by J. Gertori
Simon said, “If you would like, I can help you navigate that wand before you leave. It has been quite some time since I have seen one. I tend to keep to the caverns.”
Without hesitation, Sam agreed.
“Show me what you know,” grunted Simon.
Excited, Sam jogged to the giant’s front. He turned and revealed his flimsy, maroon wand. While targeting a shimmering bug, Sam envisioned its wings enlarging. The stick’s end caught a subdued spark, and soon after, the bug torpedoed away, leaving smoke in its wake.
“Splendid!” cried Simon. His claps dislodged fine dust from the cave’s ceiling. “Speech is no longer needed with spells? Consider your kind lucky.”
“Oh, it’s still needed. This is just a unique wand. I meant to make the insect’s wings larger.”
“Ah. With a colorful mind, it is easy for magic to go astray. Firm control of one’s powers and ideas should stifle pandemonium. Spoken spells are required for wizards as they keep the caster focused, and in your case, it may help.”
“Biggis Buggis,” uttered Sam. The wings of his newest target vanished, and the bug fell into the grass before bolting away.
“Perhaps lower your wand for now.” Simon pointed at the impressive architecture carved into the walls. “You must act with intention. Do you think the giant’s who carved into these rocks were blindly chiseling? They were not. Each strike had a purpose, using visions they had painted in their minds.”
Sam lifted his wand. “But I don’t know the spells.”
“Neither do I.” Simon’s laugh vibrated the fountain water. “I will not assume the spells of my time are prevalent today. But as you have shown me, you do not need words to conjure. Rather, you should engross yourself in thought. Say what you must to keep your focus.”
Sam aimed at a secluded patch of grass. Then it happened: the playful flicker in his mind that reawakened upon arriving in Trida. He could morph the grass into snakes or intertwining stalks with monstrous leaves. Nothing too crazy, he thought. His stare converged, eliminating the bulbed cacti, the fountain, and the cavern surrounding him.
“Recolor,” Sam said, envisioning the green grass as a light purple.
Simon rejoiced as their hue altered. “Try another, and remember, the key is to sharpen your thought and envision the result.”
Sam turned to the peaceful stream. “Bubble.” The wand shook, and Sam tensed his grasp to battle its resistance. Though he meant to extract an immaculate bubble from the stream, one did, in fact, pop at the surface. Content with the attempt, Sam tapped the marshy ashes off his wand.
“Fantastic. Control will come with practice.” Simon’s demeanor had shifted. Sam couldn’t claim all the credit, for the blue bird bounced around Simon’s neck and chirped a sweet tune as it nuzzled into his beard. “Despite your inexperience with magic, you untied the rope because that was your intention. Not to inflict pain on me, but to save the helpless. Skill drives potential, but along with solid character, one can transcend greatness.”
“Thanks, Simon—really. Being surrounded by wizards is intimidating. It’s reassuring to know I can turn someone purple if things get heated.”
Sam lowered his wand as he approached the giant. “This lesson is—ahh!” A spark spat from the wand, skyrocketing Sam toward Simon. Their heads collided, and Sam tumbled along the giant’s beard as if it were a padded slide.
“Is that what passes for ‘thanks’ nowadays?” grunted Simon. “Hate to see how you greet those you love!” His laugh intensified until he gasped for air.
“Shit, Simon—I’m sorry!” Sam’s heart sank as Simon’s open cut dripped blue, while he had not a single mark. “With that, I’m gonna be on my way.”
Continuing to chuckle, Simon tapped beneath his brow, which took the brunt of the damage. “Not to worry, it would take much more than a cut to end me. I have not laughed this way in quite some time.” He wiped a tear from his eye, which might also have been from the sting of the fresh cut. “Wands are invaluable tools, but you must be careful. Even the smallest piece holds power. Follow me. The nearest exit opens into the forest.”
Sam proceeded to the high archway, which led to the pathway of halls. He gave the Elder Garden a final look. The insects settled on the fountain, and the bulbed cacti faded to darkness, one by one.
They deviated from the original route to continue through the winding hall. This time, they weren’t plodding through the eerie darkness. Instead, Simon guided with a bright bulb. The eventual end of the cave formed an incline with carved stairs.
“Up these steps,” Simon uttered. Sam did his best to keep pace, even lunging to compensate for Simon’s enormous strides.
“This region has been abandoned. We would prefer it stay this way.”
“Simon, do you know where I might find Sir Gaspare?”
The giant plastered on a confused look. “The Artifec of healing . . . I have heard of his involvement with the animal sanctuary on Okra. I prefer to keep my nose out of Artifec dealings. You can reach Okra by way of Ree Bridge, several miles north.”
Sam twirled the rogue wand, daunted by the thought of its magic. But five miles is a far distance to walk on just the fuel of candied grass.
He paused beside Simon, under an archway nestled between trees. The forests stretched as far as your sight could travel, but to his front was a park buried under a sea of dirt; a sculpture of a giant had toppled and broken into various pieces, peeking from the ground like a monster clawing its way to the top.
“You sure you don’t want me to fashion you some stitches,” Sam said, waving his wand.
Simon bobbed and weaved of out aim. “I think it best I handle the cut myself.” He directed Sam toward Ree Bridge, Okra Island, and Gaspare.
“Thanks for the help. I hope your memory comes back—at least those worth remembering.”
“A final thing, Sam. The concept of pacts is foreign to me, as I am sure you gathered. The nature of such an agreement goes against Edmond Lekly’s ideals. That said, you have an opportunity unfathomable in my youth.”
“I get what you mean: don’t squander it.”
“Not everyone has my lifespan; enjoy your time here.”
Sam’s smile reached for his ears. He nodded at Simon, snapped his wand straight, and took off running.
THIRTEEN
Summer Spectacle
During the journey from the labyrinth of caves to this clearing, Sam tested the fastest way to get to Ree Bridge. His experimentation began with the jetpack he meant to conjure. Instead, Sam carved a hole into a tree. Then he found an umbrella, which he hoped would carry him through the air. Rather, its thin spine grew into jagged legs as it wrestled away from his grip and fled like a befuddled spider. It was safe to say—despite Simon’s brief instructions—Sam’s execution needed significant help. Be that as it may, he did reach his destination. A feat attributed to the single successful spritz of his wand.
Sam settled on walking the remaining miles when he spotted a tree bark as broad as a door. Dragging the bark onto his path, he padded the interior with dried leaves. He couldn’t fathom how fast the makeshift sled would go. But as soon as his wand touched the dirt behind him, the entire setup, he included, came crashing into a tree. By the time Sam reached the end of the forest, his ripped clothes had carried a distinct burned-meat odor. The trip taught him two things: he didn’t sled enough as a kid, and there can never be enough padding.
He dismounted the tree bark (half its original size) and crossed the tarmac that led to a castle. A sea of young faces gathered outside its walls, and a thin double-decker bus unloaded packs of rambunctious wizards. Back home, Sam rode the bus at least once a day, yet these double-deckers had neither a driver nor a seat where a driver should’ve been. Furthermore, in place of tires were bumpy spheres that let the bus move sideways.
Sam crossed the road to join the assembly of tan and forest green cardigans. He paused to admire the contrasting heights of the castle and the watchtower to its right. Thoug
h nothing on Trida could be taken at face value, he couldn’t be more certain this was not a bridge. The wizards siphoned into massive doors, where Sam saw the engraved words: LIXFERG SCHOOL OF MAGIC.
The entrance didn’t lead into the castle but instead opened into an attractive courtyard with pruned hedges and a battalion of wizards and fairies performing on a stage. Sam recalled the nasty spills he took on his sled; perhaps he veered astray. The road did seem more tortuous than the first mile from the cave. But this wasn’t the place to ponder on such failures.
They’re all looking at me, Sam thought. He felt the legion of eyes tracking him, but he could muster just a single reason: he alone was out of uniform. Even the professors had cohesion in the form of khaki suits and getups. True, the clothes beneath each student’s cardigan were different, but Sam found the air of exclusivity off-putting; he now identified with the awkwardness of someone sung to on their birthday.
“Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of the bridge?” Sam asked a slender gentleman on the opposite side of the double doors.
“Hi, I’m Agilan!” said the fellow, vaulting off the brick wall and wandering forward. His wavy black hair bounced beside his ears, and his long face countered his thick eyebrows and scruffy jaw; he shaded Sam from the intense sun. “What bridge are you looking for?”
“Um, the—”
“Then again, how many bridges are really on Trida. I assume you’re asking about the Ree Bridge. But calling it a ‘bridge’ is downright misleading.”
“Yeah, Ree Bridge is the—”
“Or you might be asking about the bridge to Persolus Place, which is a rumor—unless you’re telling me it’s not—in which case, I have some questions for you—”
“It’s not a rumor,” blurted a student who eavesdropped behind Sam. “They’ve got to transport prisoners to Persolus somehow. And before you grave-dig this topic—no, rifting them is not feasible.”
“Wasn’t gonna, Derby, but thanks for the reminder. Show me where they’ve hidden this mysterious bridge. If you’re right, I’ll do one of your finals for you—your choice.”
“We’ve been through this already, the risk of misplacement is far too high.”
“Even if it’s your Socius final. I don’t know how I’d pull it off, but you show me this ghost bridge, and I’ll find a way.”
The female student, who bickered with Agilan, turned her attention to Sam. “I’m Derby.”
“Sam—”
“If it’s Ree Bridge you’re looking for, you’ve overshot it by, I dunno, a handful of miles. But no worries, Agilan and I can get you there.”
Derby had a creased smirk that made her look amused at every spoken word. Her grayish eyes settled into a droopy stare, and her pale pink skin complimented her long, brown hair, which seemed to meld into tones of green and blue as the conversation wore on.
Sam had no trouble foreseeing their riveting battles over who could interrupt whom first. “Please just point me in the direction, I’d hate to be the reason you two missed class.”
“It’s always the first-year pacts that stumble onto campus,” said Derby, nudging Agilan.
“There’s no class on Sundays. Today’s just special. It’s the last day of Summer Spectacle!” Agilan hollered. He quivered as if nothing could excite him more. “For three days, Lixferg’s elective courses are open to all students, regardless of year. This way we know which classes to enroll in next season.”
“Also, professors and current students put on a small display to try and seal the deal,” said Derby, mirroring Agilan’s elation.
On the stage, the lead fairy broke into a more upbeat tune. The band and enchanted instruments harmonized along, making the courtyard a less than ideal place to talk.
Beyond its stimulating flaunts of sorcery, Lixferg was home to a diverse student body. The glaring sun exposed many of the student’s semi-transparent headphones: an illusion charm that translated dialogue to the listener’s language. Gone were the hitches to find the right word, the pauses for comprehension, and the reluctance to engage with anyone.
Sam followed his newfound tour guides to a set of pillared cross sections. The closest door cracked enough for him to see a blond student hoisted on the shoulders of friends, and his legs twisted like braided hair. The trial class hunched together as the professor spouted a spell and directed his glinting wand. The blond student’s legs unraveled so quick that they resembled propellers. A sickening crack ended the motion. When the student stood on his own, the classroom filled with cheers.
“That’s Remedies class. I’ve already added it to my agenda for next season,” said Agilan, his eyes bulging.
“How—how—how?” blurted Sam.
“Repairing spells. Neat stuff, but takes a few years to perfect your technique.”
“And your wand has to be approved to conjure them,” Derby said.
“Professor Foucard used to be a doctor of alchemy. Even claims to have undone some curses in his day. But there’s more to see, let’s get going—”
“Wait—I’ve got a question about curses. But it’s kinda private,” Sam said.
Derby sneered. “You don’t wanna go in there while Professor Foucard’s in the ‘zone.’ He’ll have you bouncing around class shaped like a pretzel.” Her eyes widened. “Ooh! We can show you Sterny Library! Whatever you need to know about curses, you can ask it there.”
“Okay . . . but only if it doesn’t take me farther from the bridge.”
“It’s on campus! Better yet, it leads to the bus you need to take.” Derby’s hair flashed magenta as she turned to Agilan and barked, “Summer Spectacle!”
“Summer Spectacle!” Agilan shouted, in a sort of gurgled parody. He pointed into three paths. “Each of these walkways will take us to the library. We’re in the Health wing now, but Derby and I were going to cruise the Art wing. You can meet us at the end if you’d like.”
“What’s the middle walkway?” said Sam.
“That’s the Standards wing. Nothing going on in there—those classes are mandatory.”
“Learning how to untwist legs isn’t mandatory?”
“Remedies is, but Professor Foucard likes to show off every chance he gets. No, in the Standards wing we tackle generalized topics.” Agilan peeked a book from inside his bag titled Technology and the Magical Alternatives. “Mostly things we’ve covered in high school: finance, small business, currency management.”
Sam cackled. These weren’t the subjects he learned at that age.
“I’ve got an Independent Living course in the Standards wing,” said Derby.
“Networking and Negotiations for me, every Tuesdays and Thursday. But if going into that wing will make you feel at home, then no judgments here.”
“I’m coming with you guys,” said Sam. His choice sent the wizards into a joyous cheer.
Had they told him this route would extend the trip by fifteen minutes, Sam might’ve explored the Health wing alone. Still, their excitement as they snooped into classrooms and hurrahed at the art installations was worth the added time. In these warm brick hallways, Sam realized Trida’s magic went beyond the sparks of a wand.
He saw it on the faces of the Motility of Arts students, charming their artwork to dance, change color, and even splash as a young woman grazed her brush on her painted lake. He heard it in the laughter inside the Narration class: a young man’s voice-over for his novel went awry, changing pitch every other sentence. He smelled it before passing the Provisions room, where a cheeky professor instructed the class of how to use reduction and enlargement spells to pull off her famed food-within-food-within-food recipe. And Sam experienced it by the Vocal Alchemy auditorium, where students tested if a chant or song would grow a breed of dagger berries fastest. The beautiful song won, sprouting the fruit before they had reached the chorus.
Everyone had a smile cemented on their face, including Sam, who searched for more doors to enter.
After passing a vast lawn, the trio stood b
efore a white building with old architecture. Students fluttered in and out the double doors, each more giddy than the next. Agilan and Derby sped past Sam as if they competed in a race to uncover grandeur.
“Holy shit,” Sam blurted. The interior was a long journey to the back, with no rooms or partitions, but enough eye candy to drop Sam’s jaw. Visitors could easily to determine the library’s motif: swirls and plenty of them. There were carved sculptures lifting a set of embossed stairs, second-floor railings with waves of filigree, and walls that housed breathtaking paintings of fantastical creatures. Despite the exuberant details, the star of the show remained the flood of books burdening their shelves. But Sam wouldn’t get to explore much further, for a statue at the front broke free from its rigid pose.
“Welcome to Sterny Library! I’m Emer Feeny, your complimentary spotter.”
“Gahh!” Sam yelled. Once he had gotten his legs back under himself, he returned to the statue with excitement. “Emer Feeny . . . the inventor?”
“I’m also an engineer and entrepreneur,” said the stone statue.
Sam turned and whispered to Agilan, “What’s going on?”
“Well, you recognize him. Emer Feeny spent three years commuting to Lekly as an honorary pact. He made five statues that are like the search engines you guys have. Lixferg is the proud home of his stone version!”
“The real Emer Feeny is no more than fifteen years older than me. Why’s he dressed like this?” Sam referred to Emer’s theatrical attire: calf-high boots, gladiator style armor, full body cape, and a thick wig, which crept to his back.
“Hey, you invent a way to harness wizard knowledge, and they’ll sculpt you riding a dragon if that’s what you ask for,” uttered Derby.
“He’s a spotter,” said Agilan. “Ask him your question!”
“Eh—seems like a waste. I mean, there’s thousands of books in here—”
“Exactly, we don’t have all day,” Derby said, pushing Sam toward the smiling statue.
“Fine. Emer, can you shed light on Obsolete Offering?”