The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  The crowd took only a moment, before bursting into a huge round of deafening applause. The magician was proud of himself. These fools honestly believed this accident was intentional. It was a shame about his favorite stool, but the profits he’d make from this debacle would pay for a new wagon, let alone a stool.

  As the crowd cheered madly, the magician walked over to the young boy and leaned close to him. “You did very well, young man, and I owe you something for your help.” He said to Tartum. The young man nodded, rubbed at his eyes, and held on to his father’s leg, barely awake enough to register anything. The magician recognized the after effects of exhaustion that came from using the power of magic. With his assumptions confirmed, he stood up and held out his hand for the boy’s father to shake.

  “Sir, I know you have many questions about what happened. I will be more than happy to answer them, later. Please come to my wagon with your son when he wakes up. I have something for him.” He said. Seeing the concern on the man’s face Isidor explained “Your son will be fine; he’s just exhausted from his ordeal. I believe your son has the potential to become a caster, and if you’re interested in helping him cultivate and control that talent, I have something to get him started on the right path.”

  Not fully understanding what had happened, but wanting to help his son in anyway he could, Tartum’s father nodded as he picked up Tartum, who had passed out slumping against his leg. “We’ll be there when he wakes up, you’d better have some good answers when we get there!” Tartum’s father said threateningly.

  ...

  Tartum woke up in his bed. His father had put a damp cloth on his head, and Tartum threw it on the floor. His room was a small wooden box, that was added onto his family’s home when he got to big to sleep in the bed with his father. His mother had died when he was a baby, but he had no idea why. Whenever he asked his father why he didnt have a mother like the other kids, his father just told him, “The Gods needed her more than us, but she’s with us in our hearts and that’s the best we can hope for. You’ll see her one day, son! I promise!” Tartum had no idea who these “Gods” were but he sure wished they would give his mother back, if only for a little while. Especially on days like today, when he woke up not fully remembering when, or how, he ended up in bed.

  Tartum found his father in the main room of the house, whittling a piece of wood while staring out the window, like he usually did when he had free time. Apparently, he hadn’t been there long, because the wood still looked shapeless, and his father noticed him right away.

  “How are you feeling son?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Is my birthday over?” Tartum asked.

  “Not yet, son. Feel up for a walk? Your magician friend said he had a reward for your help today.” his father told him.

  “Sure! Let’s go!” Tartum squealed. Forgetting all about the mysteries of his life, and what actually happened, Tartum was hopping with excitement, as he urged his father to hurry. The prospect of a new toy, removing all concern about the days events from his mind.

  Sighing to himself, Tartum’s father envied his son’s ability to recover and keep going with such vigor. Putting the wood and wittling knife down, he got up and escorted his son to the magician’s wagon.

  ...

  The walk to the wagon didn’t take long. Tartum’s home wasn’t far from the outskirts of the town, and the wagon had made camp just a little way from their home. Tartum was half running, half dragging his slower moving father along the way, the entire time. Asking questions to which he didn’t care about the answer. They were the questions of an excited youth, and they made his father smile.

  “What do you think he’s got for me? What do you think happened after I fell asleep? Did you fall asleep? How much farther until we’re there? Can you hurry up? What if he’s gone when we get there? You think he’ll still be there? I can’t wait to get there! Think he’ll do another magic trick? Do you know any tricks? Think he’ll teach me a trick? I think I’ll ask him to teach me a trick!”, rambled Tartum. His father couldn’t help but smile at his son. He loved him dearly and worked hard to keep him happy. It made him proud too see him recover so fast from his episode on the magician’s stage, and how eagerly he set out to meet new people and have new experiences. He was almost completely fearless. He hoped he would always be like this, although he knew with the trials of the world, it was unlikely.

  They arrived at Isidor’s wagon, and found him waiting for them outside. Tartum was overcome with excitement and sprinted the rest of the distance, once he saw him.

  “I’m here! I’m here, I’m here, I’m here! Do you remember me? I’m Tartum Fuin! There’s my father! You said you had a present for me! I love presents! It’s my Birthday so I get presents!” Tartum exclaimed.

  Laughing, Isidor touseled Tartum’s hair and greeted his father. “I’m glad you’ve come. Please, come inside, we have things to discuss.”, the magician said. Obediently Tartum and his father followed him.

  The inside of the wagon was huge in comparison to what the outside of the wagon led an observer to believe. It was easily three hundred yards long, and one hundred fifty yards across. It was still rectangular in shape, but the space was so large, it stunned both Tartum and his father into awed silence. The wagon’s interior seemed to be cordoned off into three sections. The back wall from the entrance seemed to be storage. There were boxes of props, stools, cages, and even what looked like a broken down stage, stacked into even rows that reached ten feet up to the ceiling. Next to this was an area for using the bathroom and washing up. There was a chamber pot, a basin, and pitcher of water, placed on a solid oak dresser with a large mirrior fixed on it. There were also multiple stoves and cooking areas, where any type of meal could be prepared. Shelves stocked with containers of various foods, lined the walls of these areas. Tartum had never seen so much sustenance in one place before in his life, and guessed that Isidor must be a king!

  The final section of the wagon, the section closest to the entrance, that they were in now, was the living area. Numerous bookshelves, jars full of interesting and creepy things, strange looking stones, and boxes littered the shelves and tables that surrounded them. There was a luxuriant rug layed across the width of the area and many chairs were placed in such a way to hold the carpet in place and still leave plenty of room for walking. There were also large, comfortable piles of pillows in the corners, that looked like they had all seen much use recently.

  The magician walked over to Tartum and leaned down next to him.

  “Do you find this amazing, little Tartum? Do you want to know how I do this?” Isidor asked him, as he held out his hand. Tartum watched in amazement, as Isidor kept his hand perfectly still as a gold coin glided around his hand and inbetween his fingers.

  Tartum, still staring at the coin, nodded. Isidor looked into Tartum’s eyes and saw a hunger...a hunger, the magician knew all too well. It was the look of someone that wanted what another possessed. It was the look of envy. It was a look most young people get, that have the gift of casting in their blood.

  The magician stood up and walked over to one of the shelves. There were hundreds of books of all shapes, sizes, and colors kept on it. After glancing through a few, he chose a smaller book, no bigger than a foot tall and six inches wide. It had a bright red binding and dark brown cover. It looked as though it might have been made for a child.

  He walked over to Tartum with the book. Tartum looked at the book and was transfixed by it. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, and for a moment he thought he could feel it calling to him. The book made him feel something. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t care. Tartum wanted that book more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Isidor saw this and knew the book was meant for the boy. Holding Tartum’s left hand, the magician placed the book against Tartum’s open palm, and chanted two words. “Exeroth Yereath!” There was a flash of light, the book began to hum.

  Tartum, not knowing why, repeated the words. “Exer
oth Yereath!” The book stopped humming, there was no flash of light. No giant lizard came bounding out of the book. The book was now in both of Tartum’s trembling hands. He didn’t know why, but it felt like he had found part of himself, now that he possessed the book.

  “You have the ability inside of you to become a great caster, little Tartum.”, Isidor said, and he stood. “This book has chosen you as it’s master. The words I spoke were words of power. They asked the book if you were to be trusted with its secrets. If the book hadn’t thought you worthy, it would have burst into flames and destroyed itself rather than be in the hands of one it felt was unworthy or incapable. Such is the security magic requires. You won’t be able to understand anything in the book yet, but as you study and hone your skills, the book will reveal more and more magical secrets to you. I will stay in Zerous, for now, and train you if you wish. I will show you how to harness your power and use it for the good of all humanity. In return you will obey me in all things, taking commands from no one else, save your father. I understand this is alot to ask of someone so young, but the potential you harbor inside yourself does not care about your age. If you do not learn to control it, and yourself, it will destroy you and possibly those around you. I can teach you how to prevent that. What say you?” Isidor asked.

  Remembering his father for the first time, Tartum looked at him now, pleading for permission. His father’s first thought was to deny him. Magic scared him terribly, and he didn’t understand how his innocent little boy could possibly be a caster. Just as he was about to tell his son no, he saw the desire in his eyes. The need and want that only the eyes of a child can produce. With a sigh and a weak smile Tartum’s father nodded. “Sure son, go ahead.” He said.

  Tartum looked Isidor directly in his eyes and spoke with a voice years beyond his age; “I will do whatever you tell me to do, if it allows me to understand the secrets inside this book.”

  Taken aback by the sudden change in Tartum’s personality, Isidor grinned. “Good. Let’s begin.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A week had passed since Tartum had buried his father. Alone and miserable, sitting in his father’s old chair, Tartum was concentrating on his spell book. Determined to unlock another spell, determined to gain even an inkling of power from the book. His anger had driven his ambition. Strength was now his only concern. To gain strength, he needed power. To gain power, he needed magic, and magic was inside his spell book. Waiting for him to prove his readiness for the secrets.

  Yet try as he might, the secrets wouldn’t come. He had been focusing on the same page for a week, and nothing. Barely taking the time to use the bathroom or eat, and yet, no new spells, no new magic, no new anything. Just a jumble of markings, that meant nothing to him. The failure was too much. It added too much fuel to the fire inside him, and he raged. Flinging the book at the wall, Tartum threw, kicked, and broke anything he could get his hands on. A vase disintergrated into the wall. His father’s chair smashed against the floor, over and over, as he used it as a hammer, to vent his frustration. The table that he and his father had made when Tartum was ten, was destroyed when he stomped on it, and then bashed the pieces into the wall.

  His rage spent, Tartum fell to the floor breathing heavily. Taking tally of the damage, he felt regret. He just wanted the book to reveal one new spell...one new iota of power. Anything to give him the one thing he needed to keep going. Hope. Tartum realized the night after his father’s death, that he had nothing to look forward to, no plans for the future. His only true goal was his magic, and that goal, currently, seemed unattainable.

  He decided it was time for a change. Tartum didn’t mind being alone, but a week of solitude had him craving companionship, and he decided to seek out his mentor. At the very least, maybe he could shed some light on why the magic wasn’t coming to him. Plus, the house didn’t feel like home anymore, and Tartum was beginning to realize he didn’t like being there. It made him uncomfortable.

  Feeling better now that he had a plan, or at the very least something more constructive to do than sitting around with a spell book that wouldn’t cooperate, Tartum stood up and brushed himself off. Going out to the well, Tartum pulled up bucketfulls of water and filled the tub. After his bath, he put on his father’s best set of clothes. A hunter green button up tunic, made from finely woven cotton, a brown leather vest with plenty of pockets, and a simple design in red string sewn into the lining, that gave the vest a more refined look. A pair of well fitting brown trousers completed his new ensemble, and Tartum thought he looked good in it. It was nice to have a little bit of his father with him. The clothes still carried his scent, and he found them comforting. It made him think that maybe a small part of his father was still with him, watching over him. He knew it was foolish, but the thought made him feel better and lifted his spirits. Finally, Tartum gathered up his heavy grey cloak, to protect him from the elements, slung on his pack, and various pouches filled with his precious spell components, and headed out to his mentor’s wagon.

  Looking back at his home, Tartum got the distinct impression he would never see it again. The thought didn’t hurt as much as he expected. In fact, it made him feel...free.

  ...

  Arriving at his mentor’s wagon a little after dark, Tartum wasn’t surprised to find Isidor waiting for him. The man always seemed to know when he was coming, and it was rare he wasn’t prepared for a visit. Tartum’s training with Isidor was never very regimented. Isidor would have him concentrate on his newest spell, memorizing the words and the gestures needed to make the magic work. Opening himself up and surrendering to the flow of magic had been difficult at first. It had been almost impossible for Tartum to surrender himself to such an invisible and invasive force. It had terrified him. Plus, if he found himself losing his concentration, it would result in a loss of focus and then the loss of the magic. The sudden shock of being so filled with power, to being so empty of it, caused an acute pain that took time to recover from.

  Long and tedious were his early lessons with Isidor, but Tartum wouldn’t have traded them for the world. For the moment of success, the moment when the magic allowed him to use it to reshape his reality, was like pure, concentrated, ecstasy. There was no better feeling in the world, than when his spell worked. It made him feel accomplished, self assured, and powerful. Releasing the magic after the spell was done, felt like breaking up with your soul mate, or losing a favored family member. A feeling, Tartum was all too familiar with now.

  One of the first lessons Isidor taught Tartum, once he was able to open himself to the flow of magic, was that it could not, or would not, be controlled. Magic was too pure, to raw, and far too powerful to be controlled by any mortal. Magic itself, was what the Gods were made of, and as such was too powerful to be forced to do his bidding. When opened to the magic, if you knew how to manipulate it, how to ASK it to do your bidding, you could change your reality in anyway you saw fit. Provided you could handle the amount of magic required for the spell, said the correct words at the correct times, with the correct inflections, made the correct gestures, and had the correct components if the spell required them. A misspoken word, a failed gesture, a loss of focus, trying to force the magic to your will, or the absence of a component, meant the failure of the spell and with failure, came the possibility of burn out. Burn out occured when a caster took in too much magic, or if he lost control of his spell once he began casting it. It wasn’t a pretty or clean death, from what Isidor had told him, but it was a danger that one had to face, if they wished to obtain true power.

  It was the surrendering to the magic Tartum had the most trouble with. He did not wish to ask or plead with the magic for its power. Somehow, doing it felt...wrong. He wanted the magic to react to his will. Sadly, this was a point of much contention between Tartum and Isidor, and had on more than one occasion, lead to Tartum storming off in a huff and Isidor calling him a pathetic brat, not suitable for magic.

  “Well Tartum, I was beginning to think you had given up
on life and decided to join your father in that nice hole by the tree.” Isidor said with a snicker. He didn’t want to hurt Tartum. Truth be told he loved Tartum like a son, but this pouting brat routine was old. Now that he was sixteen, Isidor decided enough was enough. He had to see what kind of change occured to his pupil’s character before he gave him his gift.

  “I apoligize, Isidor, I took my father’s death harder than I expected. I have made my peace with it now, and I wish to continue my lessons. However, if you ever insult his memory again, I’ll kill you and leave you for the dogs. Do we understand each other?” Tartum spoke with a voice born of anger and loss.

  His words hit home, and Isidor saw that the youthful look of happiness and joy no longer lingered in his eyes. The boy had lost his innocence, with his father’s death, and was now seeking to fill the void. It appeared anger was already starting to fill it. “Good” thought Isidor; “He’ll need to stop brooding and start acting like a man if he’s to take the next step.”

  “I apologize, Tartum. I spoke in jest and went too far. I missed you is all, and I must admit, not having you around for so long has put me in a foul mood.” Isidor said. Upon seeing his apology and explanation hadn’t placated his young friend, he continued; “Your father was a good man, and I swear I’ll never disrespect his memory again. So please, no more death threats, ok?” Isidor said with a smirk.

  “Apology accepted, MASTER.” Tartum responded. He knew Isidor hated to be called that, and only called him that to get under his skin. Judging by the frown on Isidor’s face, the word had the desired effect.

  “Come, I have something for you. A gift, in celebration of your sixteenth birthday.” Isidor said.

  Obediently, Tartum followed him inside.

  ...

  The wagon was as big has it had always been. There had been a change however. The farthest two sections still held the stored props and equipment required for his magic show, and the kitchen with toilet was still where it had always been. The change was in the living area of the wagon. Where there were once plush couches and extravagant tables meant for lounging and relaxation, there was now, nothing more than empty space, and thick red carpeting spread out on the floor. The shelves with the books and components, were pushed back against each other, and the pillows where Isidor slept were stacked up in a far corner of the room. Confused, Tartum turned his attention to his master. He was standing in the middle of the carpeted area, holding an extraodinary staff.