by Randall Pine
“This is so stupid,” Simon muttered. Then, louder, he asked, “How do I know the combination?”
“It’s the combination you gave it in the future.”
Simon thought his head might explode.
“Oh, super easy!” Virgil chirped happily. “One left, one right, one left. Bam!”
The wizard frowned. “You made your combination one-one-one?”
“Pretty easy to remember, huh?” The vault in Virgil’s mind was a tall, slender safe, about the size and shape of a grandfather clock. He spun the dial on the combination lock, and the bolt fell back. He imagined pulling open the door. Even though the outside of the vault was only about a foot deep, on the inside, the vault looked infinite. “Cool,” he breathed.
Simon sighed. This is so stupid, he thought. He could see the keypad clearly enough, and that actually surprised him. He wasn’t known for being the most imaginative guy on the block, but he saw his psychic vault with an impressive clarity. It really looked like he could reach out and touch the numbers on the keypad.
Of course, that didn’t help him to know what numbers he was supposed to touch on the keypad.
“So I already know the combination, and I should just punch in the numbers I already know that I’ll give myself some day in the future, even though I won’t actually give them to myself in the future because I’ll already have had them in mind in the past.”
Llewyn nodded. “Yes.”
Simon sighed again. So, so stupid. Keeping his eyes closed, he shook out his hands, as if he was going to actually use them to touch the imaginary keypad, and as if the stakes were somehow very high. He assumed they probably were not. If you type in the wrong imaginary numbers on an imaginary keypad, what was the worst that could happen? You reset and start over again, right?
“By the way, if you get them wrong, your psychic vault might lock forever,” Llewyn said, as if reading his mind. “That could have some serious mental repercussions for you. Given the complexities of the astral plane and all.”
Simon frowned. “Thanks a lot.”
Llewyn touched a finger to his forehead and tipped it toward his apprentice. “I’m here to educate,” he said.
Screw it, Simon thought. If I don’t know them now, it’s not like I’ll know them in the future. And if I really did set them in the future, then future me better have remembered what present me does and doesn’t know. He imagined himself reaching out and pressing the numbers on the imaginary buttons that were set into the imaginary vault. He just let his hand guide itself, let it press the numbers that it seemed to want to press.
6-0-6-2-1.
The keypad beeped. A green light came on. The vault unlocked. The door swung open.
“Whoa. I did it,” Simon said, watching the psychic vault fall open. His, too, was infinite inside, with endless shelves lining the walls, which curved into a circle, the same shape as the big vault door.
“Nice! What was your code?” Virgil asked, slapping his friend on the back.
Simon shrugged. “Just some random numbers. 6-0-6-2-1.”
Virgil snorted. “Those aren’t random, dummy.”
“They’re not?”
“No! They’re your birthday, and Laura’s birthday; yours is June sixth, and Laura’s is June twenty-first.”
“Numbers have meaning,” Llewyn said sagely, his one eye gleaming.
“Huh,” Simon said, opening his eyes and blinking. “Well, what do you know about that?”
“The next step is to place your curios inside your vault,” the sorcerer said, getting them back on track.
“Yeah, I was wondering about that,” Virgil said, scratching his chin. “If the vaults are in our heads, and the curios are in our hands, how do we…?” A terrible thought crossed his mind then, and he gulped. “We don’t actually put the curios into our heads…?”
Llewyn sighed. “No. You don’t put the curios into your heads. You hold them in your hands, and you focus your energies on them, just like you did with the flowers. Just like you did with the manacles. Focus. Once you feel the magic flowing between you and the artifact, call up the psychic image of your vault, and imagine yourself placing it inside.”
Virgil laughed. “Sesame Street always told me that my imagination was magical, but I didn’t think they meant it literally,” he said. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his wooden ball. He pushed the magic up from his gut once again, sending it through his arms, so that it pooled inside the ball. He pictured his tall, opened vault, and he imagined himself placing the ball inside the cabinet. Then he closed the imaginary door and locked it.
He opened his eyes. The wooden ball had disappeared.
“Whoa,” he breathed, his eyes glowing with excitement. “That is wild.” He nudged Simon, flashing him a grin. “You gotta try it.”
Simon frowned, but he set to work. He readjusted his feet so that he felt more firm, standing on the spongy grass, and then he closed his eyes. He pushed his magic up and into his hands, holding the key tightly and feeling the energy flow into its small, metal form. Then he pictured his own vault, and imagined himself placing the key inside, on the top shelf on the left side. Then he closed the vault, and the lock clunked as it slid into place.
When he opened his eyes, they key was gone.
“Very good,” Llewyn said, his voice actually filling with something that sounded like pride. “You have a true aptitude for magic. Both of you.”
“Aw, shucks,” Virgil said, giving Simon a wink. “We’re good at stuff!”
“You’ll both make fine mages someday,” Llewyn admitted with a grin. Then he quickly added, “Someday far, far down the road.”
“So the curio just…sits there?” Simon asked.
The wizard nodded. “Until you retrieve it. Until you return to your psychic vault, open it, and take the artifact out. When you do, it will appear in your hands again.” He gave them a grin. “Like magic.”
“Man,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “Life is just so, so cool now.”
Simon nodded over toward the axe that was wedged deeply into the trunk of the tree not far away. “When do we start working with that?” he asked nervously. The handle of the axe alone was as tall as he was, and the double-edged blade was about as wide as his shoulders.
It was an incredibly imposing weapon.
Llewyn smirked. “We’ve come to the axe now, as a matter of fact,” he said, striding across the clearing and wrenching it from the tree. He reached down and touched the deep channel he had cut into the trunk, and his lips moved. The tree began to heal itself from the inside out, filling back in and covering with bark until there was no wound to speak of at all. When he did this, the hole that Virgil’s Skee-Ball curio had blown through the other tree across the way also healed itself from the inside, and within seconds, both trees were fully restored and healthy. Then the wizard marched back over to where the two young men stood, and he held the axe up high, so they could get a good look.
“Yes, we start with the axe now,” he repeated, glancing down at them with mischief in his eye.
Then he gripped the axe with both hands and swung it down at Virgil’s neck as hard as he could.
Chapter 20
“Oh, nice,” Simon said grumpily, crossing his arms in annoyance. “You killed Virgil.”
Virgil’s body lay on the spongy ground in a heap. Simon nudged it with his toe.
“I didn’t even touch him,” the wizard protested, still holding the axe mid-air, at the spot he had stopped his downward swing, right before Virgil had shrieked with fear and fainted. “I was making a demonstration.”
“You demonstrated too well,” Simon pointed out. He gave Virgil a gentle kick. “Hey. Wake up.”
Virgil’s eyes fluttered open. His head lolled from side to side on the ground. “What happened?” he asked. Then his eyes opened wide with memory,
and his hands flew to his neck, feeling for the axe wound he was sure he would find there. “Am I dead? Am I a ghost? Oh man, I’m a ghost, you made me a ghost so I can fight the demon without dying, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”
“Virgil, calm down,” Simon said, reaching down and grabbing his friend under the elbow. He hauled Virgil to his feet and brushed off his back. “You’re not dead. You just fainted.”
Virgil furrowed his brow. “No, that can’t be right. I don’t faint.”
“You fainted hard,” Llewyn pointed out. He lowered the axe, setting the blade on the ground and leaning his massive forearms on the handle. “And fast, too. I don’t mind telling you, that doesn’t bode well for fighting supernatural evil.”
“I didn’t faint,” Virgil insisted. “I took a strategic nap.”
Simon snorted. “You are such a dope.”
“Well, you shouldn’t go swinging axes at people’s throats anyway!” Virgil exploded, leveling an accusatory finger at the wizard’s chest.
Llewyn stared down at him, amused. “Do you think that Dark Creatures will be any less aggressive?” he asked.
“Well…no,” Virgil admitted, shrinking back. He rubbed his neck, enjoying the feeling of it, and the solid way it connected his head to his shoulders. “But I expect it from them.”
“Expect it from everyone,” Llewyn instructed. “You never know when a wolf might come at you dressed like a sheep.”
“I don’t think that’s quite how the saying goes,” Virgil said.
“But we get the point,” Simon added quickly.
Virgil nodded his agreement. “Yeah. We do.”
“At any rate, no matter who comes at you, your best defense is a strong defense.” He scrutinized Virgil with his one good eye. “Not a collapsible offense.”
“Easy for you to say,” Virgil murmured.
“Okay. So how do we defend ourselves?”
Llewyn nodded his approval. He appreciated a student who could stay on track. “With the power of kinesthetic magic.”
Virgil raised his hand, but didn’t wait to be called on before speaking. “You said that yesterday. Kinisatic.”
“Kinesthetic,” the mage corrected him.
“Whatever. What is that?”
“Yeah,” Simon added thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his cheek, “doesn’t kinesthetic mean, like, active? Physically active?”
“This magic has not been physically active,” Virgil pointed out. “Mostly I just stand here and don’t move and make it happen.”
“Yeah,” Simon agreed, “I hate saying it, but Virgil’s right.”
Llewyn straightened his spine and stood tall, staring down at the two younger men. “A question I wasn’t expecting for another several sessions,” he admitted admiringly. “You two are a deep well of surprises.” He picked up the axe and twirled it between his hands, spinning it as easily as if it were a pencil. “The magic you’re tapping into is kinesthetic, even though it doesn’t feel like it to you. Because even though you’re standing still here, in our reality, the truth is, every time you dig down into your being and pull out your magic, another version of you, on a different plane of reality—and yes, I fully understand that you have a hard time believing in other planes of reality,” he added quickly, looking mostly at Simon. “Despite that, there is another version of you, a you that shares all your you-ness, that exists on the dynagogical plane, and you’re connected by an unbreakable bond. Every time you feel the power well up from the pit of your stomach, the other you is spinning and spinning and spinning, like a child’s top, to generate a mystical power, and he sends it to you through the space-time link, filling your gut with the strength so you can tap into it there and move it into the other parts of your body, and out into the world. Your dynagogical other is like your generator, keeping you fueled…keeping you strong.”
Simon furrowed his brow, and he blinked a few times. “There was never anything about a dynagogical generator-self in science class,” he pointed out.
“Science only knows so much,” Llewyn returned. “To understand the rest of reality, you need someone who can tap into its magic.”
Virgil was also lost in deep thought, and he held up both of his hands and waved them through the air. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “Does my dynamagical self—”
“Dynagogical,” the wizard corrected him.
“Dynagogical, whatever—does he know that I exist?”
“Maybe someday you’ll ask him.” Llewyn turned his attention back to the axe. “You can use that magic to protect yourself from attacks. The process for putting up a shield is the same as the process for casting magic forward, like when you tried to hit the can. Except instead of shooting the energy forward, you spread it out before you. Eventually, you’ll be able to do both at your whim, but for now, not wearing the manacle will make the shielding spell easier.” He set the axe on the ground and resumed his normal, broad posture. He raised his hands, holding out his palms and spreading his fingers, as if he were holding someone—or something—at bay. His lips moved, and two flat planes of energy burst into existence, spreading out from his palms and extending like platters in front of his hands. They looked to be semi-solid, almost as if they were made from a translucent orange plastic that was filled with light. “Pick up the axe,” Llewyn said.
Simon and Virgil looked at each other. “This sounds like a trick,” Simon decided.
“Yeah, but I’m weirdly okay with it,” Virgil replied. He reached down and lifted up the axe. It was heavy. Extraordinarily heavy. Even though Llewyn had held it easily with one hand, it took Virgil every ounce of strength he had in both of his arms to pick it up off the ground. He grunted with effort as he lifted it up to chest height. Within moments, he was covered in a flop sweat. “Now what?” he panted.
The wizard grinned. “Take my head off,” he said.
Virgil snorted. The embarrassment of fainting was still fresh in his cheeks. “Gladly,” he grunted. He used all his strength to heft the axe onto his shoulder. It pushed down on his bones like a hydraulic press. “Holy Hamburg, this thing is heavy,” he muttered, shaking the beads of sweat from his forehead.
“I have a hatchet somewhere, if you’d prefer,” the wizard said, smirking behind his orange shields. “In the toy box, in the nursery. For babies. Should I get it?”
Simon laughed out loud. “That was good,” he admitted.
Virgil glowered. “I’m not a baby,” he panted through gritted teeth.
He turned his torso, giving himself a bit of torque. Then he spun back around, letting the weight of the axe carry itself off of his shoulder with the centrifugal force, so that he only sort-of swung it without having to actually lift it any higher. The head of the axe turned sideways as Virgil heaved it through the air, and the broad side of it collided clumsily with the wizard’s shields with a loud CLANG.
The shields held strong. The axe bounced off of them, vibrating so hard that Virgil’s whole body trembled. He dropped the axe, and it fell to the floor with a thud. His breaths came heavy and hard. He put his hands on his hips and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “Okay, I get it,” he said, dismissing the wizard. “The shields are strong.”
“Very strong,” Llewyn confirmed. He closed his hands, and the orange light dissipated. “Strong enough to withstand attacks from almost any weapon that’s manmade. It’ll protect from most magics, too, if you can make it strong enough. It won’t protect from everything…not the more powerful attacks from a demon like Asag, but it’ll serve as a defense for some. It’s a start, at any rate.”
“Okay,” Simon nodded, rubbing his hands together. “How do we do it?”
The wizard picked up the axe and gave it a practice swing. “Trial by fire,” he grinned. Then he swung the axe again, this time at Simon.
And this time, the wizard didn’t stop until he made contact.
Chapter 21
“I can’t believe you stopped that first swing!” Virgil chirped excitedly as he clicked his seatbelt into place. “Man. Man. I was pretty angry about the whole fainting thing, but man. Seeing you just jump into action when he tried to cut you in half! Man!”
“I don’t know what happened!” Simon replied excitedly, closing the car door behind him. “It was just pure instinct! He was like, swing! And I was like, block!”
“The way those shields just sprang from your hands! Amazing!”
“I know!” Simon cried. Even now, several hours later, exhausted and sore from their training session, he was still feeling the tingling excitement of having made his first kinesthetic shields.
“Even though the axe cracked through them, they were so good!”
“Yeah, I mean, did you see the size of that axe? For a first try, even though they cracked in half, still! That was awesome!” He gazed down at his hands and marveled at them. “I really am a wizard,” he breathed.
“You’re not a wizard,” Llewyn said, appearing suddenly at the window. Simon and Virgil both screamed.
“Criminy, Llewyn!” Virgil said, placing a hand over his heart. “You scared us to death.”
The sorcerer smirked. “You’re not wizards,” he said again. “You’ve got magic in you, all right. We’ll make it strong. But you’ve got a long way to go before you’re wizards. A long, long, long way.”
“It was just a…figure of speech,” Simon mumbled, looking down at the steering wheel, embarrassed.
“I need a favor,” Llewyn said. “I tried to reach out to Abby just now, and I felt her energy, but it felt…wrong.”
Simon frowned. “Wrong how?” he asked.
But the wizard shook his head. “Not sure, really. It felt like…” He twisted up his face, as if finding the right word was causing him discomfort. “I don’t know, her energy felt like…straw.”
Virgil blinked. “Straw?” he repeated. “Like…hay?”
Llewyn nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t make much sense, I know. But her energy has the feel of earthiness, and dust, and it’s scratchy now.”