The Source of Magic

The light from the candle danced on the rough surface of the parchment which lay on the desk before him.  He glanced over his shoulder at it again, it was almost too incredible to comprehend.

 

He had always hoped, wished even that this day would come.  That his tormented existence was to mean more to the world than the contribution he had made thus far.  But this, this was something he had never expected.

 

He span on his chair and picked up the cool, tactile material and turned it over again.  The handwriting of the address was so precise, perfectly shaped letters and the seal, ah yes the seal in the wax; a sign of assurance.  This was no hoax.

 

He smiled as he re-read the short message on the inside of the parchment.  The naivety that dripped from each word gave him chance to hope.  Only someone so young, so inexperienced would try something of this scale.  However, they had found him.

 

That in itself was no mean feat.  He had removed himself from society many years ago, the constant stream of those wishing to claim his head as a prize made him reluctant to play a larger part in the world.  He did not know that the stories had fed through the hierarchy of the shadowy parts of town, his home avoided rather than simply overlooked.

 

He got up from the desk, walking towards another door which was almost hidden by the gloom.  A large brass key hung from his belt, he fumbled around in the folds of his black robe until his fingers found the smooth cool metal.  He grunted as he turned the handle, pushing his body weight against the wood, it opened with an unenthusiastic creak, dust showering from the frame.  Faust coughed, and pulled at a cobweb that hung before his eyes.

 

The darkness seemed to suck what little light there was in the room down the narrow staircase.  He glanced around for a candle, finding and lighting the largest he could he took a step through the doorway onto the first of many steep stone steps.  A blast of ice-cold air rushed from the bottom of the steps, curling around the naked skin of his ankles.  He shivered as the candle flickered. 

 

It had been a long time since the door had been locked on the old magic; but now he knew what he had to do.

 

At the bottom of the steps the stone turned damp, slippery even.  He steadied himself by grasping at the rough stone wall with his free hand.  Holding the candle aloft he looked at the ancient symbols carved in the wood over the oak door, he gripped the wooden handle and pushed hard.  The door opened without any argument, beckoning him inside.

 

He stepped through the doorway stooping slightly; the narrow, pokey sensation of the stairwell was left outside.  In the gloom he felt the size of the chamber.  His slippered feet felt the deep pile of lush carpet beneath them.  Lighting a candle in a sconce on the wall he looked around.  It smelt musty but not damp like the stairwell, the room was lined with stone benches which stood like rock formations jutting from the scarlet carpet which completely covered the floor of the oval room.  The walls were solid rock, sporadically decorated with tapestries and sconces.  He muttered a few words and the candles burst into life.  He smiled and walked towards the golden alter at the far end of the room where the book of the Dark Arts lay open, waiting.

 

* * *

 

The young wizard closed the shutters, blocking out the light and the world outside.  He rested his body weight against them and panted slightly.  The run up the stairs had made his lungs burn.  He was almost delirious, his hands were shaking, his palms sweaty.  What now?  The months spent searching, hunting for Faust were about to pay off, he hoped.

 

Now he had nothing to do but wait.  He pushed his blonde hair from his eyes with a shaking hand, raking the hair into long furrows over his scalp.  He hated waiting.

 

Patience had never been one of his virtues.  He paced around the room a few times before sitting on the edge of the hard bed, interlocking his fingers, dangling his hands between his knees.  How would he know?  How would word come to him?

 

He lay back staring at the ceiling and sighed loudly.  The Enclave was coming alive now, he heard the bustle of carts and merchants below the tower.  He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds.  He heard someone move in his room and sat up with a start.  In front of him a short, stocky man with a black ponytail and dressed entirely in ebony silk stood.  He said nothing, thrusting a familiar piece of parchment under his nose.

 

With trepidation and trembling hands he took the letter and nodded as he read the scrawled message below his own perfectly scripted text.

 

Preparations were being made, his proposal accepted.  He smiled as he read it, glancing up to thank the man but he had vanished.

 

* * *

 

The dusty brown cobbled streets off the market square were littered with various stalls and small tent like structures made from lengths of opulent silks and satins.  The stalls made up the career fayre which took place annually for various members of the community to find an apprentice for their profession.  People from across the elipse travelled from city to city looking for the perfect person.  Most of the carts and stalls resembled that of a travelling circus.

 

The silken tents were the various magical professions and those of the church.  Amongst all the deep purples, scarlet red silk and gold embossing on the sidelines nearest the drystone wall sat a plump wizard.  He had no opulent tent, simply a small wooden fold-out fishing table and a small stool.  He was slouched out in the morning sun, his legs stretched before him crossed at the ankles and his plump arms were folded across his stomach.  He had pulled his slightly drooping scarlet hat down over his eyes and appeared to be snoring.

 

His name was Dreyfus Albertum Moon.  It was the first time in roughly 10 years that Dreyfus had come down to the career fayre.  His good friend Maggy had concocted an convincing argument that he needed to slow down in his advancing years and teach the trade to someone capable of taking over when Dreyfus finally decided to retire.  He snorted under his hat, she hadn’t come down to get an apprentice.

 

Dreyfus was a rather round gentleman in a dark crimson crushed velvet robe with golden embroidered ivy down the openings and the cuffs.  The pockets were large and made of a sheer fabric which reflected the light and painted the folds a light vermillion.  The tie belt around his waist was a thin golden and scarlet braid, it was pulled tight around his bulging belly.  His face appeared to show no age, his complexion was like that of a small child, soft and glowing.  His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were a dark brown, looking almost black.  He had no real hair to speak of apart from a few small brown wisps which were still visible around the back of his head.

 

The stagecoach stopped at the bottom of the village square and more young men and women alighted, expectantly all moving towards the magical portion of the fayre.  Most were turned away and moved towards the butchers or bakers section, some even to the blacksmiths.

 

Dreyfus sat for a long time with no one approaching him, which was just how he liked it.  He didn’t think that he needed an apprentice, he had managed sufficiently well until now.  He knew Maggy would probably lecture him some more, however lounging in the warm sun was fuelling his ability to care.  He lifted the rim of his hat and looked out at the spotty youth that had stopped before him.  He wore a long black robe, his head was shaved but his scalp had a ginger hue.  His teeth were bucked and his skin pasty and sweaty.

 

“Yes?”  Dreyfus encouraged the boy.

 

“I’m looking for the Dark Arts.”

 

Dreyfus pointed to the black and silver velvet tent, more opulent than the rest behind him.  Strangely enough it had the longest queue which consisted of young men and women, most had very pale to excessively white skin and dark eye make-up, even the boys.  Every single one had dark or black long hair and various pieces of metal protruding from ears and noses.  Dreyfus turned back to the youth, he looked him up and down and watched as the boy wandered off to join the queue.

 

No-one else spoke to Dreyfus for the rest of the day.  The Dark Arts tent had packed up some time ago and left with two apprentices.  Dreyfus hadn’t seen them go, nor did he care to have done.  He was however slightly surprised at the length of time he had been asleep.

 

He sat upright, almost toppling off the stool and looked around as he pulled his hat back onto the top of his balding head.  Most of the career stalls were packed up and he was sat almost alone apart from the Roman Guard stall and the publicans stall; which surprised him.  However, he thought, it took a certain type of person to run a tavern in Muir or even some of the parts of Scorpi which could be less than desirable.

 

There were hardly any budding apprentices left milling around.  The stagecoach had ceased running and the sun was beginning to sink.  Mission accomplished he thought to himself as he started to fold up the table and stool.  He was stuffing pamphlets into the pockets of his robe when he heard shuffling feet on the cobblestone which seemed to stop directly behind him.

 

“The Dark Arts tent left a while ago.”  Dreyfus said without turning around.

 

“No, we were looking for you Mister Dreyfus.”  Came a female voice in response.

 

Dreyfus spun round, he came face to face with a small elderly lady.  She was thin and severe looking.  Her face resembled an old dirty napkin.  Her wrinkles looked like furrows on a newly ploughed field.  Her hair was silver and hung about her shoulders.  She wore a long blue and white gingham pinafore dress and black walking boots.  Dreyfus tried his best to smile at her.

 

“Surely you don’t mean…”  Dreyfus started.

 

“Oh no, I’m far too old for magic.  I meant my son.” She said looking at a relieved wizard.

 

She shoved the young man forward.  He had been stood behind her, looking in the opposite direction, back towards the hills.  Dreyfus looked at the slight creature.  He stood just taller than his mother but just as thin, his hair golden and hung in front of his eyes almost resembling a mop.  He wore short brown trousers and a sleeveless top made of sacking material.  Dreyfus found himself scratching his chest sympathetically.

 

“Bart, stand up straight!”  His mother barked.  Bart didn’t change his posture.  “Mister Dreyfus, this is my son Bart.”

 

Dreyfus nodded.

 

“I wasn’t really looking for an apprentice.  I was simply overseeing events of the career fayre you see.”  He gabbled looking sidelong at the boy who was staring at his feet.

 

“But Mister Dreyfus, you have to take him on.  I don’t know what I shall do with him if you don’t.  He’s no use to me or his father on the farm.  Head always in the clouds, nose forever in a book.”

 

Dreyfus looked into the beady eyes of Bart’s mother.  Her jaw was clenched tightly shut.  He didn’t like the idea of arguing with her. 

 

“Do you know any magic Bart?”  Dreyfus asked moving towards the boy.

 

“He doesn’t.”

 

“Oh, are you interested in magic then Bart?”

 

“Of course he is!”

 

“Bart, you do have a tongue in your head don’t you lad?”

 

Bart looked up and nodded.

 

“He just wants to learn Mister Dreyfus.  Of course me and his father are happy to pay for his board.”

 

Bart’s eyes met Dreyfus’.  They were an emerald green which looked too clear to be normal and a wisdom which argued his age.  Dreyfus felt a bolt of energy run up his spine.  He shuddered.

 

“That will not be necessary madam.  I will teach the boy what I can.”  Bart bowed his head again.

 

Dreyfus nodded to Bart’s mother to step to one side.

 

“How old is your son?”

 

“Twenty I think.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Well yes, he was very young when he come to us on the farm.”

 

“He is not your natural son then?”

 

“No, he aint.  But me and his father have loved him like he was our own.”

 

Dreyfus nodded distractedly.  There was something about the boy’s eyes that was troubling him.

 

Dreyfus watched from a distance as Bart said goodbye to his mother and watched her walk away, back on to dust trail that led out of town.  After a while he turned to face Dreyfus.

 

“Mum can be a bit determined.”

 

“I’d noticed.  Here take this.” Dreyfus said pushing the stool into Bart’s outstretched hand.

 

“Do you have everything you need?”  Dreyfus asked picking up the table.

 

“I have everything I have.”  Bart said turning towards the path.

 

The walk back to Dreyfus’ house was conducted in silence.  The wizard kept opening his mouth to ask questions but it seemed that the words just would not come out.  In fact Bart said nothing throughout the tour of the house and the grounds, not until he was shown his room.

 

“Thank you.”  Bart said sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

Dreyfus nodded and left the room.  He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He made his way slowly to the library where he selected a large maroon leather bound book from the shelf.  He sat in the battered burgundy leather chair at the desk and began to read.

 

* * *

 

Dreyfus awoke to the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen.  He sat bolt upright, his face sticking momentarily to the page of the book he was reading the night before.  He felt a twinge in his neck and grimaced.  He had to stop doing that.  He had a perfectly comfortable bed.  Something still troubled him as he got to his feet and walked down the corridor to the kitchen.

 

The corridor to the kitchen was an engineering marvel.  Most of the walls and ceiling were made up of various windows of every shape and colour imaginable.  The previous owner of the house had loved glass and anything which could be made of it.  Dreyfus did not mind the windows however, the sculptured glass staircase had to be removed.  It wasn’t dignified to walk up glass stairs in a robe, especially when you had guests.

 

The door of the kitchen stood ajar.  All the cupboard doors were flung open and every surface was covered in plates, pots and pans.  The sink was full of bubbles.  Dreyfus looked around and then looked at the floor where Bart sat cross-legged with a large brass pot in his lap.

 

“Good morning.”  Bart chirped.

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Cleaning and organising.  Mum always had a place for everything in the kitchen and she always liked her pots shining.”  He went back to polishing the brass pot.

 

“Really?  Have you been doing this long?”

 

“Since about 5am.  I’m used to being up early with living on the farm.”

 

“You do realise that there are spells for this sort of thing?”

 

Bart nodded but carried on polishing.  “I don’t know them yet, and there is something satisfying about hard work well done.”

 

“Very well.”  Dreyfus smiled.  “I will go and change my robe and we can start your first magic lesson.”

 

Bart smiled.

 

Bart had completely cleared the kitchen surfaces when Dreyfus returned to the kitchen.  Everything gleamed like it was brand new.  Bart who looked pleased with himself was sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of steaming porridge.

 

“I made you a bowl too.”  He said without looking up.  “Everyone needs a good breakfast, mum says so.”

 

Dreyfus took a seat and tasted the porridge.  It was rather good.

 

They sat in silence while they ate, quite a comfortable silence.

 

Bart’s first magic lesson consisted of much making notes and a tour of the laboratory in detail being told the uses for every different vial and test tube.  Bart seemed to be taking it all in quite effortlessly.  He smiled and nodded and Dreyfus felt confident that the boy actually understood some of the ideas he was putting to him.  Bart asked no questions and followed Dreyfus around the lab as though he already knew where everything was. 

 

After the tour of the lab and some lunch which Bart again made, Dreyfus decided to show Bart his spell book.  It was a large book, about the length of Bart’s forearm and was very heavy.  It took a lot of effort for Bart to lift it onto the table in the library.  Dreyfus began to explain the history of the book.

 

“This book is thousands of years old.  It has changed from many different scripts and travelled across all the continents until it found its way here.  There is every chance that this book has saved the world and doomed it on many occasions.  I have no idea how the book came to be here, it is at the grace of the Great God Yin that it is mine and I have been able to use it to do good.”

 

Bart flicked through a few pages.  “When do you think I will be ready to try some of these spells?”  He asked looking down at the displacement spell.

 

“That depends on how adept you are.”  Dreyfus said moving towards the bookcases.

 

“I’ve never done magic before, mum said that she thought I would be good at it.”

 

“What do you think?”  Dreyfus asked turning to look at the boy.  “Do you think you will be good at it?”

 

“I don’t know.  I used to have these dreams when I was little that I was the greatest wizard that ever lived and that I saved the world.  Me and my sisters used to play wizards and dragons, from the stories that mum and dad told us.  They were always princesses and I had to rescue them from being eaten.  I could always imagine what the dragons looked like.  Mum said I had a gift of imagination, since dragons don’t exist.”

 

“Do you miss your family?”

 

“Not really.  It was always manic at home.  My sisters were always arguing and fighting.  I had to spend all my time helping dad with the farm even in the cold and rain.  Besides, I have always known that they weren’t my real family.”  He looked at Dreyfus’ confused expression.  “They never said anything, I just didn’t fit in.  You know?”

 

Dreyfus nodded.  Bart smiled and flicked a few more pages.  “Maybe my real father was a wizard or a sorcerer.  Do you think I will ever find out?”

 

“Anything is possible.  Do you want to try a spell?”

 

Bart nodded jumping to his feet.  “Which one?!”

 

“Well we had best start with a small one, just in case.”  Bart started to roll up the sleeves of the huge midnight blue robe he had been given.

 

In the kitchen Dreyfus stopped Bart in front of the sink.  The dishes and plates from their lunch sat in a pile covered in crumbs and grease from the pork.  Dreyfus pointed to the sink, muttered a few words and the plates jumped out of the sink and onto the sideboard.

 

“Let’s try a domestic spell.”  He said looking at Bart who was about the burst with excitement.  “If you do this, and say that then the sink will fill with water and wash the dishes itself.”  He said pointing to a passage in the spell book which rested on the kitchen table.

 

Bart nodded and followed the directions.

 

“Now keep concentrating otherwise…”

 

Dreyfus stopped as a plate slipped from the sideboard and smashed on the floor.

 

“…That will happen.”  He finished.

 

“Sorry!”  Bart looked startled.

 

“That’s ok, I will teach you the spell to fix it back together next.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks Bart had mastered the cleaning spell for washing dishes, had learned a few for working in the garden and spent most of his time cooking or reading.  Dreyfus was quite enjoying having the boy around.  He was someone to talk to and the uneasy feeling was starting to subside.  There was something about the lad which made Dreyfus take stock every now and again. 

 

Maggy had seen it too when she had visited after the first week of Bart being at the house.  She had found him friendly and sweet but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen him before.  She had been told about the farm on which he grew up, almost seven miles outside of Scorpi and that he had very rarely come into town because he had to help his father.  Nevertheless Maggy had stared at the boy until her eyes watered.

 

Maggy had been quite impressed with Dreyfus’ choice of apprentice.  Bart was polite and efficient and looked keen to learn.  However, she had been surprised to hear about the queue at the Dark Arts tent.

 

“I’m impressed with Bart.”  Maggy said through a mouthful of biscuit.  “He seems very keen.  I bet you are wondering why you waited so long to get another apprentice.”

 

Dreyfus looked sidelong at Maggy and sighed.  “You know why I did, after what happened with the last one!  It makes you judge people.”

 

Maggy nodded.  Dreyfus’ old apprentice had not been the most trustworthy of people.  It had not been an amicable relationship in anyway and had led to a slight divide in the magical community.  Gavinoire Fisher had moved on to work at the Magic Enclave, there was something to be said for someone who could divide the magical community like that, he had been seen as a valuable commodity to have, or a very risky one in some people’s opinions.

 

Maggy decided that it might be best to change the subject.

 

“Who is teaching Dark Arts these days? I thought it went out of fashion, what with all that dancing naked on hill tops and stuff, people were getting terrible head colds.”  She asked sipping her tea.

 

She had a kindly face, matched by her disposition.  She was tall and slender, quite strange for an aging witch.  She had long grey hair that was tied up tightly in a bun.  She wore half moon glasses that were perched on the end of her roman nose.  She had no warts, only a small brown beauty spot below her right eye.  She was quite attractive for a witch.  The traditional black robes were present, only for affect but no occult jewellery, she didn’t believe in that hocus pocus.  Her hat was bent, ever since she washed it in soapy lemon water by mistake.  There were various cobwebs hanging from her hat brim and her sleeves.

 

“I have no idea, I never saw who was in the tent.  It was very over the top, as you would expect.  Perhaps they have decided against the naked dancing on hill tops, this is a new century after all.”  Dreyfus answered as Bart came into the room.

 

“Were you not interested in the Dark Arts Bart?”  Maggy asked teasing Dreyfus.

 

“No.”  Bart said and sat down.

 

Dreyfus seemed satisfied by this.  “Help yourself to some tea Bart.”

 

“No thank you.  I am just going to read if that is ok?”

 

Dreyfus nodded and turned his attention back to Maggy.

 

“I didn’t think that the Magic Council were allowing Dark Arts Masters, let alone apprentices.  They caused so much trouble learning some of that stuff.”  Maggy mused.

 

“I know.  It might be worth looking into that at some point.  Maybe the Council can give us some answers.  I might write to them.” Dreyfus almost flinched as he suggested it.

 

“I doubt you will get very far, they don’t like intervention.”

 

“I know, but it is worth a try, there has to be some reason that this form of magic has reared its ugly head again.”

 

Bart looked up from his book.  “Why have you not had an apprentice for a long time?”

 

Maggy looked from Bart to Dreyfus.

 

“I found that most people that wanted to learn magic did not want to for very positive reasons.”

 

Bart turned back to his book but said “I never understood world domination.”

 

Maggy laughed.  “I definitely think you have found the perfect apprentice Dreyfus.”

 

Dreyfus smiled back at her.  He knew that he had made the right decision.  Bart was learning quickly and applying himself to the craft.  He had mastered a few spells which he had taught himself and always had his nose in a book.  He was striving to be the best apprentice that Dreyfus had ever had, and seemed to be managing it.

 

Dreyfus did worry that Bart had not heard from his mother in the few weeks that he had been there, although he knew that Bart had written to her on the farm, no response came.  He felt almost sorry for the boy, however Bart seemed to rally on with no contact, happy to be reading and practicing magic.  He was often found in the lab late at night cleaning the flasks by hand as he felt that he learned more about the curves of the glass that way.

 

* * *

 

He shook his head and looked down on the circle of young men and women that bowed and scraped around the fire.  The centre of the carpeted room played host to a small pit, large enough to house the fire.  The chanting had filled the air with a thick film of anticipation.  Magic, real old magic curled around them as they continued to bow.  He looked unimpressed.

 

At his side the short assassin looked on, he felt the hairs on his entire body stand on end as his skin erupted in goosebumps.  His master had said nothing for some time however the expression on his face was contorted into one of sheer malice.  The golden scar scrunched as he pursed his lips.  His black eyes unblinking.

 

“Stop!”  He yelled eventually, stepping down from the alter and onto the deep pile of the carpet which appeared to close around his feet.

 

He walked towards the fire, looking into it, reading it almost.  The youths all sat back on their haunches watching him with interest, afraid to move or speak.  He stopped as he reached the circle and pushed the nearest apprentice over.

 

“Where is it?”  He growled looking between the bemused faces.  “Fetch me the Seeing Stone.”

 

The apprentice he had pushed over scrambled to his feet, rushing to the far side of the room.  He returned tripping on the long black robe he wore and handed a fist sized rock to his master.

 

Faust turned it this way and that in the light, he looked angry.  Eventually he tucked the stone in the pocket of his robe, stalked past the circle and headed for the door.  The stocky man followed.

 

At the top of the stairs Faust pulled the chair away from the desk, grabbed some parchment and began to write, his hand shaking with anger.  He rolled the parchment between his fingers and handed it to the assassin who nodded, he knew what to do.

 

“Adran,”  he started “kill the boy.” 

 

Again the assassin nodded and reached for the rapier through his belt he stepped in through the dark narrow doorway of the stairs and descended to work.

 

Faust took his seat and listened for the scream.  It was satisfying.  Now the others would fall in line.  It was a shame to waste such talent he thought as he took the Seeing Stone from his pocket, but magical talent and imagination were not what he was looking for; now he had to work out how to get the creature where he wanted it.  He looked at the refractions of light dancing on the surface of the stone, a gift from his magical accomplice.  He smiled, finally the world would be put to rights.

 

He looked round as he heard the door to the house close.

 

* * *

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