‘I’m Samuel.’
Eric nodded and returned to his book, reading a few more lines before setting it down upon the table.
‘Do you have some talent already?’ Eric asked.
‘They said I do, but I’m not sure about this whole magic thing.’
‘Well, you’ll find out soon. You won’t be here long if you don’t have at least some skill with magic.’
Samuel nodded in understanding. ‘What happened to your arm?’
‘I broke it a few days ago. I managed to levitate to the ceiling—but then I got nervous and couldn’t hold my spell.’
‘I think I did that once,’ Samuel stated.
Eric adjusted his eyeglasses and examined Samuel more closely. ‘You must have some ability, then. The others are with Master Glim. I’ll introduce you when they return. So, what have you learned so far? What can you do?’
‘They told me I’m not allowed to use any magic until I get taught how.’
‘Of course. It’s very dangerous to practise magic without proper supervision. I heard about one boy who was practising in secret and lost control. He was covered in mage-fire. It’s a terrible kind of fire made of uncontrolled magic. It burns your skin and flesh and damages your mind in dreadful ways. He left soon after—terribly scarred and unable to communicate in any way. I hope that doesn’t happen to you.’
‘So do I!’ Samuel declared.
Eric laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.’ For the first time, the boy actually looked welcoming.
They talked for a time until, towards mid-afternoon, a collection of tired and limping boys came in and sat at the tables or crawled up the stairs and collapsed onto their cots, each dressed in near-identical sets of black shirts and trousers.
‘This is Samuel, everybody!’ Eric called loudly.
A few boys waved in greeting or gave a welcoming moan. One boy came and sat with them. He was bright and energetic with his short, black hair combed neatly into place.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Eric. Eric Pot.’
‘I’m Eric Goodfellow,’ the first Eric explained, noting Samuel’s look of bewilderment.
Samuel then introduced himself and shook the new Eric’s hand.
‘Most people call me Eric and him Goodfellow, just to save from confusion, or else we get full names. You know, like Eric Pot or Eric Goodfellow. Some people call me Pot, but I must admit it sounds a bit awkward.’
‘I understand,’ Samuel said. ‘In my hometown we had two Toms. It was confusing, but sometimes you could tell who they were talking about by the way they said it. You know—Tom and Tom,’ and the other two nodded in understanding.
Just then, a middle-aged man came in and approached them, dressed in the black-robed attire that Samuel had grown accustomed to seeing at the Burning Oak. His face was warm and pleasant, seemingly moulded from years of smiling.
‘Hello?’ the man said, addressing Samuel with a raised eyebrow. ‘I am Master Glim. And you are?’
‘Samuel, Sir.’
Master Glim seemed amused. ‘I’m not a Sir or Lord or anything else, so you don’t have to call me that. My real name is Dannidin Glim, but only my mother still calls me by my first name. Given that you are obviously not my mother, I guess you will have to settle with calling me “Master Glim”. Have you made yourself at home?’
‘I have, Master Glim. I chose a cot up there. Eric says it’s free.’
‘Good. I’m sure the two Erics will set you straight. I’m glad to see you’ve already fallen in with the brightest of the bunch. The next class is with Master Sanctus tonight and then I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Just follow these two and I’m sure they will take good care of you. Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Master Glim went over and retrieved a set of black shirt and trousers from a chest in one corner. They were identical to those Samuel had seen on the other boys here, and he gave them to Samuel.
‘Wear these for now,’ Master Glim explained. ‘Some of the more cantankerous Masters have been known to cast horrific-smelling curses upon poor city folk who blundered into the school. You wouldn’t want that on your first day, I’m sure. Now, the boys can organise some more things for you tomorrow.’
Samuel looked at the clothes with interest. Despite their apparent simplicity, the material was thick and fine and the craftsmanship was detailed. With that, Master Glim bade them farewell and Samuel changed into his new clothes, putting his old ones into the small chest by his cot. Then he ran back downstairs and the two Erics set about showing Samuel the remainder of the school grounds.
Young and old men alike strolled around in their dark clothes, some with black shirt and trousers, others with flowing robes cascading almost to the ground and flowing behind. A long, dark cloak or cape decorated the occasional man and Samuel wondered how it was determined what each magician should wear.
‘Ah! It keeps getting under my feet!’ Samuel declared. His trousers were a little too baggy and the hem kept dragging along the ground.
Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow laughed themselves hoarse.
‘Don’t worry, Samuel’ Eric Pot chuckled. ‘We’ll get you some better fitting clothes tomorrow.’
‘Is it true—we can’t go into the city?’ Samuel asked them.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Eric Pot replied, ‘for the time being.’
‘I’ve been here nearly four months and I haven’t been outside yet,’ Goodfellow added.
‘We’re supposed to focus on our studies,’ the other Eric noted sourly. ‘Apparently, the teachers will allow all of the apprentices to leave the school only once we have proved ourselves responsible and diligent—or so Master Dividian says.’
‘Although occasionally, we may be taken out of the city to practise our spells, but it’s not very often,’ Goodfellow said.
Samuel nodded in understanding, secretly wishing that he had seen more of the city before coming to the school.
They showed him another bunkhouse where the older, more advanced students lived. It seemed that schooling depended on skill more than age, but in general, both were closely entwined. The Adept, as they were called, looked up from their studies as the boys peered in and returned contemptuous looks. They looked statelier and much more mature than the boys in Samuel’s dormitory.
‘The Adepts are pompous asses,’ Eric Pot whispered. ‘Some are actually not too bad, but it’s generally better if you just keep away from them.’
‘Avoid them whenever possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘or they will give you their chores. You have to obey an Adept, and they are usually far too lazy to do their own work and they pick on all of us in the foreigners’ dormitory the most.’
They backed out of the dormitory doorway and the two Erics continued giving their tour of the school grounds. There were lodgings for teachers, researchers, administrators and visitors, and lodgings for those who just lived on the school grounds. There were, however, no lodgings for common folk. Everyone who lived in the School of Magic was either a magician or learning to be one. There were some cooks and other workers who came each day to serve the Masters, but if there was some generic menial task to be done, the apprentices were called upon to do it.
The Erics explained that some magicians lived in the palace and a few in the city itself, but most lived within the confines of the school.
They showed Samuel the common room that he had first seen, where the older Masters lingered to study and converse, heckling any apprentices who dared to enter. Another large building housed the Great Hall, with enough seating for several hundred students around the curved walls and where the Emperor of Turia would sometimes come to be entertained with displays of magic. Several bathhouses were found in the school, one for the apprentices, one for the Adept and one for the Masters. They had great boilers that the students lit each day to produce copious amounts of hot water for washing. There was a large stable, in which horses and carriages and all manner of conveyances were kept. There was the Great Library, which had shelves and shelves
of ancient manuscripts and handwritten books, and Eric Pot said that a cellar underneath held all the most amazing books, books that were reserved for the Masters only. Some of the Adept were allowed to read them, but only once they had proved themselves responsible. Of course, all of the Adept claimed to have free access to the cellar and declared its contents to be most astounding and wondrous. Typically, they were never more detailed than that in their descriptions, so Eric Pot was sure they were making it up.
They had seen just about all the grounds before they noticed that the sun had dropped below the walls and they hurried back to their dormitory to prepare for the evening lesson.
The evening class consisted of all forty-eight apprentices from all three dormitories gathering in the Great Hall, barely even beginning to fill its many curved bench seats, and listening to a lecture by Master Sanctus. He was an old and balding man with a bulbous, red nose and drooping ears, and great white whiskers across his chin. He looked more like a vagrant who’d wandered in off the city streets and stolen into Order clothes, but Samuel supposed the old man must know all sorts of incredible things, despite his appearance.
If he noticed Samuel, however, Master Sanctus showed no sign of it, and spent several hours lecturing on the way of a magician’s life, on how it must be pure and good, helping the rich and poor, nobleman and common folk alike, but serving the Emperor and Empire above all.
There was not one mention of anything magical or mystical and, each time he mentioned some particular point, he would take great pain to explain the reasoning behind it and thus lose the actual purpose of his sentences. From the drowsy expressions of his fellow students, Samuel concluded this was not the first time they had heard such monotony from Master Sanctus and his lecture went long into the night until everyone was nearly asleep in their seats.
Samuel slept soundly that night and awoke at first light as the other students were also slowly rousing themselves. It was his first morning in the School of Magic and he excitedly pulled on his new clothes and hurried down the stairs. The two Erics demonstrated the rules of the kitchen and fried them all some eggs. There was a larder outside, beside the Great Hall, that was brimming with delicious foodstuffs of all manner and everyone could help themselves to it whenever they felt hungry. Samuel thought it was the best news he had ever heard.
Goodfellow explained how the roster of chores worked, with each student doing various tasks each day. No one actually enforced the roster, but it was considered the worst behaviour to deviate from it without a good excuse. Samuel would not be expected to begin any chores until the next week and so he considered himself fortunate, as he could relax and take time to come to terms with his new surroundings.
‘I have to go to stable duty this morning,’ Eric Pot explained, ‘so let me know what happens in class.’
The class with Master Glim was as interesting and exciting as Master Sanctus’ classes were not. They left their notepaper and quills behind and found an open patch of lawn by the tall, stone wall and Master Glim went into the intricacies of magic.
‘It comes from within,’ he explained, striding back and forth before the wall, ‘but that is not the source of magic, merely its channel. Our minds are like veins, with magic being the blood. If you are feeble and shallow-minded, the veins are narrow and magic may only just trickle through, but if you are fit and quick-witted—’ here Master Glim leapt up and clapped his hands with a thunderous slap. When he landed neatly back upon his feet, there was an enormous blue butterfly resting on his finger, gently beating its wings. Everybody, including Samuel, gasped in awe. ‘—then magic roars in your ears and you can channel it with a whim,’ he continued. He closed his eyes and the butterfly grew into a surprised-looking cow, balancing precariously on his hand. It then transformed into Master Sanctus, complete with an enormous cow’s udder and everybody bent over laughing. The illusion then vanished and Master Glim sat cross-legged on the grass once more. ‘Your mind must be keen and your body must be strong. Each supports the other. Magic is energy and energy is life, we are all made of it. There is power in thoughts and words and movements, in shapes and patterns and pictures and music, in places and times and events. If you remember this, your magic will be much stronger.’
Everyone nodded in understanding.
‘You may have heard that the stones of our walls were brought from distant lands, hundreds of years ago. It’s true. Early magicians recognised that stone is a lasting thing, and the ebb of the earth runs through some stones for many ages, before the wind and rain can wear them away. These stones were found in a place of naturally high energy, and this energy had filled the rocks and made them magically powerful. The magic has faded much over recent years, but these walls are still virtually impregnable to axe or pick and no spell can pass directly through them without great effort. The city walls are great in strength, but our school’s perimeter, though tiny in comparison, should long outlast them.
‘It takes a keen eye, of course, to tell a natural place of strong energy, for these areas of magical energy slowly move around the earth over the ages. Our wall is slowly seeping power, but this power is then available for us to use, increasing our magical strength while we are here in the school. The closest natural magic well is far, far away now, but, in a way, we have created our own, here.’
Samuel was impressed. The walls of the school were flawless—as clean and smooth as could be and seemingly made from a single, faultless piece of stone. It made him curious and a question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
‘How did they cut the stone, Master Glim?’ Samuel asked.
‘Well, Samuel, this stone was cut with the aid of powerful magic and moved here in manageable blocks. The sand made from cutting the stone was brought in bags to be used as mortar and more spells were used to bond them all together as one piece again. It would have taken a long time, but it was so long ago that we don’t really know any more than that. But the interesting thing is that the act of moving the stones actually made them stronger—for movement creates power. It is like dragging a flint across stone, and it produces magical energy within us. Of course, we are always producing our own energy, but travelling is a way of energising and stirring ourselves to create even more. This is why we magicians try not to spend too many years in one place, as it lends staleness to the mind and magic. Now, enough talk. Let us go to the hall and practise.’
They left the grassy spot by the wall and filed into the Great Hall, now warm and inviting with sunlight streaming through the windows, compared to the chill of the night before. Master Glim seemed to lend warmth and vibrancy to the place, just as Master Sanctus had radiated chill sterility.
‘Revision!’ Master Glim announced and stood at the front of the room, facing his students with his hands set upon his hips.
They each in turn sat and crossed their legs on the open floor at the centre of the room and let their hands rest lightly upon their knees. They all seemed to know what to do and so Samuel copied them, looking left and right to be sure he was following suit.
‘Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing,’ Master Glim called softly. ‘Let the air come in your nose and feel the energy course down your spine and into your hands and feet. Hold the breath and then let it out, taking all the corrupted energy out with it.’
The sound of an instrument seemed to emerge out of the silence, and Samuel could not resist opening an eye. Master Glim had tiptoed away and returned with a many-stringed instrument, which he was now strumming lightly and slowly. He made no particular tune, but more an array of harmonic noises, and from time to time he tapped on the wooden body of the instrument to produce strange echoes. He noticed Samuel watching and gave him a stern look that obviously meant close your eyes and concentrate!
Samuel did so at once and soon found the voice of the instrument soothing. He realised that Master Glim was also singing, a soft wordless hum that was barely discernible from the instrument itself.
‘Feel the ener
gy within you,’ Master Glim then whispered, and his voice seemed to come from all around. ‘Let it become part of you, and you of it. Let the sound guide you.’
Samuel felt that the music could guide him as it resonated in his chest and ears. He felt very relaxed and memories of his meditation in the Burning Oak came back to him. A string of strange words was at the verge of remembrance.
‘Keep your eyes closed,’ Master Glim whispered. ‘Relax and forget your breathing, forget your heartbeat, forget your body. Become the energy—and now, concentrate the energy on a space just before your eyes. Open your eyes slowly and continue to feed your power into this spot; feel it burn and glow with energy. Feel the light before your face.’
Samuel opened his eyes and was surprised to find his hands had moved from his knees, where they had begun, to the palm-together position he had learned in the Burning Oak. A tingling ran up his spine, as a boy diagonally in front of him spontaneously created a tiny ball of light. The boy’s aura had flickered and bloomed and then a sizzling spark of light had sprung away from him, hanging in the air and unfolding into the glowing ball. The boy then pushed it up into the air, obviously having done this before. There it hovered and shone. Samuel looked up and saw it being joined by a host of other shining spheres as the students all around cast their spells. He held his palms together firmly and searched for the way to create his own. The feeling he needed bathed his mind, but then he wasn’t sure if it was the right one or not. A moment of fear overtook him as he remembered the awful spirit that he had summoned at the Burning Oak. It took great effort to calm down before he could start to regain a relaxed state of mind.
‘Those who can,’ sounded the voice of Master Glim, ‘move your mage-lights together and feel the energies of your friends. Each is distinct and individual. If you’re having trouble, don’t worry, just relax and feel the magic around you.’
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 16