Destroying Magic

by David Meyer

  Piper peered up from where she lay on the floor. Her eyes grew large with wonder. “Wow.”

  ‘Wow’ was right. Thanks to a decent array of cool-lights, I could see an enormous room, perfectly spherical in shape. Tall shelving racks lined the wall, following its curves from side to side as well as from floor to ceiling. Objects of all types littered the shelves. I saw crystal balls, dusty wands, the stuffed head of what I took to be a hodag, and an entire section of talismans.

  Focusing in on one shelf, I saw two tall poles. An iron ball swung back and forth between them without pause. It looked like a perpetual motion device.

  “It’s like a museum,” Leandra said, her voice full of wonder.

  “It is a museum,” Piper said. “Most of this stuff comes from way before we were born.”

  Not only did the objects come from before our time but I was pretty sure they pre-dated Structuralism, too. Eyes wide, I studied the strange and wonderful things dotting the room’s many shelves. Many of them were a complete mystery to me. Actually, my entire generation would find them mysterious. For nearly a century, they’d laid in this room, untouched, unseen, and unstudied by modern magicians.

  Now, this wasn’t my first brush with Chaotics-era magic. No, that had happened months ago, back when I’d first laid eyes on the enormous, statue-shaped school. Even so, the room astounded me. What long-lost secrets did it hold? What kind of strange, unknown spells did the objects possess?

  It didn’t take us long to realize the floor was curved like the rest of the sphere. With a soft yelp, Leandra lost her balance and pitched backward. Fighting to stay on her feet, she surged forward. But she over-corrected and stumbled toward a towering rack of shelves. She tried to put on the brakes, but her legs got tangled up and she collided with the metal structure.

  A dull thud rang out. Old ramballs, looking like they pre-dated even Madkey itself, rolled off an upper shelf. In typical ramball fashion, they fell at varying speeds.

  Leandra picked herself up off the ground. Annoyed, she gave her head a good shake. Just then, one of the ramballs bounced off of her noggin.

  Clunk!

  Her mouth dipped open and her eyes unfocused just a little. Still standing, she stumbled to the right, then to the left, leaving her wide open for the other ramballs.

  Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

  She thrashed about, waving her arms over her head. But the ramballs just kept coming, zigzagging past her outstretched hands and bumping her body. Finally, her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. “What … was that?” she asked, her tone slurred with befuddlement.

  It took all of my willpower not to whoop with laughter. “I think you just made some new friends.”

  Piper covered her mouth with her hand, biting back a wave of giggles.

  Leandra’s gaze steadied. Peering at the ground, she gave the ramballs a dirty look. Suddenly, she reached down and grabbed hold of one.

  “Wait …” I said, the warning dying on my lips.

  “Take a deep breath,” Piper advised her. “They were just having a little fun.”

  Ignoring us, Leandra put her face up against the ramball’s chalky, pockmarked surface. “Think you’re real tough, don’t you?”

  It squeaked in protest.

  Ramball is easily the most popular sport in the magic world. It’s played with ramballs, living, breathing creatures that love the game even more than we do. Setting aside the rules, one’s success at the game depends on two factors. First, tremendous athletic ability. And second, a winning, extroverted personality. The sport isn’t suited for introverts because it requires one to bond with the ramballs while they’re attacking you. Believe me, that’s not easy.

  “Relax,” I said slowly, keeping an eye on the other ramballs. “Just relax.”

  “It attacked me! And it’s not going to get away with it either.” Taking aim at some faraway shelves, she threw the ramball with all of her might. In fact, she threw it so hard, she spun in a complete circle, lost her balance, and fell back to the floor. “Where’d it go?” she asked weakly. “Did it hit the shelves?”

  I hid a small smile. “Not exactly.”

  Her eyes popped as she spotted the ramball just a few feet away. Waving me off, she struggled back to her feet. “They should turn the whole lot of you into enchanted glue,” she grumbled.

  They quivered, which was their way of chortling. Apparently, they’d taken a liking to her. That was a good thing. The last thing we needed was a room full of pissed-off ramballs.

  “Well, this place is pretty amazing.” Piper spun on her heels, taking in the massive sphere. “So, why are we here?”

  “We’re looking for Womigia.”

  A strange look crossed her face. “I’ve heard of that.”

  “You have?”

  “I think … yes, it was in one of my books. I just can’t remember …” Her brow formed a tight ridge as she tried to recall what she’d read. Finally, she shook her head. “It was a long time ago. So, what’s Womigia?”

  “I don’t, uh, know.”

  She cocked a curious eyebrow at me.

  Peering up, I stared at the vastness of Madkey Archive. About three-quarters of the way to the ceiling, I spotted a massive sign. Bolted to a shelving unit, it read, Enter Here for Womigia.

  I pointed at it. “Up there.”

  Her eyes followed my finger. “How do we get to it?”

  I looked around, searching for a hoist or even a staircase. But all I saw were the shelving units, following the curves of the spherical room.

  “We could climb,” I suggested.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Do you see another way?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But …”

  I saw the apprehension in her eyes. She and Leandra had already done way too much for me. “Take it easy,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Not a chance.” Leandra hiked toward us, booting ramballs out of her way. In response, they quivered with delight. “We didn’t come this far just to get put on the bench. Right, Piper?”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  I exhaled. “Then let’s get to it.”

  I crossed the archive to the appropriate shelving unit. With trepidation, I traced my eyes over it. My body hurt just thinking of what lay ahead of us. Man, what I wouldn’t have done for a hoist at that moment.

  This far down in the sphere, the rack was nearly horizontal to the ground. Farther up, the shelves began to rise at a gentle slope, like a staircase. The rack became increasingly vertical, until the shelves resembled steps in a ladder. The really scary part was the midway point. That’s when the rack began to slope backward. At the very top, the shelves faced the floor. I could see objects stowed within those shelves, lashed down by chains. How crazy was that?

  I hiked the first few shelves with ease. Leandra and Piper clambered up after me. Each step caused the rack to rattle and sway. At first, it wasn’t too bad. But as we gained altitude, it got worse. It felt like a single misstep could send the entire rack crashing to the floor.

  Eventually, we ran out of easy steps and the rack took on a more vertical alignment. Kicking aside a mass of enchanted netting, I leapt up and grabbed hold of the next shelf. Then I kicked my left foot onto the metal and strained my muscles. Hauling my body upward, I rolled onto the platform.

  I caught my breath, then helped Leandra up. We both assisted Piper. Then we moved onto the next shelf, with Leandra leading the way.

  We climbed like that, one going first then helping the others, for what felt like hours. Finally, we reached the archive’s midpoint.

  After a brief break, I strode to the edge, took a breath, and jumped into the air. My fingers latched onto the upper shelf. With a soft grunt, I pulled myself onto it, then peered down.

  “Who’s next?” I asked.

  “I guess I am.” Piper trembled as she approached the edge. She inhaled a few times, then leapt up. Her fingers touched metal, clasping onto it. She tried to pull herself
up, but the arduous climb had left her fatigued.

  “A little help?” she gasped as she thrashed about, trying to pull off a miracle.

  Leandra grabbed her legs, steadying her. Meanwhile, I grasped her hands and pulled, dragging her to safety. She collapsed on the shelf, jittery and red-faced. While she recovered, I helped Leandra up.

  After a short breather, we went back to climbing, with Leandra and I doing most of the heavy lifting. The rack began to curve backward. The shelves started to tilt toward the floor. Ropes and chains were everywhere, helping to secure the archive’s magical items from the force of gravity.

  “This Womigia thing better be worth it,” Piper groused as we pulled her onto yet another shelf. She tried to stand up, but the slope was too steep. So, she grabbed hold of a metal strut instead.

  “Look on the bright side.” Leandra tilted her head upward. “Just a few more shelves to go.”

  Releasing a strut, Leandra twisted around. My breath caught in my throat as she leapt upward and outward.

  A soft, metallic thump filled my ears. She hung from the upper shelf for a moment. Then her legs kicked and she pulled herself out of sight.

  I exhaled a big breath. For a moment there, I’d thought she was a goner.

  My gaze strayed and I caught a glimpse of the floor. My head began to spin.

  “Are you okay?” Piper asked.

  “Yeah.” I began to sway. Clutching a strut, I forced myself to remain still. “I’m fine.”

  “Who’s next?” Leandra called out.

  I looked at Piper. “Go for it.”

  She took a few halting footsteps toward the edge. At the last second, she twisted around. Following Leandra’s lead, she jumped upward and outward. Flesh banged against metal. Her legs kicked frantically as she got pulled up.

  “We’re ready for you, Randy,” Leandra called.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready. But I released my strut anyway. I took a few stumbling steps toward the jumping point. Twisting around, I surged outward and upward. My hands clanged against hard metal. My fingers burned as I clutched hold of the shelf. Leandra and Piper grabbed hold of me almost immediately, yanking me upward.

  Leandra directed me toward the nearest strut and I wrapped my arms around it. I felt exhausted. How in the world were we going to make the return trip? But my negativity drained away as I caught sight of the enormous sign bolted above my head. Enter Here for Womigia, it read.

  Adrenaline pumping, I turned around. A door was built into the back wall. A sign, etched out of well-tarnished silver, read, Danger: Restricted Area. Authorized Wizards Only.

  Right away, I knew the sign was very old. These days, such a notice would’ve read, Authorized Magicians rather than Authorized Wizards. The Enter Here for Womigia sign looked quite old as well. It occurred to me that Womigia—whatever it was—had been kept at Madkey for a very long time.

  The shelf lay at an extremely steep angle. Fortunately, there were plenty of handholds. Releasing the strut, I grabbed a chain, one of over a dozen that secured a pile of tightly-bound brooms. Hand-over-hand, I hiked to the door. Testing the knob, I discovered it was unlocked. That surprised me at first. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If a magician made it this far—through the rotating trap and up the curved shelving rack—then he or she had to be authorized to enter the room.

  Blinding light greeted me as I opened the door. It came from the center of the room and I was forced to shield my gaze. Even so, I caught glimpses of the enormous space. It featured vertical walls, lined with life-size statues of witches and wizards. Soft carpeting covered the horizontal floor. I stepped onto the flat surface and instantly, my calf muscles relaxed. My legs sagged and I uttered a soft, contented sigh.

  Piper appeared at the threshold. Immediately, her face lit up. “Whoa,” she said.

  My eyes adjusted and I followed the bright light to its source. A strange pocket of energy, roughly the size of a cottage house, resided within the room. Sparks of colorful magic zoomed through it. Sometimes, the sparks ignited other sparks, which ignited still other sparks. Sometimes, sparks dimmed or died out. Other times, they gained energy and intensity.

  Intrigued, I took a few steps forward. I began to notice little bits of imagery amongst the sparks. First, a spectacular ramball play, pulled off by Adelaide Ulit from the New Orleans Nightmares. It was from last year’s Ramball World Championship game and I remembered it well. Next, I noticed Guy Ford, Chief Magician of the United States, speaking before a vast audience. It was his inauguration speech and I recalled watching it at home.

  “These are memories,” I realized.

  “Memories of big moments,” Leandra added. “Important moments.”

  Piper seemed almost in a state of shock. “I just remembered what I read about Womigia,” she managed. “I know what it is.”

  “What?” we asked in unison.

  “It’s the collective memory. Our collective memory.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “We shape it and it shapes us.”

  I knew she was right. I didn’t know how I knew it.

  I just did.

  Chapter 32

  “Hold on.” Leandra looked lost. “What’s this about a collective memory?”

  “It’s all the memories shared by a group of people. It’s all the stuff we know to be true.” Piper looked excited enough to burst. “For instance, we know that the Farwads enslaved the witches and that the witches fought the Freedom War to throw off their shackles. None of us were actually there, but we still know about it through books and plays, memory mirrors and oral history. We visit the memorials and celebrate the holiday. Little girls dress up like Rose Derfon and play-act her famous duels. We still say the Witches Creed when faced with extreme sexism and oppression.”

  Leandra waved a hand at Womigia. “So, those little sparks flying all over the place …?”

  “Memories. Powerful ones. Powerful enough to make it into the collective memory.” She rubbed her jaw, deep in thought. “These are the memories we share, the ones that bind us together. They give us an identity, a sense of community. Without them, the magic world as we know it would cease to exist.”

  “So, this is what we came to see?” Leandra glanced at me. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s definitely interesting. But what’s it got to do with us?”

  A glimpse of odd light caught my eye and I tore my gaze from the interior. An object—a long, thin mirror—was embedded into Womigia’s surface. The frame was made of gold and adorned with ornate decorations. The glass was wavy, like a churning sea.

  The mirror’s base was inscribed with ornate lettering. Rising to my tiptoes, I gave it a quick look.

  Boris Hynor, the inscription read. April 17, 1928 speech entitled, The Right to Perform Chaotic Magic. Given at the Magical Structuralism Society. Removed from Womigia on February 1, 1930.

  Tad was related to the Hynor family. But beyond that, the mirror was a mystery. Why had this speech been removed from the collective memory? And how was that even possible?

  Cautiously, I peered into the mirror. The glassy surface twisted, turned, and churned before my eyes. Then I saw a rather tall man with dark brown skin, dressed in a silk jacket and matching breeches. A knee-length coat and buckled shoes topped off the ensemble. He stood before a seated audience of men and women. The image was normal enough. And yet it had a strange color scheme to it that made it look rather old.

  “Good evening, lords and ladies,” Boris said. At least I thought it was Boris and I was pretty sure that’s what he said. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing a name tag. As for his words, the guy’s voice was scratchy and difficult to hear. “My name, as you well know, is Boris Hynor. Today, I wish to discuss the most basic building block of all. The fundamental right that gives rise to this wondrous society of ours. That is, of course, the right to perform Chaotic magic.”

  The mirror began to impact my other senses. I tasted sawdust on my tongue. The air smelled of perspiration and barely-contained body
odor. Wrenching humidity caused sweat to dribble down my cheeks.

  “Since the dawn of civilization, magicians far and wide have sought to push the boundaries of magic. And they—”

  “Liar!” a woman cried out. “Deceiver!”

  “Struc-tur-al-ize,” another voice chanted. “Struc-tur-al-ize. Struc-tur-al-ize. Struc-tur-al-ize.”

  Others joined in and the chant gained volume.

  A man jumped to his feet. “Leave, villain,” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Boris. “Your magic has no place here.”

  Lines formed on Boris’ forehead as he leaned over the podium. “Please sit down, Sir.”

  The man went for his wand. People seated nearby cleared away. Others exchanged frightened glances. Even so, the Struc-tur-al-ize chant grew louder and louder.

  Boris produced a wand from inside his coat. “You may attack me all you like, friend,” he said. “But do it with your words, not your wand.”

  The man paid him no heed. “So, you like Chaotic magic, do you? Then you should enjoy this!”

  The chant faded away. Everyone was on their feet now, backing away as quickly as their stuffy outfits would allow.

  The man waved his wand. “Ventham,” he shouted.

  A thin, wavering spell went airborne. Boris leapt out of the way. The amethyst streak collided with the podium and a cloud of smoke appeared. It quickly wafted away and I could see the podium again.

  Or rather, what used to be the podium.

  The Ventham spell had turned it into a weird mess of wood and nails. It took me a moment to realize that it had split apart at the seams and the various pieces had joined together in new ways, forming an entirely different object. Holy smokes, I didn’t even want to imagine what that spell would do to a living, breathing person.

  Boris rolled to a crouch. Wand drawn, he took aim at his attacker. “Arresta,” he said.

  Another streak, thick and saffron-colored, appeared. The man dove to the floor in the nick of time and the spell hit his seat. Sturdy chains materialized, wrapping snugly around the chair.