The Mage's Son

by T Ariyanna

  He leaned over the edge and scooped up the book by the front cover. Most of the weight was gone from the book, and its presence in his hand filled a hole in himself he had never known was there. He laid the book out on his bed, and slowly turned to the first page. Snow hopped onto his shoulder and nestled himself there, his eyes just as big as Arion's as they explored the book together.

  Arion ran his fingers over the words, picking up on those that he knew. As his hand reached the bottom of the page, a woman's voice began to fill the air around him.

  “This is the guide to your whole life, Arion. Everything you need to know can be found within these pages…our history, your potential, and your powers. It's a very special book, and it will help you in every way that it can. Trust it. This is, and will be, your whole life's story. Write it well, my son.”

  Arion paused to look at Snow, and the owl looked back. Arion glanced outside the window, at the moon resting at the top of the sky. He turned back to his book, all fear gone from him, replaced by hope and awe. He turned the page and delved into the history.

  The edges of the pages were filled with sketches and pictures. As he read, the pictures came to life and sprung up from the paper. They stood out into the open space above the book. Arion had to shake his head to be sure he was awake. People made of ink outlines walked across the text as the woman narrated the story. They faded in and out as the scenes changed, the drawings appearing and disappearing into the pages without a trace. Though they were nothing but ink and air, they moved as though they were so much more, like they were real.

  “Long ago, Mages and humans lived alongside each other in peace. A silent treaty had been made, that humans would do the simple mundane work, leaving the Mages to the more difficult tasks. Mages often used their skills to make life easier for humans, inventing tools to help, or using their magic in resourceful ways.”

  A tall man in a long coat walked beside an older man that had braces on his legs, helping him walk. Arion leaned closer and ogled the gears and springs on the braces, his mouth agape.

  “But it wasn't long before some humans felt threatened by the power that Mages held. Of course, there were Mages that had begun to abuse their powers, either. These Mages you'll find sitting on their thrones atop the towers of Talgrin, now the capital of the Mages' domain.”

  The drawings changed into a series of towers surrounded by eerie black clouds. Through the large glass walls at the top, Arion saw a man clutching at the arms of an ornate chair. His face was all angles, with long hair, and a short beard. His narrowed eyes shined like metal.

  “Once the humans had realized they could be overpowered and eradicated if they were no longer useful to the Mages, they offered a new treaty. The Mages in charge at the time wanted nothing but peace, and so agreed to the humans' terms. The Mages were to leave the humans, taking everything of theirs away with them.”

  The room in the tower changed. There was a circle of men now, but the one in charge was different. He was very old. His face held some stubble among the wrinkles, yet had the same, shining eyes. Humans made up half of the circle, and they looked uneasy. After a moment, a long scroll was rolled out between them, and all present signed. The last to sign was the man that had been in the chair, and his hand was shaking as he held the quill.

  “They were relocated to the center of our lands, now called The Centric. It is a place avoided by all humans, inhabited only by those of magical origin. There are many parts to The Centric…markets and bazaars are on the very edges, in smaller areas that are like towns. In another ring, the living quarters, that burrow deep into the ground rather than climbing to the skies. The innermost ring is the center that holds the Towers. Each have their own purposes. Some are for inventing, some are for potion making, but the tallest Tower holds the Magicern, the strongest of the Mages. They rule and oversee all that is magical in the land. Since the eviction of Mages, many other species have gone into hiding in our lands.”

  The view pulled away from the Towers to show the whole world…the world Arion knew. It was like a map, with hills and trees growing from the surface. Some of the areas had a strange glow to them, and pictures of things he couldn't recognize. He reached out a hand slowly, but the map vanished before he could touch it.

  “Arion, my son, I must ask that you never go to The Centric. The Magicern has been taken by those corrupt with power and greed. They desire to own all that Lontorra has to offer, the land that so many call home. But they want nothing more than to destroy the humans, and anything associated with them. I'm afraid that, because you are only half Mage, and have human blood, that you would be killed because of their hatred.”

  The voice stopped speaking, Arion's fingers frozen on the page. Her voice had broken over the word kill, and he looked nervously at Snow. The owl puffed out his chest.

  “Do you want to read more history? There's more details…”

  Snow ruffled his feathers irritably, a few falling loose as he did. The owl jumped down from his shoulder and flipped the pages with his wings until he reached one with the title, “Beginner Spells.” Snow pointed at it and spun in excitement.

  Arion giggled and patted his shoulder. Snow returned to his perch. He snuggled close to Arion as he begun to read the spells.

  Night turned to day before Arion had noticed, but he didn't care. He just read on, his enthusiasm growing more and more with each word.

  Arion read through all of the simple spells before the day’s end, without moving from his bed. He moved onto a section that described the other talents Mages could have. “Inventing spells, elemental magic, shapeshifting! This is amazing!” Arion burst.

  Snow had fallen asleep on Arion's shoulder, and this exclamation startled the owl awake. He fell from Arion's shoulder, his wings fluttering wildly until he hit the soft bed. He puffed his feathers and shook his head at Arion.

  Arion looked closer. “What's this one? Life-bearing? Like a mother? That doesn't sound like magic, but if the book says so…”

  Arion skimmed through a few more pages before he couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He jumped from the bed and raised his hands, set to trying each and every one of them. Most spells were failed first tries, but he pressed on. He tried levitating, again and again, until he could lift the book a good foot in the air, and pull it towards himself. He jumped in the air when it finally fell into his hands.

  He laughed in a way he never had before, with such elation he couldn't comprehend. He heard his father’s footsteps stomping towards the stairs, but they paused at his silence. Arion’s eyes strayed to the door, and he was brought back to reality. He sat on the floor, his book now heavy in his lap.

  “But how do I fix this?” he asked aloud. He closed his eyes, and Snow came to stand before him.

  Arion shooed Snow away as he began turning the pages. “No more, Snow. What's the point?”

  The pages kept turning. Arion snapped his eyes open, ready to yell at the owl, but he saw that the pages were turning on their own. They stopped in the section of advanced magic, and Arion glanced awkwardly at Snow. The owl took a few tentative steps away. Arion read over the pages, until he found the purpose. There was a spell to reassemble broken things.

  “But I didn't need a spell before,” Arion whispered, bringing the book up to his face. He read over the spell carefully, memorizing it. He then scanned his room, looking for anything he could use for practice. His room was so bare that there wasn't anything he could afford to break.

  Arion flipped through the pages, looking for anything destructive. After what seemed like an hour of reading, Arion found a shattering spell hidden deep within a page of basic spells.

  “Shattering?” he said, his gaze landing on the window. It had been left open since the night before. “I guess I don't need it, right?”

  He looked at Snow hopefully, but the bird shook his head furiously. Arion picked up the book and stood up. Snow landed on the open pages, glaring at Arion.

  “I have to. I need the
practice. If I can fix what I broke, Dad can't be mad at me anymore. Now, get off.” Arion shook the book until the bird took to the air. Snow hovered in the middle of the room while Arion climbed back on his bed.

  He set the book on the windowsill and stared at the scar on his left hand. He took a deep breath to stop his shaking, and then turned it to face the window. “I hope this works,” he whispered before shouting, “Shatter!”

  A burst of green light shot out of his hand and collided with the window. It broke on impact, tiny shards of glass raining all around the room and covering his book.

  Arion turned to Snow, a smile filling his face. “I did it! I actually did it, Snow! Snow?” Arion's mood changed as he noticed Snow's narrowed eyes. He darted to Arion's face, stopping just a few inches short. He cawed as loud as he could, his beak grazing his cheek. Before Arion could protest, Snow flew out of the broken window and disappeared into the sky.

  “Snow!” Arion yelled, reaching out of the window after him. His hand rested on the glass-covered sill, and he retreated quickly. “Snow. Please don't leave me.”

  Arion fell back on his bed, staring after the owl. He dropped his head, and his eyes filled with tears. He didn't even notice that there was no uproar from his father downstairs.

  After a moment, Arion collected himself. “He wasn't going to stay forever,” he told himself. He swept the glass off of the tome with his arm, ignoring the shards that cut his sleeve.

  “I want the fixing spell,” he told the book, unsure if it would even work.

  Sure enough, the pages turned on their own, right to the page he wanted. He read over the spell again before raising his hands. There were no words for this spell. The book only said a desire was needed, and to feel the magic.

  Arion closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for the energy within him. It reacted to his call, pulsing in his fingertips. When he opened his eyes, he felt that he was ready. He moved his hands in circles, pretending that he was gathering all of the pieces of the window in a pile. He watched the pieces of glass tumble and roll together on the sill. With his arms still raised, Arion glanced at the book again. “Feel the magic,” he whispered to himself.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He moved his hands in slow circles in front of him, his fingers wiggling. After a moment, his movements became smoother, more confident as he performed the spell. Arion held his concentration through the clinking glass, forcing his control until there was nothing but silence.

  Arion opened one eye, peaking at the window. He lowered his arms slowly and climbed onto his bed to inspect his work. His fingers skimmed the surface, but he felt no cracks or missing pieces. He pressed his whole hand to the window, the fear of being cut gone. He put both hands to the glass and pressed, checking how sturdy it was.

  “Good as new,” he said. A large smile broke on his face, and his hand started to warm up. The energy was still burning within him, wanting more. He jerked his hand away from the window when the heat became too much, forcing the energy back to its home in his chest. He looked down to see that the scar was red again. He touched his other hand to it, but the heat was already gone. Looking up at the window, he saw the same insignia burned into the glass.

  I have to be careful with that, he thought, biting his lip. He scanned his room, looking for his winter gloves. They were tucked away in a corner, covered by dust and cobwebs. He pulled them over his hands, the fingertips gone from overuse. He wiggled his fingers. The gloves were hot and uncomfortable, but he knew he had to wear them.

  He wondered what his father would do if he saw the burn, and quickly shook the thought from his head. I can't let him know.

  His father still fresh in his mind, the task at hand was brought to mind. He needed to fix the vase he broke.

  Arion opened the door slowly and peered out, tiptoeing halfway down the stairs. The rest of the house was dark, and there was no sign of his father anywhere. Sleeping, Arion told himself. He crept into the living room, knowing what would happen if he was caught outside of his room.

  The broken urn had been swept into a pile by the fireplace. The first half of the spell had been done for him, but he needed to be sure. Using his energy, he felt the magic travel through the room around him, pulling the pieces from their hiding places. A few pieces rolled to the pile from the corners of the room, and Arion gave a small smile. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and raised his arms. Remembering the feeling he had gotten while fixing the window, he performed the spell.

  His arms circled above his head and his fingers moved in the air without much thought. He listened to the urn being fixed, hoping that the sound wasn't enough to wake his father. Once the urn was as good as new, he used the levitation spell to put it back on the mantle where it belonged. Inching it one way, and then another, he made sure it was put back exactly as it had been.

  He gave a smile, and then his stomach rumbled loudly. In the wake of everything, he had forgotten he hadn't eaten in over a day. He clamped his hands over his middle to stifle the noise.

  He walked into the kitchen and glanced around. All of the food was kept high on a shelf so Arion couldn't feed himself, but that was no longer a problem. He used his magic to bring a small snack down to him, a few crackers, and ran back to his room. The crackers were gone all too fast, and Arion was still hungry. But his fear of his father kept him planted on his bed, and his weariness soon overtook him. He fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of his mother.

  Chapter 2

  “Arion, GET DOWN HERE!”

  Kole’s scream woke him up. The boy rolled over and fell out of bed, landing on his sore arm. He shook the pain away and scrambled for his door, racing down the stairs and standing obediently at the bottom of them.

  “Yes, Father?” he asked, his voice like a mouse. He clasped his hands behind him, fidgeting. He cast his eyes down as his father gazed upon him.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” he demanded, pointing to the fireplace. The urn sat atop it, just as it had before the incident.

  “I…I fixed it for you, just like I said I would. It's all better now. I promise I won't touch it ever again.” Arion stared at the floor while he spoke. He could still smell the alcohol on his father, even from this distance.

  His father grabbed him by the shirt without warning, and lifted him to his face. Arion grit his teeth, and waited.

  “You're never going to speak of this again, you hear me, boy? It never happened, it…it was just some freak nightmare, or drunk hallucination. It has to be, there's no other option. It has to be.” His father started whispering to himself, as though he was forcing himself to believe his own words.

  His eyes flicked back to Arion, and he sneered. “Nothing happened, got it?” Kole growled in his ear.

  “Y…yes, sir,” Arion mumbled. His gloved hands were gripping Kole's, but he pulled them away when his left hand began to heat up, clenching his fists behind him.

  “Good. Now get to school, before I change my mind today.” Kole threw Arion towards the door, but with less energy than usual. Arion picked himself up and stared after his father as he moved for the door. He looked as though he had no energy left. Arion was relieved, though he knew he should feel guilty.

  He exited the house as quietly as he could and trudged along the dirt path into town. It was over an hour's hike, nearly two, but it was nothing if it could give Arion an escape. The sun was higher than he thought, and he knew school would only save him for a short time today. He glanced behind him, knowing what he had to return to. The simple log cabin, backed against the edge of the Dire Woods, looked anything but peaceful. Made of the pitch-black wood from the trees around the house, it was scarier than the huge castle that resided deep within the woods, towering above any tree.

  Kole had been violent and hostile as long as Arion could remember, and he'd been drinking longer still. Arion couldn't remember a time when his hands weren't either on a bottle or on him. He shook the thought from his head. At least I'm safe at school
, he told himself.

  His stomach rumbled again, and he looked down. He had barely eaten in a few days, and his clothes were now a week old. “I hope Miss Kelly has a snack for me again,” he whispered. His father never noticed what he wore, or at least, he never cared.

  As he came nearer to the village, he noticed several trees had been struck by lightning, split down the middle and left with black welts in them. Animals and villagers alike seemed on edge from the sudden storm, though the trees had been the only thing damaged.

  He passed the small houses made of light colored wood and rough stones on his way into town. The cobblestone streets were uneven, and old carriages driven by old horses rocked as they rode along them. It was a very old village. Many of the people had moved to better locations, following the deer herds. The people made due with what they had. There was nothing but a small farm, with few livestock and a field that gave poor crops. The workers and crafters had little skill, and so the town had nothing to trade for better resources.

  Most humans still believed in the religions of old, in gods and deities, heaven and hell, though places of worship were few and far between. The nearest was towns away, a day's trip at least.

  How do people believe in God when there're Mages? he wondered. He shook his head. He had never understood religion. It was never in the house. If his father was a religious man, it never showed.

  The townspeople avoided him, but it was nothing new. They didn't like him, and though many claimed they had a reason to, no one had ever acted against him. They never had a good excuse. Besides, they're too scared of father, even though they don't know he wouldn't care.

  He passed the well in town and stopped to wash himself up. He cleaned the blood and dirt from his hands and face, and then took a long drink from the well. It tasted like mud and rust, but it quenched his thirst. The townspeople walked right on past him, barely blinking an eye.