A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos)

by Wilkerson, Brian

  Chapter 4 Proof of Skill

  Eric woke up feeling as though he'd been pushed through a tube of toothpaste. He was still under the study tree, but the sun was setting. At his side were Annala and Oito. Revas sat apart from the group, hackles raised. Oito gave him a water bottle. It didn't have the same spark as the spring water, but it eased his pain and restored his energy.

  “How are you feeling?” Annala asked.

  “Exhausted.” He downed the water. “This helps.”

  “Sssomething like that takesss a lot of mana.”

  Eric paused. “I did something?”

  “Videlicet Mens,” Annala said. “It means 'clear mind'. When an ensouled life form is in peril, its sense of self-preservation drives out all other thoughts and desires and focuses the entire collective power of the life form in question into repelling the threat. Naturally, this involves amplifying the soul's natural ability to draw mana from Noitaerc's veins to achieve a state of increased physical and spiritual ability colloquially known as 'Super Mode.'”

  “I don't know how to do that! What's happening to me?”

  Annala steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing. Nothing's wrong, Eric. Your spirit lashed out instinctively. Think of it as spiritual adrenaline.”

  “The Ciatosan Theory of Mana Adaption?”

  Annala nodded. “It would explain why you collapsed.”

  Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “In that case, I'm fine.”

  “Hey! Sssstop talking in code!”

  “The Ciatosan Theory of Mana Adaption: if a being from a dry world, such as Threa, spent a necessary and sufficient time in a wet world, such as Tariatla, then its normative mana levels, in addition to its ability to draw mana from the Sea of Chaos on par with its spiritual strength, would become equal to the standard of the rest of the populace of the wet world in question by the constant intake of additional mana as a result of daily living.”

  Oito blinked. “I was metaphysically thirsty but now I'm not, because I live in a marsh instead of a plateau.”

  All of a sudden, it struck him. These three stood up to an orc for him. They were injured for him. He thanked them, cried and thanked again, and cried harder. In the past, his only friend was a moocher. Oito grabbed Revas and Annala by the arm. “Come on, everyone. Group hug. Group hug.”

  He enveloped everyone else in a giant hug. Being at its center with everyone holding everyone else, Eric couldn't remember a time when he felt happier.

  A message waiting at the dorms made his good mood even better: the Unemployment Office called with a job and his potential employer was waiting for him there. All the way, he wondered what it would be. Probably something menial. I look like a teenager after all; no one would believe I'm actually an adult with a college degree. Before he knew it, he arrived at the eerily pink room.

  “Ah, Mr. Watley. Here is the man who wishes to hire you.”

  The man in question held out a hand. “The name's Basilard Bladi. What's yours?”

  “Eric Watley.”

  Basilard looked about mid-forties and was two heads taller than Eric was. A large scar crossed his forehead, partially hidden by red hair. His eyes were the same blood red. Below his chin, a red cloth covered his jugular vein and a sheet of metal poked out from beneath his shirt. The sword on his back felt evil somehow; maybe it was the red light that flashed from the hilt.

  “I know,.” Basilard whispered. “That's why I'm here. Off limits.” The hilt glowed dimly and fell silent. To Eric he said, “I'm a member of the Dragon's Lair. It's a mercenary guild.”

  “Did your sword just talk to you?”

  “Yes, it's a magic sword. What do you think about mercenaries?”

  “Uh . . .Don't they do anything for money?”

  “I'll have you know we aren't that heartless. Have you ever heard of a corrupt knight?” Eric nodded. “Then what's so hard to believe about a decent mercenary?” He shrugged. “Some of us are nasty, I'll give you that, but on the whole we're a friendly lot.”

  “Not to sound ungrateful, but why did you choose me? I'm no warrior.”

  “First of all, I wanted to. Second, you were recommended by the captain of Squad Two. Third, the guild has a habit of picking up strays. Do you want the job or not?”

  A mercenary? Could do I that? Any job for the right price? . . .and then there's that psychopath . . .Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Your training begins right now.”

  Basilard grabbed Eric's shirt collar and dragged him outside. “While I am your teacher, you will address me as 'Daylra'. It is a Dragon's Lair tradition in honor of our founder's mentor.” He stopped at a public practice yard, aka, a park. It was cold, dark, and empty.

  “First you should know the structure of our guild. At the top is the guildhead: Ridley Mar, but you will address her as 'Leader,' 'Dragoness,' or 'Guildhead'. Below her are the Five Squad Captains. I believe you've already meet Hasina, Captain of Squad Two.”

  He chuckled as Eric shivered. “Each of them has a lieutenant. Below them are Seniors; they are veterans and deserve your respect. By the way, I am a Squad Five Senior. Below them are Regulars who are full-fledged members. Below them are Novices who are still studying their specialty. You, my little Otherworlder, are right here at the bottom of the barrel: Apprentice. It's my job to teach you the basics and when I deem you competent, you will officially join the guild.”

  “What's first?” Eric asked.

  Basilard grinned. In the faint light, he looked like a vampire. “You have to learn how to fight. I'm going to teach you martial arts and magic. “

  “Magic?” Eric asked, suddenly a lot more excited. He knew sleight of hand, but the real deal . . .Maybe mercenary work wouldn't be so bad.

  “Yeah, magic,” Basilard said. “But before that you have work on martial arts.”

  Eric's excitement dropped a notch. “What does fighting have to do with magic?”

  “Mercenary magic is fighting. It's called 'magecraft'. Magic that can be used quickly and efficiently for immediate application. A mage needs to be as quick with their staff as a fighter is with their sword. Now we're gonna warm up and then I'm gonna show you basic techniques.”

  It was pitch black by the time the first lesson was over. Exhausted, cold, and sore, Eric found the dorms by streetlight. Upon hearing the door open, Aio looked up from his book and covered a laugh.

  “Roomy, you're a mess.”

  “I know,” Eric muttered as he climbed into bed.

  Every morning at dawn, Basilard would knock on his door and drag him out for lessons. It was hard getting out of bed that early, but since he still had to go to school, it was the only time they had. Basilard explained that Ataidar policy forbid hiring full-time members until they had a high school diploma, its equivalent, or were legally adult.

  Eric was eternally thankful that he arrived in this world during early spring because the weather was cool and windy. It made Basilard's training sessions bearable. If I had to do this in the summer, I'd pass out. Basilard taught him holds and how to get out of them; proper technique for punches, blocks, and kicks, and the proper stance for all of them. Every day he felt sore and every night he grew stronger.

  After training, Eric showered and ate breakfast. The food lost more and more of the spark it had when he first ate those wild berries two weeks ago. I'm single-handedly proving Ciatosan's Theory. The food of this world was becoming normal for him. Aio pointed this out when he smacked a biting burger without a thought.

  After breakfast, Eric left for high school; weekends meant more training. He liked school this time: he had friends and was able to test out of most of the classes. When school was over, he did homework with his friends, more training, and on the rare occasion, play.

  “You don't seem to have time for basketball anymore,” Revas said as he passed to Eric.

  He was moody for days after the orc attack, but Oito cheered him up somehow. It involved feathers, super glue, an
d Noreji.

  Eric caught the ball and dribbled. “I'm training for a full-time job.”

  Annala ran to block him. “Full-time job? But you haven't finished school yet.”

  “You know, I'm not really a teenager.” This surprised her long enough for him to slip past her and dunk. “In Threa, I've already gone through college. Somehow I de-aged on the way here.”

  Annala caught the ball on the rebound. “I should have expected that. That's what happened to the other otherwor-”

  “There are others!?”

  Annala ran past him to the other end of the court. Eric ran after her, but she refused to elaborate until she took a shot of her own. He blocked it. Revas caught it and threw from half-court. Annala jumped for an alley-oop. “They drop in from time to time because of the Mischievous Sage.”

  “Just like me! Where are they? Can I—”

  “They're dead.” Seeing Eric's shock, she added, “From old age; the last one was two hundred years ago.” She turned her back on all three of them. “Of course, my father remembers it like it was yesterday . . . What does the passage of time mean to the immortal elves?” She spun back, smiling brightly. “We made great advances in Manaology because of them.”

  “Here it comes . . .” Revas droned.

  “Pure life energy flows in the veins of Noitaerc, The Great Tree That Supports the Worlds, and it is this energy that preserves youth and life in all things. Since you were pulled through those veins, your body became so saturated with it that you regressed physically but not psychologically.”

  “I drank cosmic tree sap and it worked like a fountain of youth?”

  “That's oversimplified, but . . .yeah.”

  Revas recovered the ball. “Weren't we talking about his new job?”

  “Oh, yeah . . .it's The Dragon's Lair. I'm going to be a mercenary.”

  Oito hissed amusement. “I've heard of that plassse. It'ss full of nutjobsss and weridosss.”

  “Yeah, especially the captains,” Revas added. “Think that'll happen to you, Eric?”

  The human shook his head. “No, I'm going to keep my sanity.”

  There was little schoolwork for him to do, but plenty of guild work. Basilard assigned him a large tome called The Spirit and Its Power by Dengel Tymh. It described the spiritual abilities available to everyone with a soul, even Otherworlders like him.

  The most basic was drawing mana from within and controlling it. Step one was to sit down, breathe deeply, and think of nothing other than mana. The first time he created a visible ball of light, the world changed. He saw others do magic and studied with supernatural creatures, but his skeptical side still insisted it was some kind of elaborate hoax. Staring at the little ball of magical power he created himself, Eric could no longer refuse to see the truth.

  He really was in another world: magic was real, elves and demons went to school, gods made house calls. That little ball of light made everything real. He was even starting to believe that tale about Chaos, Order, and Noitaerc. He went to bed with a smile on his face.

  After a month, the lessons were no longer a chore. He'd lost weight and gained muscle. Basilard said he was starting to look like a mercenary. He meant it as a compliment, but Eric still wasn't sure. What if I have to kill someone? What if I get killed? Basilard has that scar . . .

  “'The guild shall be our home and everyone in it shall be family.' That's a quote from our founder—The Mother Dragon,” Basilard said after his most recent lesson. “I'll tell you the story behind that quote someday. Now show me how much mana you can generate.”

  Eric cupped his hands, took a deep breath, and focused on directing his mana flow to the space between his hands. A light appeared; it flickered, but was big enough to fill his hands.

  “Not bad. I think you're ready for the next step.”

  “What's the next step?”

  “Mana bolts.”

  Basilard led him to an isolated area of the park far from park benches and sport courts. The only things around were trees and archery targets.

  “The simplest form of magecraft is projectile mana. Observe.” Basilard held his open palm up and fired a ball of light. It punched a baseball-sized hole in the target. “To do that I gathered mana in my hand, forced it into a sphere, and launched it. You only need the third rule.”

  “The third rule is willpower, right, Daylra?” Eric asked.

  “Correct.” He cocked his hand and punched, sending a ball of light soaring towards the target and creating a similar-sized hole next to the first. “Now what was different about those two?”

  Eric looked over the two techniques in his mind before answering. “The first is based on willpower alone and the second one adds momentum.”

  “Correct again,” Basilard praised. “Martial Arts leads into Mercenary Magic. Learning how to punch correctly leads to the first step in using mana bolts correctly: The motion and willpower are the same. The only addition is mana. Now try it.”

  Eric stepped up to the plate. Once he felt ready, he cocked his hand, focused on moving mana to it, and punched. A ball of light flew from his fist, but fizzled out before reaching the target.

  “Hmm,” Basilard mused. “You have to maintain focus or the bolt will fall apart.” Eric nodded and this time the bolt collided with the target and dissipated harmlessly. “Where are you aiming?”

  “At the target, Daylra.”

  “You won't hit the target by aiming at the target,” Basilard said, “Aim at the space behind it. Focus on that space and your force will flow there.” Eric tried a third time and punctured the target. “Not bad. I want you to keep doing that until noon.”

  The next week was nothing but mana bolts. Leaf buds grew and Basilard reminisced how his mentor made him shoot the tiny leaves instead of the big archery targets. The final mana bolt lesson would take place at an actual shooting range. If Eric had to compare it to something, it would have been a bowling alley: a large building composed of long lanes with targets at their ends and an attached snack bar and video arcade.

  “Why'd we come to this one?” Eric asked.

  “I have a craving for nachos,” Basilard said, “If you can punch a hole I'll buy you something.”

  Eric stared at his target. He took a deep breath and cupped his hands. The mana flickered, then grew to a steady size. It gave him confidence. He willed the ball forward, but it didn't budge.

  “Try yelling,” Basilard recommended, now holding a basket of nachos.

  Feeling silly, Eric said, “Ahhh . . .”

  “Oh come on, apprentice! You have to mean it!” Basilard shouted, munching nachos. “If you're embarrassed about screaming when it's only your Daylra, how are you going to cut it in battle?”

  Basilard's encouragement attracted attention from other lanes and people walking by. It made Eric self-conscious and his mana bolt faded as a result.

  “Think about something you would use this power for,” Basilard advised, softer.

  Eric racked his brains for something he could champion: World peace? No, that was too far-fetched. He could never do that because greater people than he had failed. Becoming an important member of the Guild? Even if he did learn this technique, he would only be a novice. As his depressing thoughts continued, his mana bolt grew fainter and fainter.

  “Hey!” Eric glanced over his shoulder to see Annala with a bow in her hands and a quiver over her shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Oh, hi, Annala. What are you doing here?” The mana bolt faded entirely.

  “Archery, of course,” the elf said with a smile. It made him feel better despite his troubles. “I come here every week to practice.” She drew and fired.

  Annala . . .Eric remembered how she had been hurt protecting him; Revas and Oito too. I don't want anyone putting themselves in danger because of me. Eric squared off against his own target and a mana bolt formed almost instantly. I want this power to protect my friends!

  “AHHHH!”

  Like pulling a trigg
er, the mana bolt shot from his hands and collided with the target. The impact threw up dust and obstructed it. When it cleared, there was a hole.

  “Yeah! That's how you do it!” Basilard slapped Eric on the back. “Keep that up and you'll make Novice in no time!”

  “Yes, that was an impressive shot,” Annala agreed. “More than I would expect from someone who hadn't heard of mana until recently.” Eric blushed and scratched his neck. He insisted it was nothing while Annala insisted it was far from nothing.

  “Now for the next step,” Basilard said, “Fire a mana bolt at me.”

  Eric was so surprised he stopped scratching. “What?”

  Basilard walked in front of the target. “Fire a mana bolt at me.”

  “All right, if you insist.”

  Eric crossed his hands and gathered mana in his palms. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the mana becoming a sphere. With a yell, he fired. The bolt that blew a hole in the target failed to even reach Basilard. It splattered against a light screen in front of him. Basilard cocked the nacho cheese dish, threw it at Eric and it splattered in the same place. By virtue of the cheese stain, Eric could see it more clearly.

  “This is a barrier; a projection of willpower,” Basilard said. “It follows the same principles as a mana bolt, but the opposite application.” He dropped the barrier and the cheese fell to the ground. “This will be your final lesson before your entrance exam: Proof of Skill.”

  The rest of Eric's basic training focused on barriers. The master/apprentice pair returned to the park and Basilard explained how they worked on the way: a projection of the user's spirit, reinforced by willpower and summoned by thought. Eric spent hours trying to get it right before he finally succeeded. Basilard's approving smile made him blush. Then his mentor poked the barrier and it shattered. Eric blushed harder in embarrassment. The second phase had begun: strengthen his barrier to the point it could actually protect him.

  “Is this why spiritual power is so important?” Eric asked, “Barriers and magecraft?”

  “No. It's more fundamental than that; a strong spirit is vital for all warrior skills because all warriors fight monsters. A monster's will to live is a scary thing; I've seen them walk off limbs and regrow decapitation. If a warrior's spirit isn't strong enough, the monster will ignore everything they do.”