The Sorcerer's Ascension (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  “You said I had awakened. What do you mean? I was in bed at The Academy, so I must be asleep, not awake. Unless this is a hallucination,” Azerick argued.

  No, you are awake. For the first time in your life, you are awake. For the first time, you are seeing clearly, seeing what is real. However, you must choose if you will stay awake or go back to sleep and live the life as the person you came here as.

  “What will happen to me if I go back to sleep?”

  You will be an orphan, street rat, and a student of magic— for a time at least.

  Azerick realized that the voice was talking in metaphors. He needed only to figure out the meaning. “What happens to me if I stay awake? Who am I then?”

  You will be what you are meant to be, what you need to be.

  “What happens?”

  Everything will happen.

  “How do I stay awake?”

  Touch the Source, take the Source into yourself, and become part of the Source.

  Azerick looked at the luminescent river and its swift-moving current flowing rapidly over the horizon. He listened to the rushing flow of energy for the first time and realized that it was calling to him like the voice of a long-lost loved one. He heard his mother and father’s voice in the flow, calling him, inviting him to become part of it. It was calling him home. He walked slowly to its bank in an almost hypnotic state. He felt his feet slip into the edge of the flow. It was warm and comforting. He imagined this was what it felt like to be in a mother’s womb; safe, comfortable, and protected.

  The river of energy now flowed just above his waist as he trailed his hands in its sparkling current. Suddenly there was no longer any ground under his feet. Azerick's head slipped under the roiling tide of energy as it swept him along its length. He fought for the surface and gasped for breath as his head broke through to the air above. Azerick coughed out great mouthfuls of the prismatic substance before he was swept under again, pulled down deeper and deeper in its depths.

  He held his breath as long as he could and fought for the surface but the Source was not going to release its prize this time. It held him in its deep embrace until spots began to form and stars exploded in his vision. He knew it was going to kill him. It was a trick, he had tapped into power he was not supposed to touch and he was going to pay for that sacrilege with his life. His starving lungs forced his mouth open and he inhaled the Source, taking the source of all magic onto his lungs, filling him, and killing him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Azerick fell from the bed gasping and filling his lungs with precious oxygen. The large, black spots that filled his vision slowly dispersed as he looked around the room. He was still in the infirmary and still in his bed, or next to it rather. Azerick looked toward the window and saw that the sun had not moved much since Magus Allister’s visit. He climbed back into bed and thought about his strange dream. Was it a dream, or was it a vision?

  At first, he thought that the voice was the one claiming to be the goddess, Sharrellan, but it did not hold the same sort of malice and underlying malevolence. Was it the Source that spoke to him? Why would something that was supposed to be an inanimate source of power and creation speak to him? Did it speak to all wizards eventually? Did it mean that whatever was blocking him from accessing higher magic was gone now?

  The confused, young mage did not know and fell asleep while pondering the meaning of whatever it was that had happened. Azerick just hoped that this time there would be no new voices. It was getting rather crowded inside his head as it was.

  Azerick's sleep was pleasant and undisturbed this time. He woke the next morning shortly after sunrise. An attendant brought him some milk and oatmeal with honey to break his fast. He ate ravenously and felt some strength flow back into his body. Magus Morgarum waddled in shortly after Azerick’s second helping of oatmeal. He had even managed to talk the attendant into getting him a honey cake and was licking the sticky remnants of the treat off his fingers when the alchemic instructor came to check on him.

  “How are you feeling this morning, my boy?” the friendly Magus asked.

  “I feel better, great actually. Better than ever,” Azerick replied enthusiastically.

  “Good, good! That was a very close call you know, for everyone. Most mages who channel power that far beyond their skill is not so lucky.”

  “I’m really sorry, Magus. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. I will have to let the Headmaster know that you are awake and feeling well. He wants to have a word with you, as you may expect.”

  “I figured he would,” Azerick said dejectedly with a slump of his shoulders.

  “I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. If it means anything to you, you have my support, and I will recommend that you stay here at The Academy. You are one of my best pupils you know.”

  "Thank you, Magus Morgarum, I appreciate it.”

  “Not at all, Azerick. Your clothes are over in that closet. Best get dressed while I go talk to the headsman, um, Headmaster that is,” he said with a wink.

  Azerick found his clothes in the small wardrobe next to his bed. He had just finished dressing when Rusty came running into the ward.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” Rusty said and punched Azerick in the shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t hide out here forever.”

  “That was quite a performance you put on. It’s been pretty nice in class without Travis.”

  “He’ll be back pretty soon, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, too bad you didn’t nail him with that lightning bolt. That was incredible! I never saw anyone lower than a journeyman cast a lightning bolt before. It made my hair stand up.”

  “Yeah but it almost killed me, you dummy, so don’t expect a repeat performance for a while. Here comes Magus Allister. I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay, good luck.”

  Azerick followed Magus Allister out of the infirmary and up the stairs of the Headmaster’s tower. He stepped through the door that the old mage opened for him and walked into the large office with which he was immanently familiar. The room was full of people. The Headmaster sat behind his desk, Magus Allister took a seat to his right, and Magus Florent sat to his left. Next to Magus Florent sat Magus Morgarum, next to Magus Allister sat Magus Bauer, and no one was smiling.

  “Please take a seat, young man,” Headmaster Dondrian instructed, gesturing to the wooden chair in the center of the room. “I trust you know why you are here?”

  “Yes, Headmaster, because of the accident in class,” Azerick replied nervously.

  “Accident! You nearly killed four students,” Magus Bauer waspishly accused.

  “Emily, please, we are here to find out what happened and what to do about it. Let us not jump to judgment to quickly,” Magus Allister politely chastised the sour mage.

  Magus Bauer sniffed loudly and turned her head.

  “Now, Azerick, we know what happened. What I want you to do is tell us what was going through your mind at the time. Did you see or feel anything strange just before it happened?”

  “Travis was saying some really horrible things about my mother and I got angry, really angry. Suddenly, everything kind of went dark. I felt something though, now that I think about it. It was strange, kind of like the feeling I get when I channel the Source, only it was stronger, cleaner. I would not know how cast that spell even if I wanted to. I felt the Source and made it do what I wanted.”

  “Azerick, have you ever performed any magic without spell components before, or used magic without knowing it?” Magus Allister asked.

  “I don’t think so, Magus, not that I know of.”

  “Do you know what a magical ward is?” he asked.

  “It’s a magical protection spell,” Azerick answered.

  “Correct, and as you know, the only way you can get past a ward, with few exceptions, is with magic. Have you ever encountered a ward before?”

  What is he doing? Is he trying to get
me in even more trouble? “Yes, sir, twice,” he answered, figuring honesty was the best thing right now.

  “Will you tell us about those incidents please?” the old Magus requested.

  “The first time was almost three years ago. I found a warded jewelry box,” Azerick responded, thinking back to that night.

  Magus Bauer interrupted with a snort. “Found in someone else’s possession I would wager. The boy obviously has a history of criminal behavior, and for that reason alone should be removed from our prestigious institution and jailed.”

  Allister ignored her with a sidelong glance and continued his questioning. “How did you know it was warded?"

  “I was just about to open it when I felt a strange energy emanating from it. I studied it with my eyes closed and I could see and feel the energy surrounding the box. It felt dark and angry like it was just waiting to release its power onto someone.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I studied the way it was made, how the different strands of energy were sort of woven together to form the ward and I just kind of unraveled them.”

  His pronouncement started a couple of the wizards sitting in attendance muttering amongst themselves, surprised to hear such a statement from someone so young and inexperienced.

  Magus Allister continued with his line of questioning. “And when was the next time you encountered a ward?”

  This was the question that Azerick was most worried about answering. The old wizard already knew what he had done but he did not know how the rest of the mages would react on finding out about his invading The Academy several months ago.

  “It was on the door to your room, sir. I undid that ward just as I did the other one a couple years ago. It was a little harder, but it was not as scary or evil-feeling as the other one,” Azerick answered, waiting for the backlash.

  The wizards all started talking at once, each one trying to raise his or her voice over the other. The meeting or trial, whatever it was broke down into a verbal tumult. The Headmaster banged a small stone statue on his desktop and called for order.

  "Azerick, do you recall ever having used magic before coming here and not simply unmaking it?" the Headmaster asked.

  Azerick shifted uncomfortably in his chair. These things were his secrets, and he despised revealing his secrets. He took a deep breath before answering.

  "When I was trapped in the sewers by thugs, I made a light and later I made several wards by copying the first one I found."

  “That is quite an impressive feat for one so young and with absolutely no training at the time. Your studies must be going very well with having such a natural affinity for magic,” Magus Allister continued.

  “No, sir, actually I have been having a hard time with my casting and learning anything more than the most basic spells.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “I’m not sure. The lessons just don't make sense to me. It doesn’t feel right," the magic student answered, frustrated that he could not explain it better.

  The old mage stood up and walked over to Azerick, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It seems we have done young Azerick a great disservice in more than one way. It is now clear that he is not responsible for what happened in that classroom or to those students that were injured,” Magus Allister said.

  “Then who is responsible for it?” Magus Bauer demanded.

  “You are. You all are,” a terse reply came from the far corner of the room.

  A fit, middle-aged man stepped out from the shadowed corner of the room. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. He sported a sharply trimmed goatee turning grey at the sides of his chin. His eyes were dark brown bordering on black. He wore black pants, white shirt with ornate lace cuffs, a red vest made from the skin of some scaled creature, and a voluminous black cloak with a red silk lining. Mystic symbols and sigils sewn into the cloak with purple silk shimmered with obvious power. Azerick guessed him to be in his late forties.

  “Master Devlin, thank you for joining us today. Would you please explain what you mean by that?” Headmaster Dondrian requested.

  From the looks on the faces of the gathered wizards, with the exception of Magus Allister and the Headmaster, his presence came as a surprise.

  “You have a boy who you claim is highly creative and not lacking in intelligence, can undo the wards of established wizards, nearly kills half his classmates with a spell only a journeyman spell caster, at the least, should be able to manage, yet fails to learn anything beyond the typical novice spells. It should be obvious even to cookbook spell casters like yourselves what the problem is. You are trying to teach wizard spells to a sorcerer!” Master Devlin proclaimed.

  A collective gasp arose from the mouths the wizards in attendance and, once again, Azerick found all eyes in the room turned to him.

  “What does that mean; I’m a sorcerer?” Azerick asked.

  Magus Allister explained in a soft voice. “It means that we were trying to make you into something you are not. Most people with an intelligence as astute as yours can learn some very basic spells, little more than tricks really, even if they lack the true gift of magic. What confounded us all was the fact that your aura showed a strong propensity for channeling magic. What we failed to see was that you possess a spirit that runs directly counter wizardry. Simply put, you cannot be a wizard, we cannot teach you, and you cannot learn to become a wizard. Who you are, your very nature, simply will not allow it. It would be like teaching a horse to fly.”

  “Does that mean I have to leave The Academy?” Azerick asked, suddenly very concerned.

  “No, I have asked Master Devlin if he would take you on as his apprentice, and he has been generous enough to accept you if you wish to do so. You will stay at The Academy, stay in your own room, but Master Devlin will teach your applied magic and magical theory classes to you. Please know that sorcerers are very rare, and we are all quite proud to host your instruction here at The Academy. However, if you would prefer not to apprentice under Master Devlin, we will find you a position at the Martial or Scholar’s Academy.”

  “Yes, where the next student who hits you with a sword at the wrong time catches a fireball in his face and you both die a horrible death,” Master Devlin said in a sarcastic tone.

  “Master Devlin, please," the old wizard begged, then faced Azerick again. "Whatever polite social graces our guest may lack, he is correct. You do run the risk of losing control of your power again. In fact, the older you get, the more likely it will happen unless you are able to learn some control on your own. It is possible. There are hedge wizards and a very few sorcerers out there who have done that very thing. However, it is not a path I would recommend.”

  “I want to go with Master Devlin. Wizard or sorcerer, I know that I am meant to wield magic.”

  “Very well. Master Devlin will take you to where you will begin your instruction. You may go now,” Headmaster Dondrian said, dismissing him.

  Without so much as a nod to the assembled wizards, Master Devlin opened the door and rushed Azerick out of the room. They walked in silence down the stairs of the headmaster’s tower, across the main hall, and up the stairs of another tower where he was ushered into a round room similar in size and shape to the headmaster’s Office. It contained almost everything a student and Magus would require.

  There was a bookshelf with several books lining the shelves. Azerick could tell that they were a new addition since they were about the only thing in the room not covered in a thick layer of dust. At the far wall, a large desk sat facing the door and a smaller desk sat facing it about ten feet away. A table sat against another wall near a shuttered window that Master Devlin stalked over to and opened, letting in some much needed fresh air. Across the room from the window, an alcove opened up into another room.

  “Take a seat, boy,” the sorcerer commanded, pulling up the chair from behind the large desk but chose to remain standing himself. Devlin paced about the room, hands st
eepled under his chin. “Tell me what they have taught you thus far so I have an idea of how much damage they did.”

  “Um, I learned several cantrips, verbal, somatic, and reagent requirements for several novice spells and a few apprentice spells, even though I have not been able to cast any spells above novice yet, and none without great difficulty and problems. I learned about the history of magic, magic fundamentals, and alchemy; and I am good in math, writing, and engineering. Oh, and I can also animate simple constructs powering them with basic spells for short periods of time.”

  The last statement actually got a reaction from the dour sorcerer in the form of raised eyebrows. “You have a reasonable level of education, which is good. I can’t abide a dullard. I have not the time, patience, nor inclination for such. Remember what you learned about magic fundamentals, but do not attempt to use anything they taught you about magic. That information is for the sake of knowledge itself. As for your education in applied magic, forget everything you learned completely. It will do you no good. Worse yet, it will keep you from learning what you must about sorcery.”

  Devlin clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and stared down at his new apprentice. “I am what you shall become; a sorcerer. I am impatient, intolerant, and rather brusque. I lack a certain political tact that some people are apt to call rudeness, and I make no apologies for it. I am a hard taskmaster and you may not like my methods or demeanor, but I assure you that you will learn. You are the only student I have, so you gain the benefit of having my expertise and pleasant disposition all to yourself. You may ask your questions now.”

  “You called the mages in the headmaster’s office cookbook spell casters. What did you mean by that?”

  “I meant to insult them, as I often do to my great pleasure, but I suppose you are looking for a more specific answer to your question. What do you know of sorcerers?"

  “Nothing, nothing at all. I thought they were the same as wizards just called something different.”

  “I will forgive your ignorance and your insult this one time. No, wizards and sorcerers are quite different, although to the ignorant what we do may look the same. It all has to do with the way we tap into the Source. You do know what the Source is, don’t you, boy?”