by Scott Meyer
“And instead of a bottle, it’s the ground.”
“And there’s no breaking involved. Just bouncing.”
“Bouncing?” Martin asked. “I’m gonna bounce?”
Phillip shook his head. “Only if you crash.”
“Which means yes,” Gary added helpfully.
“Don’t worry, though,” Phillip said, scowling at Gary, “thanks to the various protective spells I applied to you, you can’t be injured.”
“Oh,” Martin said, visibly relieved. “Good. As long as I can’t get hurt.”
“Oh, you’ll get hurt,” Jeff said, “just not injured. Your skin won’t cut and your bones won’t break, but you’ll still feel pain if you run a knife across your skin, or you get poked hard with something sharp.”
“Or if you fall screaming out of the sky at terminal velocity and land on the hard, rocky ground,” Gary said, stomping on the ground to emphasize its hardness.
Phillip put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, Martin. They’re just trying to scare you. Oh, they’re not lying. You will probably fall, and bounce, and it will smart like mad, but they’re just telling you about it to scare you. Now let’s get you up in the air, shall we?”
Moments later, Martin was standing alone. The other three wizards were watching him intently, but giving him plenty of room. “All right,” Phillip said, “we fly using our staff.”
“Rule one,” Martin said reflexively. “Don’t make the obvious joke.”
“Indeed,” Phillip said. “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”
“Yes.”
“How’d that go?”
“I crashed.”
“This is gonna be GREAT!” Jeff said. Gary giggled.
“Ignore them,” Phillip said. “That doesn’t just mean today. In general, it’s best to ignore them. Anyway, flying is a lot like riding a motorcycle in two ways. It’s more about leaning than steering, and if you look at something, you’re going to steer into it, even if you don’t want to. Now, put your hand about half way down your staff and hold it over your head.”
Martin did.
Phillip said, “Good. Now, think of the staff as your controls. Point the head of your staff forward and you go faster. Pull it back, you slow down. Tilt it to the left and you’ll bank left. Tilt right, bank right. Tilt your wrist up and you’ll angle upward. Tilt your wrist down and you’ll angle down. It sounds like a lot to remember, but if you think of it like you’re letting your staff lead you, it’s very intuitive.”
Martin said, “Kind of like riding a Segway.”
Phillip and Gary said, “What?”
At the same moment, Jeff said, “Yes.”
Martin asked, “How fast can we fly?”
“There’s no theoretical limit, but the shell keeps us down to a hundred miles an hour, which, believe me, is more than fast enough when you’re up there in the wind with nothing but a robe and hat for protection.”
Martin took a deep breath, then raised the staff over his head. He held it there for a moment, then lowered it again. “Do I have to say flugi?” he asked. “It’s the least dignified magic word ever.”
“Right now, yes. Later you can make a macro and set any word you like, make sparkles trail behind you, whatever. During training we’re focusing on basic flight, and to do that, you say flugi.”
Martin raised the staff above his head again. He shook the tension out of his left hand, which was hanging by his side, paused a second to work up his nerve, and said, “Flugi.”
Nothing happened. He was still standing firmly on the ground. He looked at Phillip, fearing that he was yet again being messed with. Phillip smiled and said, “Point the staff upward a bit. JUST A BIT! You want to start slow.”
Martin tilted the head of the staff upward and he smoothly raised about thirty feet before he panicked and tilted the staff back, stopping all upward progress. He hovered there, oscillating between laughing, shouting, and being too stunned to make a sound. He had known intellectually that he was going to fly at some point, but now he knew that he was flying, and that was a different matter. He was sure it looked like he was hanging by one hand from his staff, but that was not how it felt. It didn’t feel like he was weightless either. It felt as if every atom in his body had simply decided it was time to move in the same direction, and that direction just happened to be straight up. He looked down at Phillip, Jeff, and Gary. They looked delighted as they cheered Martin on.
Phillip raised his staff, said, “Flugi,” and drifted up to meet Martin.
Jeff produced his magic wand, pointed it at the sky and shot upward with an eerie humming sound and distorted shock wave emanating from the spot where he had stood.
Gary whipped his staff around in an arc, chanting, “Mi estas mizera spektaklo ekstere.” He held his staff aloft and rose slowly but forcefully on a pillar of black smoke so thick you could not see through it. Soon, all four of them were hovering there, thirty feet in the air.
“Okay,” Phillip said. “You’ve got hovering down. Now it’s time to fly. Remember, just sort of point your staff where you want to go. It’s that simple.”
Martin pointed the staff a degree or two upward, then tilted his wrist downward and he gracefully leveled off. His staff led and his body trailed behind. What had been pointing his staff upward now felt like it leading him forward. He turned his head to look behind and saw the others following him. He experimented with some turns. He tried gaining and losing altitude. He swooped. He spiraled. He went as fast as he comfortably could, which wasn’t all that fast with the wind in his eyes.
He shielded his face with his free hand and tried for a high speed swoop. He swung down within a few feet of the ground, then gave it the spurs as he angled back toward the sky. He was fifty feet in the air and accelerating upward at a steep angle. Between the speed he was moving, the hand shielding his eyes, and the squinting in the wind, he nearly didn’t see the duck.
Later, Phillip told him he probably would have missed the duck entirely if he hadn’t reacted, but he had, involuntarily cringing and pulling his staff arm in to shield his face. In doing so he dropped the staff’s air speed to nearly zero, then to full reverse, banked a hard right turn and stuck the staff into a steep dive all at the same time.
Martin’s body cracked like a whip, flinging him out in front of the staff as he lost his grip. Without his hand to hold it the staff lost all power and tumbled to the ground. Martin’s momentum flung him rear-end first directly into the now very startled duck. He and the duck fell earthward. For a crazy moment it seemed to Martin that he was sitting on the duck, which was horribly undignified for both of them. The duck seemed to agree, as it rolled between his legs and up the front of his torso, flapping wildly and quacking like mad the whole way. It bounced off of his face and for just an instant Martin was aware of a duck foot in his mouth, then the duck disappeared from his perception. Martin didn’t know where it went and didn’t care. He was more concerned with the ground, which was coming up to meet him quite eagerly.
As he tumbled, Phillip, Gary, and Jeff spun into his field of view, closing on his position very fast. Gary and Jeff seemed to be yelling something. Phillip was hurling his staff around like a lacrosse stick and shouting something as well. A blue ball of energy shot from the head of Phillip’s staff and flew like a line drive, hitting the ground directly in front of Martin. He had just enough time to feel gratitude for Phillip for helping him when he needed it. Martin hit the ground full force. The pain was instant and blinding. He bounced into the air and had just enough time to curse Phillip before he hit the ground again, this time rolling to a stop. He lay on the ground, groaning.
Jeff and Gary landed. Martin raised himself up from the ground and looked around. The spot where he had initially hit the ground was marked with a glowing blue circle. Radiating out from t
hat circle were ever larger concentric blue rings spaced a foot apart. Gary was counting the rings. “Twelve.” Gary said, shaking his head sadly. That’s four yards. Jeff, you guessed thirteen, you were over. I had nine and Phillip had ten, so Phillip wins.”
“The duck slowed him down,” Jeff noted bitterly. “Guess that means we both owe you a buck.”
“No,” Phillip said. “To be honest, I lost our other bet this morning. Martin didn’t eat the stew bar.”
Chapter 19.
Day broke, and Phillip and Martin reluctantly got up and puttered around like men do when they’re pretending to be awake. Phillip ladled the increasingly thick stew into a bowl, which he handed to Martin, muttering something about needing a good breakfast. Martin muttered agreement, walked to the privy, and with the door open, turned strategically so that Phillip could see, and poured the stew through the hole.
Now that breakfast was sorted, Phillip explained that the training was almost over. They only really had one more subject to cover, then it would be a simple matter of practicing what Martin had learned until they were both sure he was ready for the trials.
“The subject of the day,” Phillip said, “is basic conjuring. Simply put, the creation of something from nothing. First, a little review. How do you copy an object?”
“You target it by pointing at it, either with your free hand, your staff, or your wand. Then you say kopiu objekto and a copy of the object will appear.”
“Any object?”
“No. It has to be small, about two feet cubed is the limit, and mechanically simple. Solid objects work best.”
“Because?”
“An object with moving parts is actually several objects working together. Copy a rock, you get two rocks. Copy a watch and you’ll probably get a spare watch band.”
“Well said. How about transporting things?”
“Well, all we’ve discussed is bringing stuff with us when we teleport. Our clothes, the things we’re holding and the things in our pockets seem to come with us naturally, for some reason.”
“Yes, the program has some way of organizing various objects defined in the file into units, but we’ve never quite cracked it. It’s a bit embarrassing really, but all of us have been working for all this time, and yet … anyway, you said you could hold things in your hand and bring them with you when you teleport. Can you bring anything?”
“No,” Martin said. “Again, small, simple objects are best. If you do need to transport something larger or more complex, you want to keep it small, and hold in it such a way that you’re … well, enveloping it, I guess is the best way to put it.”
“Indeed. Conjuring can best be described as copying something well after the fact, or transporting it from a state of non-existence. Now, when you copy something you have to target it by pointing, but when creating something out of nothing you need to define where it will be created, a set, predictable place for conjured items to materialize. So, Martin, tell me, what does a wizard need to wear for the shell to recognize him?”
“Well, we need a staff or a wand.”
“For?” Phillip asked.
“Targeting, flying, and looking cool.”
“Go on.”
“A robe with sleeves that have a cuff circumference of two feet.”
“Why two feet?”
“The shell looks for the cuffs to help it know where your hands are. Makes it easier to program energy beams and effects when you write a macro,” Martin answered.
“Very good. What else does a wizard wear?”
“A conical hat that is no less than one foot tall.”
“Do you have to be wearing it?”
“No, it can be in your hand or your pocket, but it has to be somewhere on your person.”
“Correct. What does a magician use his hat for?” Phillip asked.
Martin smiled as he saw where Phillip was going. “For pulling things out of!”
“Top man! Yes, the shell looks for the hat and uses it as the default location to materialize created items. There are certain items we figured would be useful to be able to create at will, and we programmed them into the shell.” Phillip held his hat so Martin could see that it was empty. He held it by the brim as if he intended to use it to carry things and said, “Krei monon.” He reached into the hat and pulled out a gold piece. Then he said, “Krei sekigitaj bovaĵo,” reached into the hat and pulled out a strip of beef jerky, which he handed to Martin.
“These are the things that we’ve hard-wired into the shell. You can use your staff to define and save a small item and program a macro to create it later. If the item is small enough it can be surprisingly complex. Krei rizo kaj fazeoloj ruliĝis en omleto!”
Phillip reached into his hat and pulled out a burrito. He said, “Enjoy your beef jerky,” and bit into his burrito.
“You could make real food all this time?” Martin asked.
“Martin,” Phillip answered, speaking with his mouth full, “Have you ever once seen me eat any of that stew?”
With the basics out of the way, the following days were made up of practice, review, and practical application. Macros were created. Miss Abigail’s goat got moved from one pasture to another a few times. The foundations of a life in Medieval England got made for Martin. He spent an afternoon creating a tidy war-chest of gold pieces. The lesson he learned in his own time still applied here – having a ready supply of money was as potent a form of magic as any. Martin and Phillip looked around Leadchurch for a cottage Martin could buy after he passed the trials. They didn’t find anything that excited Martin, but it was fun to look.
Finally, the day came to pick up Martin’s robe and hat. When Martin and Phillip entered Gwen’s shop, they found her sitting at her work table, stitching the hem of a tunic. On Gwen’s left there was a small stack of two or three neatly folded garments. On her right was a massive pile of garments in various contrasting shades of earth-tone and oatmeal. As they entered she tied a knot in the thread she had been pulling. The sleeves of her dark gray cloak were pushed up on her arms, giving the impression that she was putting in some serious effort. She folded the tunic she had just finished and put it atop the larger pile.
“You’ve been busy,” Phillip said.
“Busy, but not profitable. These are all free alterations, and this is just the first batch. That loudmouth Sam starts putting on weight and his waistband can’t accommodate his belly anymore, but he can’t accept that, so he says his pants have gotten longer. I agree to fix them, really just to get him out of my shop, and he tells everyone who’ll listen. Next thing you know his entire village comes in one by one doing their best Sam impression and I end up hemming an entire village’s worth of clothes for free.”
“And you’ll get to deal with them all again when they come in to pick up their garments,” Phillip said.
“No, when I’m done I’m just going to go out to their village and get it over with in one trip,” she said.
“Would you like some help?” Martin asked. “I could transport you and the pants magically. It might take a few trips, but with both of us carrying pants it shouldn’t be too bad. It’d be a lot faster than driving your cart out there, and I really could use the practice.”
Gwen smiled, which made Martin smile, which made Phillip smile. Martin’s eyes darted over to Phillip. Phillip quickly frowned and furrowed his eyebrows at Martin. Martin looked away quickly. Gwen nearly laughed out loud.
“Thanks for the offer,” Gwen said. “It’s sweet of you, but the last thing I need is any of these people thinking I have wizards helping me do my work. I have a hard enough time getting them to pay a fair price as it is.”
“What I don’t understand is, if this is everyone in the village’s clothes, what are they wearing now?” Phillip asked.
“Their other clothes,” Gwen answered. �
�Most of them own two full outfits, and they were very clear that they’ll want me to work on the other when these are done. I told them I’d charge for the second set. That should cut down on the bulk. Anyway, enough about my problems. I bet you gentlemen are here to pick up the robe.” She put down her work and exited to a room at the back of the shop, leaving the two wizards alone for a moment.
“How many shirts do you think you could’ve carried per trip?” Phillip asked.
“I wouldn’t want to try more than two or three.”
“It would take many trips. You’d have had to spend quite a bit of time helping Gwen.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “Probably.”
“I could have shown you a way to move them all at once.”
“I wouldn’t have used it.”
“Martin, you’re not dumb. Not at all,” Phillip said smirking in spite of himself.
Gwen returned carrying a bundle of the same rough cotton his fitting robe was made of. For a moment he feared that his finished robe was made of the same cheap material, then he realized that the final robe and hat were simply wrapped in it for protection. Gwen sat the bundle on a bare patch of her work table, stepped aside, looked at Martin, and with a flourish motioned to him to proceed in unwrapping the package.
Martin unfolded the covering and lifted the robe so he could see it. The primary fabric was a highly reflective silver color with little flat pieces that reflected a surprising amount of light integrated into the weave. It sparkled and glittered as if Gwen had made the robe from the hide of a skinned disco ball. The trim was a lighter, less reflective fabric that matched the trim on Santo’s mask. Martin was delighted. As he held it up, Phillip grabbed Martin’s staff and put the bust of Santo up against the robe. The colors were an almost perfect match. Phillip gave Gwen a questioning look. She shrugged and looked at Martin.
“Gwen, it’s perfect!” Martin said, holding the garment up to the light.
Gwen smiled at Phillip. Phillip shook his head and said, “Well done.”