Aspects of young Chadwick were exactly like any other 10-year-old boy. He was a bit on the small side for his age. Being short didn’t bother him. The lack of muscles did. Especially when comparing himself to the other boys whose parents worked harder jobs. Those boys got to do the family business, out in the sun. Chadwick just got covered in ink.

He stared out the workshop window at the tall wheat grass wafting in the afternoon summer breeze, idly swirling an ink pot in his hand.

He sighed. Being a woodcutter sounded so much more enjoyable than copying the same words over and over again. He could develop some calluses. Maybe even some muscles. Mostly he just wanted to be stronger than the other boys in a fight, but he had a vague idea — from something the men would say — that women would also appreciate things like muscles and calluses. He wasn’t entirely clear why that seemed so important, but the adults certainly put a lot of stock in the idea. Women certainly seemed to scowl at the soft skin of his hands, though that may be because of the ink stains he perpetually seemed to have? The women didn’t like dirty hands. Ink-stained hands seemed to bother them more.

“I don’t hear writing, Chadwick,” said his father, Alver, from the next room. Interrupting the casual day dreaming.

The workshop itself only had two rooms, one for mixing inks and binding books — where Alver was right now. The other was dedicated to writing. With large flat surfaces where the book being copied could be kept clear of all inks and glues that might ruin it, as Chadwick dutifully scribed a copy of the original.

Chadwick had long since gotten good enough to handle most of the scribing for his father, the customers never knew the difference. As long as they got a copy of the book, it wouldn’t hurt them to know that the work wasn’t done by Alver. His father instead handled all the glues and binding processes, stating that some of those chemicals weren’t suitable for children. He never did explain why.

While Chadwick was good at the work of copying in a neat hand, it didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed it, there just wasn’t much other choice for a scrawny boy in such a small town. He either had a growth spurt very soon and could convince his father to let him take up carpentry or smithing. Or, he was stuck following in the family business. There were very few other choices in the village. Probably in any nearby villages either, but Chadwick didn’t know how they did things.

“Almost finished with this one father,” Chadwick said quietly. There wasn’t much call for loud talk in a scribe’s workshop. Delicate work requires concentration. Something Chadwick could certainly muster when there wasn’t such a temptingly beautiful day outside. During the prime fishing season no less. It was a shame Chadwick couldn’t fish for a living, that was something only the old retirees got away with. The old men always smelled of delightfully smoked fish and rather more unpleasant smoking tobacco. They seemed to like both kinds of smoke equally, even if Chadwick didn’t understand why. He didn’t understand a lot of things. He had seen enough written about the world in what he copied to know just how much of the world he didn’t know.

His father leaned backwards from the large pot of glue he was boiling and glanced at Chadwick, then out the inviting window, “once you finish, I think it might be nice if you brought home some fish. Your mother hasn’t had any decent fish to work with in some weeks.”

Chadwick’s face lit up, “I think the north stream should be cold enough by now, I’ll head up there as soon as I finish!”

His father just smiled and shook his head, turning back to his work. He knew his son well.

Chadwick glanced around to make sure his father wasn’t watching and that nobody was peeking in the large windows, then gave his fresh ink pot a swirl, concentrating on smoothing it out. He wasn’t really sure if it did anything, but he always went through the motions. It felt correct to do it.

Once, after having a bad batch of ink cause a whole page to be ruined, he had just sort of wished the ink was better. Something changed and he tried the ink again. It became the smoothest flowing ink he had ever used. He did the same thing for every new pot of ink since and had never had a page ruined by the quality of the ink again.

He was never quite sure if it was just a mindset thing from knowing his ink was now good? Superstition? A mental trick of sorts? Or, if he was really doing something to the ink. Regardless, getting the work done faster was both good for his family, and good for him if he wanted to do something more fun. So, he never skipped the step of concentrating on smoothing his ink. Just in case.

Just shy of an hour later, fast even by his father’s standards for scribing speed, he was placing the last page carefully on the rack to dry and wiping off his hands as best he could before going in the house for his fishing gear.

“I’m going fishing up in the north creek, mother,” he called out as he collected his rod and flies from the front room.

His mother, Cherie, stepped out of the pantry, dusting herself off, “your father is finished with you for the day?”

Chadwick had to choose his words carefully, he hadn’t raced through the last of the scribing work just to get stuck grinding corn, “he mentioned we hadn’t had fish in a while…”

His mother glanced back into the pantry and seemed to be scanning through a mental catalog, “those go bad soon… finished the beans yesterday… might be something in the garden ripe enough. Carrots maybe? Depends what he catches.” She seemed to snap back into the moment and realized Chadwick as still standing there, “fish isn’t going to catch itself, be back before dark!”

Chadwick just grinned and raced out the door.

The path up to the north creek followed along the edge of a lazily flowing river. Chadwick walked on the grassy side, as the other side was currently full of cut off stumps and mud. The loggers had been working their way up the river as staying close to it was the easiest way to get the large trees back down to the sawmill.

The trees right next to the river had gone first, felled right into the water. The others, further away, had their branches trimmed off first, then a team of horses on the far bank would drag the giant logs into the water. The work had cleared a large swath of trees along the far bank of the river. At a certain distance from the bank, there were trees again as the ropes from the horses couldn’t reach any further, without them crossing the deep river. It became easier to just keep going up the river instead of further into the trees.

Aside from the distance to walk to start the work day, it made no difference to the loggers how far up the river they went, it was no extra effort for a log to float another mile to the sawmill.

As Chadwick approached the small creek that fed into the main river that he planned to fish, he could hear the loggers working. He couldn’t help himself from stopping for a look. Jealousy of their outdoor life always drove him to watch and wish.

Up around the bend he law the logging team, currently working on a large tree. The boy Chadwick was most envious of, was right in the thick of it. He was currently shimmying up the giant tree with a rope tied around his waist. He would be tying it off up high so the loggers could direct the fall the right way.

His name was Mercer and he was everything Chadwick wanted to be. A good foot taller, making him almost match some of the adults for height. Tanned skin and callused hands from hard outdoor work. Already showing the muscles of a grown man.

Chadwick was fairly certain he was a lot smarter than Mercer, but that wasn’t much use to him in a scuffle behind the stables. Mercer hardly even had to try to make Chadwick eat dirt, quite literally in one case where he had been feeling particularly belligerent. Chadwick’s comments about Mercer’s brain being full of mud might have contributed to the large boy’s desire to make Chadwick eat dirt. Hard to say for sure.

Chadwick was staring in awe at the process, men already working with axes and big saws while Mercer climbed fearlessly. This is what he wanted.

“You got that damn rope on yet boy?” Called out Mercer’s father, Bothe. A giant of a man with an equally large temper. Seeing the two together, there could be no doubt that Mercer was his son. Like two peas in an exceptionally large pod.

“Last knot now Da’,” Mercer said, looking down from his task for the first time. After he looked from answering his dad he spotted Chadwick watching from the bank. “What are you looking at inky?!”

The words shook Chadwick out of his reverie, but not in time to prevent him jumping with an embarrassing squeal when a branch Mercer had thrown from the top of the tree gave a big splash right in front of him.

The men all laughed at the display and even Mercer’s father gave a chuckle before shouting up, “you ain’t got time to be messing with people who do women’s work, if that rope is tied then get down here and start on the next one.”

Chadwick went red, both at his own childish reaction and the words of Bothe. As much as he wished he could do something more practical, he would never fit in with men who considered his family’s trade to not be real work. Even though Chadwick’s father was one of the wealthiest men in the town. It was extremely unfair.

Rather than risk something worse than slightly cruel words, Chadwick turned and ran up the stream until he was out of sight. He was still flushed with embarrassment when he got to his favorite spot, but quickly forgot about the loggers when he opened his flies.

One of the things a scribe's hands turned out to be good at was creating flies. The delicate, often fiddly work, was beyond most men in the village. The success rate of his creations was his pride and joy. Even the old men would come see him for his springtime midge flies.

He brushed his hands over the various fake insects and worms he had created. Selecting a light brown one that closely matched the bugs currently swarming over the river.

He carefully rigged up his long rod that was made from a beautiful sample of the springy wood that grew further up in the mountain. He had found this particular tree himself and spent several weeks with old Jed, learning how to turn the rough wood into the light flexible work of art in front of him. Jed had to help him fix on the metal loops, but he had made him do the rest, stripping off the bark, smoothly it out and carefully removing material from different sections until the rod gave a satisfying whipping motion when cast.

With still a few hours of daylight left, he cast his first fly into the water and started working his way up the stream. Once he forgot all about the loggers and was fixed on watching the little fly float down the stream, it became a perfect afternoon. It was made even better by the excellent catch he was getting.

He had to return a few too-small fish, but had four very respectable speckled trout by the time he realized the sun was already setting. Far too late he also realized that he was a good twenty minutes from home, even at a run.

Cursing at forgetting to pay attention to the time, he quickly removed the line from his rod and carefully packed his flies away. Even when in a rush, it was delicate equipment and he had to do everything slowly.

He strung the fish over one shoulder, rod over the other and started racing back down the hill and following the stream. These woods weren’t known to have anything particularly dangerous, but children were strictly forbidden from being out after dark. Some rules, like how often to bathe, could be broken without much repercussion beyond a scolding. Being out after sundown was not one of those rules.

When he approached town, he was suddenly worried. Everyone was gathered in the square. One of the only other times they had done that was when the Gernson twins went missing. Everyone had met in the square so the mayor could assign everyone a location to search.

He had a sudden worry this might have happened because he was back late. Surely it wasn’t that late yet? He knew where his mother and father were likely to be, at the shopfront that faced into the square. So, he came around the back of the shop. Just to avoid being noticed.

His plans didn’t go well though as he could hear the mayor saying loudly, “we are just missing young Chadwick, barely at the age cutoff, surely we don’t need to delay any longer?”

Chadwick gulped. This wasn’t a search party for him then. But, somehow, he had kept everyone waiting.

A voice he didn’t know answered, “no exceptions. Everyone over 10 that was not checked last time I came, will need to be tested.”

“But,” began the mayor, “you haven’t found a magic user in our town in 30 years, sir mage. Surely this…,” the mayor paused when he saw Chadwick step up next to his parents, “ah, never mind. There he is now. This is everyone in the village.”

The man the mayor had called “sir mage”, had on an assortment of leather traveling clothes and a large belt that had equally large pouches hanging off it. The belt looked extremely sturdy and the pouches swung like they weighed a lot. He looked almost annoyed at the whole village lined up waiting on him when he said, “good. We can finally get started. Have everyone over ten who has never been tested line up.”

The man just stood there. Waiting on the mayor to carry out his orders. Chadwick had no idea who this stranger was that so casually ordered around the most important man in the town. Mayor Gunders certainly didn’t seem offended. In fact, he was efficiently sorting the children and teenagers into a line. If anyone else had taken that kind of tone with the mayor, there would have been more than just a vicious tongue-lashing doled out by the mayor.

He beckoned Chadwick over last and said quietly, “not a good time to be home late, Scribe”. The mayor had almost never said anything directly to Chadwick. He knew the man was prone to taking out his annoyance on the parents of misbehaving children. Every child in the village knew it was one of their jobs to steer well clear of the mayor. Their parents had taught them that young. He didn’t seem to have a worse temper than others. He just made people’s lives miserable if he was annoyed. Chadwick very quickly handed his fishing gear and the day’s catch over to his father and rushed to the line. Trying to avoid annoying the mayor any further.

Whether by design, or some favoritism, everyone chosen was lined up tallest to shortest. Mercer wasn’t at the front of the line, since there were some 16 and 17 year olds in the mix. Still, he was ahead of even some of the 15 year olds. Quite a gap considering he was only just 11. Chadwick was dead last. He had only had his 10th birthday a month ago. Whatever this was about, he only just made the age cutoff.

One at the time, the mayor ushered people from the line in front of the stranger and made them sit on a log someone had rolled over next to the main fire pit in the center of the village.

The man would step up in front of them, put a necklace of some kind over their head, ask them a question, take it off and send them on their way.

Not until he got down to the last three people could Chadwick hear the question being asked.

“Have you ever used magic?” Was all he asked.

Everyone said, “no” and then he took the necklace off and dismissed them. It was very unusual.

Chadwick had only ever heard magic mentioned once by his mother in passing, right after the Gernson twins had disappeared. She had thought Chadwick was asleep, but he caught the words, “the idea that twins automatically means magic is present has always been nonsense as far as I’m concerned, but them choosing to run makes me wonder if there isn’t something to it…”

If magic would mean the twins had to run away, surely someone would just lie when this man came asking? Chadwick knew what he would say now. Even if he had a niggling idea that his ink smoothing might be something. That wasn’t really magic. Just a mental trick.

Finally Chadwick was the last in line and the stranger still just looked bored.

“C’mon kid, last one. Let’s get this over with so I can go have a drink,” said the man. His voice a bit tired.

Chadwick realized he was still just standing there, so he rushed up and sat down. The man seemed mostly disinterested as he stepped in front of Chadwick, placing the same necklace over his head. The loop was quite large and made of some dull grey metal that was cold on his neck. The pendant hanging from it was white in the middle with angular symbols on it. It looked like it was made of bone.

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The man asked the same question he had asked all the others, “have you ever used magic?”

Chadwick knew he would say no. He had decided that when he first heard what the man was asking. He opened his mouth and out came the word, “yes”.

The man immediately went from seeming bored to striking like a snake. His hand flew out and touched the white piece hanging on the necklace. Touching his finger to one of the lines. A few nearby adults who could hear Chadwick gasped and reflexively backed away.

Chadwick sat shocked. He was going to say no. Why did he say yes?

Suddenly the large loop of metal on the necklace was shrinking. Was this guy going to kill him on the spot?! Chadwick hurriedly tried to say he had never done magic. To correct the obvious mistake. But all that came out was “I have done magic.”

What was happening to him? These weren’t his words. All the same, he knew the words he was saying were true.

He tried to reach up and remove the necklace, but the man held his arms down while the necklace kept shrinking. Right before it seemed like it would shrink too far, the man took his hands away and stepped back with a sigh. The necklace was now snugly around Chadwick’s neck.

“He comes to the tower,” he said. Much louder this time so the whole town could hear. A wave of whispering and gasps ran through the village adults. The children all just looked puzzled.

Chadwick had no idea what this meant, but apparently his father did. Because he screamed, “no, not my boy!” And started running towards Chadwick.

The stranger just sighed, stood between Chadwick and his father and braced himself to intercept him. Before Alver reached the stranger, Bothe stepped in front of Alver.

Chadwick’s father might be quite a bit bigger than Chadwick himself, but he was still a good two feet shorter than the monstrous logger, Bothe.

There was a loud snap as Chadwicks rod smashed into fragments. It had still been in Alver’s hand and simply fell apart when he ran into the immovable Bothe and bounced off again.

“You know the rules, Scribe,” was all Bothe said. He didn’t seem at all angry with Alver. If everything, he almost seemed sympathetic. An unusual look for the giant man who was so known for his surly attitude.

Mercer was standing off to one side and at first seemed amused by seeing Chadwick’s prize rod destroyed, but even he seemed put off by seeing how his giant father was treating Chadwick’s father. His face just changed to one of confusion. Something Chadwick could understand at that moment.

Bothe actually reached out and helped pick up the man he had just flattened, patting him on the shoulder, “you likely don’t have long to say goodbye. Make the best of it instead of us needing to restrain you.”

Alver seemed defeated, but nodded. Straightening himself up and turning to the stranger who had now relaxed back into his bored stance, “how long do I have with my son, sir mage?”

“As much as I don’t like this part of the job, the rules exist for a reason. I’ll be leaving within the hour. This one will not be let out of my sight until then,“ he motioned his head towards the still seated Chadwick.

Alver straightened up, “I had a few things I’d like to send with him.”

The stranger nodded, “I’ll need to re-pack everything I just unpacked from my cart. You have until that is finished.”

Alver stepped much more carefully over to Chadwick, the entire village’s eyes on the two of them as he quietly said. “I’m sorry we didn’t warn you about this. I thought we had another year at least before a tester would come all the way out here. They will be taking you to train as a mage. It’s a law of the kingdom, we can’t say no.”

Chadwick was going white, “but, how will I see you and mother?”

Alver just shook his head sadly, “once you are a full mage. Perhaps you will get to do the rounds of testing through the villages. Parents are not allowed at the tower. I’m afraid you might be a man by the time we see you again my son.” There were tears in his eyes at the end.

Chadwick’s mother had now made her way through the crowd and seemed much more stoic than Alver.

“I’ll need to pack you a warm wardrobe. We only have one bag big enough for you to take. I will take care of this while your father stays with you. Be strong son, the mages are the ones that protect the kingdom. You will be doing your family proud,” she said, then turned and marched into their house, on a mission.

“Your mother deals with things differently,” said Chadwick’s father, shaking his head at her back disappearing into the house.

Chadwick was still slightly in shock, but managed to ask, “what did she mean by protecting the kingdom?”

“Ah, something we rarely see out his far from the Siyene border, is wraiths. Magical creatures that appear and wreak havoc in villages. Then disappear again. The Siyene people summon them. When they go too far, we send mages in to eradicate their shamans. For a time, the wraiths disappear. Eventually more Shamans are born from their people and it starts all over again,” answered his father.

“So, I’ll have to go fight these shamans? But, I can’t beat Mercer in a fight. I can’t beat any of the kids my age…,” said Chadwick, looking increasingly worried. Hints of tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ah, I know this much about the tower you are going to. That’s where mages train. You will be taught to use your magic and how to fight, you will be armed with knowledge. Mages need a sharp mind, not muscles,” Alver assured him.

Chadwick felt his panic abating slightly, he knew he was smarter than those his age. Probably even smarter than a lot of the adults in the village. He certainly knew larger words than anyone but his father. If brains were what was required to be a mage, he might just be ok.

With his father knowing nothing else about the tower or mages that hadn’t already been covered, they started talking about the future. How he could write to them. How often. How to find one of the messengers that could be trusted to get a letter to them.

Simple, dull logistics kept them both distracted from the inevitable end of the hour they had left.

In the background all the village boys had been tasked with helping the mage get his things out of the inn and load his cart back up. The mage was overseeing and making sure they packed it to his satisfaction.

The mage would glance back over occasionally and look at Chadwick, then make the boys unpack everything they had already added and pack it again differently. Chadwick was oblivious to this, but Alver gave the man a look of thanks for his deliberate slowness. Giving them a little more time.

Chadwick’s mother came marching back out of the house, hair looking slightly frazzled, but holding a large leather pack. She got stopped briefly by Bothe on the way over. Chadwick couldn’t see what was happening past the frame of the giant logger. But after a short moment he stepped away and Cherie stepped up to her son.

“I packed you an assortment of warmer clothes, some of your tools and scribing equipment and some foods that will travel well,” she announced to Chadwick as she walked up.

She seemed almost like she was unaffected at first, but as she looked down at her son, still sitting on the log. He was looking up at her imploringly to not let his life be uprooted. Her lip started to tremble.

She placed the pack down and then almost fell onto her knees to hug Chadwick, letting out a small sob. She considered herself a practical woman. Not prone to silly emotional outbursts. Now that her task was complete and she had presented the full pack to her son, that all went out the window.

Not once did Chadwick’s parents mention anything about him not going. Perhaps running away right now wasn’t possible with the whole village still out to watch. Though a lot of the women seemed to have disappeared. Chadwick wondered if they were organizing an escape? Or, more likely, none of them cared that he was going and they had just gone home to get on with their chores. This wasn’t their problem, none of their children were being taken.

He made promises about writing, that he would wear warm clothes and wouldn’t let himself get too skinny. If they weren’t feeding him well enough, to be sure to write that so his mother could send him some proper food.

At one point Alver rushed into his workshop and returned with a quill, sealed ink bottle and enough sheets of paper to write back and forth for years, if they were sparing. He gently stored them in the pack that Cherie had prepared.

When the cart was finally loaded to the mage’s satisfaction, he stomped over, “I’ve delayed as long as I can. Say your final goodbyes.”

His statement produced a fresh sob from Cherie. The parents stood Chadwick up and brushed him down to make his clothes more presentable.

“Now, you listen to your new teachers and Mage Sloan. You can’t get a safer travel companion. And what those in the tower teach you could save your life as I understand it. No daydreaming, yes?” Alver said to his son.

Chadwick nodded along and then the mage cleared his throat, obviously ready to go.

Before the mage could say anything though, the mayor stepped up, “I’m afraid there is just one more short delay sir mage.”

The mage looked annoyed, but then saw the line of women coming out from their nearby houses. Each carrying wrapped packages. Their husbands stepped up to join them and a procession of couples approached the waiting family.

Some had words of encouragement, but every one of them handed over a wrapped package. Each one smelled delicious. Chadwick was very wrong about the women of the village. Apparently the ink on his hands was not as big a sin as they made it out to be. If the women were giving you food, they approved of you. This was a core belief for Chadwick.

The mayor looked on approvingly, “we can’t very well send one of our own to fight our battles without at least making sure he is well fed.”

The mage just sighed and waited. Nothing would stop one of the village women if they had decided someone needed food. Theirs being a village that never struggled for supplies, food was something everyone was generous with. It perhaps helped that Chadwick was such a skinny boy and obviously in need of some fattening up.

One of the husbands had smartly provided another pack so that the packages wrapped in leaves and sometimes brown paper could be neatly stacked into it.

One of the last couples was Bothe and his wife Clara. One of the tallest, and prettiest, women in the village. She handed over a whole pie with a smile.

“You may be a scrawny kid, but mages need smarts, not muscles. And who knows, you have a lot of growing to do. So, you get out there and make our village proud. Show those Siyene bastards that they don’t trifle with those from West Arc village,” Bothe said directly to Chadwick.

It was far and away the nicest thing the large man had ever said to Chadwick, or perhaps anyone.

“Oh, I’m sorry about the rod kid, but I put what you will need in the pack. Not sure you will get much time for fishing though,” added Bothe.

Chadwick had forgotten about his prize rod in all the confusion, it seemed far less important now. It still stung considering the time he had put into it. He wasn’t sure what Bothe meant about what he would need being in the pack. But he nodded his thanks all the same.

Bothe and Clara had been the last of the procession of people coming to present Chadwick with food. Alver turned to the crowd, talking loudly enough for the whole village, “West Arc village has done one of its own proud today. Thank you all for ensuring my son gets a proper send-off. He has promised to write and I will be sure to let you know that each of your gifts was put to use.”

“I’m sure he will become a mage that we can be proud of,” the mayor added in, also addressing the whole village, “now, let’s help the lad with his gear and get him onto the cart. The good sir mage has been patient enough with our traditions.”

Several of the men collected the packs and then the whole crowd was moving towards the cart. Chadwick and his parents were front and center.

The mage finished directing the men on stowing Chadwick’s belongings, his entire life now summed up to two large packs. The mage climbed up on the driver's seat and Alver lifted his son up next to the mage.

The mage looked down at Chadwick’s parents, “I will make sure he writes.”

The parents both nodded their thanks and then held each other, looking at their son for possibly the last time.

“Be the best mage you can be, son,” said Alver.

Chadwick nodded, tears once again almost forming, “I will. Goodbye father. Goodbye mother.”

His parents gave him one final hug and then the mage clicked his tongue at the horses in front of the cart and they started a slow walk out of the village.

The village erupted in noise, some shouting their farewells, others words of encouragement or cries to battle against the Siyene enemies at the border. Some just waved. It wasn’t enough to outweigh the fear of leaving his home, but the response from the village helped ease the worries.

The cart made it around the bend and the mage sighed. He pulled out a pipe and began filling it. The horses mostly steering themselves to follow the slowly winding road. It was full dark now, but the moon was still bright enough for travel.

The mage carefully packed his pipe and then fished some strange rocks out of his belt. A noise and a bright spark lit up the sky and then the pipe was lit. Chadwick couldn’t see how this had happened exactly. There were two different colored stones, and then fire. He had seen people use flint and tinder before. But this was much quicker and brighter. It came with none of the swearing that usually seemed to accompany lighting a pipe.

After a long draw and exhale of smoke, the mage spoke, “I always hate the goodbyes. Never gets easier, even after 20 years of collecting mages.”

Chadwick didn’t know what to say to this, but the mage continued talking, “best get the necessities out of the way. First, I am Mage Sloan. You will address me, and any other mages at the tower as Mage, or Mage Sloan, or their appropriate title, though you would use their name in place of mine. Mage is a title earned by those who have completed certain… milestones.”

“Ok. I mean, yes Mage Sloan,” answered Chadwick.

“Good, you got that one easy enough,” said the mage, “the next thing is this. I’m going to explain a simple system of importances. A one through five scale. One being the least important. A five being the most.”

“I’ve heard the mayor use something similar once for orders of business during a town meeting, Mage,” said Chadwick.

“Good, that makes this next bit easier. I want you to place each thought you have, or thing that is occurring in the world around you, onto that scale. Something like a thought about breakfast would be a one. But hunger that is becoming a problem for you in being able to continue traveling might be a three. Hunger bad enough that you might collapse, is a five, do you follow me so far?” Asked Mage Sloan.

“Yes, Mage,” said Chadwick tentatively.

“Ok. More examples might be if something was threatening our lives. Or if a bandit was about to take you away. Those would also be a five. What I want from you is to tell me immediately if there is anything of a four or five on that scale. With the scale being focused on anything that would stop you from arriving at the tower, or considerably slow down our journey,” finished Mage Sloan.

Chadwick seemed to consider this for a moment before asking, “so signs of a horse going lame, or a large enough ditch to damage the cart might be a four? But a cliff face giving way while we are on the cart could be a five?”

“Exactly. Others to consider are things like people coming to ‘rescue’ you from having to go to the tower. If you learn of any attempt to take you away from me, that is a five. With that in mind, is there anything you need to tell me?,” asked Mage Sloan.

“No,” Chadwick responded. Oddly he found he didn’t even get a moment to consider. The word just rushed out of him.

“No words from your parents or other villagers that make you think they would try and sneak you away before you make it to the tower?,” the mage asked, looking directly at Chadwick now.

“No, Mage,” said Chadwick. Again, the same sensation of words just rushing out.

Mage Sloan relaxed back into his seat after that, “good. It’s always inconvenient when I need to deal with that. I don’t want to hang anybody from your village after such a nice display at the end there. Many are scared of those with magic. In other villages you might have been practically chased out with stones.”

Chadwick gulped at the words ‘hang anybody’, “has that happened before?”

“You see the best and worst of people in my line of work young lad, let’s leave it at that,” answered the mage.

They rode in silence for a while before Chadwick’s curiosity got past the overwhelming feelings from the day’s events, “Mage Sloan, what can you tell me about where we are going? How far do we have to travel? What does it even mean to be a Mage?”

Mage Sloan seemed to settle in and began talking like he was giving a speech he had rehearsed a thousand times, “the trip to the tower is about three weeks. The tower itself is mostly a school. Though I imagine you didn’t have one of those in a village as small as yours.”

Chadwick wasn’t sure what he meant by small, there were over 200 people in the village. How many more could you fit in one place?

“What it means to be a mage and what I can tell you about the tower are almost the same answer. It is… a bigger building than any you have likely seen. If you took a thousand of the largest building in your village, it would still be larger. All the Mages and students live within the tower. What you will learn is a little different for every mage, but the tower's purpose is to teach you how to become a mage,” the mage said. He was on a roll now but still seemed fairly bored with the whole speech.

Chadwick just nodded along, wanting to learn everything he could. If his mind was to be his weapon, he needed to get sharpening it.

“Being a mage is about learning to use your power. The students are simply those who have not learned how to fully use it yet,” continued the mage.

“What do you mean by power?,” Chadwick interrupted.

“The answer is a little different for every mage, you will have an affinity for a certain thing. It might be an element, like stone, light or fire. It could be something harder to quantify, like the future, or emotions,” answered the mage. Even this part of his answer still sounding like a rehearsed speech.

Before Chadwick could answer anything else, the mage reached into one of the large sacks on his belt and pulled out a fist-sized grey rock.

“I, for example, am a Stone Mage,” said the mage then held out his palm flat and the stone floated up into the air.

Chadwick gasped with amazement and then started moving his head. Trying to spot what was holding up the stone. He had seen a magician once and loved trying to spot how the tricks worked. This one didn’t seem to be a trick as far as he could see.

The mage had a grin on his face at seeing Chadwick’s reaction, “you won’t find any hidden strings boy. This is real magic.”

Chadwick continued to stare with awe at the stone just casually floating in the air, “will I be able to do that?”

“Something similar no doubt, it depends on what you have an affinity for,” the mage turned to look directly at Chadwick, “what did you do with the magic you have already done?”

“I fixed the ink,” said Chadwick. He wasn’t even sure where the answer came from. Something was odd with the way he would answer when the mage looked directly at him like that, but he couldn’t put his finger on it and quickly forgot about it.

“Hmm, never seen an ink mage before, but it isn’t certain that’s what your main affinity is either. Ink is made up of numerous things and you might have been affecting some portion of it. There have also been purely ‘liquid’ mages before,” mused the mage.

“How will I know what type of mage I am?” Asked Chadwick.

“You won’t earn the title of Mage for a number of years, but the type of magic you have is something we will test for. The dean of students will help you to discover the exact thing. Many already know before they arrive, but usually those are ones with a simple type of magic,” answered the mage.

When he didn’t get any further questions from Chadwick, he looked over and saw that his eyelids were starting to droop.

“I plan to keeping us moving throughout the night, you should climb into the back and sleep, student Chadwick,” the mage said to him.

Chadwick nodded and yawned, climbing over the back, the frantic night finally catching up with him. He was out and asleep before Mage Sloan fished out a blanket to throw over him.

Mage Sloan puffed on his pipe and settled in to keep an eye on the night, his senses extended for any interesting stones his magic could detect. He liked to collect a new stone for each new mage he collected.