by Jordan Cramm
Mage Dawson smiled and leaned in.
“I see. Well firstly, and this is just my opinion here, but I think anyone who is given the chance to be a Free Mage is so called by the Free Magic itself for a specific purpose. So if you choose not to be a Free Mage, then who knows what might be lost to the world forever? Perhaps whatever you would have become would be given over to another, or perhaps your gifts would simply never be used. Secondly, and please forgive me if this sounds rude to ask, but there are many who claim to have been given the manifest. Some are tricksters; others just want attention, that sort of thing. So forgive me if I give offense, but could you conjure your manifest for me—to show me I mean, that you indeed are what you claim?”
Wolflen nodded and understood. He didn't take offense to the request. He supposed that Mage Dawson was likely right—many people surely wanted to be a Free Mage—and those that couldn't be but wanted it badly enough, might try anything to get close to the Free Magic...even deception. So Wolflen held his arms outward, with his palms facing upward as well. And he concentrated. Instantly, his manifest appeared. Mage Dawson smiled.
“Forgive me for doubting,” he said, “but these days imposters are everywhere. Now then, what questions do you have that I can help answer?”
Wolflen swallowed hard and thought about the introduction in his manifest.
“Well,” he replied, “what does 'To be a War Mage is to pursue freedom. To be free is to be. To be any other way is contrary to how you should be' mean exactly? I mean I understand that the manifest suggests that I pursue this path, but...”
“Wait.” Mage Dawson interrupted. “What did you say?”
Wolflen repeated himself. Clearly it had an unusual effect on Mage Dawson to hear it.
“That is not a motto of the Free Magic. Nor is it found in the manifest for Free Magic. Let me see your book if you don't mind.”
Wolflen released his manifest into Mage Dawson's hands. Mage Dawson saw the title on the cover before opening the book. When he opened it, to his dismay, he saw only blank pages.
“Impossible.”
Mage Dawson said some spell words to reveal the mysteries that now evaded him by way of the blank pages. But despite his attempted spell, no words or pictures formed upon the pages. Mage Dawson didn't understand completely. He knew what it looked like, but he was in disbelief and shock. So to test his theory, he kept the book open and asked Wolflen to reach over and touch the book slightly. Wolflen did so and at once words began to appear on the pages.
Mage Dawson gave out a startling cry and jumped back. The manifest fell to the floor, and Wolflen picked it up slowly, watching Mage Dawson cover his mouth in disbelief.
“It can't be” Mage Dawson said, pursing his chin, “I mean you...you are young and besides untrained in all things. But more importantly you are Izenian. It just cannot be. You are not Elven. You are Izenian and you are young. So it’s impossible. This book is a trick! Where did you get it?”
Mage Dawson's confusing talk was making no sense whatsoever to Wolflen. Besides that, the startled cry from the Mage had brought two more Free Mages into the room as well; Mage Starn, and Mage Carra. Starn was older, with a rougher face and gray hair in a ponytail to his shoulders. Carra however looked younger, and had beautiful golden locks of hair and an inviting figure. Both asked what was going on. Mage Dawson made quick introductions among all of them.
“And though he says his name is Wolflen and that this manifest is his, I presume it to be trickery of some kind—or some new magic at work.”
“Don't be silly Dawson,” Carra said matter-of-factly, “Wolflen is it? May I see that book you hold?”
Wolflen handed it over to her willingly. Her results were the same as Mage Dawson's were. All she saw were blank pages. Mage Dawson saw that she was equally confused now, and he repeated the phrase that had been quoted to him by Wolflen from the manifest.
“Did you cast a knowing spell Dawson?” Mage Starn asked.
Mage Dawson shot a glance back at him that suggested disgust and disbelief.
“Of course I did,” he said quickly, “I have been doing this for a while—maybe not so long as you, but long enough.”
“And still the pages were blank?” Starn asked.
Mage Dawson nodded.
“Well,” Starn commented, “then there is one truth. The book is indeed his as the words only appear for his touch. And Wolflen...this is NOT the manifest of a Free Mage.”
Wolflen still did not seem to understand the gravity of the situation. And though the Free Mages did, they had not outright explained yet, so Wolflen didn't have a clue. However, his instincts told him that something was going on, because the Free Mages seemed bothered in a way.
“What is it then?” Wolflen asked. “Look if it’s some cruel trick from someone fine—I am sorry I wasted your time if so. I just want to know what it is.”
The Free Mages all looked at each other in silence a moment. Finally, Carra spoke.
“This is not a trick. Nor is it the manifest of a Free Mage. This, if our suspicions are correct, is the manifest of a War Mage. But...well War Mages have not existed for thousands of years. They appear in times of great peril—times when our world teeters on the brink of utter oblivion. The last time one existed was in the Great War. And there has never been anything but Elven War Mages. Normally, according to history, they were Knights, already trained in battle and then chosen by the Free Magic to be a War Mage. You are not Elven however. You also look young and do not have the look of a Knight. So right now we are as confused as you are.”
Wolflen stood up with the book in his hands.
“Confused?” he asked with enthusiasm, “is that what this looks like to you? Sure, I am confused. Like what does this mean? If what you say is true, then why me? I am nothing. You three seem to know something about this stuff—more than I do anyway. But yet, you claim that you can't read this book—that only I can. All I know for sure is that I seek answers. I came here to find some, but it seems like now all I have is more questions. Now where do I have to go for answers if not here—among Free Mages?”
“The Elves.”
Starn's comment was simplistic, and yet logical. Mage Dawson nodded his own agreement while Carra just stared into Wolflen's eyes.
“You are right Lord Wolflen...this is a puzzling situation. And from where you stand it may be frustrating for you—not having answers. But you see, we three understand the implications at least of what you have told us here tonight. Believe me when I say that we are far more frustrated than you now. Understand this young lad, the Free Magic chose you. Now no doubt you will for a long time ask why. Maybe you will get an answer to that, and maybe not. What I do know for certain though—what I can tell you for sure, is that the Free Magic keeps the balance of all things, and it is governed by the Gods. It CHOSE YOU. Granted, I don't understand that choice myself, but who am I—who is anyone to question the Free Magic? The Elves have life spans like us Izenians—natural immortals barring injuries, sickness and disease. Their histories are long. Surely in certain Izenian libraries you might find information about the War Mages, but only reported on by a race that never had one until now. The Elves would have better answers though. Besides that, if this is truly happening here and now, then old alliances will need to reunite.”
“What is the big deal about these War Mages anyway?” Wolflen asked.
“Do you really want to know?” Carra responded.
“Yes.”
Carra nodded. “Free Mages get spell power by agreeing to do tasks for the Free Magic itself. You could say in that right, Free Mages are agents of the Free Magic. When we need a spell, we are asked to do something in return. We can accept or decline. We might get asked to do something immediately, or at a later date. There is no rhyme or reason. Guild Mages—now they are different. Their spell power comes from their own inner strength. So they can cast whatever they want from their known spells, but certain spells could drain them physically, even to the
point of fainting, or even death if the spell was great enough. But War Mages...War Mages are different. War Mages can cast their spells more freely and it is a system completely different than the other two. I can't expound on that, because we really don't know what it is or how it works. It's an ancient magic, and one not in the world today for anyone to study—well, until you that is.”
Wolflen's heart fell into his stomach. She was speaking of great power. And he might not be an old wise man, but he knew that great power meant that one had to have the ability to handle it. He wondered if he did.
“I was to pick a trade school this week. I just got back from sea for a year. Now you tell me I have to go see the Elves to straighten this out?”
Mage Dawson nodded.
“Yes, it is your best chance of finding answers. That's not to say you will find everything you need. I would suggest reading your manifest completely, and if it’s like the Free Magic at all, it will tell you how to conjure your spell books the same way. And if it’s like the Free Magic at all, then your spellbook will already contain spells that you can begin to practice.”
Wolflen couldn't argue with the logic. Still, he didn't like the idea of telling his parents he was planning to leave the city, then the kingdom, travel to Elven territory, and hopefully, figure out as he was supposed to do in life. His dad would laugh. Only because he will think I am joking.
~
It was nearly eight chimes in the morning. His eyes refused to close after a long night with the Free Mages. He was tired. He was so tired in fact, that he really didn't even care or notice that his mother saw him come in the house looking as ragged as he now was. It didn't matter to him that she saw him. After all, he hadn't the energy now to argue anyway. So when she asked where he had really been, he decided not even to lie.
“I went to see the Free Mages mom.”
She stood with her hand on her hip, giving him a look that he was ignoring as he walked passed.
“Your father is home now. So I suggest you go explain to him why you weren't home at all this morning when he came in your room to give you a gift.”
Wolflen paused but only briefly, and then he walked toward the kitchen. He found his father sitting there at the table with breakfast before him.
“Late night?” his father asked casually.
Wolflen snapped back, telling his father to back off. He insisted that a year at sea should have been enough time of doing things by the book, and that he should be allowed more freedom now that he was older. His dad was stunned by the response—he hadn't cared that Wolflen was out all night, only wondering why.
“Easy,” Shamus began, “this isn't the ship I know. No I figure what you do between now and trade school is your business, so long as you pick one soon. Party it up while you can but don't slack on building your future.”
Wolflen recoiled slightly, surprised that his father was not screaming back by now. Then Shamus surprised his son further by sliding a pair of black, ankle-high boots across the table.
“I was told,” Shamus said, “that these were boots of stealth and speed. They are supposed to increase the runner's speed and also be absolutely stealthy, as their name implies. I was also told that normally, such boots are not purchased by students of the Ranger Sect because few students can afford them until later in life, once they are accomplished masters and earning a living. You will be among the few to use them before your training is complete.”
Wolflen sat down at the table and thanked his father heartily, even apologizing for being so short and rude a moment before. His father said it was okay but then asked if Wolflen would speak about what was going on. Wolflen began the tale as he slipped on his new boots. Nice fit. His father listened rather calmly for most of the tale. Wolflen wondered if it would really be so easy; to speak about the possibility of not going to trade school. He had thought his parents would lock him in a dungeon somewhere until he made up his mind, but his father seemed to be listening without question. Finally, when Wolflen finished, the doubting came. His father began to laugh.
“Now you should have said Free Mage...I still wouldn't believe it, but I would have at least thought maybe you were just joking around. A War Mage though eh? You and Ayvock really did party hard didn't you? How much alcohol did you drink?”
Wolflen heard the laughter of his father, and it was as knife-jabs to his ears and mind. His mother had stepped into the kitchen during the start of the telling of his story, and she was just shaking her head in disbelief. Shamus started in again though, before she could say anything.
“Is this how it's going to be? You return from sea and develop a taste for the drink?”
Shamus slapped his hands on the table in a comedic gesture.
“Well son, that's as funny of a tale as I have heard all year. But I don't think they will fancy those kinds of stories in trade school.”
His father started laughing again.
By now, Wolflen was boiling mad. His mother was saying something now but he had already tuned it out. He stood quickly from the table, but when he did he forced his palms toward the table without touching it. But though he hadn't touched it at all, it, the chair with his father in it, and his mother went sliding with a jolt of energy force into the wall behind them. Wolflen stood a moment stunned, looking at his hands and wondering how he had done that. His parents both looked stunned as well. They were not hurt at all, just suddenly surprised by what could have been magic...used in their own home. Wolflen wasn't even a student yet. How could he do magic?
“Son?” Shamus said as Wolflen quickly turned and rushed upstairs toward his room.
His father didn't know what was going on, but now he needed answers. He wasn't ready to believe Wolflen's story yet, but he felt that something was indeed happening right under his nose, and he vowed to himself to find out what it was.
Wolflen was upstairs and throwing a few things together in no time. Mostly, he stuffed several coins into the pockets of his robes, some gemstones, a dagger, and he grabbed a small pack for a few items of clothing. He packed them quickly, and as he rushed toward the doorway of his room once more to leave, his father nearly collided with him in the hallway, and instantly demanded answers. Wolflen pushed passed him, telling his father to leave him alone. His father simply followed, demanding answers for what had happened downstairs in the kitchen moments before.
“What was that son? Your mother is terrified!”
Wolflen paused at the bottom of the stairs in front of the main door of the house. He turned quickly and fired back a response,
“How do you think I feel?” and then he opened the door, and walked through.
His father rushed after him to the porch and grabbed Wolflen from behind by one shoulder. Wolflen merely spun in rage and at once, the main wooden door behind them burst into flames. Shamus was again confused and awestruck. He let go at once of Wolflen's shoulder, and Wolflen turned and darted off the porch, again looking at his hands with confusion.
He had no clue what was happening. Is this magic? Is this how uncontrollable it is? If so I am better off taking a trade at sea. He didn't quite know where he was running to exactly, but once his feet fell into their route that he knew so well, he realized he was running toward Ayvock's home. He ran quickly now, and without thinking about it. His new boots helped him make good time, rushing through the streets of Akartha and ignoring everyone along the way. As he ran, he tried to focus his breathing. He didn't know why it mattered so much now, but he concentrated upon it, and slowed his breathing from a heavy panting to a gentle, slow rhythm as he ran. Why he should consciously do such a thing, he couldn't be sure, but he did it. He felt his muscles tighten a moment and then slack again, and suddenly he felt charged with energy as he ran. So he kept running.
He found that he made good time reaching Ayvock's house. He wasn't even out of breath when he got there. He found that especially strange, because many times Wolflen and Ayvock had raced each other from one house to the other, and every time th
e race ended with the boys panting heavily on one porch or the other. Now though, he felt no shortness of breath at all. He simply casually walked to the door and knocked. Much to Wolflen's fancy, Ayvock answered the door. Wolflen grabbed him as soon as the door opened, pulling his best friend to the porch at once and shutting the door quickly behind. And before noticing that Ayvock's hair was messed up, his clothes were sleepwear and he was barefoot out in the cold, Wolflen started talking.
“Something has happened. I don't know what it is, but this morning I had an argument with dad, and he was making jokes about me, and the next thing I knew the table went flying across the room and he and mom were pinned to the wall...”
Ayvock cut in at once now, trying to keep up with his friend who was clearly trying to get too much out at once.
“Okay, so you threw a table?”
Wolflen gave a serious stare for a moment—a brief moment of silence before he spoke again. His glare told Ayvock not to interrupt again too.
“No, I didn't THROW the table...I mean, I think I did—but...I don't know how. It was some kind of magic thing. Then, I ran out in a panic and he tried to stop me and I think I set the door to the house on fire with magic.”
Ayvock stayed silent now, afraid to interrupt again. But Wolflen's impatient glances after the awkward silence finally told Ayvock it was okay to speak again.
“What are you going to do?” Ayvock asked.
He clearly had no idea of what to do.
“I went to see the Free Mages last night,” Wolflen responded, “and I was with them all night. And apparently I am not to be a Free Mage.”
Ayvock nodded saying, “Well, if you are moving furniture and setting things on fire, maybe you just need practice. Don't count out being a Free Mage just yet—I mean I hear it's a life of freedom.”