The Zero Blessing

by Christopher Nuttall

  “This is an opal,” I said. I held up the gem. “When properly prepared, it glows in the presence of magic. It is sometimes used to trigger embedded spells aimed at powerful magicians because it is very hard to prevent the opal from reacting to magic.”

  I shrugged, feeling another flicker of regret. There was a part of the family gardens that was illuminated with opals. My sisters and I used to walk down the path at night, but the opals had never reacted to me. The glow faded as soon as Alana and Bella hurried ahead, leaving me behind. I’d held the opals in my hand, willing them to react. But they'd done nothing.

  And Dad said it was because I hadn't developed magic yet, I recalled.

  “Here,” I said. I passed her the opal. “Hold it up.”

  Rose did. It glowed, of course.

  “It's warm,” she said. She was smiling, an open honest smile. I felt a rush of affection that surprised me. “I can feel it.”

  “Yep,” I said. I took another opal and placed it by her foot. It glowed. “How close do they have to be to react to you?”

  I put the next opal down, a metre from her. It remained dark. I studied it for a long moment, then placed the fourth opal in the middle, between the second and third opals. It glowed, but very faintly. A fifth opal, sixty centimetres from Rose, didn't light up either. She’d been closer than that to the exploding caldron, hadn't she?

  “You have a magic aura surrounding you,” I mused. “Roughly half a metre, centred on your feet.”

  I put two more opals down, trying to get a more precise reading. They glowed, suggesting that the aura was a perfect sphere. But what was I reading? Rose’s magic? Or the magic surrounding her? No one really understood what magic was, even though it was the cornerstone of our society. Opals didn't react to ambient magic ...

  Rose lay down. The field seemed to expand ... no, it had merely moved. I walked around her, moving the opals. The field was a perfect oval, extending roughly fifty-two centimetres from her bare skin. I wondered, suddenly, if it was stronger for an older and wiser magician - or weaker for a child. I’d have to do some more experiments ...

  “I think I understand what happened,” I said. “Your aura came into contact with the potion, while I was inserting the formula. It caused the explosion.”

  “I didn't mean to,” Rose said, nervously.

  “I know,” I told her. “A normal potion wouldn’t have such a reaction.”

  And yet, my thoughts reminded me, potions explode all the time.

  I put that aside for later contemplation and started to lay more opals on the ground. They lit up when they were within Rose’s aura, but went dark as soon as she moved away. I motioned for her to stay still, and laid a chain of opals that ran to the far side of the room. It looked messy, when I’d finished, but the ones closest to her were still glowing. I stood at the other side and winked at her.

  “Freeze me for a couple of minutes,” I said. I tilted my head so I could see my feet - and the opals surrounding them. “And then undo the spell.”

  Rose lifted her hand and cast the spell. The opals lit up - a line of glowing gemstones - as the spell lanced from her fingertips and struck me. I froze. The opals at my feet kept glowing, but the ones further away - a bare ten centimetres away - went dark. I’d tracked the spell as it crossed the gulf between us, the spell holding me in place ...

  Wonderful, I thought, tiredly. I’ve invented a whole new magic sensor.

  But it was more than that, I knew. I’d actually devised a way to track magic. There was nothing about auras in any book I’d read, nothing that suggested magic ... that magic behaved the way I’d seen it behave. Had the ancients forgotten to write that down, too? Or had the post-empire magicians simply never thought to question it? Or ...

  The gems around my feet glowed brighter for a second, then went dark. I lurched forward, catching myself before I could fall to the ground. The opals were dark. Only the ones near Rose were glowing ...

  I looked back at the textbooks. All of a sudden, another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

  “Everyone has magic,” I said. It was official dogma. Even people who couldn't do more than sense magic had magic. “So what happens when they get turned into frogs or statues or ... or whatever?”

  “They get trapped,” Rose said. She paused. “Or ... do they trap themselves?”

  I smiled. “You turned me into a frog, using a spell that should have lasted for several hours,” I said. The words came tumbling out of my mouth. “And it didn’t. What if ... what if the spell starts drawing from the target when it runs out of magic? I mean ... magic from the original caster? It starts feeding on the target’s aura and uses that power to keep the spell in place.”

  Rose frowned. “Wouldn't that drain the target’s magic?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But the drain might not be significant. The spell wouldn't last long enough for the target to notice. But when the spell is cast on me ...”

  “It wears off when the original charge is expended,” Rose finished. She shook her head. “But no one ever thought to write this down?”

  I grinned. “They must have thought it was obvious,” I said. Much of our magic had been inherited from the empire, rather than developed from scratch. Obviously pieces were missing. “And in hindsight, they might well have been right.”

  “Oh,” Rose said.

  I grinned as I opened the box. “I know I have to keep this to myself,” I said. “But I think I can have some fun, don’t you?”

  Rose looked doubtful. “Be careful,” she said. She didn't sound happy. “You really don’t want to be exposed until you have a plan. Or your father has a plan.”

  She looked at me, biting her lip. “You’ve changed everything,” she added. “What happens now?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Rose was right, of course. I really shouldn't do anything to attract attention to myself, at least not until winter hols. I could go home - with Rose - and confess everything to my father, who would be delighted to discover that his daughter was far from useless. He’d help me to test my abilities, then give me everything I needed to make Objects of Power. The thought of the expression on Alana’s face, when she learned the truth, made me smile. Her weak sister might be far more important than she was.

  And yet, I couldn't resist the urge to experiment further.

  I’d been weak - I’d been unimportant - and I hated it. I’d hated knowing I was constantly at someone else’s mercy, I’d hated being shunned and ignored because I didn’t have magic ... I wanted, desperately, to show them just what I could do. And I could! I didn't need to make a flying machine or something impossibly complex to show off. Now that I knew what the ancients had left out of their textbooks, I could understand them. It was suddenly very hard not to spend every last hour in the workshop, grinding out all sorts of protective amulets and other surprises.

  The real problem was keeping everything from Magister Tallyman - and Akin. Magister Tallyman would notice, sooner or later, that I was raiding his storerooms every day for my private projects. And he would want to know what I was doing. And so would Akin, if he realised that I was hiding something. His mere presence was a threat, just because of his aura. I’d given him a runic sheet to hold, just for a second or two, then tried to insert it into an Object of Power. It had crumbled to dust within minutes.

  If he touches something I make before it’s ready, I thought, he’ll ruin it.

  It was frustrating. The textbooks in front of me contained instructions for making everything from potion stirrers to magic reflectors, but I couldn't use half of them. Some could be made to work for a few minutes - I’d watched Akin try to build a spell-trap that had lasted for nearly ten minutes before shattering - yet others were completely useless, unless I was the maker. The sole maker. Akin couldn't even pass me the raw materials without ruining it.

  There must have been other zeroes in the empire, I thought, as I carried my work back to the dorm and hid it in my trunk. They could forge in tea
ms.

  “I didn't know you wore earrings,” Rose said, taking one of the trinkets I offered her. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “Mum said we had to wait until we were sixteen to get our ears pierced,” I said. Mum had gone mental when Bella had come home, after spending the night with a friend, with two golden earrings on each ear. She’d torn out the earrings, mended the piercings, and grounded Bella for a month. “These are ear clasps, technically.”

  Rose frowned. “What do they do?”

  I smiled. I’d found the instructions in one of the older books. Someone - one of Magister Tallyman’s predecessors, probably - had added a set of notes, stating that the tiny earrings had proven impossible to adapt into Devices of Power. Given what I now knew, it was obvious that no magician could forge them without focusing their minds - and auras - on their work. And the earrings were too small to do anything but fail at once.

  “They break down magical structures,” I said. I’d heard that the queen had a set of similar earrings, but no one else. “If someone casts a spell on you, they will speed up its collapse.”

  Rose glanced at me. “Are you sure?”

  “I think so,” I said. We really needed a third person to help, just so I could see what happened when Rose wore the earrings, but I had no idea who to trust. “The only way to find out is to try it.”

  “Right,” Rose said. “And what happens if I get turned into a frog?”

  “They should still work,” I said, after a moment. There were still a lot of unanswered questions. For starters, what happened to my clothes and anything I was carrying while I was transfigured? Coming to think of it, what happened to my mass? I wasn’t particularly fat ... but I was much bigger than the average frog. “Or they may block the spell altogether?”

  I tapped the pair I wore on my ears, then held out a small ring. A simple blue gem, wrapped in gold and silver. “This is something a little different,” I said. “I want you to wear this and cast a spell.”

  Rose took it and slipped it on her finger. “What sort of spell?”

  “Freeze me,” I said.

  I braced myself. Rose cast the spell. The gemstone glowed, but nothing happened. And then she swore and yanked off the ring. It landed on the floor and bounced.

  “Hot,” she yelled. There was a nasty mark on her finger. “Was that meant to happen?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. I picked up the ring and slipped it on my finger. The gemstone was still glowing, but it was cool to the touch. “Can you try with another ring?”

  Rose eyed me suspiciously, but nodded. “Which spell?”

  “A blocking spell,” I said. “I’ve had an idea.”

  The bell rang before I could finish outlining what I had in mind. Rose cast the spell for me - this time, the ring didn't get so warm - and then followed me back to bed. Isabella and her cronies were sitting on their bed, looking smug. They’d been playing netball, I guessed. I wondered if they’d won.

  “We’ll be having the first proper game this Saturday,” Isabella called. For once, she sounded almost friendly. I was suspicious at once. “You two are coming, aren't you?”

  I glanced at Rose. “We’re still scrubbing floors.”

  “I can get you out of that,” Sandy said. I jumped. I hadn’t heard her come up behind me. “I think the two of you should both go to the game. Show some support.”

  But I don't want to show some support, I thought. And I have homework to do ...

  I caught a glimpse of Sandy’s face and knew that arguing was pointless. “Fine,” I groaned, sourly. “We’ll go.”

  “Show a little more enthusiasm too,” Sandy advised, dryly. “You have to support your friends.”

  I bit down the rather sarcastic response that came to mind. Mum, who really should have known better, had kept insisting that Alana and Bella’s friends were mine too ... at least until the tenth birthday party. Sandy should know that we weren't Isabella’s friends. She’d seen us fighting often enough. And yet ...

  “It's good for the dorm,” Sandy said, quietly. I blinked in surprise. She couldn't read my thoughts, could she? I didn't know any magicians who could do that. But then, I’d always suspected my mother could read my mind. She was certainly very good at spotting us trying to lie. “And it will keep you two out of mischief.”

  I sighed as I went to bed. I definitely wasn't enthusiastic about wasting an evening watching Isabella and her friends playing netball. Either Isabella would win, which would make her (more) insufferable, or she’d lose and take it out on me. Sandy knew that Rose and I would have preferred to spend time in the library ...

  She’s just trying to help, I thought, charitably. But she’s not really helping.

  I wasn't enthusiastic about the following day, either. I managed to wake up late, which meant I had to snatch breakfast in a tearing hurry. One of the upperclassmen took objection to my table manners and gave me lines, which left me smarting with helpless fury. And then we had to attend Protective and Defensive Magic, in which Magistra Solana lectured us for what felt like hours. My head was pounding like a drum when she finally reached the interesting bit.

  “In order to recognise the existence of dark magic - as opposed to merely defensive magic - we have to appreciate the existence of intent,” Magistra Solana told us. “Indeed, you have to determine the intent before you start accusing magicians of meddling in the dark arts. How might you determine intent?”

  Her gaze swept the room. “Adamson?”

  “By truth spells,” Adamson said. He was a brown-skinned boy, handsome in a bland sort of way. I knew him, vaguely. His mother had courted scandal by marrying a sailor from the other side of the world. “You ask the caster what he had in mind.”

  “That assumes, of course, that you have the caster,” Magistra Solana pointed out. She looked from face to face. “Henrietta?”

  “You consider the methods,” Henrietta said, carefully.

  Magistra Solana didn't look pleased. She tilted back her head until she was looking down her nose at Henrietta. “Elaborate.”

  I rubbed my aching forehead as Henrietta went on. “A spell designed to cause pain might be used for torture,” she said. She shot an assessing look at me. “But it might also be used for testing a person’s nerves after they were regenerated. Objectively, the patient might be in terrible pain either way; subjectively, the intent would be quite different.”

  She paused. “And the simplest way to determine what the intent actually was lies in the method used,” she added. “Did the caster merely poke the nerves - or did he hurt the patient as much as possible? If the latter, we can reasonably conclude he was practicing the dark arts.”

  “An interesting observation,” Magistra Solana said. Her voice sharpened as she caught sight of me. “Cat. Are you trying to catch up on your sleep in my class?”

  I was tired and headachy, but I still knew the right answer. “No, Magistra.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Magistra Solana said. “Perhaps you can tell the class how to identify the victim of a dark arts spell?”

  “Spells cast by dark magicians are often imprecise,” I said. “They want - they need - dark emotions to power their spells. This drains their control, ensuring that they inflict additional damage on their targets. It isn't enough to kill. They must hurt their victim too. Their feelings taint their magic, and are often clearly detectable by investigators.”

  Alana glanced at me, nastily. She knew I was going by theory - and theory alone.

  “Very good,” Magistra Solana said. Her voice hardened. “And how would this let you determine intent?”

  “There would be too much damage,” I said. “The spell could not be cast with an innocent explanation.”

  Magistra Solana eyed me for a long moment. “It is my observation that most people are perfectly capable of deluding themselves about their intentions,” she said, turning back to the class. “One does not have to be mad to walk into the dark arts. The path to utter darkness is paved wit
h selflessness just as often as selfishness. To believe that your cause is just, to believe that what you are doing is right ... it can be just as corrupting as the belief that you are entitled to whatever you take.”

  She paused. “But once you step over that line,” she added melodramatically, “you can never step back.”

  There was a long pause. “For homework, I want you to research the life of Sir Travis Mortimer. Did he fall into the darkness, or was he pushed? Pick a side and argue it - remember, you have to knock down opposing arguments as well as put forward your own.”