Wyll

Ron got the three of us to sit cross-legged in a circle to attune with the artifact. Arynn seemed to be taking this very seriously, but Medea still looked like she was going to start an argument. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. A powerful sorcerer granting the secrets of his power to his apprentice was something that only happened in stories. In reality, magical knowledge needs to be earned, fought, or bartered for with those who are in a position of power over you, meaning if you only get mostly ripped off you get away lucky. I’d heard of some employees of Horizon working for years in mundane tasks just to earn the chance to see a page from their manager’s grimoire. Now, with the chance for incredible power dropped into my hands - well, floating slightly above it - I would be stupid not to take it seriously too.

But while I get lost in the boyish fantasies of power, I start to feel that creeping knot form in my stomach. I nearly died with the little power I had already. If I was as strong as Ron seemed to be and I’d lost control of that fireball like I had, would I still be alive? Would I have taken out some of my comrades in the new recruits too? With that buzzing around my mind, the artifact in my hand seemed to get hotter, and the barely healed burns on my chest and arms began to itch.

Wyll, my boy. You look like you’re diffusing a rune bomb. Ron’s voice echoed. Relax. I may have granted you use of The Artifact, but it is still under my control. It is literally impossible for you to harm yourself with magic while using it. Trust me.

“How sure are you?” I said.

Arryn and Medea both gave me strange looks.

“Huh?” mumbled Arryn, quickly turning his attention back to the crystal.

Telepathy can occasionally lead to awkward moments. Sorry.

I looked around the room for Ron and spotted him standing by the large doors at the far end of the warehouse, smoking his pipe. I could only make out his eyes since they glowed, and one of them winked at me.

I thought you might appreciate the privacy.

Can I respond? I tried to think in his direction.

Just did. Images too.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something in my mind, like a flashback. It was the Danmian skyline, with its excessive glowing advertisements and holographic signboards. The colourful lights were reflected on the Holic River, and above it all the pieces of the moon were sprinkled across the sky like silver crumbs. The image faded as fast as it came, and I realised it’s what Ron was looking at right outside.

This is amazing, and I’m so grateful, but how does this help me get out of Brimstone? I tried to send an image of me being hauled off to a dungeon somewhere, but I’m not sure if it went through.

Well, either you’ll become too powerful for them to boss around, and can go back to do whatever you like, or you’ll become too powerful for them to apprehend. Of course, there are a lot more creative solutions too. I once got out of an irresponsible broom flight ticket by making myself look like the arresting officer’s daughter.

Not for the first time, I seriously considered the nature of this person I was throwing my lot in with.

You’ll like me once you get to know me. Ron somehow sent a note of amusement through the mental link.

Crap, I didn’t mean to send that last part. I tried to end the connection, when suddenly a gasp from my right drew my attention. Arryn’s part of the artifact was now orbiting around his hand in steady circles.

“Oh my god, I’m moving it!” Arryn sounded ecstatic. “I’m doing magic!”

Medea and I shared a look. That’s what he was working on? Basic telekinesis on something this small was practiced by five-year olds for their first spell. That said, I didn’t hear him chant anything. Maybe he did it under his breath? It is well documented that the verbal component of the spell needs to be clear and properly pronounced, but not unheard of that it can be whispered for a lesser effect.

“Wonderful work, Arryn! Now, pick up your apple in the same way.” Ron ambled back over to the group, pocketing his pipe.

Each student had one of each object Ron had brought in - an apple, a small wax candle, and a glass bottle of water with a twist cap. Arynn was beaming as he squinted at the apple with a look of intense concentration.

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“Focus inwards. The artifact has already become part of you, and its power is yours. You need to simply visualise picking it up without your hands.” Ron’s voice was calm and steady as he leant in behind Arryn and stared at the apple too.

A few moments passed, when suddenly the apple started to float slowly into the air.

“I’m doing it! This artifact is amazing! To think Horizon said there was nothing that could fix my mundanity.”

Ron clapped, and suddenly the incredibly powerful artifacts floating by them crumbled into dust.

“Sorry, but they were right.”

“I knew it!” Medea shouted. “I knew that thing was bogus!”

Arryn looked devastated, staring in shock at his apple that had thunked to the ground.

“Perceptive as ever, Medea. Now, I wonder if you could also tell me how Arryn, who so far has been unable to do even basic mana shaping tests despite years of trying, was suddenly able to overcome his inabilities?”

Nobody had an answer for him then. Some people in the world, maybe one in ten, are simply unable to use magic. Some theories suggested it was a genetic defect, or a bloodline curse, or something to do with malicious spirits, but it was generally agreed that it was incurable.

Arryn especially looked conflicted. I didn’t blame him - I was so reliant on magic to make a living, I can’t imagine what he’d do without it. Seemed like more of a drawback than Medea missing her arms. Did he say he was a Scribe? Surely he doesn’t actually draw out all those scrolls by hand, right?

When nobody answered him, Ron continued. “You see, the foundation of how magic works in our society is built on a lie. There is no reason why a certain gesture and certain words could create a fireball. The reason it works is because there’s a well established precedent that that’s what those things result in. The Arcanists tell you that’s what it does, you see someone else cast the spell with that effect, and as a result you truly believe that that sequence of actions produces that result. That is the core principle of magic - conviction. If you were raised in a far off land, and they taught you the exact same sequence of actions and told you it would result in making flowers bloom, it would. As long as you believed it would do so.”

That was a lot to process. It made a strange kind of sense, but a lot of things didn’t add up.

“Hang on” I said after a moment. “But, if that’s how things work, why do spells go wrong sometimes? Even if you’re certain that the actions and words result in that specific spell?”

Thoughts of burning pain and panicked screams flashed through my mind. Ron gave me a compassionate smile.

“Fear. Simply put. If you summon fire, and fear seizes your thoughts, you start thinking about how it should burn your hands to hold fire so closely, or that it’s dangerous to wield such an explosive spell. Those fears influence your beliefs, and the spell is changed. What happened to you is unfortunately an all to common sign of breaks in one’s convictions.”

Fear? I wasn’t scared, was I? I was confident going into the training grounds. I had spent hours going over the spell so I knew it was right. I watched the senior recruits training weeks before I attempted it. I remember the buckets of water I kept nearby… Oh, I was afraid, wasn’t I? That’s why I over-prepared. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, even to myself. My own anxieties had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. But… I don’t know how easy that would be to overcome. It’s a self-fuelling cycle of fear, causing pain, causing fear.

Medea spoke up. “Surely it’s not that simple. You cast some new spells there sure, and skipped the chanting and gestures, but what’s limiting you from making yourself believe that you’re the King of Adleth, or summon a pile of gold, or more?”

“Ah, yes. Unfortunately godly powers aren’t as simple as that. Wyll mentioned Heart, Mind, Soul earlier - the widely taught three core facets of magic. It’s not quite right. I’m not one for catching mnemonics, but it’s more like… Mind, Mana, Matter. Imagine those three in a triangle, then draw a big circle around it to represent the Universe”.

Ron started scratching the triangle in a circle in the mud on the ground, but as he spoke became less and less sure I understood.

“But mana and matter are already part of our understanding of magic. You’re saying they’re more important than being strong of heart and pure of soul?”

“Oh definitely. I don’t know where they got those two from, but they don’t really mean anything.”

Wyll thought back to the brutal exercise regimes and exhausting meditation sessions he’d done with Brimstone and sighed inwardly. He’d often asked what the point of that was, and yet had mixed feelings about being right after all.

Ron looked up at our somewhat confused or disheartened faces, and stopped scratching in the mud.

“All right, how about I give you some time to digest this information. We can pick it up again tomorrow once you’ve slept on it a bit. In the meantime, see if you can achieve some kind of effect using your magic without any kind of nonsense words or wiggling fingers.”

I was dying to know more, but I was somewhat glad we were done for the day. I needed time to think about all this, and my parents were probably wondering why I was taking so long getting home from the hospital.

“Ah, I should warn you of one thing.” Ron spoke as we were getting ready to leave. “The so-called Big Three are vaguely aware of the type of magic I teach. I’m not the only one, but might I say I’m the most accomplished with it. They sorely misunderstand what it can do, and treat it like some uncontrollable force of evil. Needless to say, they’re wrong, but I would advise against sharing what we discussed today with anyone other than each other. In the eyes of the Arcanists, this unfettered method of spellcraft is known as Wild Magic, and stupendously illegal. You ought to consider that before getting in any deeper. As always, you’re free to back out whenever you please.”

Wyll felt the now familiar knot of anxiety once again. He knew this whole situation was fishy, but “stupendously illegal”? He was in enough trouble for the explosion, and was considering deserting. Now he’s rubbing shoulders with someone hunted by the entire Big Three. Any shred of common sense he had left was screaming at him to leave and never come back.

And yet…