Chapter 16: 19. The Basics

Rorri

 

Markus scowled and puffed out his chest as Rorri approached the manor. If he stiffened any further, he might have turned into a fence post.

“State your business,” he ordered.

Rorri found himself in a rather cheeky mood that day. The Snow inflated his chest with its gale, but the jitters had already passed, and he carried a lightness in his step that could only be called swagger.

“My Lady requested my company,” he replied with a smirk. Markus’ face reddened, his brow dipping to the bridge of his nose.

“Urtis!” he called. From the other side of the fence, a guard of the same orchid-pink complexion emerged between the black iron bars.

“Watch this one while I verify the authenticity of his request,” Markus huffed.

“Yessir,” Urtis replied. A click and a thud later, the gate swung open, and Markus disappeared down the path, replaced by his apparent subordinate.

Urtis gave Rorri a polite nod, which Rorri returned in kind. Though this guard still stood tall and proud, unlike his counterpart, he had the countenance of someone who had probably smiled at least once in the past year.

“Here for the magic lessons?”

“I am,” Rorri said.

“Lucky,” Urtis said with a wistful sigh. “I always wanted to learn magic.”

“Can’t you take lessons here?”

“No, no… They’re calling it ‘community outreach’, what they’re doing now,” Urtis explained. “None of the servants or guards live on the Wall – most of us live here, actually – so we don’t qualify for the program.”

“Huh…” Rorri squinted. “You’d think they’d want their guards to know magic, for, you know… guarding things.”

“You’d think,” Urtis agreed. “Especially with everything that’s been going on lately…”

Rorri perked up. “You mean with the Widow?”

“Yes.” Urtis’ gaze drifted. “It was actually Markus, poor sod, who let the old bag in. I guess she’d said she came to discuss business with Madam Rosari, and he trusted her. He’s the trusting sort, believe it or not.”

“Oh…” Rorri frowned. “Well, that explains a lot. I’m surprised they didn’t relieve him of his duties.”

“They’re not that heartless,” Urtis said, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s been here just about his whole life. Wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s good of them, I guess.” Rorri fiddled with the strap on his scorched bag, seeking a way to dig for information without setting off any alarms.

“Yes… They made a real show of it though, turning out the servant’s quarters, as if one of us did it…” Urtis dropped his chin. “That was before they caught on about the Widow, of course.” He paused, a hurt expression crossing his face.

Rorri glanced towards the manor. “What did they steal, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, just a necklace, I think.”

“Really? Just one necklace?”

“Just between you and me, ser,” Urtis said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I heard it was enchanted with magic that can change what you look like. The Madam has certainly been showing her wrinkles, lately,” he added with a wink.

Before Rorri could say anything, the doors to the manor flew open, and Markus barreled towards the two like a tornado in the plains. He passed through the gate, stopped abruptly, and crossed his arms.

“Lead him to the Lady,” he barked. Urtis and Rorri shared a tense, knowing look.

 

*******

 

The door to Shacia’s study was cracked open, as it had been the day before, but this time an ethereal, bluish pool of light spilled out from within. Urtis knocked delicately, tilting his ear towards the gap in the door.

“Come in,” Shacia chirped.

Thick velvet straps held up the heavy curtains, proudly displaying the garden outside. A thin, iridescent under-curtain softened the harsh gaze of the sun, casting a cool tint over the swaying bands of flowers, though Rorri could still pick out the rainbow petals on the other side. Shacia’s long shadow bisected the room, stopping just short of Rorri’s feet. As he entered, she eyed him from the side.

“You’re late.”

Rorri froze, his thoughts scattering like pigeons in the path of a carriage.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize it would take so long to walk here, and I got a bit of a late start—”

“How long is the walk?” she interrupted, as if calculating the validity of his excuse.

“Erm… three hours, maybe?”

“Oh god,” she blurted out, her expression treading the thin line between disgust and pity. “I just mean that it sounds exhausting,” she said, recovering her composure. “I couldn’t do it.”

Rorri narrowed his eyes, puzzled. “It wasn’t so bad… The weather is nice.”

He edged to his seat across from her and sat sideways, eyes resting on the shape of her shadow. Shacia inhaled sharply.

“Well,” she said, “let’s begin your lessons in earnest, then.”

Rorri nodded. He set down his bag, and a modest, scrap-leather bound notebook peeked out. Shacia folded her hands together and hummed a tiny, slightly neurotic hum.

“So… Why do you want to learn magic?”

Rorri’s heart palpitated. He couldn’t tell her his true incentive for being there – hunting the Widow, augmenting his extralegal activities, or even his desire to infiltrate the ranks of nobility for his art’s sake – so he found a half-truth to build upon, praying his face would not reveal his duplicity.

“I’d like to use it in my regular life,” he said. “Make some things a little easier, just ch-chores and whatnot.” He dug at the dirt under his fingernails, struggling against the urge to fidget.

“Really? That’s all?”

“Yes – I-I mean, pretty much, yes,” he said. “I might want to have a little fun with it, sometimes, like… I don’t know, make my housemate think his bedroom is on fire or something.”

Shacia chuckled, and the sound inspired him to grin.

“I also want to see what I can do with it, as far as—”

He cut himself off, suddenly flushed.

“As far as what?” she prodded.

“Erm…” Rorri shifted. “A-artistically, I suppose?”

“So you’re an artist, then?” Shacia asked. Rorri grimaced at himself, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“W-well,” he mumbled, fixing his eyes firmly on one of the room’s unlit candles. “It’s just sort of a hobby, really, so I don’t know if I should say I’m ‘an artist’ exactly, but—”

“But you’re someone who does art,” Shacia observed. “It’s a bit easier to just say ‘artist’, don’t you think?”

“Well… When you put it that way, I can’t really argue,” he said.

“I can’t imagine why you’d want to,” she retorted. “Anyway, I ask because there are an infinite number of paths one can take when delving into the study of magic. The mundane things you mentioned will be covered as we go through the basics. With regard to your practical jokes, it sounds as if illusory magic might suit you well. I don’t know much about art, but I’m sure you can find ways to creatively apply illusions to your… paintings? Sculptures?”

“Drawings and paintings,” he said. “More drawings, lately. I’ve been experimenting with ch-charcoals…”

His voice trailed off, sliding into a quiet melancholy, but he shook out his head, quickly breaking from his stupor.

“Illusions sound good,” he said. Shacia pursed her lips, clearly curious, but didn’t press him further.

“Wonderful,” she said, scooting out of her chair. “Illusory magic just happens to be my favorite. A bit advanced for the time being, but we’ll get there.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Rorri said.

“Good, good. We’ve got a lot to cover.” She paced to the center of the room, turning her back to her student. “We’ll start with basic theory. You’ll want to take notes for this. There will be a test.”

Rorri shot a nervous glance at his notebook. He had hoped she would have him copy magic runes or something equally as foreign, something she’d expect he wouldn’t already know. People always treated him differently as soon as they learned of his illiteracy; they’d speak slowly, or watch him closely, as if he were a baby crawling towards a dog, or a blind man walking up a busy street. So, he cracked the book open to its first blank page and cradled it in such a way that his tutor would be unable to see his ‘notes’.

Shacia slowly elevated her outstretched palm, conjuring a large, blank, rectangular board from the floor. Rorri watched, intrigued, as she shaped her hand as if holding a pen and began to write in the air:

 

FORCE

SECRETS

HOPE

 

The words appeared on the board as if written in ink. Rorri set about copying the symbols down, in the same way he’d draw anything sitting in front of him. They became the first words he ever wrote, and they filled nearly the entire page.

“When we condense these concepts down just a bit…” She pinched her fingers together, and the symbols swirled about before melding into one large, bold word:

 

WILL

 

Rorri copied the word, relieved that this one was short, and he could mentally sound it out.

“…We have the essence of all magic.”

“Makes sense,” Rorri said, wobbling his pen.

“The problem becomes when people mistake ‘Will’ for ‘Want’,” Shacia continued, pacing to the other side of the room. “One could have every bit of magic in them, collected in the proper places and ready to be evoked, but as soon as they think ‘I want to extinguish the candle,’ all of it is lost.”

“Why is that?”

“Because thinking about doing something has little to do with actually doing it. Magic responds in the same way.” She waved her hand, and the words dissipated like smoke.

Rorri’s brow tensed. “I’m not sure I follow…”

“Look at it this way. If I say to you, ‘I want you to stand up’…” She gave him a soft, benign look. “Some part of you, whether you realize it or not, is going to think, ‘but do I want to stand up?’ Even if you do what I say, it’s because you decided to, not because you were made to.”

Rorri nodded, chewing his cheek.

“But, if I say to you, ‘Rorri, stand up.’” Shacia’s eyes flashed, brows pinched, jaw going rigid. “Your reaction, if you respect or fear me, will be to stand without questioning. That is, of course, if I mean it when I say it. Any more timidly and I might be mistaken as joking, or I might not be heard at all.”

“Okay…” Rorri tapped his pen against the book. “But I wasn’t thinking ‘I want to extinguish the candle’ when I—” He tittered, his face hot at the mere mention of the incident, then cleared his throat. “W-when I embarrassed myself, yesterday.”

“It’s not always necessarily a matter of ‘thought’, exactly,” Shacia explained. “It’s more of a… subconscious demeanor. So, if I told you to tell me, ‘Shacia, sit down’, with the same crazy eyes I made at you…” Rorri chortled, Shacia grinned. “If you’re still secretly scared of me, some part of me is going to perceive that. I might sit down to humor you, but then, I might not.”

“I’m not secretly scared of you, I’m…” Rorri paused. “Well, it’s not a secret, anyway.”

“I’m glad you can admit it,” she said, showing her laugh lines. “You’re already a step ahead of most.”

“Quick learner, like I s-said.” Rorri said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Clearly.” Shacia’s gaze lingered on him before she turned to weave another set of words:

 

You are reading story The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) at novel35.com

VERBAL

VISUAL

CORPOREAL

RITUAL

 

“Now, the exertion of Will may still come to the magician as a thought or a short phrase, but the difference lies in the way it is presented to the magic itself. Even the most confident person won’t necessarily be able to manipulate magic energy without a way to bypass the mind’s natural inclination to request…”

Her voice trailed off as she watched her student scribble in his notebook. The letters Rorri drew were much larger than anyone’s natural script would appear. Even though he’d only copied eight words in total, he was already turning the page. Shacia folded her arms.

“Which of these do you relate to the most?” she asked, nodding towards the floating words.

Rorri’s gaze froze on the board, a dark vibration flooding his body. He didn’t have the context to know these words without going through the painstaking process of sounding them out and threading the sounds together…

“U-uhm,” he stammered, his pen trembling in his hand. “It’s – it’s hard to say, but, I think… the third one.” He squinted, wanting to appear thoughtful.

“Interesting…” Shacia said. “And why is that?”

Rorri shrugged. “It just… speaks to me.”

“Rorri.” She gave him a pointed stare. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he thoughtlessly deflected, though he knew he’d been discovered. His tutor sighed and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Pretending you can read this, obviously. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Rorri stiffened. He considered denying her accusation – then, realizing that was unsustainable, he wondered if he could make a quick getaway through the window – but, not knowing if it was locked, he had no choice but to shut his notebook and drop his head.

“I really am awful,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I can just talk if you want to take your own notes, Rorri.”

Rorri shook his head and brought his knuckles to his lips. “I can’t…”

“Then why are you pretending like you can understand this?” she demanded, eyes flashing with frustration and a flicker of disappointment.

Rorri’s silence seemed to stretch for an eternity. He was an utter idiot, caught in an idiot lie, and if he had the magical prowess to set himself on fire and burn away, he would. But he knew that his only realistic options were either to meekly excuse himself, or to collect his thoughts and speak them. Perhaps it would be easier to set himself on fire. Shacia sighed heavily and turned away – and that was enough to shock his heart, and spur his throat into action.

“People already think I’m s-stupid,” he stammered. “And that’s normal people. I just don’t want you to think that I’m stupid too, but…”

“You are stupid,” she scoffed. His eyes shot up, and he found himself at once confused and relieved to see her smirking, and… blushing?

“Not because you can’t read or write, obviously,” she continued, “but because you’d let your weird inferiority complex get in the way of learning something new. Also, I can teach you magic without ever opening a book, or I can teach you to read and write if you want to learn from a book, but either way, if you’re serious about your lessons, I need you to tell me when you don’t understand something – and for god’s sake, don’t pretend like you do when you don’t! That is the sort of idiocy I can’t tolerate, Mr. Tipón, so please, if this is too much for you to handle, I should ask you to leave at once.”

Her eyes glimmered with passion. Rorri felt exposed, as if someone had just walked in on him sitting on a chamber pot in a smelly room, but even though the embarrassment had his heart pounding, something kept him in his seat.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I guess I was just trying to look like less of a b-bumbling idiot…”

“You really ought to lean into your bumbling,” Shacia teased. “It’s a good look for you.”

Rorri chortled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Shacia turned and waved away the foreign words, then paused, chewing her nail. Rorri watched as she drew on the magic board – quite poorly – a set of lips, which looked more like a banana with a curved line drawn through the center, a circular, lidless eyeball, from which stick-like eyelashes protruded, a stick-person with its arms raised in the air, and three mysterious rectangles. Rorri suppressed a loud, derisive laugh, coughing to clear it from his throat. Shacia rolled her eyes.

“Go on, get it out of your system,” she said, resting her hand on her hip.

“No, it’s lovely,” he said. “I’m just wondering what the little man is… walking on?”

“They’re candles, and he’s not—” She sighed. “Look, I never claimed to be an artist. It’s meant to be a visual representation, to help you remember the lesson.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m listening.”

Rorri set about drawing the symbols, his first time sketching in pen, but it wasn’t long before he’d attuned to the way the ink caught on the page.

“So, which one speaks to you the most?”

Rorri glanced up at the board, then at his tutor, then back at his notes. “The eyeball,” he said without hesitation. Shacia nodded.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. It makes sense…” She gave a low hum. “Hard to teach, but I’ll do my best.”

“Why is it hard to teach?”

Shacia paused in front of one of the room’s many candles, with tiny blue waterfalls of hardened wax collected in its brass basin. She picked it up by its handle and took a step closer to her student.

“Most magicians will deliver magic verbally or corporeally.” Watching the wick, she exhaled a soft-spoken word – Light – and the flame flickered into existence. She snuffed it out with her fingers. “I prefer a physical approach…”

Rorri shifted, re-crossing his legs, and kept his notebook slightly elevated. She pinched the cold wick, and as she opened her fingers, it sparked and popped dramatically, then calmed into a steady, still flame.

“I won’t demonstrate a ritual to light a candle, because… well, that would just be silly.”

“Oh, I see. The candles that the stick man is w-walking on are supposed to represent rituals. The lips are verbal, the stick man is, erm, physical, you s-said?” He tapped his pen on his lip.

“Correct.” Shacia blew out the candle, watching its smoke twirl and dance.

“Then the eyeball is…” He furrowed his brow. “I… don’t get it.”

Shacia sighed, scrunching up her face. “I’ll try to demonstrate, but it’s not easy for me.”

She inhaled sharply, lifted the candle to eye level, and leered, fiercely, almost maliciously, at the wick. Rorri swore he saw her irises glow, but it could have been a reflection of the weak sparking, sputtering and popping that preempted the tiny flame’s birth. Shacia glared, and it vanished, as if offended.

“Regardless,” she huffed, “each method uses some part of your body as a vessel by which to exert your Will. Some people combine methods, and some magic necessitates such combinations. Rituals are an exception, but ritual magic tends to have different applications, allowing for more complex and sustained effects, which we can get into at a later point, if you have any interest.”

“It sounds tedious,” Rorri said as he sketched his stick-man.

“I don’t disagree.” Shacia drifted towards the table and set the candle in front of him. “I think – and I could be wrong – but I think you already know how to concentrate magic into your limbs.”

Rorri’s hand faltered. He gulped, his head buzzing.

“If it’s the eyeball that speaks to you, try collecting it in your eyes,” she suggested, taking her seat across from him.

“I think I know what went wrong yesterday,” he said. “You’d have to collect it in your mouth to speak a magic word, right?”

“Correct.”

“I had it in my fingers…” He sighed and switched his attention back to the drawing, manipulating the pen with rough, harsh strokes.

“I’m sure you can work magic with your fingers, too—”

She flinched, stopped, and squeezed her eyes shut. Rorri’s eyes widened, but he kept them glued to the paper, refusing to look at her.

“Maybe a combination approach would work best for you,” she quickly recovered, maintaining her level, authoritative tone, in spite of her deeply reddened face.

“M-maybe, yes, I might try that,” Rorri stammered. “Did you w-want me to do that now, or…?”

“Do you think you’re ready?” she said, watching the table’s wood grain closely.

“I think I’m a bit too nervous to perform – p-perform magic, I mean,” he added hastily.

An excruciating silence passed. Rorri’s pen strokes became deeper and harsher. Shacia chewed her fingernail until the tip was gone. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke casually, as if the previous thirty seconds or so had never happened.

“Anxiety is actually quite useful for magic,” she said. “The energy is, at least. The difficulty comes in learning to control it.”

“You don’t seem anxious to me,” he said as he finished the last flame on the ‘ritual candles’. He held his notebook out, still that only he could see it, and observed his work. Shacia leaned forward, clearly trying to glimpse the inside of the forest elf’s book.

“Well, you’ve never heard my inner voice,” she mused. “I’ve learned to control it. It takes practice, obviously.”

“I think…” Rorri sighed through his nose. “I think I might want to practice lighting the candle alone first.”

Shacia nodded and leaned back into her chair. “Consider it your homework, then. You can take that one if you’d like,” she said, gesturing at the blue candle between them.

Rorri hesitated. He had candles at home, of course, so there was no need for hers, yet her offer held a strange appeal, as if she were bequeathing to him a feather from a rare bird, or a flower from a distant land.

“Alright,” he said, gently lifting the candle by its brass basin. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Be sure you’re well-rested during your practice,” she said. “A tired magician is a terrible magician.”

Rorri gave a small chuckle, a wistful cloud passing over his eyes…

“Can I see your notes?”

“What?” Rorri slammed the notebook shut. “W-why do you need to see my notes?”

“I’m just curious,” Shacia said carefully, as if trying not to scare away a skittish cat. “You’re the first professed artist I’ve taught. I’m interested to see your perspective.”

“Yes, well, it’s not – really, it’s not anything special – it sort of just looks like what you had up there, in the floaty ink – it’s just not very good, s-so I’d really rather not show it, if that’s alright—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said. He breathed a tiny sigh of relief, already slipping the notebook into his bag.

In the stillness that followed, Shacia seemed to be pondering something deeply. Rorri studied their shadows on the floor, noting how much they had morphed since the start of the lesson. It felt, at once, like he’d been there forever, and like he’d been there for no time at all.

“Well, if you’re wanting to practice at home, then I think that’s it for today,” Shacia concluded. Rorri nodded, though he felt his disappointment keenly in his chest.

 

At the manor’s front doors, she spun to face him, just as she had the day before. Their eyes met just as briefly, imparting the same inexplicable shock, but the fear in hers was gone, replaced by something else, something he didn’t recognize, something which might not even have a name.

“Arrive at the same time next week,” she instructed, keeping her chin level. “I expect you to be able to light a candle by then.”

“Yes, my Lady,” he replied with a small bow.

Shacia glanced out towards the parlor room, and a handful of servants scattered, suddenly dusting, straightening, and looking very busy. She closed her eyes and muttered under her breath. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but the language was certainly not befitting of a Lady.

“Daaron can take you home,” she said. “Our private coach. Just let him know I’ve sent you. You needn’t make such a long walk twice in a day.”

“Oh, thank you, my Lady,” Rorri said with another bow. A grimace flickered across her lip.

“It’s nothing at all,” she said. “Have a good evening, Mr. Tipón.”

And with that, she hurried away.

 

*******

 

As the carriage descended the ramp, Rorri leafed to the second page of his notebook, silently cursing his carelessness. His tutor’s eyes stared back at him, a strikingly realistic, if not slightly crude rendering. He’d overdone the droop in her eyelid while trying to perfect its shape, but apart from that, it seemed as if she’d melded with the page. She’d come far too close to seeing it. He’d have to tear the page out, lest she sneak a peek during their next lesson.

Still, he didn’t regret doing it, no more than a poet regrets recording his pain, or a singer regrets provoking a tear. There was no shortage of flawless eyes in the world. It was his duty as an artist to immortalize the rare, the strange, the beautifully blemished, and this source material was far too captivating to ignore.

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