Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 6

  Reality Manipulation. It stood as the school of magic with which I had the most trouble. At its base it required the user be familiar with the building blocks of nature, so a fair amount of basic science was involved. But it was not the science that gave me trouble.

  Turning water into steam, for example, involved increasing the speed with which microscopic objects moved. And the principal was sound given what I knew about the substances from visual feedback. But since the objects in question were invisible, the technique required a person to envision the molecules then encourage change by applying Spirit.

  “By extension your Spirit will imprint the changes to the actual water,” the trainer had said, podgy, rosy cheeked Mister Templeton. His appearance perfectly complemented his cheerful attitude. “Simply visualise, reach out, and imprint that visualisation onto the world.”

  “Move you bastards, move,” I growled, eyes squeezed shut and index finger touching a beaker of water. “Move. Please, move!”

  Only apologetic wisps of steam were achieved.

  As apposed to the other schools of magic Reality Manipulation was largely a theoretical study. This was because performing the magic was not required, only the ability to understand and recognise when such magic was performed illegally. “Still,” Templeton had said, demonstrating at least some ability was required, since; “A person can not be expected to spot an impostor if they don’t know what it is to be one.”

  “Move,” I snarled at the beaker, “Move!”

  “Visualise, reach out, and imprint,” a voice said.

  Templeton was beside me. A good natured smile lit up his face.

  “I’m trying, sir.”

  “Molecules cannot be intimidated into moving, Clarence. Having all the Spirit in world won’t make them more submissive.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I replied awkwardly, “I just can’t really seem to get the hang of this.”

  “No need to be bashful. Many have trouble with this particular magic.”

  I glanced around. Nearby rock was turned into sand and sand into glass, while another female Cadet was mastering turning coal into diamond. The sights did little to ease my feelings of impotence.

  “Perhaps the problem is,” he continued, “that you don’t truly believe water is made of molecules.”

  “Could be, sir. I’m not sure.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Did you know, Clarence, that some believe the entire world is nothing but a projection of our will? All of it, every moment of every day, nothing but the extended projection of our will. Rather a liberating thought, wouldn’t you say?”

  I considered this. “Can’t see how that would be true, sir. Wouldn’t everyone be living in mansions and driving overpriced sports cars?”

  “Is that so?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what you would want, Clarence, given the time to think it through properly? A mansion and a Porsche?”

  The face of Liza Clarence floated in my head. “No, I guess not, sir. Now that I think about it.”

  “Let’s do a little experiment, shall we?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “Clarence, I’m afraid I cannot give you a passing grade. Not with the dismal amounts of white gas rising off your water. I shall have to fail you.”

  “Sir, I know the theory…”

  “You will have to improve your Reality Manipulation performance. Or show me some other way you are capable.”

  My mind raced. “A friend of mine can perform the Flame from Fingertips spell, sir. He’s said he could teach me.”

  “I see. Yes, Self Deceit is a branch of Reality Manipulation. If you can learn that Spell I will be convinced you deserve a passing grade.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There you are,” he said, beaming, “You just visualised. All that remains is to complete the process by reaching out and imprinting your will on the world. You are one third of the way to creating reality with nothing but intention alone.”

  “I understand your point, sir, of course. But I’m not sure that’s the same as turning water into steam.”

  “On the contrary, Clarence. It’s far more impressive. The real trick is to be discerning about what you visualise.”

  He gave me another smile, hearty pat on the shoulder, and waddled off.

  I stood for a moment staring at my beaker of water. The notion seemed vague and conflicting, but I tried to consider it might possibly be true; that finding my mother was as simple as willing it into existence. It was appealing and I let part of myself take comfort. But it all felt alarmingly similar to begging for results from some aloof higher power.

  Resolving to give the concept at least some credibility I visualised my mother’s face in the beaker, looking up at me with a defiant expression. I held it there, concentrating on fleshing out details until the picture resembled a floating photograph.

  Visualise, reach out, and imprint.

  “I’ll find you,” I muttered to the face.

  But somehow it was wrong. I changed the image, morphing her expression into one of growing concern. It seemed to fit the picture better and I smiled. But all at once the face vanished and was replaced by that of Benny.

  Yes, this was perhaps a more pressing and immediate concern. Asking Benny for anything at the moment seemed a risky venture, least of all assistance in learning a flame creation spell. The events of the previous night had been an alarm bell, one so loud it had certainly been heard clear across the city in the halls of every Magical Detention Centre.

  But no, I reasoned. It was an alarm bell he of all people would also have heard, loud and clear. He of all people, a specialist in the field, would certainly understand the risks and act accordingly.

  I would ask him to teach me the spell and I had no doubt he would oblige.

  Visualise…