Caster's Spell (A Mage Tale Book 1) Page 9

"No, but some are stronger. I’m pretty sure Conley has two times the power of Master Dyonysius," Cameron called as he filled a glass of water.

  "Whoa. What about Dean Sinclair?"

  "He’s way stronger than both of them," affirmed the Sorcerer as he reentered the living room. "He may not look it, especially with that limp, but Master Sinclair is one of the most powerful A-class magi out there. Remember, he was once responsible for hunting down powerful criminals."

  Again he was taken aback. "That’s just… wow."

  "Yeah." Cameron took a sip. "So how’s that ferret comin’ along?"

  "I’ll show you." Wesley stood up. He put his hands together, overlapping one atop the other and closed his eyes.

  "Hurón," he said and a ferret appeared at his feet. It scurried around the room aimlessly, climbing and jumping everywhere.

  "Nice," Cameron complemented.

  "Sorta," said Wesley. "It has full motion, but I have no control over it."

  "Hm. That can be a problem."

  "Ya think?" he said sarcastically.

  His roommate laughed. "So, how’s fire-casting goin’?"

  "It’s goin’," Wesley answered with a shrug, then with a wave of his hand the long, lean rodent disappeared. "But everyone has two months under their belts. There’s no way I can keep up."

  "You finished my medium somewhere around the top of the class."

  "That’s only because you taught me. That class, with its philosophy of freedom, was so weird. There were barely any lectures and everyone was left to their own devices."

  "I don’t want to hear excuses. Fire is ruled by air. I’ll take it as an insult if you stay in their shadows," Cameron said.

  "Okay, quit lookin’ at me like that," said Wesley as he willed Cameron’s glass of water away from him and into his own hand. Then he turned and headed for the door. "I’ll be better than someone." I hope.

  Wesley drank from the glass before setting it on the counter on his way out.

  "Wait, where are you going?" asked the Sorcerer.

  "I wanna talk to Master Rosen, before curfew."

  "About what?"

  "Nothing really." Wesley hated lying to Cameron, but he had to keep his promise. "I’ll be back in a bit. You wanna practice later?"

  "Nah, I have a field trip with some other E-class guys. But I promise, I’ll help you when I get back."

  "How long will you be gone?" asked Wesley, now concerned.

  "Four days. It’s the Anniversary of the Black Requiem. We’re gonna watch the darkness whales take flight."

  "Darkness whales?"

  "They break through in the arctic just once every year, to fly for three days. We’re goin’ early to make sure we don’t miss it."

  Wesley wanted to ask more about the event, but his concern for it was less than that of his conversation with Rosen.

  "Seems like fun," said Wesley. "See ya when you get back."

  "Enjoy your talk about nothing," Cameron said with a smile.

  Wesley left the dorm and headed for the master’s office. When he arrived at the door, he knocked and, too impatient to wait for an answer, called, "Master Rosen, are you there?"

  "Yes, come in," replied a voice from within the office. "What can I do for you, Wesley?"

  "I want to talk to you about something," said the boy, "if that’s okay."

  "Sure, take a seat."

  "How old is Benjamin Caster?"

  "So, against all good judgment, you’ve been snooping." The master frowned and adjusted his glasses.

  "No," said Wesley solemnly. "Someone told me."

  "So you’re interested in The Orb of Genesis now?"

  "I’m more interested in Caster. Can you tell me?"

  The Wiccan elder sighed. "He should be turning seventeen in a few months."

  "And he’s already a master?" His excitement was swelling.

  "Of sorts." The Wizard started tapping his pen-sized scepter on his desk.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He hasn’t taken the A-class examinations. But he has a wealth of knowledge of his element that far exceeds any other mage."

  "So he’s a genius?"

  "He is the embodiment of talent. Smarter than Cameron Elegro and more powerful than Master Conley. He was a phenomenal student," said Master Rosen, staring at his scepter.

  "So he was in your class?"

  "Yes and became a great friend after passing it."

  "Did you help him create the Orb?"

  Master Rosen looked up like he was suddenly splashed with ice-water. "No. Now do you remember what I said to you earlier in the school year?"

  "Yeah, I just wanted to know whose shadow I was standing in," Wesley said and glanced down for a moment. "All of the other students have goals, someone they want to be better than. Sri wants Brittney, Liam wants his father, and I think Cam wants Conley. Benjamin Caster is the one I’m aiming for."

  The idea brought a smile to the master’s face.

  "Why him?" asked Rosen.

  "Because he did what everyone else thought was impossible. I have to do the same thing."

  "You should know that that’s a very long shadow you’re standing in," said Master Rosen. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah," Wesley said and beamed. "Yeah, I’m sure."

  "Okay, then you can chase after him. But you’ll have to work much harder than you have thus far," advised the instructor. "I suggest you spend more time in the library. The knowledge of thousands of master’s are in those books."

  "Yes, Master," said Wesley, but in truth he had only been there once, during orientation.

  "And know that it’s a liability for the G-class to learn dark magic. So please, I beg of you, do not dig any further into the relics."

  Wesley nodded, with his fingers crossed. For some reason his ambitions had changed. Based on a promise, he had to succeed for his parents and based on a letter, he had to succeed for his people. But now, based on a whim, he had to succeed for himself. He wanted it more than ever.

  "Is there anything else?"

  "Well." The boy paused before laughing at himself. "I don’t suppose you could tell me how to make a tortoise fly."

  Passion!

  "Don’t step on my feet again, Warty," warned the Sorceress as she took Wesley’s hands.

  "I’ll try not to," he said. "Please don’t burn me."

  "I’ll try not to," said the girl in a way that frightened Wesley.

  "Now listen to the music," said the ever flamboyant Master Dyonysius. "Let the rhythm of the dance guide your casting. Let out your hot feelings, the passion so strong it burns you on the inside. Now children, dance!"

  It was a very fast, uncomfortably close form of ballroom dancing. Like what was true in every other class, he was initially ill-informed and unprepared, but with or without enjoying being hand-in-hand with his fiery partner, he had to learn the dance and he had to learn to do it well. Quickly.

  It was the latter that he was having trouble with.

  "Uh… are you gonna move?" asked the girl after seconds of perfect stillness.

  "I was kinda hopin’ we could just stay like this."

  Her giggle came as a delightful surprise. "Well we can’t."

  "Okay."

  "Just…" she sighed and dropped his hands, and then pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can’t believe I’m…"

  She huffed again, shook out her arms, and then stepped close to her partner, took his hands and looked into his eyes.

  "Just feel it. We’ve practiced this for a while now and you know the steps. Don’t hear the music, or try to force steps or anything like that. Just feel and move. You can do it, Wesley."

  "Is there a problem here?" asked the master who suddenly appeared at their side.

  "No," Wesley said, looking at his partner. "No problem, at all."

  He stepped forward. The Sorceress followed. Then he shuffled to the side and she was with him. She followed his every move as the two whirled on the dance-floor, a piece of earth scorched smooth by
Master Dyonysius. Back and forth, they shifted and turned faster and faster. Their hands intertwined, their eyes undeviating.

  Wesley was beginning to feel the passion, the heat from within that his master had been going on about. Then he felt sweltering warmth on his shoulder.

  "Ah!" He jumped back when he noticed a flame dancing near his neck and did his best to smack it out.

  All of the other students laughed, excluding the Sorceress that was unlucky enough to be paired with him.

  "What are you doing!?" she said with a stomp of her foot.

  "I—there was—I was on fire," Wesley tried to explain.

  She smacked herself on the forehead. "That’s supposed to happen, you idiot."

  "What?" He looked around for the master, who was busy grooving to the music by herself.

  His partner took him by the chin and forced him to focus on her.

  "The fire means we’re doing it right," she said more calmly. "We’re just supposed to use our source as fuel so that it doesn’t roast us. Understand?"

  "Um," said a still uncomfortable Wesley. "Yeah, I guess."

  "Don’t worry," said the Sorceress, offering him her hands. "I won’t let it burn you. Trust me."

  He nodded and they took her hands again. The dance was interestingly difficult, a quick assortment of hip-twists, spins, dips, lifts, and a consistent gyrating. Their hands constantly changed positions, from hand-to-hand, to back, to shoulder, to hip.

  The fire ignited a second time, but Wesley only looked into her eyes. He could feel the sincerity beyond them, a silent whisper:

  Trust me.

  The fire spread down his arm and raced up hers. The temperature rose, but neither of them were harmed. The flame ran around her body, until she was completely enveloped. When it raced accross her other arm for Wesley, he could only watch as he too was swathed in the blaze.

  Alarmed at first, his lips parted and his eyes shot wide open, but then he felt her calm spread into him and continued to dance. It was a peculiar feeling, his common sense telling him to back away and avoid the burn, but there was something else, something he couldn’t explain, convincing him otherwise.

  Suddenly, they were alone in their dance as the light outside the flame was drowned out and outside noises along with it. He could hear nothing but the roar of the fire.

  The heat grew more intense with every step, but the fire within wasn’t willing to end its prison break.

  A spin, the flame twirled. A lift, and it jumped. A dip, and it crashed. Then they froze. Wesley, fixed in the Sorceress’s eyes, could see his own reflection and the wall of flames at his back as she gazed back at him. He could feel her heart beating in harmony with his own and for moments, he simply stared into her, still unsure of that powerful feeling.

  Then a change in her expression worried him. Her mouth grimaced and her eyes widened.

  "Wes," she said. "Too hot!"

  It was only after that that he noticed the burn.

  The ends of his partner’s hair and edges of her clothes lit a bright orange, like coals. Seconds later he discovered that the same was happening to him. They were burning alive!

  "Cecile," he shouted, concerned only for her safety. "No!"

  Uncertain as to what to do, he could only think of one spell and because of it, felt stupid, which led to anger. Which somehow resulted in a bigger, hotter flame. Still, he had to do something. So with no other option, Wesley removed his hand from her back and caught her by the wrist. Then he turned and aimed his other palm at an angle into the sky.

  "Ignis!" he mustered, his teeth clenched tighter than a bear trap.

  The blaze they created immediately shrank into him, but before he could let sigh his next breath, it exploded out of his palm, several meters wide and longer than a house. A red-orange glow made giants of their shadows, and hot air pushed outward strong enough to ripple his clothes.

  Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the blaze burned out. Wesley’s arm dropped like dead weight, and he turned to his partner.

  "Are you okay?" he asked as he helped her up, excited to see that his stupid idea worked and more so to see that the glow of Cecile’s clothes had faded.

  She stared at him with eyes every bit as intense as the flame had been.

  "Um," was all she managed, before Wesley heard the voices of the other students.

  "Was that really the knuckle-dragger?" one whispered.

  "Impossible," said another.

  "That spell was as strong as a D-class."

  "Bravo, bravo," said Master Dyonysius as she neared Wesley, with arms waving. "Magnifico! That was simply amazing, don’t you think? Gather round everyone. Did everybody see team eleven? Wesley and Cecile have performed the Dance of the Immortal Flame to perfection. That, ladies and gentlemen, was passion."

  She gently gripped Wesley’s shoulder. "Great job, you two."

  "Thank you, Master," he replied.

  "Thank you," she said, like waking from a dream and snatched her hand away from the boy with a "back off, Warty" leer.

  Master Dyonysius smiled, glancing at Cecile and then fixing on Wesley, and then said, "I’d say that’s enough to pass Fire Sorcery, no?"

  Wesley was so thrilled that he was tempted to give his partner a hug. But when he glanced at her, he could only see a flaming hand.

  The Sorceress slapped him in the face with enough force to put him on the ground. Then she pointed down at him and shouted, "Don’t you ever put your knuckle-dragging hands on me again!"

  Water

  "Hurón," Wesley called, standing out in one of the courtyards. A weasel appeared at his feet, perfectly still. Then Wesley motioned with his finger. "C’mon, you can do it."

  The animal ran up his leg and to the boy’s shoulder.

  Wesley pointed his finger, close to the weasel’s face. "It’s about time for you to realize that you’re my conjure and that I control you."

  The animal responded by biting down on the his finger.

  "Ow, ow, ow!" Wesley jumped around, waving his arm, unable to free himself from the little beast.

  "Somehow, I don’t think that last statement was entirely true," he heard from beyond some bushes, accompanied with a giggle.

  "Is that you, Sri?"

  "The one and only." She stepped from behind the shrubbery. "You shouldn’t boast like that. You’ll hurt its feelings."

  She came to Wesley and gently took the animal, tenderly petting it. "It’s okay, little guy," she said soothingly. "That’s what happened, right? Did that big, mean boy make you feel bad?"

  "Sri, it’s just a weasel," Wesley said, inspecting his fingertip.

  "That’s why you can’t control him. It’s also why you can’t manipulate water," said the Sorceress, before turning back to the conjure. "Isn’t that right?" she asked like talking to a baby.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You’ve been trying for over a week and you’ve come up empty every time, am I right?" He didn’t answer. "It’s because you don’t respect the medium, just like you don’t respect your conjure."

  "I don’t understand."

  "How could you hope to wield power without respecting it? That is something I don’t understand. Some things can’t be forced."

  "So what should I do?"

  "Finally, he asks for help," Sri said to the weasel before setting it down. "You must serve the element, acting as a guide rather than a leader. Think of it this way: you could never stand at the mouth of a river and force it to change directions, but by digging channels, one can suggest a different path for the racing waters to take. Water is very courteous. The river will take that person up on the suggestion. You need only respect the medium.

  "The same can be said for that weasel. I can tell, it really wants to follow you, but it also wants you to value its existence, instead of treating it like a slave. That sort of treatment can lead to rebellion."

  Wesley knelt down as the conjure scurried to him.

  He said to the weasel, "It’s no wond
er you act the way you do. I’m sorry; I’ll change if you’ll accept me."

  The animal looked up to Wesley, then closed its eyes and bowed its head. The boy laughed and pet his creation under its chin with his finger.

  "Aw, there’s nothing more precious than a boy and his small, carnivorous, long-bodied pet," joked the Sorceress.

  "Sri, can you tutor me?" asked Wesley.

  "Of course, Wes. That’s what friends are for," she answered with a smile. Both the speediness and the content of her answer stunned him. She referred to him as her friend and she did so without thought.

  "But where’s Cam?" asked the girl. "Why wouldn’t you go to him?"

  "Two things: one, he’s not a Water Sorcerer, and two, he’s practicing with Master Conley."

  "Oh." Her face dropped a little. Then she shook her head and asked, "During break hours?"

  "Yeah, he’s been spending more and more time training under him lately, and for good reason too," said the boy, oblivious to the small change in her posture. "It seems like his source is growing every day."

  He had his suspicions when Master Dyonysius showed a small portion of her true power, but it was Cameron’s change that allowed Wesley to finally figure out what he had been feeling all year. Source. It made sense to him that with all their magical prowess the master’s source would bear more weight.

  Still, presently, Sri stared with her head cocked.

  "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

  "It’s like his presence is getting heavier, but it’s nowhere near as heavy as Dean Sinclair’s," Wesley tried to explain. "And it’s sharp like needles."

  "You mean to say that that is how his source feels?"

  "Yeah, I think," Wesley guessed. "So far, everyone’s seems different, but Cam’s really stands out. Don't you think so?"

  "You… can sense… source?" She nearly fell.

  "Can’t everybody?"

  "No, that’s a very rare ability," the girl said with surprising joy.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, it usually only occurs in noble clans and even then, there aren’t many source-sayers among them."

  "So… I’m a 'source-sayer' and," he deduced, "it’s a good thing?"

  "It’s a great thing. But I wouldn’t tell too many people about it just yet, if I were you," her expression changed slightly.