by Layton Green
After conditioning the students for leadership, she ran through the principal duties of a wizard: governing their estates and serving the Congregation, honing their craft, providing certain services to the public, developing new magic-driven technologies.
The professor then set forth a fascinating overview of the early history of the Congregation. After describing the formative years during the Age of Sorrow and the Pagan Wars, she moved on to the first epoch of wizard rule.
Val took notes along with the other students. After the lecture had finished, during his thirty minute break, he sat near the stone fountain and highlighted the salient points in his notebook.
The Realm (British Empire) began in Year I, when the native peoples of Albion (England), led by the wild mages that roamed the island’s forests, repulsed the invading Romans.
At this stage of history, wizards were a reclusive and fractionalized group.
The first King of the Realm was a druid warrior-priest (mage?) called Taranis. The indigenous wizards refused to bow to the druid theocracy.
P.R. (Post-Realm) 105: with the help of foreign mercenary wizards, namely the Dragon Mages in service to the Hong Bàng Dynasty (which the Congregation has never forgiven), King Taranis and his druids staged an assault on the newly formed wizard council, slaughtering the entire leadership.
This initiated the Age of Sorrow. The druid warrior-priests whipped public hatred of wizards into a frenzy, and for the next thousand years, wizards were labeled heretics, marginalized, and banned from practicing secular magic.
P.R. 1175: in response to a new druid policy limiting wizard families to one child, a revolutionary group of mages called the Conclave was formed.
In response to the guerrilla acts of the Conclave, the Druid King waged a genocidal war on the remaining wizard families, slaughtering thousands.
With their numbers dwindling, the pockets of renegade mages scattered about the Realm joined with the Conclave to form a united front.
Under the leadership of Myrddin the Defender, the so-called Pagan Wars ended with a decisive victory by the Conclave in 1201, at the battle of Londyn, where a gathering of three hundred Conclave wizards defeated a force of over sixty thousand soldiers and druid warrior-priests, as well as a regiment of Dragon Mages.
After the Pagan Wars, in defiance of their former oppressors, the Conclave adopted the name The Congregation. The Conclave became the name for the leadership council within the Congregation.
The wizards allowed the Albion monarchy to remain in name alone. After the Pagan Wars, true power = wizards.
After that, the lecturer had droned on about the First Epoch and how the Congregation had vastly improved society. Val had taken only a few more notes.
P.R. 1225: York School of Wizardry established, core wizard disciplines defined.
P.R. 1363: separatist movement of Scottish Cloud Mages crushed by Congregation. Remaining Gaelic peoples absorbed into Realm.
P.R. 1441-1449: the Teutates Rebellion, a religious uprising led by the remaining druids, roamed the countryside decrying Congregation rule, drowning non-believers in giant vats of acid.
P.R. 1450: After crushing the Teutates Rebellion, the Congregation outlawed organized religion and prohibited public worship of deities. Similar anti-religion revolts followed in other countries, mainly in the West. Theocratic castes of priest-magicians still rule most of the East, including Egypt and the Bharat Empire (India).
P.R. 1475—1850: Age of Expansion (read: the Congregation flexes its colonial muscle and kicks the crap out of Gauls, Romans, Iberians).
P.R. 1492 (eerie parallel): Discovery of New Albion by the aquamancer Grinaldus.
P.R. 1620: New Victoria established. Eventually becomes wizard power center and de facto capital of the Realm, though Londyn remains capital in name.
Queen Victoria, not just a rare wizard-born monarch but an arch-mage aeromancer, consolidated the wizards and the monarchy by joining the Congregation, ushering in the Golden Age of the Realm (which we’re still in).
Note: P.R. 1981 = Present Day (36 years behind Earth, if meaningful).
A bell chimed, and Val closed his notebook. With a deep breath, he rose and tried to prepare himself for the gauntlet he knew awaited.
The time for his first spiritmancy class had arrived.
Most of the discipline classes were held in the main building, known as the Manor. But according to Val’s registration scroll, Spiritmancy 101 was held in the Observatory. He followed the signposts through the foliage until he came to a bluish-white, star-shaped building with a domed rotunda tucked into a cul de sac. Val gaped; unless he was mistaken, the outer layer of the structure was azantite.
As he circled the building, looking for an entrance, he saw a cloaked man and then a woman with flowing silver hair fly over the foliage and disappear into the top of the thirty-foot rotunda.
The other two students, Val assumed. Using the only available entrance.
Great way to start.
He stood with his arms crossed outside the Observatory, trying to decide what to do. Was this a test? Had he failed before class had even begun?
Before he could decide on a course of action, someone unseen lifted him into the air and levitated him towards the top of the rotunda. At first he flailed, but then he gave in, realizing someone was floating him into the building. He rose to the top and dropped through a wizard chute, coming gently to rest on a circular, blue-white dais inside a rounded chamber made of black marble streaked with silver. Five wide archways led to the wings of the building. Silver glow orbs provided illumination.
Ten more suspension discs peppered the room, two feet wide and suspended three feet off the floor. The black-walled room gave the effect of floating in a void.
“I was informed you did not have full awareness of your abilities, neh, but they did not tell me you are unable to fly.”
Val turned towards the speaker, a striking older woman with coppery skin standing on a larger dais. She had lustrous, waist-length black hair and intense blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds.
He remained silent and stole a glance at the other two students. To his left was a very pale and stern young man, wearing glasses and a black tailcoat. On the far right, an Amerindian woman with curved green eyes coolly met his gaze. She looked about Val’s age and had silver hair that partially concealed a long vertical scar on the side of her face.
“I am Professor Azara,” the older woman said, her accent an elegant lilt. She clasped her hands and peered down her aquiline nose at her students. Val noticed her hands looked much older than her face.
“You are here,” she said, “because your psionic signature is far greater than the average wizard. Not everyone with superior ability chooses to become a spirit mage, though in my opinion—” she smirked “—they have chosen poorly. Who would relinquish the opportunity to explore the outer boundaries of magic and reality, the nature of the multiverse?”
Val wondered if Alrick and the other phrenomancers would have something to say in response to that. They seem to have explored some pretty wild places themselves.
The room had the odorless hush of a museum. Professor Azara continued, “You are extremely privileged to have been chosen, lah, yet your innate abilities are only the beginning. To complete the Planewalk and reach the level of a spirit mage adept, you must possess far, far more than an elevated psionic signature. You will need fortitude. Physical and mental stamina. Invention. Imagination. Cleverness. Courage. Willpower almost beyond comprehension. And, most of all,” she pressed her hands to her heart, “you will need desire. An overwhelming urge to succeed.”
At least I have something going for myself, Val thought.
Her hands dropped, and her expression turned grave. “Spiritmancy is the rarest of disciplines not just because of the immense power it requires of its adepts, but because of the dangers.” Val’s eyebrows rose as streaks of black energy crackled at her fingertips. The energy flared, running up and down her arms,
lighting her face. During the display, Val felt as if he were moving towards Professor Azara, sucked in by her gaze.
“Test your boundaries,” a voice whispered in his ear as the energy dissipated, “but know your limits, for power such as this can consume you.”
“By the Queen,” the female student murmured in an awed voice. “Actual spirit fire.”
Professor Azara’s gaze lasered onto her, a stare worthy of the sternest of ballet teachers. “Lydia, was there a question in your response?”
The Amerindian woman swallowed. “No.”
“Then please keep your observations to yourself. I require—spiritmancy requires—utmost discipline and concentration. There is no time for frivolity.”
So it’s like that, Val thought.
“My apologies,” Lydia said.
Professor Azara had already turned away. She tapped a manicured nail against the side of her head. “Unlike other disciplines, our power derives not from the seen, but from the unseen. The essence of the universe. The places in between. As the aquamancer utilizes water, the pyromancer fire, the geomancer stone—so we harness spirit.”
Interesting, Val thought. Is magic simply magic, or are spirit mages harnessing some kind of undiscovered energy source? Or is there a difference?
He was frightened, but his skin tingled at the possibilities.
“One other thing of note. Since spiritmancy is far more difficult to master than the other disciplines, you might grow frustrated when the students in your coterie advance beyond you in practical application. Learn from them, study the common core, and rest assured that, should you reach the level of an adept, then your fellow students will watch in awe as you wield spirit fire, rip holes in space and time, walk the astral plane, and summon beings from other worlds to do your bidding.”
Lydia’s eyes widened, and an eager light crept into the gaze of the other male student.
“We shall begin with a basic spell, but one with a multitude of practical applications. Damon—” the other male student snapped to attention like a Marine—“are you able to create a Wizard Shield?”
“Of course,” he said, narrowing his eyes in concentration.
Professor Azara drifted over to him, palms extended until they stopped a foot from his body, as if bumping against an invisible barrier. “Good,” she murmured, pushing against the shield. “Lydia?”
Lydia did the same, also drawing praise.
“Val? I understand you’ve had no formal schooling.”
Val looked her in the eye. “I don’t know how to form a Wizard Shield.”
The other two students looked disbelieving, and Professor Azara drifted closer. “Harden the air in front of you. Imagine it is dough, and you are kneading it with your mind, pressing it into shape.”
Val focused his magic, then attempted what she said. He could feel the magic trying to congeal, but it felt watery, limp.
Professor Azara reached forward and touched him on the chest, pushing through his barrier.
“Force it to harden,” she said, her voice sharp. “Bend it to your will.”
Jaw tight, Val poured every ounce of effort into solidifying the air in front of him, congealing it into a tangible barrier. It was a strange concept to him, but he had seen its effects before, and knew it could work.
She pressed again. “Knead, Val. Tighter. Compress the air.”
It cost him great effort, to the point where he felt as if he were about to pass out, but when Professor Azara reached for him, her hand slowed just before touching his chest, as if passing through molasses. “A beginning,” she said, and he felt a rush of pride and relief. He released his will, grabbing the edge of the dais to stop himself from keeling over.
“Though common to all disciplines,” Professor Azara said, drifting away, “the Wizard Shield is the closest most come to using spiritmancy. True, air is utilized instead of spirit, and requires less application of will, but air is also an unseen force. The principles used to collect and harden air are similar to those used to harness spirit. We just have to reach deeper.” Her smile was cold. “Much deeper.”
She continued, “Your lesson, until we meet again: practice your Wizard Shield until it is second nature, as impenetrable as you can achieve. Analyze the process, make note of your efforts. Once I am satisfied, if I am satisfied, we shall begin to summon spirit.”
Val spent the next week working as hard as he had ever worked—just to keep his head above water.
In his common core class, they continued refining Light, as well as introducing spells in each of the four principal elements. For fire, they used Ignite and Firesphere. Earth was Dig and Shelter, air Wind Push and Wizard Shield. Lastly, for water, came Float and Purify.
Because Val was practicing Wizard Shield every night for his spiritmancy class, he surprised everyone by excelling at that spell. He made much slower progress with the others.
While Riga far surpassed the others when working with water, and Dida had a wholly foreign skill set, when it came to the common core Adaira and Gowan were the most advanced spell workers of the group. Still, at every turn, Val could feel the jealousy radiating off of Gowan, and guessed the budding pyromancer had wanted to become a spirit mage but failed to satisfy the entrance requirement.
Unsatisfied with the progress of her three students, Professor Azara spent the entire week making them practice their Wizard Shield. After each class, feeling as if he had run a marathon with his mind, Val had Gus drop him at Falrick’s Folly for dinner. After a solid meal and a few drinks, Val would stumble to his quarters to practice his spells. Most nights he turned in after two a.m., rising at dawn to make class on time. Though brutal, it was a lifestyle to which he was accustomed.
Refining Wizard Shield taught him a few lessons about the limits of magic, and he was beginning to get a handle on the energy cost of each spell. Wizard Shield was most effective in a limited space that the mage could see. Akin to using an actual shield. Much stronger and more experienced mages could wrap a Wizard Shield around their bodies, but even then, holding any version of the spell for longer than a moment was draining. Which made it great for stopping a quick attack, but far from a defensive magic bullet.
Nor could a mage cast anything else while using Wizard Shield. If Val wanted a practical tool for battle, he realized he would have to learn to employ his shield at a moment’s notice—which advanced wizards seemed able to do.
Light, on the other hand, was simple to maintain. One could also cast Light as a flare, allowing the motes to slowly dissolve while moving on to cast another spell.
Like the ogre-mage had done, he thought with a shudder.
He tried without success to engage Lydia and Damon in conversation. This frustrated Val, as he wanted to probe their knowledge of the Planewalk.
Though pleasant enough, Lydia always seemed in a rush. Damon clearly considered talking to Val a waste of his time, and didn’t bother hiding it. Spirit mages were supposed to focus on public service as well as wizardry, the “stewards” of the mage world, but Val recognized the signs of a good Washington power broker in Damon and even Lydia: present a civil face to the world, but do whatever it takes to get ahead.
At the end of the week, near the end of spiritmancy class, Professor Azara cocked her head as if listening to someone in her mind, then announced that all students must report to the Lyceum immediately after class.
Puzzled, Val wanted to follow Lydia and Damon, but they flew off without him. He had to suffer the daily embarrassment of allowing Professor Azara to lift him out of the Observatory. He got the sense that everyone in the Academy, especially budding spirit mages, had arrived knowing the basics of flight. As soon as he got to know one of the other students better, he planned to ask someone to teach him. He didn’t want to kill himself trying to learn on his own.
He hurried back to the Manor and slipped into the rear of the packed Lyceum, where he found Adaira and Dida beckoning to him. Val waded through the crowd and slipped in between them.<
br />
“What’s going on?” he asked. “It looks like the whole school is here.”
“No one knows,” Adaira said, craning her neck towards an empty dais at the rear of the hall.
“Perhaps they will announce a holiday,” Dida said, looking as tired as Val felt. “I’ve never experienced a week so difficult.”
Adaira brushed back a strand of hair. “That’s the one thing I know they won’t do.”
Val was sure Lord Alistair knew what was happening, but he also knew Adaira was independent enough not to run and ask daddy.
The crowd quieted as a woman swooped into the room between two pillars, arcing above the crowd before she alighted on the dais. It was the dark-haired woman who had administered the entrance exam, still wearing a crimson robe and platinum circlet in her hair.
“Dean Varen,” Adaira whispered. “Pyromancer.”
“I’m afraid to report,” Dean Varen said, pausing to sweep her gaze across the crowd, “that another Acolyte has been murdered.”
-27-
A week after their arrival in the mines, Caleb and Will and Dalen lay on their backs in their cell, exhausted from their labors. Fine-boned by nature, Caleb looked emaciated, and Will was relieved he had lasted this long without collapsing. Caleb and manual labor went together like pork ribs and tofu.
Dalen was juggling balls of light above his head. He always practiced his magic after the last guard run.
Marek sat cross-legged by the bars, taciturn as always. So far, he had refused to speak.