by Nick McNeil
Polly raised her hand. “Then why do they bother teaching any masters?”
“Wonderful question, young lady,” Alestar responded. “Because the Academy still uses enchanted items themselves. Quite hypocritical, yes. But nonetheless, today I will be teaching you how.”
Alestar strolled over to Polly and Bertly. “It is said that humans and dwarves were the first to ever discover enchanting. Who knows, it may come naturally to you.” He placed the glove he was holding in the center of their worktable. Around the cuff, Bertly noticed there was a small leaf symbol stitched on. “This will also be great preparation for when you need to soul-bond. The magic is essentially the same; soul-bonding is simply on a much grander scale. The key difference is you must know the elements inside whatever it is you are enchanting. Mix the wrong compounds and the results can be…devastating.”
Bertly shifted uneasily in his seat.
Alestar clapped. “But that is the worst-case scenario. We aren’t bothered with that.” He pointed his finger in the air. “You must take risks if you want to be the best.”
Bertly reached into the drawer on the side of the workbench and pulled out an extra quill. At the top of his notes for the day he wrote, You must take risks if you want to be the best.
“I assume it goes without saying; however, I will recite it anyway.” Alestar looked Polly dead in the eyes, then quickly focused his attention on Bertly. His eyebrows were narrowed, and his eyes moved up and down, as though he were looking for something. “Under no circumstances shall you tell anyone or anything what you learn here today. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Bertly and Polly answered.
“Except for those two dwarves you always run around with,” Alestar continued. “I went to school with their father. Excellent dwarf. You can tell them. Anyway—” the giant hollered, cutting himself off from his rambling. “You see this glove here? It appears to be a typical glove.” He waved the leather glove around. “However, it is much more than the eye can see. When one wears this glove, it amplifies the user’s magical ability. How did I do this, you wonder?” Alestar threw his hands in the air. “Great question. I combined it with drizzle bird blossom, one of the rarest plants in all of Pangea. It holds some of the greatest rejuvenation abilities known. By combining its power with that of a battle glove, you have yourself a glove that can repower the master or help him or her quickly recover. It allows you to put a lot more oomph into your spells.” Alestar tossed the red glove to Polly. “Here, you take it, it is much too small for me, and Bertly will grow out of it in no time.”
“Wow.” Polly slipped on the glove. “Thank you so much, sir. I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thank you’ is enough,” the giant replied with a glowing smile.
Alestar bent over, reached under the workbench, and pulled out a handful of items. First, he placed a clay pot in the center of the table. “Right now, this is an ordinary pot; however, we can link it with an ordinary spell to make something extraordinary.” Alestar placed his hands on the side of the jar and closed his eyes. “If I add a simple conjuring spell, such as water summoning.” He turned the pot to show them the inside. “We now have a self-watering pot. You’ll never have to worry about killing a pretty lily again.” The inside of the pot had a few drops running down the side, not enough to drown a plant—just enough to keep it properly watered.
“Splendid, sir.” Polly beamed. “I can only imagine all the wonderful items that could be made with such simple magic.”
“Simple, yes. But not easy,” Alestar warned. “For a powerful wizard it is easy, but a weak wizard cannot accomplish it.” Alestar strolled toward his desk and lifted a light rock off the surface. “You see this stone? Picking it up is quite an easy concept, no? Everyone knows how to pick up a rock. However”—he placed the rock in between Bertly and Polly—“that does not mean everyone is strong enough.” He gestured for them to try to lift it.
Bertly grabbed the stone and attempted to pick it up off the table. It didn’t budge. The young wizard put both hands around the stone and tried to pull it toward himself—it hardly moved.
“Dwarven steel,” Alestar called out. “The densest material in the world. If a dwarf is strong enough to wear the armor, there is no blade that can pierce it.” Alestar picked the rock up with ease and placed it back on his desk. “Sometimes, things are more than they appear.”
“Sir, I have just one question,” Bertly said.
“Only one?” Alestar shook his head. “You should be more curious, young wizard.”
“I am, sir,” Bertly replied. “But like you said, this magic seems simple. It mostly requires practice by a strong wizard. My question is, why does Polly’s glove have a symbol, but the pot does not?”
“You are asking the right questions, future master,” Alestar shouted, clapping his hands in excitement. “Some items are much more powerful than others. In order for these items to harness such great powers, much more powerful magic must be used. We do this by etching in symbols that pertain to that element on the side.”
Polly’s quill moved on its own as Bertly frantically jotted down notes.
Alestar continued. “For example, if you choose to create a fire dagger, one would combine something with a fire element, along with etching a symbol of a flame on the side. When creating a corresponding symbol, it amplifies the magic that can be used. Keep in mind, you cannot doodle whatever you wish; each symbol must also be given its own enchantment.” Alestar took a breath. “But we will get to that some other time. For now, baby steps.”
The talkative giant grabbed a basic pot and placed it before Bertly. He reached for a bag sitting atop the table and untied the knot, keeping it closed. He flipped the bag over, and out poured fresh dirt into the empty pot.
“Okay, future botanist,” Alestar cracked. “Show me how green your thumb really is.”
Polly chuckled at Alestar’s joke.
“Don’t take too much amusement; you’re next.”
Polly’s eyes widened, and she placed her hands over her mouth.
Bertly was ready to impress his teacher. The giant might not have guessed it, but Bertly’s father was an avid gardener. Edfrid had crammed information into Bertly’s head about plants and “proper soil for leafy friends” every harvest. The young wizard closed his eyes and recollected the lessons his father had attempted to teach him. Nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium—key ingredients to healthy soil. The young wizard placed his hands into the soil and shut his eyes.
Bertly focused on each feeling in his body. The pressure of his heels on the ground. The softness of the shirt resting on his skin. He was unsure whether it was in his mind or actually happening, but the young wizard felt the blood coursing through his veins. He felt the energy inside his body and was able to pinpoint it as though it were physical and could be removed. He pushed the energy to his fingertips and released it into the dirt. He looked up at his professor.
Master Alestar scooted the pot away from Bertly. He ran his hand through the soil and rubbed the dirt between his fingertips. Alestar put his nose just over the filled jar and inhaled. “Hmm.” He took a pinch of dirt and tossed it into his mouth. He swished it around as though he were rinsing his teeth. “Nitrogen enriched. Phosphorus. Potassium checks out. My small, tiny human apprentice, you may just be the worst mage in the world. This dirt tastes awful.”
“Sir, are you serious?” Bertly looked at Alestar, cold and somber. “You’re telling me you’ve eaten better dirt?”
“I haven’t had worse.” The giant spit the dirt back into the clay pot. “I am only kidding, Bertly.” He ruffled the young human’s long hair. “You may be the greatest wizard this time has ever seen…only time will tell.”
“Seriously, sir?” Bertly blushed and he sat up in his seat. It took a lot to receive a genuine compliment from Master Alestar. “Do you really think I will become the greatest sorcerer of this time?”
“Oh, sweet Cor
delia, no. Of course not.” Alestar pulled out a new pot and filled it with dirt. “I said you would be the greatest wizard, not sorcerer. Polly will definitely be more powerful than you. I was only trying to make you feel better.”
Bertly slouched back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Thanks, sir.”
“Let’s see what you can do, tiny blonde.” Alestar positioned the clay pot in front of Polly.
The school bell rang.
“Shucks.” Alestar slapped the side of his leg. “We will pick up where we left off tomorrow.”
Bertly and Polly closed their notebooks, packed up their belongings, and headed for their next class—botany.
***
Bertly and Polly had their hands placed on top of glass jars with bunny beans hopping around inside. Each bean sprang around as if it were stepping on something hot. The young humans wore goggles covering more than half of their faces. They sat inside a lab, with gloves on and their hair tied back.
“I wish we could actually go outside for our gardening class,” Bertly mumbled to Polly.
“Do not take your hands off the containers, please.” A female elf with wrinkled skin and white hair spoke softly to the class. Bertly couldn’t remember her name for the life of him. “The beans are strong enough to knock those glasses right over. Take turns one at a time observing the bunny beans as your partner holds the container down,” the old elf carried on.
“What exactly am I looking for?” Bertly asked.
Polly waved a piece of paper in front of his face. “Why don’t you ever check the worksheets, Bertly?”
“I thought those were just guidelines.” He dismissed her.
“Yes, for passing the assignment.” Polly grabbed Bertly’s hand and placed it on top of the see-through container. “Hold this.” She ran her finger down the paper. “It says we need to identify their age. We can tell by how many spots are on their stomachs.”
“Don’t you find it a little disturbing that elves and dwarves eat stew made out of beans that look like cute little bunnies?” Bertly questioned.
“I think we should worry about the assignment and not what other cultures eat.” Polly pointed her finger around the glass, mouthing numbers to herself. She wrote down the age of one bean in her notebook. “I’m sure some other students think what we eat is weird.”
“We eat mostly meat and potatoes. It’s not very controversial.” Bertly snickered.
Polly ignored his comment and continued to count the number of spots on each bean. Bertly cracked his knuckles and looked around the room at the other students. He wondered if another human would ever stroll through those doors or if it would always be just him and Polly.
“Bertly,” Polly cried, “you took your hand off the jar.”
Bertly jumped back and frantically looked around. The dozen or so beans were hopping in every direction. The beans were small, but they leapt higher than Bertly could reach, and farther than he could stretch. The young human cupped his hands and managed to trap one under his domed fists. He looked for a place to lock it up. His initial reaction was to place the fruit, vegetable, or whatever family a bean belonged in, back into the original glass jar; however, it was now bouncing uncontrollably. If Bertly opened his hands, he presumed the bean would slip right out. He couldn’t help but wonder how the old professor had managed to secure the bouncing bunnies in the first place. She must have used a spell.
Bertly trapped the bean in his left fist then continued to hunt down the remaining bouncing bunnies. The young human looked over their workbench at the beans, which were scattered everywhere. A few were on the other side of the workbench, a few more on the floor, and another handful were approaching the workbenches of Bertly’s fellow students.
Polly crawled around, smacking her cupped hands on the floor. “I can’t believe you, Bertly.” Every time she caught a bean, it slipped out of her fingers. “You couldn’t even make it five minutes into class this time before inciting some incident because you don’t want to read the worksheets.”
Screams sounded in a chain reaction, starting near Bertly and slowly spreading to the other side of the classroom. Unsuspecting students had tiny beans bounce up their arms and into their hair, causing them to knock over their jars—releasing more bunnies freely into the room.
“Please calm down,” the professor pleaded. “They are completely harmless.”
“I think one bit me,” a student screamed amongst the chaos.
“Oh, please,” Bertly hollered back. His classmates were only being dramatic. “They don’t even have—ouch.” The young human whipped his hand back. He’d felt a small pinch inside his fist containing the beans. “Maybe they do have teeth,” he mumbled to himself.
“They’re in my clothes!”
“I think I saw one laying eggs!”
Vials crashed, and smashed test tubes sounded off like an orchestra of destruction. The professor screamed and pleaded for the students to calm down, but pandemonium had already struck. Students darted about, most of them out the doors, and a couple even fled through the first-floor windows. If Bertly didn’t know any better, he would have assumed a famous witch or wizard was in town.
A light pink haze filled the room, and the beans dropped to whatever surface lay under them. Bertly was dizzy—not so dizzy he couldn’t see straight, but enough to force him to sit. His bones felt light. He gazed over the classroom; the screams had stopped, and everyone was relaxed, either on the floor or the benches.
The old professor stood on top of her desk with her arms spread over the class—a pink haze discharging from her hands. She locked eyes with the young humans. “Bertly, Polly…the Elders’ room. Now.”
***
Bertly and Polly sat on the bench of an empty meeting room before a panel of nine seats. Most of the chairs were empty; however, Master Dova, Master Quinric, as well as Master Alestar occupied the few seats that were filled.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Master Quinric snarled, spit flying from his mouth. “Most students would be suspended at the very least for such despicable behavior.”
“We didn’t mean any harm,” Polly pleaded.
“And they speak out of turn.” Quinric slammed his fists on the podium before him.
“Master Quinric, please show some restraint,” Master Dova commented. “I am sure this was all a simple mistake.”
“Are we going to ignore the fact that the old woman was being completely reckless, maybe even negligent?” Alestar interposed. “Every master knows it is strictly forbidden for lowerclassmen to study, tamper with, or experiment on any living creatures outside of a locked cage or habitat.” The giant leaned back in his massive chair. “I am afraid the old bat may have broken more school rules than our helpless first years who are currently on trial.”
“Are you mad?” Quinric snapped.
Master Dova took a long breath. “I am sorry, Quin, but I am afraid Master Alestar is correct. If we punish Bertly and Polly, then poor Miss Clover may suffer a worse fate.”
That’s her name. How could I have forgotten that one? Bertly’s distracted mind reflected.
“You two get off easily this time,” Master Dova continued. “But I would be wary if I were you. The Academy has close eyes on you both.”
Bertly had to hold back a smile from the satisfaction he felt at Master Quinric’s manic face—he really didn’t understand why the old master despised him and Polly so much.
Bertly opened his mouth to speak, yet before a word could slip from between his lips, Polly spoke over him. “Thank you very much for your understanding,” she said. “We won’t be in here again, we promise.”
“See you two tomorrow.” Alestar winked.
Polly grabbed Bertly by the sleeve and dragged him out of the interrogation room—or so it felt. Once the two reached an empty hallway, Polly stopped walking and turned Bertly toward her. “Don’t you dare get me kicked out of this school, Bertly.” Her already red eyes
were blazing. “Or I swear—” Polly cleared her throat. She stepped back and brushed the lint off her clothing. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Polly grinned, her eyes easily giving away her fake smile.
The young wizard wiped his sweaty palms against his pant leg. “Understood,” he assured her. “Getting expelled is the last thing I want also.”
“Good.” Polly’s eyes eased up. “Because I think we still have a lot to learn. Speaking of which.” Polly tilted her head to the side. “Are you ready for our test tomorrow?”
“Test?” Bertly asked. “What test?”
Polly laughed and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Oh, Bertly, that’s a good one.”
VI
After three days of stress and no master, Bertly found himself sitting in racial history class, barely able to pay attention to his studies. He only had one hour left to find a master. Rather, a master had only an hour to find him.
Master Dova glanced at the hourglass in the back corner. “It seems we still have a little time. Now, let’s get started on next week’s lesson.” Dova faced the crammed chalkboard and waved her hand to clear it. She flicked her finger and wrote across the board: “The Decomposite.” She turned her attention to the class. “You know the drill.”
A student from the back row shouted, “Dragons.” The classroom cheered.
“Famous weapons,” another voice projected.
“Forgotten spells.”
“Hidden treasure.”
“The Decomposite is a banned territory and is accompanied by nothing but death,” Master Dova said in a chiding tone. The class fell silent.
Polly’s voice trembled as she spoke up. “The Decomposite is glorified, but very few who travel there ever return.”