Fantastic Schools: Volume One (Fantastic Schools Anthologies Book 1)

by Christopher G Nuttall

  Arrayed in the red robes of neutral wizards, Grant Von Wold nervously stood in the ground-level audience chamber before the seated leaders of the Order of Three. Raised from the stone by magic, the Tower of the Moons was bigger on the inside than on the outside. Massive stone walls with miniature cracks told the story of many magical battles that had been fought in this room.

  The twenty-three-year-old mage had come here to prove his worth by taking the Trials. Success meant he would be a mage in full standing. Failure almost always meant death. He let out a breath and pushed his glasses back up his nose. They were always sliding down. He tried to smooth down part of his brown hair, but some places never did settle.

  Beside him stood his white-robed girlfriend, Karen Hahn. She carried the Staff of All Dragons, a magical length of wood with a dragon head carved on the end. A blue belt held her lamb’s wool robes together. He had known her for years before they started dating, four months ago, and her hair had simply been light brown back then. The white streaks it now bore came from her own time at the Trials. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand to step away.

  So much had happened in those four months. He had gone from merely a seminary student in the regular world to also being a magician in this one. This setting, for want of a better word— referred to as Beyond the Veil—existed alongside the everyday world, but few could see it or cross into it. “In, with, and under” is how Grant put it to describe the relationship of the worlds. Lutherans and Catholics who had crossed over got the joke; most others didn’t.

  He watched Karen step to the side of the audience chamber and turn back to face him. Trying to give her a reassuring smile, he marveled at her sculpted cheeks, bright blue eyes, and trim waist. She smiled back, but the trembling smile and a single bead of sweat running down her temple bespoke her nerves.

  Near her stood three robed mages with the hoods pulled forward over their faces. All an onlooker could tell was that the red-robed and black-robed apprentices were female and the white-robed mage was male. All three had recently survived their Trials and then been apprenticed to one of the Tower heads seated on their thrones. They were the top students of the past year. Grant knew the neutral and good apprentices but not the evil apprentice.

  Before him were the most powerful mages of each alignment: Good, Evil, and Neutrality. Linas Arpa, Jr., represented the white-robed Good mages, like Karen. Mistress Janey led the Neutral red robes, which Grant was part of. The black-robed, Evil mages followed a man known only as The Dark One. His true name was never spoken. Red, white, and black-mages had an inborn fondness and ability with magic.

  Linas Arpa, Jr., the son of Karen’s teacher, sat easily in his high-backed silver chair that was studded with diamonds. His white hood was thrown back, showing his thinning, black hair. His middle spread out over the seat but not enough to call him obese. Grant only saw the slight nod he gave because he was watching closely.

  Next to him sat a middle-aged, blonde woman with a regal air about her. The red-robed Mistress Janey, Grant’s teacher, reclined in a silver chair bedecked with rubies. Blue eyes peered down at him from over her high cheekbones. Her thin fingers rested lightly on the chair arms. She had removed the mantle portion of her robes so that it looked more like a dress. Grant knew several other female mages who preferred the same. His mentor gave Grant an encouraging smile.

  He returned it and looked to the third and final chair, repressing a shiver at the cool breeze coming from that chair. The stern-looking chair was crafted from a single piece of black obsidian. Grant thought it looked terribly uncomfortable, like it was designed to show the owner didn’t care for comforts.

  In it sat a young man, no more than thirty-five, robed all in black. His thin, jet-colored hair hung forward over his shoulders to his chest. The hair was clean but shiny and slick looking. The Dark One’s eyes were clear and dark, bringing forth a shudder as they pierced Grant to the very soul. No expression, neither happy nor sad, marred his features. Does he ever smile?Grant wondered.

  “Who comes for their Trials?” asked Linas, as tradition required.

  “Grant Von Wold comes to prove himself worthy to progress to the fourth level,” stated the black-robed apprentice, the first words any of them had spoken.

  Grant blinked. He knew that voice. Chrissy Mason! Spice Girl to her friends, she had been the first black robe he met after crossing over. He had run into her several times at the Tower during his classwork.

  A small smile played at his lips when he heard Karen give a small hurumph. She and Chrissy did not get along.

  The head of the white robes said, “We have the Trials for three reasons. First, to test your potential for magic. Second, the threat of death weeds out the unserious. Finally, to determine how, exactly, you will do magic. You were given red robes when you crossed the Veil as they were your most likely colors. However, by your actions in the Trials, you may leave wearing white, red, or even black.” As he said the next, he indicated each of the apprentices in turn. “Will you seek cooperation and justice, pursue your own benefit, or preserve the balance?”

  Mistress Janey continued where Linas stopped. “The Trials bind mages together in ways no one outside our order can comprehend. Experiencing the Trials lets all robe colors get along. We are all bound to magic and indebted to it.” She gestured to the Dark One to take over.

  His voice oily smooth, he said, “Since the Treaty of Memphis, signed by the first three moon mages when the world of man was young, and Egypt was dominant, all have taken the Trials. Through the centuries, the Trials have been refined and enhanced. The penalty of death is not given lightly. Will you still begin? Please know that none here will look down on you for walking away.”

  Grant truly considered. If he failed, he would most likely die. Yet, if he didn’t try, the few, simple spells he could do now was the most magic he could ever do. Maybe he could take a different, safer class, but he’d have to start all over as a wizard or sorcerer. No. He’d checked the rule book that drove this crazy place Beyond the Veil, wizards and sorcerers didn’t gain spell slots nearly as fast as mages. The thought left him cold. He had to risk it all for the power it gave him. He would proceed.

  “Step forward, Grant Von Wold,” Linas said.

  The candidate did so, sweating slightly.

  “Are you frightened?” Janey asked, leaning forward and smiling gently, comfortingly.

  “Yes, Mistress Janey.”

  “You should be,” the Dark One said. He sat ramrod straight in his chair, his spine not touching the back of the chair. “Death awaits those who fail.” His voice was a whisper that Grant had to concentrate to hear.

  “However,” Linas said, his voice echoing off the walls, “parts of the Trials are kept secret from all candidates. Those who pass cannot tell certain rules and events. When you are only at the third level, very few spells can be cast and most of your daily allotment are nothing more than cantrips. Some say it is too early to test at that time, yet it is folly to wait until your skills are higher. Therefore, we give two gifts to the candidate. The first is standard for all Trials and comes from all three of us.” He gestured to Mistress Janey, who rose regally from her chair.

  Gifts? Grant let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. He looked questioningly up at Janey.

  “Kneel, Grant Von Wold,” she said, holding up a wand and tapping his shoulders when he was in position. “For the duration of your Trials, you will operate as if you were a level eight mage. You may spend two hours preparing more spells to fill your temporary allotment.”

  Grant’s eyes widened, and a grin played at his lips. Level eight! That would almost double the level and number of the spells he could cast. He tried to keep the smile hidden. It wouldn’t do to become overconfident.

  “And that’s not all, Mr. Von Wold,” the Dark One said from his throne. “I have prepared a special gift for you to use in your Trials. This is the personal gift.”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed. Linas and Janey wo
uld have given gifts to clearly help him. However, a gift from the Dark One would be a double-edged sword—as likely to harm the wielder as the target.

  Chrissy came forward holding a pillow with an ebony skull.

  Only his lips moving, the Dark One said, “My servant presents to you a guardian skull. Simply activate it in the center of your camping area, and it will scream should anyone come within ten feet of it who was not there when you said the word, ‘Activate.’” He smiled, grimly. “It truly is gruesome.”

  Grant gracefully accepted the ebony skull and placed it in a deep pocket inside his robe. He disliked using evil magic. Even though he wore red and they were allowed to use all three kinds, he almost never used anything from the black side of the art. He wished the personal gift had come from either Master Linas or Mistress Janey. He simply did not trust the Dark One.

  Mistress Janey motioned to the door. “Follow me, Grant and Karen.” She proceeded down a long corridor of bare walls, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Torches in sconces gave only flickering light. The head of the red robes halted before a wooden door, surrounded with silver and gold. Glowing runes surrounded the portal. At her lightest touch, it swung open to show a dimly-lit room.

  Not able to see into the room, Grant wondered if the Trials would start with an ambush!

  “Grant Von Wold, this is the last opportunity to leave the Trials. Once you step through the door, you may not back out. Alone, in the next room, you will be given two hours to prepare the temporary spell slots granted by us.”

  Janey hadn’t asked a question, so Grant said nothing. The ministry student clenched his clammy hands and looked to Karen. Other than a single bead of sweat running down her temple, she was hiding her fears well. For her, he would do no less.

  Gazing at him intently, Mistress Janey asked the final question. “Are you ready, Grant Von Wold?”

  Heart hammering and mouth dry, he said, “I am. Let it begin.”

  He blew Karen a kiss then stepped through the door, wincing as it whiffed closed behind him.

  Mistress Janey led Karen away from the door. “Staying there won’t ease your mind. I will take you to a place where you can watch.”

  Karen nodded as she silently followed. Oh, she wanted to be in there with Grant, but each mage had to go into the Trials alone! Anything at all might happen, but he had to be alone. “I didn’t know people could watch the Trials.”

  “Sometimes, we let it happen.” Her voice was light and airy, like it could be blown away by the wind.

  Their footsteps echoed off the walls. Karen gripped the Staff of All Dragons so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  “I can’t believe he’s made it here so quickly,” she whispered.

  “Nathan the Renegade had a challenge rating far above your levels, yet Grant found a way to win. That was a big indicator of his talent.”

  “How has Grant been in class? Is he a good student?”

  “Yes,” the older mage replied. “He’s tired when he gets here most evenings, but he’s excited to learn. He asked for an accelerated course. I salute him for that; we need all the mages as advanced as possible.”

  Karen knew she meant because the armies of evil were gathering. “He’s tired because he’s...”

  “Also a seminary student, yes. I’ve talked him out of going the Mystic Theurge route twice.”

  Karen shuddered. “Those always sound so cool until you meet one. I mean, being able to cast both arcane and divine magic sounds great, and they get so many spell slots, but...”

  In front of her, Janey nodded. “They’re the ultimate example of expectations differing from reality. Ah, here we are.” She opened a door to a sitting room. It had two chairs and two couches arranged so the furniture’s occupants could look down into a bronze basin about five feet across. Thick, woven tapestries showing dragons and griffons hung on all the walls. There were no windows and only a single door.

  “The scrying room,” Karen whispered. “I’ve never been in here during Trials. Are you sure...” She stopped. Of course, Janey was sure about letting her watch. Janey did nothing until she was sure of it.

  The leader of the red robes explained, “I am sure, but are you? The Trials are intensely personal and trying. We have scoured his past to customize it. You may be uncomfortable. Most importantly, the purpose is to learn about oneself.”

  “I remember what I learned about myself.” She caught hold of a stray thought. “Wait, do you mean while I’m watching I’ll learn about Grant or while I’m watching Grant, I’ll learn about myself?”

  Janey stared at Karen without answering for a moment. Then her answer was indirect. “Red robes learn to embrace the ‘and.’” She sprinkled copper powder and eyelashes from a raptor into the watery basin. The surface shimmered and showed Grant sitting in the tower’s library, surrounded by books. He mouthed words and gripped the table. “He is filling those new slots.”

  “He’ll still have to be selective.” Karen smiled thinking about her own preparation time for the Trials. The rush of holding that many spells in her head was intense. Each spell had to have a purpose! Only used to eleven a day, it almost knocked her over to have twenty-one spells banging around in her head. Even now, at level seven, she only had nineteen slots per day.

  Karen twisted the end of her blue belt in nervousness. Grant was ready—she had to be as well. If he wasn’t, he’d likely die. They didn’t call this the Final for nothing.

  As she watched him scribble on paper and flip pages in the spell books, the door opened. Looking up, Karen saw the Dark One and Chrissy Mason! She caught a snort in her throat and felt her nostrils flare. What were they doing in here? More specifically, what was she doing in here? Karen rose on her toes, ready to argue.

  Chrissy snarled out, “She’s in here, too?” Her hood was gone, and Karen could see her black hair, heart-shaped face, and the Rx tattoo on her right cheek. The black robe balled her hands into fists.

  Mistress Janey said quickly, “Karen, can the two of you remain in here, together, without fighting? This tower is neutral ground as stated in the Treaty of Memphis. If you wish to duel, make a formal challenge, and you may go to one of the special dueling rooms exempt from the treaty.”

  The two women eased back, still keeping their eyes on one another. Finally, Karen replied, “We’ll be good.” They sat on the chairs across from one another.

  The Dark One snorted.

  “I taught you better than that!” The master stared at Chrissy, his eyes cold and lifeless.

  “There’s no need to shed blood, today,” Chrissy said. “Grant is a friend of both of us. We’re here for him, not ourselves.”

  Her teacher snarled. “We are always here for ourselves.” Without another word, he spun and strode from the room.

  After Karen had watched him go, Mistress Janey announced, “I, too, shall leave. You may sleep here if his Trials go overnight. I shall send refreshments when time.”

  With that, she left and closed the wooden door behind her with a gesture of her hand.

  “Well, I guess we’re stuck together for a while,” Chrissy said, frowning.

  “Just stay over there,” Karen answered. “I’m here to watch, not talk.”

  Meanwhile, Grant let his eyes adjust to the dim room. A long, wooden table sat in the middle of the room with a stiff-backed chair beneath it and both his spell books stacked atop it. This is why the Three had asked him to bring his books. He had only limited time to memorize spells for the new slots. On the opposite wall, a large, wooden door stood closed.

  Empty bookshelves lined the walls. Two silver candlesticks with candles sat on the table. He wasn’t going to use a cantrip to light them. Patting his pockets, he found a book of matches in the pocket next to his phone. He pulled out his phone and opened a special app. PCMe showed him as a level eight moon mage with twenty-one spell slots, ten still open. The new slots were more for powerful spells than he could normally cast.

  Scratch, flare, whoosh.


  The little room now had enough light to read by. He sat at the table and pulled the top book—the spell book with red leather and blue letters—to him. Only recently had he gotten into the second book.

  Quickly, he read over the spell listing he had put in the front of the book. He was very organized and, like most young mages, had made a table of contents. Unlike most mages, he had added an index by material component. Frowning, he took a quick inventory of his two pouches. He had a standard bag with enough components for twenty, common spells. The other had special components used in only a few spells. Many spells didn’t even need material components; the activation word and/or a gesture was enough.

  Time passed as he read the book, scribbling down spells he might prepare today and those he definitely would not. All the spells could be useful, but being limited to only what they had prepared was the price mages paid. Sorcerers could cast any spell they knew spontaneously, as long as they had an open slot of the right level.

  Probably not Phantom Noise, Mend, or Psychedelic Image. However, Owl’s Wisdom, Bedazzle Monster, and Hold Person were more likely to help. Then he filtered the first list further until he had only a few more spells than slots. Memorizing came next. Ah, he thought, this is the first trial. Which spells do I select and can I memorize them in the time given? He set to work.

  The candles had almost burned out when he heard a chime.

  “You have five minutes, Grant,” came Janey’s voice from the empty air.

  Five minutes. Time for one more spell and only one, low-level slot left. He glanced at his components again and the list. Frowning, he checked again. He had accounted for all the spell components except one in his preparation. None of the spells looked like something that would help, but he was not going to leave any slots open.

  “Three minutes. Be prepared.”

  He picked up the one component—a chicken feather. Why not? he thought and read the words of the spell aloud, carefully shaping every letter with his tongue and accenting exactly as needed.