Marzipan 1

Black Rock

“Again!”

“Again!”

“Again!”

One word had never filled Marzipan with so much dread. The rain and thunder had started an hour ago, and now her boots were full of wet, black sand. The sound of the sea crashing against the rocky shore was mind-numbing…..and she was cold. It was winter. Why were they outside?

“Again, Marzipan.” Came Magister Liang’s voice. He stood about ten feet away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes. He had worn his Vanguard set today, which had a shorter, more pleated skirt than his usual vestiments, and narrow sleeves that puffed up slightly against his bracers. His cuirass was more of a harness made of blackened drakeskin, it came off the shoulders enough to give them a pointed look. All in all, Marzipan thought he looked rather intimidating, standing in war regalia, shouting at her in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Why are we even doing this?” She protested, “When am I gonna need battle magic in the real world? Never!”

Magister Liang did not seem amused. His slender fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose as if the gesture would keep his rising irritation from being heard in his voice. It did not.

“Do you hear yourself, Marzipan?” he huffed wiping the rain from his brow, “You’re giving up before you’ve even started.”

Well, that didn’t answer her question at all. She could tell his patience was nearing its limit, and for that she was grateful. As far she was concerned, he’d be the one giving up. He always gave up in the end, too frustrated to finish the lesson.

“I’m not giving up,” she argued, “I just can’t do it. I’ve been trying for hours. And I’m cold!”

Liang shook his head, frantically waving a finger at her defiance,

“No no no no no,” he tsked, “Try it again. I used battle magic in ‘real life’ every day when I was your age-”

Saints, there he goes again. Upon consideration, Marzipan decided that she would rather suffer through more pointless training than listen to another one of Liang’s Vanguard horror stories. ‘Black Rock is an IMPERIAL NATION NOW. BEEN THAT WAY MY WHOLE LIFE. THE VANGAURD IS OVER. SORRY I’M NOT OLD-’ she wanted to scream at him. But she didn’t.

Instead, she said,

“Fine fine- just go easy this time.”

She caught a glimpse of satisfaction on her mentor’s face, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. Liang lowered himself into a combat stance once more, waiting for her to give him the okay.

“Are you ready, Marzipan?”

“Yeah yeah,” she frowned, “Let's get this over with.”

Liang pointed his middle and index finger towards the dark ground, a spark of blue magic bounced off his hand like a lightning rod. As he raised his arm upwards, the black sand lifted off of the ground, and began to churn itself into a large, dripping ball of muddy sediment.

Marzipan turned her feet out into the defensive stance. Her form was good- great, even. Her form was never the problem. It was the spellcasting. She mulled over the seal for ‘shield’ in her head again. She was sure she had it right this time. She watched in trepidation as Liang stepped back, and launched the wet sphere of sand towards her with a surge of his fist.

Time seemed to slow as she raised her hands, summoning every ounce of willpower she had, she traced the shape of the seal in her mind as she threw her palms out, praying to the Saints as she did. Shield shield shield-

She could feel it stirring inside of her. She was so close, she could feel it. She could feel it, and it hurt. It was sudden, and hot, searing her palms as if she had grabbed a pan hot off the stove. It was like the spell itself was trapped beneath her skin, unable to get out, burning her from the inside. She gasped out in pain, dropping her hands right as the sandball crashed into her.

She smacked straight onto the beachy floor, and she could have sworn she bounced once or twice. The moist, grainy texture was in her mouth and in her nose. She writhed on the ground, coughing, hitting her chest with her fist as she spat out loose sand, the air knocked clean from her lungs.

“Marzipan!” Liang shouted, running to her side with a panicked look on his usually stern face. He dropped onto his knees beside her. “What happened? Breathe-”

Marzipan would have glared, had she not been busy gasping for air. That was the hardest one yet, and she was certainly feeling it.

“I said….go easy on me!” she coughed out. “That wasn’t easy at all.”

“I am so sorry,” he said, “I really thought you had it..”

His words felt like salt in the wound. Not only did she burn herself, but he had to remind her that she failed. She pushed herself up, Liang supporting her as she got off the ground. Gently, he dusted the sand from off her back.

“I didn’t. Not even for a second,” she muttered, “and I hurt my hands.”

Liang’s eyes drifted over her burns. He scooped her hands up in his, turning them over, examining the wounds.

“Well,” he said, “It isn’t uncommon. If you rush your spellcasting you’re more likely to get hurt….” He closed his hands around hers, a faint glow emanating from between their fingers. Marzipan could feel the pain slowly ebb away. When Liang released her, the burns were gone, nothing but a feint scar left in their place.

“Thanks,” she said half-heartedly. “Sorry, I couldn’t do it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get it one day.”

“I’m the oldest apprentice in the entire tower,” she huffed tersely, “I’m fucked.”

“Language,” he scolded, “Everyone learns at their own pace.”

“Do you know any other sixteen-year-olds who are struggling to cast minor shields?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest, “I’ve been studying for three years and I haven’t learned anything. It’s pointless.”

Liang softened, resting a hand on her back to usher her off of the beach and onto the cobble road home.

“Magic is about…imposing your will upon the world, Marzipan,” he told her, “You have to want it for yourself. Find your will.”

She frowned deeply, both at his words and at the feeling of her soggy boots squishing against the stone path. “But that’s so……cryptic.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Yes,” he chuckled, crow's feet creasing near his eyes, “I don’t have a straight answer for you, my dear, I can only teach you what I know. It’s up to you to interpret it in your own way.”

That was her least favorite part about all of this. She was smart, bookish even. She spent most of her free time studying. She had memorized a hundred seals, a hundred incantations, and a hundred random facts about the history of magic, and yet she still couldn’t cast a single spell.

⦽

They were quiet for most of their walk. They took the rainforest path up the mountain to avoid cutting through town. Even though it was storming, the market was always busy at midday, and Liang was notably not a fan of crowded spaces. Marzipan stared at her mentor as he walked in front of her. She tried to imagine him at her age, a lanky and awkward teenage boy fumbling to grasp simple spells. That would have been reassuring, had it been the truth, but Liang had always been magically gifted. Everyone made sure to remind her of such. The other apprentices were always telling her how lucky she was to be studying under him, but most days she just felt like a stain on his good record. She feared she may never live up to him or his expectations.

“Hey, Liang,” she spoke up, and he slowed his gait to walk in time with her.

“Yes?”

“What made you...want it for yourself?” she asked, “How did you find your will?”

He stopped, staring down at her for a moment. She watched as his brows creased and furrowed, a flicker of an old memory passing behind his brown eyes. Then, his face relaxed.

“I was angry.” He said simply, “Angry at the world.”

“Oh.” She felt as though she were about to trip and fall into an uncomfortably personal topic, “....because of your parents?”

“Yes,” he nodded, thankfully unoffended. He started to walk again, the obsidian steps of the college coming into view up ahead. “I felt like…what happened to them was an injustice. I was angry for a very long time.”

They had spoken before about his mother and father, and about how they died. Marzipan had lost her mother as well, not in the same way, but she was just as young as he had been. They had bonded over it in the early days of her apprenticeship. “So your anger made you…better a better spellcaster?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” he laughed lightly, “Anger is a tool, Marzipan. A risky tool, but a tool nonetheless.”

“How so?”

He shrugged, “Magic is fueled by feeling. Wrath is power. It’s like fire. Harness it, and it can keep you warm, let it rule you, and you’ll burn to the ground.”

In truth, she couldn’t picture the man being angry at all, let alone wrathful. “Pardon me, but you don’t really seem like an angry kind of guy, Master Liang,” even when she tested his patience, he had never raised his voice at her- or anyone for that matter.

He laughed whole-heartedly, patting the top of her head with an affectionate hand, “I’m not a teenager anymore, darling. You’ll find that temperance is also a useful tool…one that comes with experience.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling her cloak closer to her soaked frame.

“Saints, could you sound any older?”

⦽

The Ebonar College of Spellcasting was neatly sequestered in the Highlands of Black Rock. It was a looming building made of the same dark stone that the island was named after. It was built a good two or three centuries ago, after the Celonians took power, and outlawed magic on the mainland. Marzipan didn’t grow up on the island. She was born in Chaedenspire, off the Eastern Coast, back on the mainland. Chaedenspire was warm and sunny, with rolling hills and arches of willow-woods. It was nothing like Black Rock, with its ebony sand beaches and its dark cliffs, and temperate rainforests. It was always overcast and always chilly. It took Marzipan a while to get used to living there.

She stayed in Magister Liang's dormitory in the western wing of the college. She had her own bedroom, and her own washroom (which made her feel very fancy). It wasn't common for apprentices to live with their mentors, but Marzipan didn't have any family on the island, and Liang was hardly using the space away. If he wasn't busy teaching her, he was off doing important Magister things that Marzipan wasn't allowed to be privy to.

By the time the pair had actually reached the dorm, Marzipan was exhausted. She shrugged her cloak off and hung it on the rack by the window to dry. Liang snapped at her a few times to get her attention.

"Don't track your muddy boots through my house," he said, "leave them outside, please."

She tossed them onto the porch per his request and came back inside to find her mentor putting a pot of tea on the stove.

"That smells good," she commented idly, "What is that? Ginger?"

"And honey," he hummed, "It'll warm you up. Go get changed, Nana is coming for dinner."

She smiled wide at that. Liang's grandmother was one of her favorite people, and she loved her cooking even more. "Is she staying the night?" she asked.

"Absolutely not." Liang scoffed.

Marzipan arched a brow at him in judgment, "You're going to make your nana cook for you, and you're not gonna let her stay over?"

Liang's hands went defensively to his hips, "You'll be up all night if she stays. And it won't just be one day either. Last time she was here for two weeks!"

"She's old!" Marzipan insisted, "You can't make her walk all the way home. It'll be dark! It's been storming!"

And she lived near the beach, which was all the way down the mountain. Nana was a lively ninety-year-old, but she was ninety nonetheless. Liang's lips pressed into a thin line. Marzipan watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose for the fifth time that day.

"Fine."

He did this every time. Nana would come, and he would tell Marzipan she couldn't stay. Then, when Nana insisted on going home to sleep in her own bed, Liang would beg her to stay out of 'concern for her safety.' She had come to realize that her mentor enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game that came with pointless arguments, and for the most part she found it endearing.

"Thank you," she said, "For choosing benevolence."

He narrowed his eyes, pretending not to be amused,

"Marizpan go get changed."

"Yes sir!"

⦽

Marzipan's bedroom was rather simple. She had a bed covered in warm, colorful quilts, a bookshelf, and a desk where she studied. The desk itself was an unorganized mess, for the most part. There were stacks of books and random papers cluttering its entire surface. Upon a quick once over, Marizpan noticed a small pile of mail belonging to her. Liang must have brought it in that morning.

She sifted through it. Most of it was junk that the college sent out. Informational letters and whatnot. One thing stuck out to her, though.

A letter from her father.

It had been years since she last saw him, and he never seemed to find time to write. He was a Makisian noble and her mother, Saints preserve her, had been a Sudorian woman from a Highland village not too far from the college grounds. When she was twelve, her father had paid for Marzipan to move from Chaedenspire to study there, so she could be brought up around people who ‘looked more like her’ as he had so tactfully put it.

What he didn’t understand was that Black Rock was home to more than thirty different ethnic groups, each one having its own unique culture and distinct features. Magister Liang, for example, was Ebonari. He was tall and lean and his eyes were dark and grey and mono-lidded, and he had a nose that reminded Marzipan of a nightlark’s beak, arched and elegant. The Archmage was Geddish, with a tiny button nose, and tanned skin, and hair that looked brown in the sunlight. Marzipan herself was half Sudorian, and her eyes were hooded and her hair was straight like black stalks of wheat. Everyone on Black Rock looked rather different to her, but when mainlanders saw their dark hair and coal-colored eyes, all they could tell was that they were from the island…..remnants of the Ebonar diaspora.

So despite her Father’s well-meaning, if not slightly ignorant intentions, Marzipan had practically been raised by Magister Liang and his grandmother the last five years, and as such, she spoke more Nari than she did Sudorion…..and her diet mostly consisted of fish and rice buns, rather than the spiced veggies they make in the Highlands.

She missed him, though. He was a kind man, if not a bit dull. Admittedly, she stopped writing him once it became clear that she was...magically inept. She didn't have the heart to disappoint him, and she wasn't a good liar. She frisked her desk for her letter opener, mutilating the fancy envelope. She tossed it onto the floor with abandon and skimmed over the letter.

“To my daughter,” she read out loud, “I miss you dearly blah blah blah, hope your classes are going well….send my love to your instructor…..” she sighed and set the letter down on her desk. He made no mention of plans to visit, and it put a damper on her whole mood. Now she was doomed to be homesick for the rest of the evening, she could already feel it coming on.

She changed out of her soggy clothes and set them on her clothesline to dry. Her fingers passed briefly over the bruises left from Liang’s tough love on the beach. Should of had him heal those too, She thought.

Now that the cold had left her, fatigue set in. She could hear Liang talking to someone in the main room. Nana must have arrived. She suddenly felt too tired to speak to anyone, let alone eat. She decided to spend the rest of the night in her room, and dragged herself to her bed, burying herself under the mountain of hand-stitched blankets. She listened to the muffled voices outside her door, and they lulled her into a dreamless sleep.