Caster's Spell Read online

  Bad Impression

  Morning already? Wesley slapped his alarm clock, rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed like a zombie. He yawned several times, stretching every ten seconds, as he donned his new uniform, black lined with silver. It was a soft material, but a bit tighter than he was used to, and he had a particular aversion to the collar, which oddly buttoned at the side of his neck. Finally ready, he wrapped the armband around his left bicep and headed for the door. But as he reached for the knob, the door flung open.

  "Good, you’re up," Cameron noted, standing in the doorway, dressed in his own uniform. "Let’s go." He started walking down the hall. "Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself."

  "Wait," called Wesley as he followed.

  He received more unwelcoming looks on the way to the cafeteria, but unlike his first walk through the halls, no one assaulted him. They didn’t shout, they didn’t even maintain eye contact.

  After retrieving trays from a buffet, they sat at a table close to the door. Other students abandoned their seats as Wesley and Cameron took theirs.

  "Wow, people must really respect you around here," Wesley remarked as he cut into a stack of pancakes.

  "Nah, more like fear," Cameron said with a chuckle.

  "But why? No offense, but you’re not a big guy and there are a bunch of ranks higher than you, right?"

  "Well, besides the fact that upperclassmen don’t really see us, yeah, but..." Cameron leaned forward, "to be totally honest, my class isn’t a good representation of my power. And they all know it."

  He pointed around with his spoon.

  Wesley’s brow furrowed, begging for clarification.

  "It’s like you’re a kid," Cameron laughed.

  "What?"

  "In case you haven’t noticed, there is a certain caste system about our world." He took a swig of orange juice, and then continued, "We came first, Sorcerers. Then out of us, the Wiccans were born, but they weren’t limited to a single medium. Eventually, by focusing their power through scepters, the Wiccans managed to take rule, claiming to be Earth’s most superior living race. About five hundred years ago, give or take, through ‘experimentation’, you Warlocks came about. So now the Wiccans are on top, Sorcerers are in the middle, and—ughhh—Warlocks are just barely considered magi. And the rest is history, or at least that’s what they teach in history class."

  Finished, Cameron stuffed oatmeal into his mouth.

  "So they made a mistake in placing you?" Wesley deduced, after swallowing a bite of a big, red apple.

  "Mistake?" Cameron snorted. "That’s probably what they’d say if anyone asked. No, Sorcerers are allowed certain privileges, like going to school; we can even be members of the High Council, so long as we abide by Wiccan rule. But in the end, we’re still second-class citizens."

  "Really? I’m sorry."

  "You’re sorry?" the Sorcerer laughed. "I don’t think you’re in a position to pity anyone. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure things will change someday. I mean, you’re here in Reviberous, right?"

  "I wonder why the sudden change of heart." Wesley stopped eating for a moment. “Why let me in?”

  "Dunno. They won’t tell any of us students. Trust me, many asked."

  They went without conversation for a few minutes as they finished up their meals. Then Wesley broke the silence.

  "So… why don’t you hate me?" Wesley asked.

  "Told you last night, I don’t know you."

  "C’mon, Cam."

  Cameron sighed. "I never really saw the point in that kind of hate. Heck, I’ve encountered it, myself," he finally answered, "And how could I hate you, when we both face the same monster? Ready to go?"

  "Yeah. But, I’m gonna get a banana first. Keep my brain goin’ between classes. ‘Five a day’ right?"

  "Seriously?" Cameron laughed. "Alright, kid. I’ll take out the trash and meet you out there. Give me your tray."

  "Cool."

  Wesley handed the Sorcerer his tray and ran back to the fruit table, but not a moment after the cafeteria doors closed behind Cameron, he suddenly felt the gaze of tons of students bearing down on him. A quick glance around confirmed his fears. There were hundreds of them, focused, unmoving, and angry. Then he caught the eyes of a particularly terrifying glare. As if spellbound, he couldn’t shift his gaze, despite every instinct in his body. Look down, look down, look down!

  "What are you looking at, Warty?" the boy shouted.

  "That’s not my name," Wesley said quietly, almost as if he was forced to.

  The room was silenced.

  "Did I ask for your name, knuckle-dragger?" he snarled.

  "Listen, I don’t want any trouble." Wesley finally got his eyes on the floor.

  "Trouble?" laughed his aggressor. "If you didn’t want any trouble, you should have stayed home."

  The boy extended his arm to the side. He opened his hand and a pen-sized stick jumped to it from his belt. Then the stick grew into a five foot staff, with a roaring, wooden lion’s head at the top.

  Unsure of how to react, Wesley froze, his expression blank, jaw slack.

  A red light shined from within the lion.

  "Please, don’t do this," Wesley begged.

  "Gesticulation reveals intention. You’re afraid for good reason, Warty."

  "Stop calling me that." What am I saying?

  "How dare you command me?" He aimed the lion’s gaping mouth at Wesley. "Ignis."

  Fire exploded from the staff. Completely horrified, Wesley turned his head and threw his arms out in front of him. He heard the flames crashing around him and screamed, but it took him a long moment to realize that he wasn’t on fire. Surprised not to be human-barbecue, he opened one of his eyes to see something he didn’t believe. Rather than consuming him, the fire hit an invisible force and crawled around Wesley.

  "So it can defend itself," the fuming boy said loudly. "This time, I’ll torch you."

  "What? No, I didn’t do anything," Wesley tried to explain, having no idea how the fire was diverted.

  "Ignis!"

  The flame was much larger the second time. With no other option, he tried to run, but the fire was upon him before he could take a second step.

  Then Wesley felt a gust of wind blow past him. The fire swirled around him until it burned out.

  "What do we have here?" came Cameron’s voice. Wesley looked up and saw him twenty feet behind the fire-throwing boy. "Two G-class magi using magic to fight, outside of session and tournament." He shook his head with a tisk tisk. "Unsanctioned duels are grounds for expulsion, Liam. You know that."

  "You’re protecting a knuckle-dragger, Sorcerer?"

  "My interest in him is none of your business. But at the moment, I’m protecting you from getting yourself kicked out of school. Lower your scepter and walk away. Now."

  "Whatever." The weapon returned to pen-size and the boy, Liam, clipped it to his belt.

  "Do something like this again, and you will be reported to the dean."

  The boy sat down with a smirk.

  "Warlock," Cameron changed the direction of his piercing stare. "Come with me."

  "Cam, I was only—"

  The Sorcerer sharply turned his back and headed for the exit. Afraid of the consequences, Wesley rushed to follow and once the doors closed behind them, he made a second attempt. "I’m sorry, Cam, really. I didn’t want that to happen. I don’t even know how it happened. Please don’t tell the dean."

  "Why would I do that?" laughed Cameron.

  "Huh?"

  "I know it wasn’t you who started the fight."

  "But you were…"

  "I reacted that way so they’d think I was going to make an example of you."

  "Oh. I see," Wesley said, lowering his eyes to the tile, as they walked through the halls.

  "It’s not what you think, kid. Most of the students here, that aren’t friends, are under the impression that I’m tough and by-the-book, which is why they won’t try to pick fights with you again, if they know—
or think—that I am somewhere in the area. To maintain that by-the-book persona, it has to look like you’re being punished too. Don’t worry, I won’t let them beat you up," said Cameron. "Not until you learn some magic, that is."

  Wesley laughed. "Thanks. I think."

  He was in part suspicious of Cameron’s motives. The idea of him not wanting others to know that he was kind to the "knuckle-dragger" wasn’t too farfetched to Wesley. But in the end, it would seem that just being near this Sorcerer was a safe-haven. So the Warlock decided that, at least for now, it was in his best interest to stick with Cameron, true friendship or not.

  "Also, you’d do well to stay away from Liam," the Sorcerer advised as the two turned a corner. "He’s talented and rotten to the core."

  "So I’ve seen."

  "That’s not the worst of it. He’s a descendant of the third noble family. That means one conversation with his father and you’re out of here. Even if you get strong enough to beat him in the future, don’t. Liam’s bad news."

  "M’kay," said Wesley.

  "Good. So what’s your first class?"

  "Conjuring, with Master Rosen," he read his schedule.

  "Oh, that’s great! He’s one of the best teachers here. I took one of his classes last semester. I’ll take you to his room."

  Perfect. He didn’t want to get lost, but that was the least of his worries. It was getting there without incident that was Wesley’s main priority.

  "Follow me."

  Conjures

  "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to your first conjuring lesson," announced a stout man, with his back to the class, as he wrote his name on the board. "I am Master Rosen."

  Wesley wondered if the man would be as nice to him as he was to Cameron.

  Master Rosen turned to face the class. "Can anyone tell me, exactly what a conjure is?"

  All around the room hands reached for the ceiling. However, Wesley kept his hands in his lap, assuming that a low profile was his best chance of lasting the school-year.

  Then the man addressed one of the students. "You there, in the back: what is your name?"

  "I’m sure you already know," spoke a cocky voice, with which the Warlock was painfully familiar. "I'm Liam Caldwell."

  Wesley turned so fast he almost twisted his back, crestfallen to find that the boy from the cafeteria was sitting in the back of the room with a smirk.

  "Thank you, Liam. Now can you answer the question?" Master Rosen urged.

  "Yes. Conjure: to call upon, or bring into existence through means of an incantation." The Wiccan boy delivered indolently.

  "Precisely!" The instructor waved his finger in the air. "I am here to teach you to do exactly that. But for today, we’ll be discussing theory."

  Master Rosen turned his back to the room again and wrote the word "types" on the board before returning to the class. "Can anyone tell me how many types of conjures are out there?"

  More hands.

  "Young lady, why don’t you tell us your name first?" he addressed a girl in the second row.

  "Emily Palo." Wesley heard the voice of an angel.

  Master Rosen walked around his desk. "Wow, two nobles in one class. Aren’t I the luckiest master? And your answer?"

  "Two," she said confidently. Wesley did his best to see the second noble, but a large boy sitting next to her blocked his view.

  "And those would be?"

  "World of Forms conjures and Lost Soul conjures."

  "Can someone tell me the difference?" After a pause: "You there."

  "World of Forms are mindless creatures. They’re copies of an idea, like… cast molds," replied a boy with an accent that Wesley couldn’t peg. "Lost Souls on the other hand, have minds of their own, meaning that they can defy you."

  "Correct. And your name is?"

  "Viktor Aretino."

  "Well, Viktor, Emily, you are correct by definition, but… you may be incorrect in practice," alleged Master Rosen as he cleaned his glasses with his shirt.

  "That doesn’t make any sense," Wesley heard Liam. "How can they be correct and incorrect at the same time?"

  "Can anyone answer Liam’s question?" The class was silent. "In that case, let’s do a little demonstration."

  Master Rosen tapped his staff on the ground, and with a puff of black smoke, a dark wolf appeared on his left, in front of the class. The students reacted with gasps and squeals as the large, snarling animal stared them down.

  "Don’t worry, he’s entirely under my control," the instructor ensured before tapping his staff again.

  Then at his right, a small, hand sized, winged person appeared with a shine of light.

  "A fairy!?" shouted one of Wesley’s classmates.

  "Her name is Lexi," said Master Rosen. Then after the class settled down, he asked, "Which is the Form and which is the Soul?"

  "That’s easy. The wolf is the Form and Lexi’s the Soul," asserted the boy directly to the left of the Warlock. Even Wesley knew the answer to that one.

  "That is correct Mister…"

  "Grimes, Freddy Grimes," said the boy.

  "Well done. But what would you classify this one as?"

  The man raised his staff.

  "Burn, Pyrocyte." Fire shot from the top of his staff to a spot between the two conjures. Then, from the blaze, grew a three foot tall boy, consumed in flames.

  "Whoa," Wesley let slip out.

  "A pyrocyte is an imp. They are very mischievous, by nature, and if you don’t have their respect, they’ll not only disobey your orders, but are like to burn you. No need to fret though, when left to their own devices, pyrocytes mainly play pranks on people." He looked down at the burning boy. "Would you care to give them a show?"

  The pyrocyte stepped forward. Then with a fling of its arms, it sprayed fire over the students' heads. Wesley almost lost his breath at the sight of the curling flame.

  "That’ll do. Step back."

  The conjure obeyed without pause.

  "Well? What type of conjure is this pyrocyte?"

  "It’s obviously a Form," replied one student.

  "No. It’s mischievous," stressed another.

  "Yeah, that’s a sign of higher thinking. It has to be a Soul," stated a third.

  "But it’s not singular. It’s a pyrocyte. That’s an attribute of a Form."

  Master Rosen allowed the class to go back and forth for a few minutes. Wesley was struggling just to keep up with their arguments, but he was not without his own opinion. To him they both had to be right, which meant that they both had to be wrong. But that could only lead to one conclusion, which was already ruled out by Emily’s answer. The pyrocyte must have been a third category of conjures.

  Just as he was nearing the end of his internal dispute, the instructor’s voice startled him.

  "Wesley, you are the only student who has yet to voice his opinion. Tell us what’s going through your mind. Enlighten us."

  Suddenly, the class was silent, as all eyes were on him.

  "Uhh, me?" Wesley began to panic.

  "The only things going through his mind are bananas," joked one of the students.

  Master Rosen glared at the young Wiccan, and then turned back to Wesley.

  "Yes, you." The man smiled and fixed his glasses.

  "Ummm."

  "That knuckle-dragger doesn’t know," called Liam. "Be happy he can read."

  "Enough, Caldwell." Master Rosen used a stern tone of voice that Wesley had not yet been introduced to. "Just say what’s on your mind, Wesley. I know you have a thought; it’s written all over your face."

  The class waited for him to say something.

  "Both," Wesley said quietly.

  "What’s that?"

  "The pyrocyte has to be both a Soul and a Form."

  He prepared himself for the most humiliating "NO!" he had ever experienced, but to his surprise, the instructor’s response was very different.

  "That has yet to be confirmed, but yours is the most correct answer. Conjures, such as
these, certainly do seem to have characteristics of both Soul and Form types. Well done."

  The class looked at him in disbelief, Wesley frozen with the same feeling. He was so happy not to have been laughed out of the classroom that he even let out a smile. But then he quickly covered his mouth, so as not to seem arrogant.

  And while the class stirred, he managed to see the girl behind the large boy, Emily Palo. She leaned forward to get a look at the Warlock: straight, black hair, honey colored eyes, freckles, and an intoxicating smile, a face that he immediately fell in love with.

  "Perhaps you may someday figure out this mystery, Wesley. And when you do, be sure to bring your answer back to me, so that I may better my class. Deal?" the instructor said with a wink.

  The boy nodded.

  "Good." Master Rosen turned back to the class. "Let’s continue, shall we?"

  Physical Education

  How could this happen? How could this have possibly happened? Wesley did his very best to get by unnoticed. He didn’t make any eye contact; he even steered clear of answering questions. And yet, it was he who was standing in front of the class, in the large aisle between two sections of desks, a group of about fifty teenagers watching him closely, keeping track of every slight move he made. Before him, was a Sorcerer of his own age and rank and between them, stood his roommate, Cameron, with open palms to both Wesley and the other Sorcerer. He had a slight grin, as if to motivate Wesley in some way. In this, Cameron most assuredly failed. As fear induced sweat rolled down his cheek, Wesley tried to recall how he wound up in such a compromising position:

  “Wes,” he remembered hearing Cameron’s voice as he first entered his second period class. "You’re a little early. That’s a good state of mind."

  "Cameron?" said Wesley. "What are you doing here?"

  "Call me Cam. And I’m the SI, the student instructor, for this class."

  "There’s no master?"

  "There is, but classes as large as these sometimes have SIs to help out." Cameron put his hand on Wesley’s back and led him to a front row desk. "Pretty lucky, you being placed in the dueling class that I SI for. Don’t you think?"