Parry didn't see his father for a full day, and only caught glimpses of Domo. The two were in the workshop, moving out lumber and whole tool racks, cleaning and then cleaning more deeply than any mere broom or mop could manage. When he saw them, they looked tired and serious, but also strangely unburdened. Pharryl's face reflected a serious tone, but a few lines around his eyes had eased.
"Come to the shop around noon, Parry," he said over dinner. Parry took it upon himself to braise leeks and whip potatoes with cream, causing Domo to raise an eyebrow at this sudden cooking prowess.
"Also," his father continued, "Obscure your left hand with an item you've never before worn. One of your mother's old gardening gloves will work, I suppose. Once you're in the shop, don't take it off until told."
Parry carefully kept his expression baffled but accepting. Inside, he felt relief and even gratitude.
Clearly I've yet to have the Ritual of the Second Step. That explains why some of my levels are so low. Father must have been keeping me behind as long as he could. Was the that worried about backlash?
That night Domo set the largest pot in the house (not, notably, the cauldron in the shop) on the boil, and Parry endured a bath so scalding he emerged feeling pink and raw as a radish. Even Scratch-and-Sniff had been exiled to the yard, Parry was not allowed to touch him.
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As he fell asleep, Parry considered the many, many times he'd taken the Second Step. It was common to so many magics, shaper among them.
Still, the last twenty lifetimes I'd been a mage, and their Second Step had little in common with this one. Don't fall into old habits.
At noon the next day, he stepped into the shop, which had been transformed. Gone were the chisels and lathes and the rack of drying lumber (it was outside, hopefully the rain would hold off). The rarely-used shades were drawn over the wide windows. The protective mats were rolled up against the walls, revealing a careful circle etched into the sub-floor.
"After all those times you begged and pleaded for this, Parry, you're surprisingly calm." His father stood beside the circle wearing white. Domo kept his work clothes, but they'd been cleaned.
"I feel like a different person from back then," Parry offered without irony, though he clucked at himself internally.
"They grow up so fast. Well. This is the Second Step, and after it, you'll be able to access many of the spells we'll need to construct the Divine Heart." Pharryl flinched at even saying the words aloud. "An unlocked door can swing both ways, Parry. While unlikely, you might be approached by certain powers. You know not to listen to them. If any try to force things, cry out. Domo and I will help as much as we can."
Parry stepped into the center of the circle just as noon approached. Domo handed him a chalk and a polished black slate, never used.
"To create is first to plan," his father said in a more ritualized voice, lower and very serious. "The slate is the foundation of all shaping, for upon it we draw our plans."
White light emerged from the complex circle on the floor. Parry felt his throat tightening.
"Bare your hand, take the chalk, mark your name on the slate, pour into it your magic and your soul. Today, you shape yourself."