by Marian Gray
Kim Blackwood is entering the halls of ivy and pearl as a summer bejantine. A harsh reality born from an ignorant mother and hidden truth kept be her great uncle, Henry. At the tender age of four, Kim exhibited her first and only sign that magic resided in her soul. While playing in her childhood home, young Kim discovered her great grandmother’s wand. Upon lifting the instrument from its case, the wand rejected her with a volatile show of sparks and flame, as wands are known to do when another magic user attempts to wield them. The remnants of the episode are still emblazoned on her skin in the form of several spattered scars on her forearm. With her mother’s inability to decipher the meaning of this incident, Henry Blackwood took the information and hid it from the family but still registered the young Blackwood with the International Chamber of Magical Affairs.
This grand opera of deceit has disabled the family line, producing a youth that views her time at Ivory as a moment of self-discovery rather than a time to capture greatness. Kim has stated that she has no goals or motivations, nor does she see herself capable or interested in engaging in the timeless rivalry of Banach versus Blackwood with Lili Banach, who is expected to arrive in the fall.
Kim may have been birthed into the surname, but the girl before me is of a different breed. Failed in both nurture and nature, Kim is proof that the great house of Blackwood has fallen. But it’s a pity we should feel for Kim Blackwood. As the Committee of Education senior representative so savoringly stated, “She’s innocent of her upbringing, but it’s a shame to see the Blackwood lionheart die out hand in hand with the magic.”
My arms fell to my side, and the article slipped from my fingers. A small spin whirled inside my head. I took a few short steps back to my bed, and my bottom met the mattress. Embarrassment burned a hole through my stomach and released a heavy dose of horror into my blood stream.
I couldn’t believe it. The words, the phrases—they were cruel. She had taken every bit of me and painted it with a negative tone for the entire magical world to see.
My fingers raveled together. I didn’t know what to do.
A small weight appeared on my lap. I glanced down to spot a cream-colored envelope sat centered on my thighs. The letter had my name on the front, scrawled in a hurried hand. In the corner, Henry Blackwood was announced as the sender.
I sighed, crying on the inside. Aunt Margot and Uncle Hank had taken me in without question after mine and my mother’s battle. I couldn’t believe what I had done to them by agreeing to the interview, ruse or not.
My heart fluttered as I split glue from paper. The front fold flipped open with an agitated air.
Kim,
I don’t even know where to begin.
I watched my wife cry at breakfast this morning, terrified of the repercussions this article will have on our livelihood—that includes yours as well. The words in the Emporium will impact your future for the entirety of your life. You’ve allowed them to prove your foolishness to the world and painted a target on our backs.
Perhaps I wasn’t as forthcoming with information as I should have been, but I didn’t think you’d go running to the Emporium your first week of independence and spill all the family drama. I wrongly assumed you were mature enough to understand the necessity of self-censorship and brevity when dealing with the press.
From here on out, I advise you to adhere to the following guidelines, for the family’s sake:
1. Do not speak with any representative from the Emporium or the Chamber;
2. Do not interact with any Chamber employees unless advised to by the university administration; and
3. Do not associate with family members of Chamber employees. They have been known to have loose lips.
Additionally, I think it’s imperative you learn the truth about my life from my own mouth. I chose to distance myself from the Chamber and magical community due to the attention—I wasn’t a disappointment but simply a recluse. And for good reason. I saw how the scrutiny of the Emporium influenced my mother’s life. As you have experienced today, the media only harms us.
There are many opportunities and advantages available to you based solely on your surname. Bad publicity ends those benefits. Articles about the decay of powers and abilities subverts our illusion of grandeur. Don’t lose the privilege you were born into. My mother was a great witch, and many of those that came before her were just as marvelous in strength. We have made a name for ourselves through power. Do not tarnish that reputation. Do not erode the sacrifices our fore-fathers made so that we may live limitless lives.
Sincerely,
Uncle Hank
I sighed. The overwhelming urge to bury myself beneath my blankets encompassed me. Water welled at the bottom of my eyelids. And this was just the beginning of my day.
Despite the catastrophic start, I found a small reserve of bravery that helped me get my book bag on my back and my feet out the door. In each of my classes, I resigned myself to seats far from both teachers and students. I couldn’t even bring myself to sit beside Eddie in augmentation or Sara during Introduction to Magical Affairs & Society. Shame radiated from my core, and I didn’t have the courage to face anyone.
“Good morning students.” Professor Dart stood at the head of the classroom with his hands folded behind his back. “I hope you all didn’t find this weekend’s homework too difficult. I thought it would be a welcomed break before things get rather hectic with this week’s lessons.”
I rolled my eyes. I had spent two hours attempting to disseminate which oil was appropriate for my ancient wand, and since it was a restricted tool, I had to forego the store clerk’s assistance.
“No, no.” He held up his hands. “Don’t take out your wands just yet. I will examine each of them individually during the second half of our class. For now, I have a special guest for you.” A man stood up from a chair in the front row. I hadn’t even noticed him, but my jaw fell when I saw his face. “This is my apprentice, Elijah Harlow. If he is an apprentice, what year does that make him?”
“Fifth.” More than half of the class answered in a groan. We had been drilled on the year structure by each professor. There were no first years but bejants and bejantines. They didn’t have second year students here. They had semis. Bejant, semi, tertian, magistrand, apprentice—I could repeat the list ad nauseam with marshmallow peeps in my mouth.
Professor Dart nodded. “That’s correct. He’s a fifth year student here at Ivory and the captain of our Holmgang team.” Dart glanced to Elijah with a small smirk upon his face. An express fondness resided in his eyes, similar to that of a proud father. “This past month he was the keynote speaker at the Annual Casting Colloquium, presenting on the evolution of holmgang and combat casting within the Americas. Not to mention he recently signed with the Boston Sons and was named ‘Athlete of the Year’ two years in a row by the Chamber’s Committee of Culture, Media, and Sport.
“Now, I assume the majority of you have very little working knowledge of the sport?” The class was silent in response, which led Dart to believe his hunch was accurate. “Then I’ll just give you all a brief history, and Eli will guide you through the rest. I recommend taking notes. Sometimes these side lectures we have turn into answers for bonus points on tests.”
A low rustle built in the room as students withdrew notebooks and writing utensils. Eli’s signature winked at me as I flipped past the autographed page: I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Elijah Harlow. My breath caught. A flutter of joyful anticipation tickled my stomach. He was the perfect pick-me-up after the morning I had suffered.
Dart cleared his throat. “The word ‘holmgang’ derives from Old Norse ‘holmganga’ and was used as a way to settle disputes in early medieval Scandinavia. The first records of holmganga indicate that the duel ended with the death or incapacitation of one combatant, but over time we can see the direction of these duels transforms into a ritualistic act where the combat would end on the first draw of blood. The act was formally outlawed when professional duelis
ts arose from the masses. They abused the system in order to gain rights to land, women, or property that they didn’t really have any claim to but knew they could defeat the owner.”
Elijah took a seat atop an empty desk, turning to face the class. His lips spread into a wide smile and hazel eyes twinkled. “The picture that Professor Dart paints is a rather grim one, and to settle your nerves, I’d like to remind all of you that holmgang has not seen a death in over thirty years. Participating in this sport is no more life-threatening than any of the sports that the mundies play.” His eyes ran across the many faces in the crowd, but when they met mine, they held for a moment longer before breaking away. My heart sputtered over the possibility that he might have recognized me. “I’m here today to not only give you a brief education on this rich and celebrated game within our community but to also invite you to tryouts. I am aware that this is a summer semester class, but don’t let that discourage you. We have a strong tradition of finding extraordinary talent in unexpected places. I believe it’s the sole reason Ivory has such a prestigious reputation within the sporting world—we don’t discriminate. It doesn’t matter what magical background you come from as long as you’re good.
“Holmgang is played within an arena. Here at Ivory we have one the most widely recognized arenas in the world—Blackwood Arena.”
I froze. I couldn’t breathe nor could I believe what I had heard.
“It is named after Berenger Blackwood, who was without a doubt one of the best holmgang players of his time, if not of all time. He founded Ivory’s holmgang team and sat on the board for the casting department as chair head when the school opened in 1616. As you progress through this year, I’m sure some you will notice there is a much heavier emphasis on spells within the casting courses—this is due to Blackwood’s influence on not only the culture here at Ivory but the curriculum as well. Berenger Blackwood also served on the Chamber’s Committee of Culture, Media, and Sport. Through his collaboration with other holmgang players and enthusiasts, the game was reformed into what we know today as holmgang.”
I leaned forward in my seat. I had never heard the name Berenger Blackwood, yet there was no denying the relationship. It was because of him that I received automatic acceptance into the school.
“There are two manners of play: single and triple. Single is the traditional version of the game. One player duels against the other. You are allowed to use any magic you possess to win as well as three potions or elixirs that you carry on your person into the arena. Triple is played in a similar fashion, except instead of just one player facing another, there are three wizards on a team that face off against another team. The winner is declared when the opponent or opponents are incapacitated or unable to continue fighting for whatever reason.
“Back in the 70s, another form of the game grew in popularity: tri-competition. It saw three wizards enter the arena and face off against each other, no teams. However, it fell out of favor in the early 80s when it was discovered that wizards were conspiring together to mount a joint attack against one wizard and then face each other once the third was successfully eliminated. The scandal was uncovered by the Prime Inquirer when a very famous and beloved witch, Nada Nassar, was killed during a game. Her two opponents, Blagoje Popov and Camille Tutupoly, had arranged before the match to join forces to conquer Nassar with both of their managing teams in full support of this. When the headlines broke, it was the only thing people were talking about. In response to the Nassar Scandal, the Chamber passed many amendments, changing rules and adding regulations in order to remedy the situation. Ultimately, they abolished tri-competition.”
“I remember those days.” Professor Dart cut in. “That’s when holmgang developed a reputation for being a sport for just brutes. Public perception has since altered.”
“Yes.” Elijah nodded. “I’ve never seen it as barbaric. To me, holmgang is more than just a sport or a game. It forces individuals to learn skills and master techniques while also developing strategies to trick or outwit your opponents.” The man was magnetic. “All right. Are there any questions so far? Yes?”
The student lower his hand. “You mentioned tryouts. When are they? I doubt I’ll make the team but would still like to give a go at it.”
Eli’s brow raised in surprise. “Great question. At the beginning of fall. And don’t be discouraged. I know bejants are timid due to the competition, but I look forward to seeing you out there. What’s your name?”
I was just as surprised by the young wizard’s interest. He didn’t look like your usual athletic type.
“Connor Webb.”
I knew that name. Eddie had mentioned it several times before—Connor was his roommate.
“Is anyone else interested in trying out for the team?” Eli lifted his attention from Connor. Not a single hand entered the air.
Professor Dart sat behind his desk, leaning back in the chair with an ankle resting on his knee. “Not even you, Blackwood?”
A flood of eyes turned to me, spurring a hot rush of heat through my cheeks. “Why me?” My chest tightened with discomfort as though I had been punched right in the heart.
“Well, I understand that you’re a summer bejant, but I would’ve expected you to at least try. Every Blackwood that has passed through these halls has always been a part of the holmgang team. In fact, I was a bejant when Miriam Blackwood was an apprentice and captain. She was a sight to see. Much better than her big, hippie son, Henry. You’ll have to excuse me, I haven’t had a chance to read the article that came out this morning, but how is Miriam related to you?”
I swallowed hard and hoped none of my peers or professors would read that article. “Miriam Blackwood is my great grandmother.”
“You’re a Blackwood?” Eli cocked an eyebrow. He remained calm, but I could see the undertones of interest painted upon his face. They showed through his growing smirk.
Chapter Twelve
The days trickled and dissolved into weeks. Thoughts of the Emporium fell from my mind and were replaced by charts, numbers, images, and rhymes.
Astrology had broken from ancient Greek tales and morphed into astronomy. My eyes knew a map of the night sky better than a globe of the earth; however, my hand could only recall the little dipper during quizzes, which Professor Soh didn’t find too impressive. She had gone so far as to warn me not to join a career in the oracular field. I was destined to fail.
I lacked potential in augmentation as well. I had yet to transform my feather into a leaf, and the cotton ball that I was supposed to levitate had proven to be too heavy for my wand. By this point in time, faking my shock and disappointment had grown more cumbersome than the actual attempts at magic. There were only so many believable ways to frown over my lack of promise.
After two months of classes, I had concluded that Professor Carbey had the best sense of humor out of all my professors. For our second exam practical, we were required to concoct a belching tonic. I had a smile pasted on my face when I heard the assignment. I had memorized this recipe. But when it came time to select ingredients, my little knowledge of herbology was inadequate. The ingredients spread across our tables had different viscosities, textures, and colors. No two axel tails were alike. I didn’t know how to differentiate between rotten tom’s root and fresh tom’s root. Liquid phantom cream appeared alongside thickened phantom cream.
Selecting at random, I combined the ingredients in the correct order and served my potion to Professor Carbey.
He raised the vial to his lips without hesitation and allowed the mixture to slide down his throat. But nothing happened. His pen tip fell to his paper, ready to print an F beside my name when it paused. He glanced at me with eyes as wide as moons.
“Are you all right?” A bolt of panic rushed through me.
His features contorted. A foghorn sounded in his chair. It halted every student in class. Their faces filled with horror. But Professor Carbey roared with laughter. “Well, you got the wind to come out—even if it was the wro
ng end.”
A bold C paired with my name.
My overall disappointment shone brightest in casting. This collection of magic was my ancestral playground. But I couldn’t even reach the monkey bars.
“Is that your best?” Professor Dart asked.
The dummy had moved an inch, but he wanted more and rightly so. The other students had managed to force the dummy back several feet with a basic push spell. Connor Webb had received applause when he sent the dummy back ten feet.
“I think it might be,” I confessed. Professor Dart viewed it as a defeat, but a small sliver of satisfaction settled inside. The spell had flown from the tip of my wand and struck the dummy. My wand hadn’t misfired before the entire class. It was a small victory.
“It is becoming ever apparent that your blood doesn’t absolve you of studying.” He scribbled something upon his clipboard while a scowl drawn across his lips.
“Good Morning,” Professor Hanover greeted as I strolled into the small lecture hall.
“Morning.” I made may way into a middle row and slipped my bag under my chair, pulling out a notebook and pen for notes. I sat up to place my materials on the small desk before me, but stopped with a deep draw of breath. A brown envelope sat waiting for me. The official Chamber Post stamp stood center in its familiar dark denim blue color. There was no return address listed in the right-hand corner, yet my name and university were scrawled out in the left corner. I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I lifted the letter to open it, and my fingertips felt something else lingering below.
There was another envelope upon my desk—cream colored and written in Japanese. As soon as my fingers touched the paper, the words swirled into Latin script with English words. I lifted the second envelope and found a third beneath it.