiss, my heart races.

“Elrick. Kayetan.” Master Iacopor wastes little time with small talk, as usual. “I’m very curious to learn about your progress. Elrick, tell me what you’ve found out and what you’re working on.”

Elrick clears his throat, and I can't help but remember the audible mess my fellow Masterling left me to clean up after him a few days ago. If I turn my attention to it, I can still feel the damage that has been done to my eardrums.

“Well,” Elrick starts. “I’ve been working on finding ways to make the seeds sprout faster and grow stronger, like you asked. I went with your theory on how powerful words might nourish the seedlings, and I tried several ways of keeping the seeds under the influence of the Magic.”

Master Iacopor nods intently.

“The spells you found in the old books were of varying quality. One of them took my interest, and I tried different ways of keeping the spell in place. One of those was very promising.”

He stands up as if he actually has something to show. I can hardly believe Elrick has made much progress. Though there hasn't been another instance where I had to step in and save the windows from cracking, I also haven't seen vines growing everywhere or had to navigate a hallway filled with branches or leaves. But even if I know we’re not competing, I feel apprehensive. How well did he do? How well do I have to do?

Elrick places his bowl of pitiful peas in front of Master Iacopor. “I’ve collected the worst peas I could find just so I could demonstrate the effect,” the boy says. “Three words are enough to make wonderful Magic happen.”

“Don’t just tell me about it, show it.” Master Iacopor sounds a bit tired, and hurried.

“Yes. Right. Er…” Elrick wavers a bit. “Let me just…” He starts mumbling the words that I also know. Live, grow, thrive. They are simple enough, but I can feel how small they are kept as Elrick speaks them. There is so much more to do, to feel. What would happen if Elrick truly believed, with all his heart, and would speak the words with emotion and conviction? Can I suggest such a thing tactfully, so it won’t seem like I’m trying to steal Elrick’s thunder? Or talk down at him? If he squeals…

I keep my mouth shut. At least for now. And I’ll stay calm. Maybe he’ll reach a conclusion on his own after I’ve finished sharing my results. I don’t need to steal any thunder. It will happen naturally, without me even trying, because my research is ground-breaking. I suppose that’s why Master Iacopor has invited Elrick to speak first — always go out with a bang, somebody said once. I will blow Master Iacopor away.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A second incantation rolls off Elrick’s lips, something that binds the original words in time and space: the space locked in just about a hand’s length above the bowl, the time stretched out so that the energy emitted from the first incantation flows to the bowl in a slow and steady wave.

Why keep it this slow? The effect of uttering any word will probably stay the same, the impact isn’t dependent on speed but on energy. If anything, I would have put the ancient words on repeat and have them build on each other somehow, having new Magic ooze out of them with every repetition.

Elrick has chosen another way, that’s clear. He now eyes his Magic as if he’s looking for the part that will break down first, and it takes a while for him to look up again. The peas are still the same. Meager, unsightly drops of something that shouldn’t become food, and not be planted into soil either.

“So?” Master Iacopor demands.

“It takes some time,” Elrick says. His cheeks are a bright pink now, and his voice is trembling just a bit. So much for the hotshot he pretended to be in school.

“Very well,” Master Iacopor says, not without some reluctance though I can tell he’s trying to be mild. “Kayetan, what have you been keeping yourself busy with?”

The excitement rises in me and I clear my throat. When I catch Master Iacopor’s eyes, I’m reminded of Melena and a jolt of joy makes my stomach tingle. Thoughts of her feel like some secret source of power within me. She softly hums in my heart. Like true Magic is supposed to.

I only notice that I am smiling when Elrick gives me a funny look.

“Oh, er, yes. I’ve made great progress with the determination of energy patterns and I have categorized a multitude of words and their weave, so to speak. I’ve also been experimenting with what I can only describe as truth: I’ve proven without a shadow of a doubt that Magic needs to be casted from the heart.”

“Hm-hm.” I notice Master Iacopor hums quite contently — I feel stronger for it, and for the interested look he’s giving me. “Can you elaborate?”

“Of course, Master.” I take two of my templates and lay them side by side. “This one on your left is merenth, when spoken quite mindlessly. On the right, it was spoken from the heart. You can clearly see the difference in both drawings; this one on the left is more lax. The sand seems to resist forming neat lines, the curves are also a bit flatter, and overall it feels — lacking a better word — lazy.”

“Yes, clearly,” Master Iacopor says. The gleam in his eye turns to interest, and I can't help but feel proud of that.

“This was not a one-off feat,” I continue. “I’ve run the test with every single word that I documented, and the patterns behaved exactly the same every time. The more emotion is involved, the more synchronized the pattern, the more effective the Magic.”

Master Iacopor nods. “And the patterns themselves? Have you noticed any similarities between words and meanings?”

“I have,” I say, as I grow more enthusiastic about sharing this with every word I speak. “Words having to do with vision have a strong outer ring and are symmetrical on four points. Things that have more to do with inner principles, like for instance Áylon, tend to be more intricate and have an elaborate set of lines and curls that are repeated many more times than four. Áylon even has thirty-six axes that all maintain symmetry.”

“Nice…” Master Iacopor picks up the drawing for Áylon, the one that represents the word from the heart, and I feel a slight blush creep over my cheeks.

“Wonderful work,” Master Iacopor says. He points at a prominent line in the drawing. “I’ve seen this curve before.”

“Yes,” I say. “So have I. If you’ll allow me just a few seconds, I can…”

I rummage through my pile of drawings.

“Oh!” Master Iacopor exclaims, and I quickly look up. What has the Master discovered?

“Well done,” he says. Not to me, but to Elrick. “Just look at those peas!”

I do, even if it’s reluctant. All the paleness has lifted from them; not even a hint of yellow and brown remains. The bowl is filled with scrawny peas that have started sprouting little roots.

“This is amazing.” Master Iacopor seems in awe.

My throat clenches. How can the Master be so happy with a simple feat as making some peas grow faster? Of course live, grow, and thrive would make the peas behave this way. This is as easy as changing the color of a leaf or whispering a word into somebody’s ear over a hundred paces away.

“Kayetan, what would you expect the outcome to be if we not only sprinkle the ancient words over the peas but also feed them the energy pattern?”

I have to blink and shake my head just a bit to have this question really sink in. “You mean drawing the pattern and placing it underneath the pot?”

“Or applying it to the wall, or inside the pot, or…”

“Well, I cannot be sure, but…”

“For I really felt the love when I held your drawing of Áylon.”

“Thank you,” I start, but Master Iacopor is already moving on.

“What a blessing it would be to feed more people with ease. Elrick, this research might change the future of mankind.”

I could not have been more perplexed if I had been slapped in the face. I can't even interject — I simply feel put outside of the game, and I don't like it one bit. Elrick is growing more smug with every word Master Iacopor speaks. They even take a few peas and examine the roots and stems that are now sprouting everywhere, and Master Iacopor summons a few pots with soil and everything to plant the peas in. He commands me to plant the darn seedlings and asks Elrick to place the spell on them once more, to see if the process will speed up even further.

The disappointment in my stomach slowly turns into anger. My hands clench into fists, my lips become taut. This is unbelievable. How has Elrick become the hero of the day? What happened that I’ve been reduced to someone assisting Elrick to sprout some plants? I dig into the soil with more vigor than I need to, sending lumps of earth everywhere.

Master Iacopor is going on and on about the wonderful things that will come of this research, how everybody in the world will benefit from this. As if my accomplishments won’t change the world. As if not every Mage on the face of this earth will grow into their full capability by using the insights that I am collecting right now. My research makes the Magic better, makes every bit of it hit its target. Accuracy and efficiency might be increased tenfold. How much good will that do the world?

But people might not see. People rarely see what is in front of them, even when it is hiding in plain sight. Could I make the effects of my work more obvious? How could even the stupidest of people benefit from…

“Master Iacopor?” I say.

“Yes?”

“I’ve discovered more than just the patterns.”

Master Iacopor looks at me, a bit of annoyance glistening in his eyes. “What?”

“The patterns are a way of showing Magic. The distance is irrelevant. Using this technique, we could make sending messages across the world possible at the speed at which the words are spoken.”

Master Iacopor blinks. Just once.

And then he drops the tiny pea-plant he’s been holding and walks over to me. The hand on my shoulder is warm and, in a way, heavy. “This is why I hired you,” Master Iacopor says. “You are brilliant.”