Caster's Spell (A Mage Tale Book 1) Read online

  "Why?"

  "Because it’s something that is for the most part set aside for nobility," she explained. "People already don’t like the fact that you are being taught like them. Imagine what they’d do if they found out that you had a noble trait."

  "You’re right," Wesley accepted and shook his head. "But about the tutoring, I’d really appreciate it."

  "It’ll be my pleasure." She looked up into his eyes.

  "Cool," said the perpetual understudy and extended his hand for a shake.

  Sri's gaze fell upon the gesture with an inexplicable sense of disappointment, before letting out a very fake laugh. "Yeah, cool."

  "So where do we start?”

  Oddities and Omens

  "Welcome, Wesley," said Dean Sinclair as he entered the classroom. The first day of transfers was always uncomfortable, but this one was especially awkward. Unlike the other classes that he’d been placed in, there were very few students standing before him and it was clear that the bonds between them had already been made strong over the previous months. Also the overwhelming feeling of Master Sinclair’s presence added to this wonderfully daunting first impression.

  "Thank you," said Wesley, trying to ignore the eyes of his eleven classmates. "It’s a pleasure to be here."

  "I’m sure the pleasure’s all yours, Warty," snickered one of the boys. The rest of the students laughed.

  "One more word, Preston, and we’ll be speaking in my office." The dean glanced back, silencing the class.

  Then, with a slight move his of scepter, the door closed behind Wesley.

  "The rain wasn’t too bad, was it?" asked Dean Sinclair.

  A storm had settled in the area two days earlier that refused to relent. The position of the dean’s special classroom was only making matters worse, as it wasn’t in any of the main buildings, but instead across the southern courtyard, in a tiny stone structure. Wesley had heard that it was once an old gymnasium, but as of yet, there wasn’t any proof.

  "No,” Wesley said, “after learning Water Sorcery, I stayed pretty dry."

  "Good. Then come in and find a seat." The master turned his back. "Every class begins with a lecture."

  "Yes, Master."

  The lecture was dull to Wesley when compared to his previous spell casting classes. All of the other masters had something quirky about them, but not Sinclair. His lecture was all business and calculations.

  Luckily for Wesley, the standard note taking didn’t last very long.

  "...With them, Sorcerer’s of fire can perform a wind elemental move," said Dean Sinclair. "So everyone can understand that by using curses, Sorcerer’s have limitless potential as it pertains to various mediums. Although curses and anti-curses is a subject you generally won’t get into until maybe your E-class year, I’ve decided that those of you who aren’t yet at that level can handle it. So over the next two weeks, it will be the main topic of lecture."

  Then all of his new classmates moved, as if on cue.

  The master spoke again, "I’d like to see more source today. Push hard."

  After moving their desks to the ends of the room, the Sorcerers separated and immediately began attempting spells. The room became a brilliant show of power that Wesley didn’t know how to react to. The lack of instruction upset him. He felt as though the master didn’t care enough to tell him what to do. But rather than further angering himself, he decided to speak up.

  "Master Sinclair," he called over the ruckus of the spells in a tone that was more authoritative than he planned.

  "Ah, Wesley," said the dean as he started limping towards the boy.

  Choked up by the weight of Sinclair’s presence, Wesley’s eyes traveled to the ground as he stammered out, "What—what am I supposed to be doing?"

  "You?" Dean Sinclair smiled. "Everything you see."

  "Um, I don’t understand."

  "This is a class of experimentation. Some of the students here, like you, don’t have a precedent to learn spells from. So they must make them up,” he paused and then, smiling, went on, “under guided supervision of course. But other than that, you are largely free to practice as you wish."

  "Can I practice conjures?"

  "No, no, no, it’s supposed to be about trying new things, Wesley, not what you already know." He paused again. "I want you to try the mediums of your peers." Then the dean raised his finger as an idea came to him. "That’s it! You’ll choose ten students and spend three days with each of them. Your test to pass my class will entail performing one spell for each of the elements you’ve chosen. And," he said as another idea shot into his brain, "I want you to do it with the audience of all of your masters."

  "Why?" asked the boy trying not to sound disrespectful.

  "The Final Exams take place in front of many people. If you can’t do it before an audience of six, whom you know, you’ll never be able to pass the Exam in front of hundreds of strangers."

  "Okay," Wesley said, pretending not to be overwhelmed.

  He bit his lip as several questions raced to be spoken first. What exactly were these Final Exams? The idea of performing in front of loads of strangers seemed as intimidating as it did pointless. Why would there be so many people there? Where did this exam take place? And what did it entail?

  Deciding against entertaining these questions with the dean, Wesley nodded despite himself.

  He looked around to see what he’d be expected to do in thirty days. The students of the class were indeed different. Their levels of source-control were generally lower than Sri’s and they were by and large weaker than Axel, but the mediums that they manipulated were things to be marveled.

  A boy facing a small statue pointed his hand and flexed his source.

  "Bass," he said and Wesley’s ears were plagued with a deep rumble. A drum beat through his chest and rattled his spine a moment before the statue exploded.

  "Fade," said the girl closest to Wesley, while slowly rotating from side to side. She became unclear, as if looking through a fogged mirror. A moment later and she was completely out of sight, as the area around her became an impenetrable shadow.

  Another Sorcerer looked at what used to be a statue. He dipped low like an Earth Sorcerer and, pointing his fingers at the debris, pulled up, as if all ten of his digits were tied to strings. Then he waved his arms like a director of an orchestra and the chunks jumped back to the statue’s original position, piecing together like a puzzle. The cracks fused, and the statue was perfect again.

  "What do you think of your peers so far?" Dean Sinclair asked Wesley.

  "I think… this test is gonna be hard."

  ---

  …Later after curfew, under the cover of darkness, a shrouded few met to speak.

  "Were you seen by anyone?" asked the cloaked master, with a voice so obscured by magic, it rattled the boys teeth.

  He swallowed a thick mouthful of nothing and tried to give the master his undivided attention.

  The storm was a peaceful ruckus this night, with the rain pounding the Earth and rooftops alike. He found the constant noise to be soothing, even with the persistent interruptions of nagging thunder.

  The torch flames flickered under the influence of a contrived, darkly living wind, that formed dancing demons of every shadow.

  Still, even through the regular changes in light and volume, the area seemed motionless, like a dream.

  "No, Master," he answered as he approached. A flash of lightning behind him stained the corridor in white, allowing him a view of the master’s cloaked visage for half a second before a crack of thunder boomed loud enough to make him flinch.

  "Are you certain? Even your roommates can’t know that you left."

  "Yes, Master." He removed his hood. "Everyone but the Water Sorcerers has been discouraged from going outside since the start of the storm you created. And given their nature, none of them are prone to breaking the rules. Besides, I’m not roomed with any water elementals."

  "Good." The master stepped out of the shad
ows, but its face remained hidden under the hooded cloak. "Where are the others?"

  "I’m not sure. But with the dolls you gave us, no one should suspect that we’re out of bed. They’ll be here soon," the wayward student stepped closer to his superior. "Why won’t you remove your cloak?"

  "Instructors are under surveillance. My incantations can protect your identities but not my own. If anyone learns of our actions, there will be severe consequences. Understood?"

  The rain beat away at the environment so hard the boy felt like he was still out in the storm, yet it was the constant cracks of lightning that tested his nerves. "Yes, Master."

  "Don’t ask me anymore questions." They waited in silence for moments before the master began to tap a foot aggressively. Only after four crashes of thunder, the master stopped and said, "They’re late."

  "They won’t fail us, Master."

  "But if they have, you know what you must do."

  The boy, feeling his hair stand, looked down and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Come on guys," he said under his breath, before raising his voice. "I’ll silence them."

  "How?" led the superior.

  "I’ll fry them, myself," asserted the teenager.

  "That won’t be necessary," said a boy, approaching from behind the master.

  "We had to be extra careful," said a girl after appearing at the side of the other students. She removed her hood and looked to the master. "I’m roomed with one of the Ranukas and he," she pointed to the other late conspirator, "has been placed with Axel Stone."

  "I see," said the cloaked adult. "Well now that we are all here, we’d best get on with it."

  The teenagers nodded in agreement.

  The most punctual of the students recalled the moment a few days earlier, when he found a letter under his pillow, sealed and addressed to "one who is courageous enough to defend his honor". He, like the other two students, had been chosen based on both his power and, more importantly, his hatred for the presence of the most infamous student on campus. The thought of merely eating in the same room as that knuckle-dragger almost made him sick. This letter offered an opportunity for him to fix the problem, to rid the school of such a profound infestation. Yes, this was his defining moment of devotion to his people.

  "That filth should’ve never been permitted to step foot in our school." The master looked to the late boy. "As a noble, you must feel infuriated, I’m sure."

  He tightened his fists. "So what are we gonna do?"

  Another flash revealed a small smile on the master’s lips. "He practices until well after permissible hours, performing conjures in the courtyards. He’s even found a path back to the dormitory that allows him to get around the masters that walk the halls. We’ll use this to our advantage."

  The students leaned in.

  "I want you to follow him on this path until the point just beyond room K-47 and then you will take him. Hurt the monkey, but don't make a martyr of him; that'd be the last thing we need. We’ll make that thing rue the day he thought himself a mage and he will quit."

  The children sniggered with unintelligible insults.

  "Now, return to your bedrooms and make sure you do so unseen. In two day’s time, our anger shall be known." The mind of their glorious operation turned and took a few steps away from the group before the first student to arrive thought of a problem.

  "What about Cameron?" he asked with a lot of air on his voice. He could tell that the other two were immediately shaken as well.

  The master stopped and gave the students its side. "Two of you are D-class Magi. What do you have to fear of one young Wind Sorcerer?"

  Still, the boy knew better and judging by their expressions, so did the other students. The genius Sorcerer had proven to be a force not wisely challenged.

  The master's wicked laugh ended in a sigh, "You don’t have to worry about the talented Mr. Elegro. He’s been taken care of. Just hold up your end and I’ll make sure that you stay safe."

  After another flash of lightning, the adult vanished, leaving the children alone with nothing but the flickering flames and their pride. The older students sneered, trying their best to keep their voices down.

  But the younger boy kept his wits about him, with one thing in particular on his mind. "Cam is gonna be so pissed."

  Obscure Revelations

  "Nice!" Cameron playfully pushed his roommate. "It’s a little oversized, but still a great fox."

  "Thanks," said Wesley, standing in the western courtyard on a surprisingly dry day. Then he turned and shouted, "Sri, are you there?"

  No answer.

  "She probably headed off for class," suggested Cameron with a shrug. "The next period starts in a few minutes."

  "What? Why didn’t you tell me?"

  "You seemed to be getting close to a breakthrough. I didn’t want to distract you."

  Wesley grunted and slapped his own forehead.

  "If I’m late again, Tesla will give me detention," he said and rushed past the Sorcerer.

  "Don’t forget the fox," called Cameron as he chased after the boy. With a single thought, the ties Wesley created were severed and the fox vanished back to The World of the Forms.

  "No running in the halls," scolded an old Wiccan as the boys rushed by her. She pointed her scepter and their feet were glued to the floor.

  Cameron looked around desperately. "Master Boscawen, please release us," he said to the wrinkle-ridden lady. "We don’t want to be late to class and miss out on the precious knowledge this institution has to offer."

  "Ah, Cameron Elegro," she said with a warm smile. "I mistook you for ruffian trouble-makers. Why are you late?"

  "We were studying in the courtyards, Ma’am," Wesley said, following Cameron’s lead with a brisk glance up at her face. It was obvious to him that this master would be more lenient if the excuse was educational.

  "And who are you, young man?" asked the woman, raising her pointy nose.

  "Wesley Thomas Savage," answered the boy, keeping his eyes low.

  "I see," said Master Boscawen with disappointed sigh. "Very well, be on your way. But there’ll be no running, understood?"

  "Yes, Master," the boys said together.

  "And Cameron," she called before they were able to turn the next corner. "Mind your company. Wouldn’t want to be coupled with the riffraff."

  Just after rounding the corner, the two sped up into a fast jog.

  "Who’s she?" asked Wesley.

  "Master Boscawen teaches advanced source classes."

  "Ah, cool."

  "Listen, don’t worry about her, Wes," huffed Cameron. "She’s from that age."

  "I don’t care about her. I’ve heard worse," said the Warlock. They turned a final corner to see an open door. "There it is. I’m gonna make it."

  Cameron laughed, "looks like it."

  Then, slowly the door began to close. Like bars falling around Wesley, he saw his future forming. He saw himself being drawn into detention, the magicless, boring, hour-long prison. It was a waste of time, a waste that he couldn’t afford to be trapped in again.

  Wesley turned back to his roommate. "Cam."

  "Got it," his Sorcerer friend said and stopped, but carrying his momentum in his hands, Cameron unleashed a blast of wind.

  The door blew open and Wesley dashed into class, sliding across the room uncontrollably.

  "Congratulations, Mr. Savage," said Master Tesla with a smile from atop her desk. "You made it with seven seconds to spare. I do believe that’s a new personal record."

  The class chuckled and even Wesley laughed at himself as he walked to his desk.

  "Sorry, Master Tesla," he said after finding his seat.

  "No worries. So long as you’re prepared to absorb knowledge, you can cartwheel into class for all I care." The master Witch stood up and addressed the class, maintaining a cheerful smile, "So, where did we last leave off?"

  Since he had already read the chapter of the text pertaining to Tesla’s lecture and he
finally conjured a red fox, he wasn’t too interested in the discussion. Instead he was more concerned with getting Sri’s attention. After waves and some not-so-quiet whispers failed, he decided to turn to magic. He put his left hand under his desk, while pretending to take notes with his right. Then he focused to control his source, until finally, he connected with her pencil.

  "Personality, emotion, and motives have an impact on the shape of our natural auras, called source signatures," Master Tesla continued to lecture. "Of course, only source-sayers can tell the difference."

  Wesley giggled as he watched Sri go for her writing tool, only to come up empty. It wasn’t where she left it. It took her a moment to find the pencil standing on the point and sliding along her paper, spelling the words "guess what". Sri immediately snatched the pencil and looked down at Wesley, demanding that he stop with her eyes.

  "I want to talk to you," Wesley mouthed without voice.

  "Later," the girl lipped in return.

  But Sri’s neighbor caught her and, leaning in, asked, "Were you… talking to the Warlock?"

  "Um, we’re missing the lecture," said Sri, then she gave the master her undivided attention.

  Wesley couldn’t wait for class to end so that he could show his friend his new conjure, sure that she’d appreciate his progress. He was especially certain that she’d be pleased since it was she that helped him get that far. But knowing that she was uncomfortable with him controlling her pencil, Wesley turned and forced himself to pay attention to the end of the lecture, which happened to be more interesting than he had originally thought. Tesla was discussing information that wasn’t in the texts.

  "Some source-sayers can sense, not only shape, but temperature and texture as well," the master informed her students. "Interestingly enough, hot source doesn’t necessarily mean anger, but instead, passion. Hard sources usually mean that one is forceful with his magic and weight, as we all have read, can be translated as a measure of power."