A Touch of Magic (10 page)

He looked up to meet Randall’s gaze, and Randall stared back defiantly, his expression wild.

“Thought as much. Let me put things in perspective for you, lad. Since you’re chock full of power, you ought to be able to notice this easy enough.”

Suddenly Erliand had
presence
. He hadn’t stood up or moved, but Randall could feel that Erliand was somehow
bigger
. Like he was taking up more space in the room than that occupied by just his body. And with each passing moment, Erliand’s presence grew. Randall had felt big and powerful before, but as the seconds ticked away, he realized that compared with Erliand, he was insignificant. An insect to be crushed and forgotten.

In the space of a couple of heartbeats, Erliand seemed to fill the entire room they were in, squeezing Randall into a smaller and smaller space. Randall began to feel crowded, like his personal space was being violated, and he started to cower and back away from the Mage. Erliand had not even moved.

Erliand’s hand suddenly shot up from his lap and pointed toward the window against the far wall, making Randall jump.

“Look!” Erliand commanded, and Randall found himself whirling around. From his vantage point, there was nothing to see but a thick-trunked tree of ash that Randall had often rested under when taking a break from the yard work.

A word tore itself from Erliand’s throat. The sound of it was painfully alien, and Randall would have felt it impossible for such a sound to come from human vocal chords. The three-syllable utterance seemed to have a strange sing-song rhythm that Randall found oddly familiar. On each syllable, light flickered from the sky outside and Randall felt power pulsating around him. On the third beat, Erliand finished with a hoarse croak, and a jagged shaft of lightning exploded from the clear sky, slamming into the ash tree and cleaving it lengthwise! Randall started and screamed in fear.

 “Lesson over. Talk tomorrow.” Erliand said hoarsely, his voice trailing off into a coughing fit on the last word.

Panic-stricken, Randall turned back to Erliand, his hands held in front of him as if he hoped to ward off the Mage’s power. All sense of strength and confidence had fled him the instant the lightning bolt had struck, only to be replaced by sheer terror.

 “M-m-master?” he stammered.

“Tomorrow,” Erliand commanded, covering his mouth for another coughing fit. Randall noticed that there was blood spattered on the back of Erliand’s hand.

Wide-eyed and pale, Randall didn’t need any more prodding. He spun around and fled the room. He was so frightened that he completely skipped dinner and went straight to his room. There, he cowered under his covers, heart pounding, until a fitful sleep finally claimed him.

The next morning, Randall woke and prepared himself for the day, more out of habit than anything else. He washed his face and hands in the small bowl beside his bed, and pulled on his clothes. His mind was still buzzing with all that had happened yesterday, and he’d slept terribly the night before. What little sleep he’d gotten was filled with nightmares. When he finally shuffled his way into the living room, Erliand was there waiting for him. Randall had grown so accustomed to Erliand being locked away in the mornings that he was halfway to the front door before he noticed the old man sitting in his chair. He started and took an involuntary step backwards.

“G-g-good morning M-master,” Randall stammered. His heart had started pounding in his chest again, and he subconsciously stepped backward, away from the Mage.

“Oh, for goodness sake, boy, come sit down.” Erliand said with exasperation in his voice. That voice was healthy and strong, with no sign of the strain it had carried last night. “I’m the same man I was yesterday. We didn’t get to finish our talk, and so I wanted to do it this morning. Now
sit down
. I won’t tell you a third time.”

Randall nodded quickly at the command, and the implied threat in that last sentence, and hurried over to the chair opposite Erliand. He sat on the edge of his seat, looking like he could bolt and run at any moment.

“I’d say I didn’t mean to scare you, lad, but that would be a lie. I meant to scare you right proper.” Erliand chuckled. “Power euphoria is dangerously seductive. It can make you feel like the master of everything around you. You’ll have to learn to control that feeling, lad, or it’ll end up controlling you. So, I thought I’d establish the pecking order right away before Llandra started putting dim-witted thoughts into your little head.”

Randall ducked his head in shame, and slumped back in his chair. The truth was, when he was filled with power, the thought of being more powerful than Erliand
had
crossed his mind. He tried to justify it by telling himself that they weren’t
his
thoughts, that power euphoria had made him think them. But the justification seemed hollow; they certainly
felt
like his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Master,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it, lad. It’s a lesson we’ve all had to learn and it won’t be the last time you have to struggle with those particular feelings. Now, let’s go over what we learned yesterday. I assume you don’t have any more doubt about being here?” Erliand asked.

“No, Master,” Randall replied.

“Good, because I never had any doubts myself. At your age, a boy goes through a lot of changes. You sometimes find your body doing certain things against your wishes whether or not you want it to. Like when you find yourself thinking about a pretty girl, for instance. I’m sure you know exactly what I mean. Totally natural of course,” Erliand chuckled.

Randall flushed and looked away embarrassed as Erliand continued. “Well, lad, there’s a reason I’ve been holing up in my study nearly every day: I’ve been getting some shut eye. You’ve been drawing power in your sleep and keeping me awake damn near every night since you got here.”

Randall’s gaze snapped up to meet Erliand’s. “Really? Oh,” he said, taking a moment for it to sink in. When it finally did, Randall’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked down at his lap. “Oh! I’m sorry Master, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t,” Erliand interrupted. “It’s a natural thing. Your body’s just flexing its muscles a bit, getting ready to use parts that’ve gone unused so far. That goes for other things, too, lad.” Erliand winked at Randall, who was blushing so hard his cheeks had started to hurt. “Nothing to be ashamed of; it’ll all resolve itself in good time. And until then, I’ll be getting extra sleep in the mornings after you’re up and about.”

“Now, let’s talk about what you did yesterday,” Erliand said, changing the subject much to Randall’s relief. “You hadn’t been able to draw power all week, but you managed to yesterday with only a little provocation. What had you been doing before?”

Randall explained all of the visualization techniques he’d used to try and summon the magic. Each of them had been completely unsuccessful, though he was getting a little better at calming his mind before each attempt.

Erliand listened to Randall’s descriptions silently, nodding his head occasionally. “But that’s not what you did yesterday, is it?” he asked, when Randall was finished.

“No, Master. I don’t know what I did. I was just mad, I guess. And embarrassed, too. Melinda had seen me making a fool of myself, and I guess I just wanted…”

“Easy there, Randall,” Erliand commanded. “Can’t you feel it? You’re drawing a little power now.”

Randall
did
feel it. There was a subtle tugging sensation somewhere in his mind, and he felt the buzzing sensation start to build up. But, as soon he noticed it, the pulling sensation faded away, and Randall found himself with only a little reservoir of power.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Looks like a combination of emotions gets you started. A little anger, a touch of embarrassment. I’m sure there was some desire in there, to get even and show everyone who was boss.”

Randall thought it over. “I suppose so, Master. I guess I wanted to show Melinda and everyone else that I wasn’t a fool. I just wanted to whip Bobby and prove my worth to them all,” Randall replied.

Erliand nodded. “That’s not uncommon, really. Strong emotions and desire can help some new Mages touch Llandra. But it’s a crutch, lad. You’re going to have to train yourself out of it.”

“What do you mean, Master?” Randall asked. “Why is it a crutch if it works?” He was getting excited about the prospect of finally being able to draw power and using it whenever he wanted. He’d be a real Mage in no time!

“Remember when we first met?” Erliand asked, and Randall nodded. “You were so spooked when I told you that I was a Mage that I had to use a Word on you that calms the heart and mind. If an enemy did that to you, how then would you draw power to protect yourself? Besides, you may not think so now, but that little incident with Bobby on the practice mound won’t embarrass you forever. One day, you’ll look back on it, and it’ll seem terribly funny.”

Randall wasn’t sure about
that
, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Randall’s schedule got even busier. Usually, the later fall months were the easiest on a farm, even with the added chores of raking leaves and clearing underbrush. After he harvested the broccoli, Randall would finally be able to relax and take his ease.

Instead, Randall had a new daily task: learning to fight. He could hardly believe it! Erliand knew his way around a short sword and dagger, and had resolved to teach some of those skills to Randall. When it wasn’t too cold outside, Randall would practice with Erliand in the yard for two hours a day. He was to then continue practice for another two hours on his own. It was a grueling schedule that left Randall more exhausted than all of the weeding and yard work that he had to do when he first came to Master Erliand’s.

 “After all,” Erliand had explained one afternoon, “if I’m supposed to be teaching you to be a caravan guard, you’ll need to show some skills when you visit home in the spring.”

Home!
The thought was exciting. Randall hadn’t really had much time to be homesick, and keeping busy had made the time fly. But now that the seed had been planted in his mind, he found himself really looking forward to seeing his family and friends again. He often found himself daydreaming about what they might be up to these days. He imagined Bobby at sword practice, drilling and learning all the ways of being a soldier—only he was certain that Bobby was doing better at it than he was. Master Erliand regularly embarrassed Randall on the practice field with some move or feint that left Randall in an exposed position. Then the old Mage took great delight in explaining exactly which organs he would have cut to kill Randall in the most painful or prolonged manner. For an old man, he was surprisingly agile, and never failed to take advantage of the mistakes that Randall inevitably made, no matter how hard he practiced.

His magic practice was going equally slowly. For weeks now, Master Erliand had taught him nothing new, only checking on Randall’s progress each week to see how much success he had drawing power from Llandra without first getting angry. Randall wasn’t very good at it, and he had to admit that it was getting harder and harder to work himself up into self-righteous anger to summon the spark of magic. And now that he was practicing swordplay, he had something new to practice as well:
not
drawing power, even when he was angry or embarrassed!

That task proved just as tricky as drawing power in the first place. It seemed that almost every time Erliand got the better of him in the practice field, Randall got flustered and found himself drawing from Llandra. He was supposed to learn how to get angry without drawing power, but it seemed to be easier for Randall to learn to push his embarrassment deep down inside where he couldn’t feel it instead.

Since he didn’t have much new magical instruction, Randall didn’t have much to write in his study book. Instead, he spent most evenings either reading the notes he’d already written, or fantasizing about home. One day when he was doing a little of both, a thought occurred to him.
Why do they call Llandra a ‘world’? Why not a ‘power’, or an ‘ether’ or ‘vapor’?
He resolved to ask his master about it the next day before weapons practice.

He approached Erliand while the old man was warming up with some blocking exercises before practice. “Master Erliand, what makes Llandra a world?”

“What do you mean, lad?” Erliand asked, looking at Randall closely.

“Well Master, I’ve been reading my notes, and it seems to me that you’ve always been fairly clear that magic is simply a type of energy that comes from a world that you call Llandra.”

“Right. And your question is?” Erliand asked, still probing Randall with his eyes.

“Well, Master, I don’t mean any disrespect, but how do you know magic comes from a world? Why can’t it be coming from me, or you, or even the air around us? I don’t understand why you say it comes from another world. How do you know where it comes from at all?”

Erliand smiled at Randall. “That’s a fair question, Randall. And a good use of your study book; it is supposed to prompt you to think and open avenues for research. Someday, you’ll ask a question that nobody knows the answer to, and then you’ll have to find out for yourself. In this case, however, the answer is simple. We call Llandra a world, because things live there.”

“They do? Live where? What kind of things? People?” Randall asked incredulously.