Caster's Spell Page 5

  He was sure that he was absolutely alone. His new friend Cameron wasn’t there to safeguard him from their spite and while he liked some of his teachers, if anything, this occurrence, proved that they couldn’t protect him either. Could he handle it? Could he really put up with this for an entire year?

  The ambition was fading by the second as he drew closer to the conclusion that the pressure was too much, that their hate for him was too unbearable. Then just before he decided to leave the room, the master raised his voice.

  "End this, now!"

  The children were silenced, but not through magical means. Wesley watched curiously as the bananas disappeared. Then he suddenly became weightless and as if being lifted by a crane, he felt his body float off of the ground. Gravity returned to him as he was set down on the stool.

  "This is not a playground, and so playground bullies do not belong in my classroom. This is a place of learning and growth. If I see any such nonsense in the future, everyone involved will be dropped from my class and I will petition for their immediate expulsion. Have I made myself clear?"

  Suddenly all of the fun and humor sank out of Wesley’s classmates, replaced by lowly hung heads and averted eyes.

  "Yes, Master," they said in unison.

  "Now," Master Rosen repeated, "let’s begin."

  His lecture lasted a little over twenty minutes, chronicling the proper curse marks for Sorcerers, and the spell for Wiccans. He detailed how much source was necessary and exactly how to manipulate it, to raise the plant from the flower pots provided. He included every bit of information that the students may have required, and then left it up to them to invoke the incantation.

  Liam was among the first students to accomplish the task, but unlike the rest, he stayed in class and continued to conjure the rose repeatedly. After another fifteen minutes, most of the other students had triumphed in raising the rose from the pot.

  "Great job, Candice!" Master Rosen said to a young girl, as she presented him with her red flower, the last student to complete the assignment other than Wesley. "Feel free to stay and practice with Liam and Wesley, or you may exit. There are twenty minutes until the next class period."

  "Thank you, Master Rosen," said the girl, before she left.

  Wesley had attempted both incantations, dozens of times over, but to no avail. He knew what he had to do, and how he was supposed to shape his source, but he simply couldn’t perform this modest conjure. He put his overlapped hands above the soil-filled pot, provided by Master Rosen. Then with a deep breath, Wesley initiated the spell.

  Nothing.

  "Hah!" Liam laughed.

  "Don’t worry, Wesley," said Master Rosen as he approached. "It’s okay not to get it on your first day. You’ll be able to do it soon enough."

  "Are you kidding?" chuckled Liam. "He’ll never get it."

  "Liam, if you don’t mind my asking," Rosen began. "Why did you stay behind, to better your craft, rather than joining the others?"

  "Because my father performed this spell in three seconds, when he was my age. I’m still at nine," answered the noble.

  "Just as I thought. It took you more time than him, because he has more natural talent for conjuring. But eventually, you’ll likely surpass your father’s time. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?"

  "Not if you’re comparing me to that knuckle-dragger."

  The master sighed, "I believe class is over. You are dismissed."

  Both students headed for the door.

  "Wesley, I’d like to speak with you."

  "Yes, Master," Wesley said and turned back.

  After, waiting for the door to shut behind Liam, the teacher motioned with his hand. "Take a seat."

  Wesley obeyed. "Please don’t kick me out of the class. I can’t afford to be dropped from any classes."

  "Kick you out?" The man shook his head. "I don’t drop students; I help them. But I do want to speak with you about your ability to learn."

  Wesley’s sigh of relief was cut short by Master Rosen’s next words.

  "You’re not as smart as the others."

  He wanted to be angry, but the insensitive statement was true.

  "Understand that I have no intention of insulting you. Do you know the average IQ of a Wiccan?"

  "No."

  "One-thirty-five. Most every one of them is a genius by some standards. Sorcerers are not too far behind, at about one-twenty-eight. Caldwell’s is one-fifty-three. Do you know your own IQ?"

  Wesley slowly shrugged, fearing that he was about to hear a number so pitifully low that his IQ was closer to a chimp’s than to Liam’s.

  "One nineteen,” said Master Rosen. “As a human, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. But in this school, that puts you near last in the G-class, in terms of mental strength."

  Wesley’s eyes traveled to the ground, as he fought the urge to run away. The information may have been true, but it stung nonetheless like salt in a wound.

  "By no means am I inviting you to give up," Rosen said, tapping the ground with his scepter, drawing the boy from his hole of depression. "In fact, it is just the opposite. You are not as talented as them. They can attempt simple spells, and after two or three tries, perform it to near perfection. It’s easy for them. But for people like you, a task, such as this one, is quite a hurdle to overcome; meaning you will have to work much, much harder than any of your peers, just to keep up with them. You must outwork them.

  "Nonetheless, I believe you have potential to become a great mage. You’ve already faced the scrutiny of entering a school where you are, in large, unwanted, a feat many masters wouldn’t face. Yet, you have the will to press on, and walk through the halls of Reviberous. If you have the resolve and presence of mind, you may very well surpass your peers, outworking them.

  "The thing to understand about people like Liam and even Cameron Elegro, whom I know you’ve befriended, is that they have been coddled all their lives. When accustomed to things coming easily, they struggle to overcome problems that don’t.

  "The pyramids of Egypt aren’t revered because of their simplicity.” He paused and then struck the air excitedly. “So it’s good that it’s hard. Just the same, your life as a mage will be difficult, especially because of your race. But that’s a good thing too. All things worth doing in life are tough. So you must be precisely that, Wesley: tough. Can you do this?"

  "Yes, Master," answered a newly encouraged Wesley.

  "Can you succeed, for me, for all of our sakes?"

  "I will." Then, after a long, silent pause where Wesley didn’t know if he should have stayed or left, he glanced up to the pudgy man. "Master?"

  "What is it?"

  "What are the requirements for creating a blood diamond? Maybe with one of those, I can conjure better."

  Rosen’s face stretched in surprise, and then fell in fear. "You shouldn’t say such things aloud," he whispered aggressively. "G-class magi shouldn’t know what those stones can do. Where did you learn this?"

  "By the Western Dorms, I was looking at the forbidden relics, when a master told me."

  "A master? Who—what was the name?"

  "I-I don’t know. When I tried to ask, he was gone."

  "What did he look like?"

  This sudden barrage of questions was beginning to scare Wesley. "Um, re-really young, actually, like maybe four years older than me."

  "Young?"

  "And had—he wore—I think."

  "Calm down." Master Rosen returned to his normal peaceful presence. "Breathe. Now tell me slowly."

  "I think he was burned, or something." Wesley said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because he only wore one glove. Like he was covering a scar."

  "A black glove on his left hand?" The Wiccan’s eyes widened once more.

  "Yeah, you know him?"

  The master shook his head, calm again, but his voice contradicted the gesture, "I think I do."

  "Who is he?"

  "I can’t tell you.
I need your word that you will not share this information with anyone else."

  Wesley held in his next question, sure that it would be answered if he waited for Master Rosen to explain himself.

  "You’re not supposed to know about such magic. You shouldn’t know the purpose of forbidden relics, let alone be questioning their creation. I don’t know why he told you about them, but your mere knowledge of those objects can get you into a huge amount of trouble. And I’m not just referring to your rapport with the school. What you are speaking of is illegal. Give me your word."

  "Yes, Master. I won’t tell anyone else," spoke the student, purposely avoiding telling the Wiccan a lie. With no true desire to use them, he still wanted to know the cost of creating the blood diamonds. He wanted to know who that young master was. He wanted his questions answered.

  "Good," said Master Rosen. Then he looked to the clock on the wall. "Wow, it’s getting late. My next class will be starting soon. Isn’t your second period with Master Conley?"

  Wesley gasped and ran for the door, in fear of being late, but Rosen’s voice stopped him before he reached it.

  "Wes," the man called. "Remember everything I said today, because I fear I won’t be able to repeat myself. Outwork them and forget about the relics."

  The boy nodded before dashing away to Dueling, with Master Conley.

  Electives

  Over the next month, Wesley did nothing but study, train with Cameron, and practice conjuring the rose. As well as receiving private tutoring from his roommate, he dueled against the Sorcerer everyday and everyday he was defeated. But the punishment endured was well worth it to Wesley, since after just two weeks, he won a duel for the first time in Master Conley’s class!

  Even though Cameron told him to focus on dueling, to Wesley, nothing was more important than conjuring the rose. Drawing this flower from the ground was an obstacle representing his purpose, his reason for continuing at the school. If he couldn’t raise this simple conjure, then he didn’t deserve to be there. But if all his hard work paid off and he was capable of this feat, then his presence would be justified.

  After twenty-eight days, and hundreds of attempts, Wesley and his roommate stood in the northern courtyard. He put his hands together and activated Master Rosen’s incantation.

  Suddenly Wesley heard a satisfying crack as the earth crumbled and shifted near his feet. Looking down, he watched as a green stem shot up from the soil beneath his hands. It continued to grow with all the fantastic vigor of a magically summoned lifeform, producing a dark red bud that quickly blossomed into a picturesque long-stemmed rose.

  But then the growth continued beyond its natural maturation, mutating the rose into a misshapen giant. Peaking at over four feet, the stem was too thick and the bulb was the size of a dinner plate. Before long its petals peeled back, fading to a gloomy burgundy, and hardened like scabs. The thorns crumbled off and the stem browned and withered as the deformed flower fell to rot. The glorious sign of victory was mulch before Wesley could even begin to celebrate.

  "Oh my God," Wesley said breathlessly, at the sight of it.

  "Hey, man," said Cameron, patting him on the back. "Don’t be ashamed. It was bigger than we expected. Don’t worry about the duration. Are you okay?"

  "I… did it?" A smile grew across Wesley’s face. "I did it!"

  He playfully hit Cameron on the shoulder, who returned the gesture.

  "I told you it would pay off," said the Sorcerer.

  "I know, and thanks. I was about to give up."

  "So does this mean you’re satisfied? Can we finally slow down?"

  "Slow down? This is a sign that I have to continue. If anything, I have to go harder," said Wesley, still grinning. "You can ease off, if you want. I understand that it’s no fun for you."

  "I said that I was gonna help you pass the Exams, and I plan to see it through," Cameron affirmed before an announcement over the school’s intercom speaker system interrupted.

  "All students G through E-class, report to the Grand Hall, immediately."

  "Where’s the grand hall? What’s going on there?" asked Wesley as he followed Cameron back through the courtyard to one of the buildings.

  "Spell-casting class selections," answered Cameron. Then he went on, "Since Sorcerers only cast single mediums, we’re split up into classes that are orientated based on our abilities. There are a lot of classes for the most common mediums: water, earth, wind, fire. Then there are a few specialist classes, based on the Sorcerers with less common abilities, like Zeke; he uses lightning. And all of the people with especially rare powers are packed into one class, taught by the dean. There are also classes specifically for Wiccan."

  "So which will I be in?"

  "Hm." Cameron considered for a moment. "I don’t know. I guess we’ll figure it out"

  The two entered a chamber well deserving of the name "grand". It was sized similarly to the massive cafeteria, except the ceiling was much higher and vaulted.

  Hundreds of students packed into the room, clustering into groups. Their conversations gave rise to a ruckus of sounds that battered Wesley’s ears.

  "This is wild," he had to shout to Cameron, to be heard over the others.

  "Yeah, it should settle down soon."

  "How does this work, exactly?"

  "Last year there were fifty-one booths and we had to sign-up for one. Dean Sinclair will explain any minute now," said Cameron. "C’mon, let’s try to get to the front, so we can get in and out early. Selection can take hours."

  Wesley followed the Sorcerer towards the booths at the front of the Grand Hall. Fifty-one tables were lined equidistant from one another, along the bottom of a stage. Sitting behind every table, was an instructor, masters of particular mediums and Wiccan magic.

  "E-class wind is down this way." Cameron pointed with his thumb. "I’m gonna head over."

  "Where should I go?"

  "Not positive. Umm, just pick one you want and stand at the front of the line, I guess. Afterward, we’ll meet up outside where we practice, alright?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  He was sad to see the Sorcerer walk away, but at the same time, he was excited to sign up for a new spell casting class. But like an anchor cast overboard, he felt a storm of glares dragging down his elation. Doing his best to ignore the other students, he walked across the room until he saw a class that interested him. Fire-based spell casting! Something about having the ability to return Liam’s kind welcoming gesture from the first day of school appealed to Wesley.

  "Hello, students," he heard a man say from the stage. The voice resonated beyond Wesley’s ears, through his bones, into his mind.

  The man spoke again, "I am Dean Sinclair. Allow me to give you a small insight into who I am:

  "Born of the fifth house of nobility, I was pushed to be the best. I became a G-class mage at the age of nine and was a master by twenty-one. I was an instructor at this school for eight years before becoming an officer of the Secret Police. After two years, I returned here to be the dean, which I have been for the last six years. Indeed I was taught by some of the same masters that you are now studying under, and rest assured that they are all superb instructors."

  He leaned, unusually, on his scepter as he walked from one side of the stage to the other, putting more weight on it than he did his left leg.

  "Today marks the twenty-ninth day of basic understanding of magic, for many of the G-class students here, thus beginning the second phase of your education: specialized casting. When I say, I’d like you to form single file lines behind the booths before you. Each is marked with an emblem of your class and medium or the letter "W", symbolizing Wiccanry. These classes are specifically aimed towards your particular powers. You will begin to attend the class you sign-up for, tomorrow. Now, calmly form into the appropriate lines."

  All of the students hastily moved around the grand hall. Wesley stepped close to the table, at which he was standing.

  "I’d like to—"

 
"You’re not a Sorcerer," said the master behind the table, without so much as looking him in the eye. "This class is for Sorcerers. Move on."

  Baffled, the Warlock stepped back.

  "Watch it, Warty," a student said, as he shoved past.

  With no other choice, Wesley decided to try one of the Wiccan classes, even though he really didn’t want to get placed in another class with Liam. By the time he got there, the line was monstrous. He walked to the back and waited.

  Boredom quickly claimed his mind, and Wesley looked around restlessly. It was during his gazing over the crowd that he noticed her.

  Emily Palo.

  She was laughing at a comment made by one of her friends, a mesmerizing sight. Her glowing presence left him in a standstill, such that he didn’t realize the movement of his line.

  "I’d give up on that one if I were you, Wesley," laughed a girl from behind him, surprising Wesley enough to make him jump. "She’s way outta your league."

  He swiftly turned around in fear, to face her.

  "Sri Ranuka?"

  "‘Sri’ will do," she giggled. "And you better pay attention to what you’re doing. Not only will gawking at the most popular girl in our class get you in hot water, but you might not notice that the line you’re standing in has moved."

  Wesley looked back and saw the line to be over halfway gone. Then he turned back to Sri.

  "Thanks.” Wesley started walking. When she fell in at his side, he asked, “Why would you want to keep me out of hot water?"

  "I don’t know." She laughed again, before waving her fingers and walking away from him.

  Wesley was left befuddled, but also pleasantly surprised. There may have been someone else there that didn’t completely hate him. He smiled and walked to catch up with his line.

  Eventually, the very last Wiccan signed the paper on the table, binding herself to the class. Wesley stepped forward. "Hello, I’m—"

  "Not a Wiccan," finished the instructor.

  "But the other master said that only Sorcerers can go into those classes."