Destroying Magic

by David Meyer

  He stood with his back to a descending ramp. The ramp led beneath the rotating wall and bleachers, all the way down to the sunken locker rooms.

  “Please take a seat,” he said, waving at a particular section of bleachers.

  Along with everyone else, I hurried toward the stands. Vaulting the wall, I climbed a short staircase. A couple of staffers had carved out a small area behind the Sophomores. The Sophomores, wanting nothing to do with us, immediately relocated. Oh, well. More room for us.

  Sliding into one of the rows, I took a seat next to Jenny. Meanwhile, the bleachers rotated in a clockwise direction, so slowly I could barely feel it.

  Boltstar held his ground until our section of bleachers reached him. Then he hopped nimbly onto the wall. He was smartly dressed like always, his trademark derby hat cocked at a jaunty angle.

  Reaching into his vest, he pulled out a thick tome and held it aloft. “This is the standard textbook for Havoc Magic 12, which some of you seniors are currently taking during normal hours. Written by one of our illustrious graduates, it’s utilized by every major magic school in the world. You’ll find copies under your seats. Please retrieve them and turn to Chapter One.”

  A textbook? Reading assignments? I’d expected it, but it still left me disgruntled. What did theory and interpretation have to do with havoc magic, anyway?

  Reaching under my chair, I grabbed hold of an enormous book. Authored by Bella Cinda, it was entitled, Havoc Magic: A Bare-Bones Treatise.

  Flipping pages, I turned to Chapter One. It was called, The Art of Emotional Capture. A quick perusal of the text nearly put me to sleep.

  For the next hour, Havoc Magic was exactly like every other class I’d taken at Madkey. Boltstar lectured, occasionally citing the book for reference. Students and staffers alike took notes. Heck, even I took notes. Not because I thought they’d help me. I just didn’t want to get called out as the only person not taking them.

  I found it hard to pay attention. It wasn’t Boltstar’s fault. In fact, he was an exceptional lecturer. He used lots of movement and spoke in a variety of tones. He asked us questions and encouraged participation at multiple points. No, the problem was with me. For whatever reason, my mind kept wandering and I couldn’t stop daydreaming.

  At precisely seven o’clock, Boltstar shut the textbook and placed it at his feet. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is your first lecture,” he announced. “But it’s not the end of our time together. My goal is to teach you how to fight, not just how to think about fighting. As such, the first hour of each class will contain a lecture. We’ll also go over reading assignments and I’ll answer any questions you might have thus far. There will be occasional quizzes so that I can chart your progress. In short, it’ll be quite similar to what you’d find in other Madkey classes.”

  I sighed.

  “The second hour, however, will be very different,” he continued. “During that time, we’ll focus on practical, hard-nosed magic. You’ll learn offensive and defensive spells. You’ll be given ample opportunity to practice those spells in duels. And finally, you’ll use those same spells in a series of games.”

  Locking his eyes on us, he began to pace back and forth along the wall.

  “This class will continue until the end of the quarter. It’s pass or fail, based solely on my evaluation. Specifically, you must convince me that you’re able to handle yourself with skill and control in battle-type situations. Since this class isn’t part of the core curriculum, I intend to grade all of you with a light hand. But that doesn’t mean you can afford to slack off. Indeed, you must pass this class if you wish to continue on at Madkey, either as a student or as a staffer.” His expression softened a bit. “After last night’s attack, I think it’s safe to say we live in dangerous times. The skills you’ll learn here may one day save your life. So, please take your lessons seriously.”

  Visages turned somber within the crowd. A couple of students offered appreciative nods. A few others looked our way with tight jaws and accusatory eyes.

  “Now, havoc magic is easy to learn, but difficult to put into practice. This is due to the emotional requirement. Ordinary spells, done under ordinary conditions, allow for complete concentration. As you’ll soon discover, this is much harder to achieve while in the midst of battle.” He paused in mid-stride. His gaze swept over the bleachers. “During the first half of class, we discussed two basic spells. Pobyl, which is used for defensive purposes, and Elertfa, which is utilized for attacks. We will now put that knowledge to practical use.”

  Next to me, Piper practically trembled with excitement. Thus far, she seemed thrilled to be back in school, even if the class didn’t actually count toward a degree.

  “Let’s begin by viewing both spells in a real-life skirmish.” Boltstar waved his wand and muttered a series of quiet incantations. A large memory mirror floated up from the sunken locker room area. “Specifically, the 1932 duel between myself and Mr. Colin Steadman.”

  Piper’s eyes bulged. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “I’ve read about that one. It’s supposed to be epic.”

  She was so amped up I thought she’d leap right out of her seat. As for me, I was puzzled. Who was Colin Steadman?

  “Mr. Steadman was a Chaotic magician,” Boltstar said, answering my question before I could ask it. “He eluded us on Victory Day. It took an additional two years to track him down. When we finally caught up to him, he refused to surrender, necessitating a duel.”

  The mirror flew across the field. Halting just shy of us, it proceeded to hover in mid-air.

  Staring at the glassy surface, I watched it morph into a memory. The background was an old dirt road, framed by fields of dying grass. Two people faced each other, wands held aloft. Boltstar was decked out to the nines and utterly clean. Even his derby cap looked unsullied. Meanwhile, the other guy, who I took to be Steadman, was attired in rags. His eyes glimmered with fury.

  Boltstar tried to get off a quick spell. But Steadman was faster. He waved his wand and muttered something too soft to hear. An orchid ray of light zoomed forth from his wand.

  The young Boltstar, however, was not to be denied. Shifting course, he waved his wand and said, “Pobyl Caxtor.” A flash, cyan in color, hit Steadman’s ray and both spells evaporated into smoke.

  Almost immediately, Boltstar waved his wand. “Elertfa Lokwhan,” he said.

  The resulting spell slammed into Steadman. The Chaotic wizard stumbled back a foot or so, then fell to a knee.

  The memory vanished. The glassy surface returned. I blinked a few times, then turned my attention to Boltstar.

  “Did everyone see that?” he asked.

  Our heads bobbed.

  “You call that epic?” Leandra whispered from the seat behind us. “They barely moved.”

  “Fighting was different back then,” Piper informed her. “It was more refined. They didn’t use fancy theatrics or enchanted weapons.”

  “Mr. Steadman fired the first spell, one of Chaotic origin,” Boltstar said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I countered with Pobyl, then followed that up with Elertfa.”

  Felicia lifted a tentative hand.

  Boltstar gave her a sideways glance. “Yes, Ms. Masters?”

  “Why bother with basic spells? Why not just use the death spell?” She shrugged. “I mean, we’re talking about Chaotics here.”

  “The Gratlan is well beyond the scope of this class,” he replied. “But to answer your question, it’s morally repugnant. No decent magician would ever use it unless absolutely necessary.”

  I blinked in astonishment. Did he just say that no decent magician would ever use the Gratlan? What about the one that he’d fired our way? The one that had nearly killed Tad?

  “From a practical standpoint,” he continued, “a death spell is a bad idea. It’s an escalation of force, one that could easily backfire on the spellcaster. Does that answer your question?”

  Felicia, now slightly gray-faced, nodded.

  “In any event, yo
u don’t need the Gratlan to be an effective havoc magician.” He cast a glance over the crowd. “We’re going to start with Pobyl and Elertfa. First, we’ll nail down the particulars. Then we’ll pair off and practice. Finally, we’ll use them on the battlefield. Are there any other questions?” He scanned the crowd, then nodded. “Then let’s get started.”

  Chapter 22

  Sya Moren gave me a harsh, hateful look. Her lips moved. Her wand sliced menacingly through the air.

  Twenty feet away, I itched my chest and fought to control my emotions. Part of me recalled pleasant memories. Nothing too pleasant, just run of-the mill stuff. Getting a hug from Piper. Laughing at Leandra’s jokes. That night I crushed all comers in Sasquatch Summit Smash.

  The other part of me ginned up recollections of painful, isolated surprises. I recalled the first ‘F’ I’d received at Madkey. My legs getting tangled up and falling on my face as a kid. Tad breaking my ribs with a single spell.

  Lifting my wand, I started to run it through the prescribed motions … zig-zag to the left, then arching back to the right. As I opened my lips, Instinctia took over. My wand shifted. “Shumbla Dant,” I said.

  An auburn blaze left my wand. It careened into Sya and did … nothing. Well, not nothing. Once again, I’d cast the wrong spell. Shumbla Dant was a speedwriting enchantment, which savvy students used to great effect in class. On the battlefield, however, it was pretty much useless.

  I braced myself as Sya’s spell raced toward me. One second later, it careened into my belly and … nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her spell was a dud, too.

  “I can’t concentrate.” Disgusted, she lowered her wand. “It’s your fault, you know. If I didn’t have to do this with an actual Chaotic—”

  “I’m not a Chaotic,” I said, forcefully.

  “Whatever.” She stalked away. “I need a break.”

  Thus far, all of my attempts at havoc magic had come up short. Oh, I’d performed plenty of spells. Just not the right ones.

  That’s the frustrating thing about the Capsudra. When you attempt to cast a spell, it scans your emotions, wand, and lips to project your intentions. Then it takes over with Instinctia, completing the enchantment on your behalf. While that can be a big help, it’s not a perfect system. If you aren’t accurate enough to begin with, the Capsudra will misread your intentions and guide you to the wrong spell.

  Making matters even more complicated, it constantly adjusts itself based upon those who use it. Imagine the Capsudra as a bundle of mystical energy. And imagine its spells as grooves upon that bundle. When a spell is performed, it temporarily deepens the groove. Over time, some spells develop deeper grooves than other ones. And the deeper the groove, the quicker the Capsudra senses your intentions and thrusts you into a state of Instinctia.

  That’s just fine if you’re performing a popular spell. But if you’re casting rare enchantments, like the ones used for havoc magic, it can be a real pain. The grooves are so shallow that you have to be extra-perfect with your initial emotions, wand sequences, and lip movements. Otherwise, you’ll end up turning your opponent into a speedwriter by accident.

  Wand in hand, I scanned the field. I saw no sign of Boltstar. After showing us the basics, he’d paired us off at random. Unfortunately, I’d ended up with Sya. While we began dueling—or at least, attempting to duel—he’d disappeared into the sunken locker room area.

  A shriek rang out. And then Calvin Hayes floated gently into the air, like a balloon. Everyone turned to watch him, utterly dumbfounded. His partner, Gordon, stood beneath him, free hand covering his mouth. I couldn’t tell whether he was shocked or trying not to laugh. Knowing Gordon, I suspected the latter.

  Leandra was the only person who seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. Leaping up, she grabbed Calvin’s ankles. But he kept gaining altitude and she was forced to drop back down to the grass.

  For the moment, Calvin seemed safe. But one could never be sure when it came to magic. What would happen when he hit the ceiling? Would he gently bounce off of it? Or would the spell squash him against it until it—or he—broke?

  Sya shook her head. “Calvin’s such an idiot.”

  He was now twenty feet off the ground and still climbing. We all gawked at him, clueless as to how to remedy the situation.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the ramp leading under the arena. I ran toward it, then darted down its soft grassy slope. The grass gave way to a concrete tunnel. A couple of enchanted fountains, situated in large basins, occupied the middle of the tunnel. Lined up one after the other, they featured stone figures playing a variety of sports, showered with streams of icy blue water.

  “He’s gone.”

  The voice belonged to Galison. Crouching down, I peered through the cascades of falling water. He and Boltstar stood between two of the fountains, well beyond the locker rooms.

  “What happened?” Boltstar asked.

  “Gully got his hands on a wand during an interrogation. He cast a few fancy spells, slipped the guards, and vanished.”

  Gully? As in Ivan Gully, the Chaotic magician that Boltstar had drodiated back in Torso?

  “What kind of shape is he in?” Boltstar asked. “Will he hurt anyone?”

  “I don’t think so, Sir. We were starving him at the time, softening him up between interrogations. I imagine he’s pretty hungry by now. Plus, the guards winged him during the escape and he lost his wand.

  “I want Mr. Gully found,” Boltstar said. “Immediately.”

  “Of course, Headmaster.”

  Boltstar stayed silent for a few seconds. “Did the interrogations yield any results?”

  “Yes,” Galison hurried to say. “According to Mr. Gully, Mr. Crucible was working alone when he opened the conveyance station.”

  “And you believed him?” Boltstar asked.

  “I do.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Very well. Find Mr. Gully.”

  “We will.”

  I took another look at Calvin. He was drawing close to the ceiling. As much as I hated to interrupt the conversation, I didn’t see as how I had a choice.

  I backed up a few steps, then made a show of running into the tunnel. My feet pounded against hard stone. My voice lifted to a shout.

  “Headmaster,” I called out. “We need you.”

  Galison and Boltstar fell quiet. I heard the sound of rustling clothes, followed by footsteps. Moments later, Boltstar appeared. I looked for Galison, but he was gone.

  “Yes, Mr. Wolf?” he asked impatiently.

  “Calvin Hayes is … well … he’s floating.”

  Wasting no time, he ran out of the tunnel and up the grassy slope. Rather than follow at his heels, I lingered for a moment. Had they been holding Ivan prisoner here?

  Letting my eyes roam, I stepped up to the first fountain. It depicted a couple of enchanted stone figures struggling for possession of a ramball. Water squirted up from the circular edging. The streams soared over the heads of the players, then turned into mist. Flashes of colorful light zigzagged amongst the water droplets. All in all, it looked like a hard-fought ramball game, drenched with stormy rain.

  I leaned forward. A stream of water shifted course and squirted into my open mouth. As I drank, I peered through the streams of water. Farther back, I saw Galison. His shadowy figure moved to the end of the tunnel. He opened the last door on the right and strode through it.

  Finishing my drink, I shifted back a few inches. The stream of water returned to its normal course. Heart pounding, I hurried after Galison. Sneaking up to the door, I placed my ear against it. I heard nothing, but I felt pretty sure this was where they’d kept Ivan.

  Backing away, I sprinted after Boltstar. As I raced up the grassy ramp, I saw Calvin. He was now just ten feet from the ceiling, kicking his legs and waving his arms like he was operating a chair within the Grille. But it didn’t help. He just kept right on gaining altitude.

 
Cutting my speed, I walked the final few steps to Boltstar’s side. He was busy muttering an enchantment under his breath. A cyan beam emerged from the tip of his wand. It encircled Calvin’s waist, arresting the boy’s movement.

  Muscles popping, Boltstar pulled the wand toward his shoulder. Calvin, still struggling, dropped a foot or so.

  The headmaster snapped the wand forward, shortening the spell. Before Calvin could float away again, he yanked the wand back toward his shoulder.

  Boltstar’s brow formed into a hard, concentrated ridge. He continued to work the wand, reeling Calvin in like a fish. It took a few minutes but eventually, the boy’s shoes were just a few inches off the ground.

  Planting his feet, Boltstar steadied himself. “What happened here?”

  Gordon was no longer laughing. “I learned some havoc magic at camp,” he said. “I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

  “Let me guess. Catrew Corpa?”

  Gordon nodded.

  “I see.” He raised his voice. “I’m well aware of the fact that some of you have experience in havoc magic. But from this point forward, I would ask you to refrain from using any spell we haven’t covered in class. Is that agreeable?”

  When someone of Boltstar’s stature asks you if something’s ‘agreeable,’ you’d better agree. And so, we did, nodding in silent unison.

  “Uh, can someone get me down from here?” Calvin asked, trying but failing to hide his panic.

  “Stay calm, Mr. Hayes.” Boltstar caught sight of me. “I require your assistance, Mr. Wolf.”

  Boltstar was asking me … me! … to help him break a spell? Heck, yeah.

  “What do I do?” I asked.

  “His feet need to touch solid ground. Unfortunately, the enchantment grows stronger as he descends. It’s a bit like gravity, only in reverse.” Grunting, he strained his muscles. “Grab some friends and pull him down. Do whatever it takes.”

  Shouting for help, I grabbed Calvin’s right leg. Pulling with all my might, I managed to lower him a few inches. Piper, Leandra, Nico, and Jax raced out of the crowd. Piper jumped onto the boy’s left leg. Wrapping herself around it, she went dead weight. Leandra helped with the right leg. Nico and Jax threw themselves at Calvin’s waist and violently yanked at it.