The days after their audience with Elder Garland were slow. They were escorted out of the grand hall after the exhibition duel, except for Lunden and Amycus. Lunden and Amycus stayed back, talking with the treant. As to what the topic of their conversation was, Ben could do nothing but guess.

Briacco wasted no time in showing Ben to his lodgings. An empty hut next to the ones the Lupari were staying in, it was simple in design and Spartan in furnishing. To Ben, the sheer amount of space was a luxury compared to how they had crammed on top of each other at St. Dunsany’s.

A layer of straw covered the floor, compacted by the weight of countless footsteps. The hut, grown and not a manmade structure, had smooth wooden walls punctuated by two perfect ovals that served as windows. There was a single chair beside a small, rounded desk, and a bed woven out of reeds. A cozy warmth permeated its interiors, no doubt the product of magic, as Ben could not find any heat sources.

He didn’t have much to do in the way of passing time, so he tried to train his focus to be able to cast Void Push at will. Witnessing his futile attempts, the Lupari began to give Ben some pointers. They were easy of conversation and simple of character—people deeply rooted in the present. I probably would be as well in such a dangerous line of work, Ben mused.

Ben gradually got more acquainted with them. It was from Murley Stroud, the bulldog-looking, mustached sorcerer, that he learned that they waited for the full moon to start the hunt.

“Don’t wanna tangle with this beastie when it’s pitch-black. Take my word for it.” Murley said ominously.

He did take his word for it. Even if they were conducting their hunt during the day, it would still be difficult to see once in the forest. But at least he was in capable hands, and there were enough days to train on his spellcasting before then.

With his hands extended wide to the front, Ben closed his eyes and tried to force his way into the mental state he sought. Take deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Ben shouted the words “Repel, Void Push!” until his voice rasped and his throat ached, but nothing happened at all.

Frustrated, he thought of the times he had been successful before. What had been different? I was in mortal danger to begin with, Ben realized. And I wasn’t forcing it—it felt almost natural. Ben clicked his tongue in annoyance and dropped to the ground, taking a break from his training.

The Lupari watched Ben with friendly interest from outside their huts. They mostly kept to themselves, except for the occasional word of encouragement. Corin and Humbert were fencing with dull-edged steels, while Murley whittled at a piece of wood and Ruffa lovingly sharpened her blade.

Murley noticed Ben give up and stopped his handiwork midway. He whistled and waved at Ben to come over, chisel in hand. He could use some advice right about now. As he walked next to Corin and Humbert, he couldn’t help but watch their duel unfold. Lunden had said of Humbert that he has a knack for the trade. Despite their apparent difference in age and height, to Ben, they looked evenly matched.

A rush of cold air brushed Ben’s hair. He was sure Corin wasn’t using magic. He hadn’t felt any, at least. But every time he swung his steel, a cool gust would follow.

Murley understood Ben’s confusion and smiled at him as he approached. “He’s a prodigy; our Corin is. Never did I see a sorcerer so finely attuned to an element. Plus, he was practically born a Luparius. Lunden is doing a fine job training that boy.” He crossed his arms, turned his attention to Ben, and shot a disapproving stare at him. “Speaking of training, I see yours isn’t going that well. Tell me what you’re struggling with; I might be able to toss a pointer or two your way.”

Ben sat on a tree stump next to Murley with a grunt, his head held low. “I’ve used Void Push twice before, but I don’t know how I did it either time. I’m trying to grasp that mindset, that sensation, but I just can’t!” Frustration seeped through his voice.

Murley scratched his chin. “Hmm. What about the wyrdknife? You didn’t seem to have any problems shifting its shape.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Ben said. And Murley was right, too. He just needed to prove his hypothesis right. He unsheathed the dagger and held it horizontally in the palm of his hand. He stared at it hard. The rhythmic clash of the steel nearby guided his concentration. Clang! Clink! Chink! Ben envisioned the form of the fencing steels, followed by a surge of magic that jolted his body upright. Instead of the dagger, a piece of steel identical to Corin’s and Humbert’s rested in his hand, which wobbled with the unexpected weight.

Murley clapped, which attracted Ruffa’s attention. She ceased her own preparations, thrusting her sword back to its scabbard, and walked toward them. She sat on another of the empty tree stumps. Ben sat back as well, admiring the transformed wyrdknife in his hand.

Ruffa patted his back approvingly, the strength of her gesture bordering on painful. “As long as you can shapeshift it into something with bite, you’ll be alright. We’ll take care of the highspells for you.” Ruffa said.

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Lowspells. Highspells. Cursespells. Relicspells. Ben kept hearing these terms, but he realized he didn’t know what they meant. He said as much to Murley and Ruffa, and as he did, both Corin and Humbert approached and sat in the remaining tree stumps, panting from their duel.

“You’ve just crossed alright,” Murley said, astonished.

They overheard the conversation as they joined the group, and Humbert offered to explain, wheezing his words out between short breaths. “Magic. The ubiquitous life force that permeates everyone and everything. Some say it’s woven into the very fabric of reality. Some say it came later, a byproduct of life—” he was interrupted by a cough fit before proceeding. “I’m sorry. As I was saying, whatever the origins of magic may be, spirits are borne from it, and we sorcerers can bend it to our will.”

Corin rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on the back of his hands. “Spells, different as they are from one another, fall into one of various disciplines, of various schools. There are seven known schools of spellcasting. Lowspells, which deal with the mundane and the trivial and do not require much magic; highspells, the bread and butter of sorcerers, which deal with the elements and specific concepts.”

He changed his posture and started raising a finger for each school he mentioned. “Then there’s armspells, whose focus is enhancing one’s body and one’s weapons; we’ve got relicspells, whose domain is endowing objects with magic and evoking said magic.”

Humbert continued where Corin trailed off. “You must also have heard of cursespells, seeing that you’re carrying that artifact with you. They deal with the darker aspects of magic, such as malfeasance and hexes. Other than that, you’ve got wildspells and birthspells, but I won’t get into those, rare as they are.”

Ben stared intently at Corin and Humbert as they spoke, trying to grasp every single word that was being uttered. The wyrdknife shifted back to its original form, startling Ben. He raised an eyebrow, a new question was on his mind. “So, when I use the wyrdknife I’m using a relicspell, but since it was forged by witches, somehow it retains the properties of a cursespell too? What about Void Push?”

“Void Push is a highspell. Gravity magic, too—not that common, and extremely versatile. No wonder you’re struggling to cast it.” Ruffa said.

Ben couldn’t help feeling proud and giddy about the spell he had manifested. Gravity magic, huh? It sounded so intimidating. A smug smile played on his lips.

Corin noticed and smiled as well. “Different schools of magic have different requirements, if you will. Varying personalities, attitudes, even bloodlines or the date of a sorcerer’s birth will affect one’s affinity or disinclination to one spell school or another,” he pointed at the wyrdknife in Ben’s hand. “I believe you’re using the same approach for both the relicspell and the highspell. Instead of imitating how it feels to shapeshift the wyrdknife, I suggest you listen to your bod. Try to remember how it felt to cast Void Push.”

The other Lupari nodded in agreement and commended Corin on his valuable insight. Ben thanked him absent-mindedly, already lost in thoughts as he mulled over the advice he had just been given. To try a different approach... Despite his efforts, he failed to recreate the same impression.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud commotion not far from them. They all cocked their heads to see what was going on. It came from the main street—a crowd of spirits had gathered, engaged in a raucous dispute.

The air buzzed with a medley of high-pitched fairy screeches, guttural troll roars, and the gruff barks of gnolls. Dwarves tugged spiritedly at their beards to emphasize their arguments, waving their arms animatedly.

The Lupari, momentarily forgetting their training, exchanged bemused glances. Even Corin and Humbert paused mid-explanation to turn their attention toward the uproar. The spirits seemed to be at odds over something, and the quarrel reached a crescendo as insults were flung, and the animated gestures of the quarreling factions became increasingly exaggerated.

“Come, let’s see what this is about,” Ruffa said in glee. It seemed to Ben that she enjoyed conflict for its own sake. Not a bad quality for a Luparius, now that he thought about it. They stood up and approached the scene.

The spirits were gathered into a ring, pushing and shoving each other to try and get a better look. Half the spirits in the crowd were shorter than humans, so the sorcerers didn’t have any trouble finding a good spot from which to look. In the center of the ring stood an old-looking, hunched humanoid with pointed ears and a miner’s cap, his pointed beard trembling as he supported himself on a wooden staff.

He was berating another spirit, feminine and flower-like in appearance. She had a pair of wings that wouldn’t be out of place in a butterfly, and what Ben surmised was her daughter accompanied her, as she looked the same but smaller.

“Ah, that would be the gnome Genos. Troublesome fellow,” Humbert said amidst coughs.

“Old bastard’s got a bone to pick with the Circle, and he thinks all sorcerers belong to it,” Murley said, then spat on the floor in disgust. “He could have ten bones to pick for all I care. The guilds and the bastions are two separate things altogether.”

“Guilds and bastions?” Ben asked.

“Lupari, Alchemists, Archaeologers, and many other sorcerer tradesmen organized into guilds when the Treaties were drawn centuries ago, free from the geographical jurisdiction of bastions. Sorcerer governments. Like the Circle here, for example.”

“We’re no damn Circle bureaucrats, I’ll tell you as much.” Murley insisted.

Genos, the old gnome, noticed the sorcerers in the audience, and his face contorted in anger. He pointed an accusing finger at them. “You would put your trust in these sorcerers, eh, Montbretia? I guess you’re not old enough to remember what they did to us, how they hunted us as if we were another pack of their valuable monsters during the Rebellion,” he said, turning his attention back to the piskie before him. “Think, child! They’re just here to fatten their purses. No, this bane afflicts Machen, and it is the townsfolk of Machen who will see it resolved. You’ll see.”

Ben felt his anger rising. He took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something, but Corin held him back. Ben turned to him, surprised.

Corin shook his head. “It’s not worth it. You’ll come to learn that their hatred is more than warranted.” There was a certain sadness to his demeanor, a certain reservedness that perfectly fit his frigid magic.

Murley nodded and grabbed Ben by the collar, pulling him away from the place. Once their backs were turned to the crowd, many of the spirits began to hurl insults at them. Ben tilted his head to take one last look; Montbretia and her daughter stared at them, their eyes pleading for help.

“Our words would be wasted on them. We’ll prove them wrong by slaying this barghest and bringing them its head. Ben, you keep to your training until the day of the hunt. I won’t lie. This one ain’t going to be a breeze.”

“Aye, aye!” The rest of the Lupari shouted in unison, and each returned to their respective tasks and preoccupations. Ben resumed his training half-heartedly, his attention spread between what he had learned about magic and the situation between spirits and sorcerers. He couldn't shake the sensation that he had only seen the tip of the iceberg that was the World That Is Not, and it made him uneasy. What was he getting himself into?