Hot Obsidian
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The morok was about two centuries old. Einar was the one who had put its head into a formaldehyde jar in the college museum, so he knew that for sure. Just like most mages, Einar Sharlou usually considered the ambasiaths’ way a waste of magical potential. But sometimes, their deeds made him doubt himself. Kosta’s famous victory over the moroks was certainly one of those. And all when he, Sharlou, must finally decide what to do with Pai!
Pai Prior was a talented boy; even more: a boy living and breathing his dream of becoming a mage. He studied so hard, he shone so brightly! He was everything Einar dreamed of being and was never going to be, but instead of getting jealous, the junior magister wanted to help. After these months, the very thought of letting such talent go to waste became unbearable to Einar Sharlou.
But accepting Pai to the college was easier said than done. Mages and ambasiaths had an unspoken treaty that forbade either side from recruiting children from the other. Overcoming that was no laughing matter, especially for someone standing so low in the mage hierarchy as Einar did…
A scream interrupted Sharlou’s thoughts… a painfully familiar scream.
A Transvolo done properly looks like a ripple in the air for an outside observer, a slight blur similar to the one you see when hot air “dances” above a frying pan or a Firaskian street on a summer day. That ripple plays tricks with the observer’s vision, making it impossible to spot the exact moment when the Transvolo’s caster appears.
The Transvolo witnessed by Einar Sharlou above the college was wrong, horribly wrong. There was no peaceful ripple in the air, no gentle blurring of vision. No, the fabric of reality itself had twisted in a tight knot that burst with a sickening gurgling sound when the caster of that abomination appeared. Pai Prior.
If it wasn’t for Einar Sharlou who had happened to be there by pure chance, that fall would have killed the boy. Yes, Pai knew levitation spells: both his own and the classic one, but lifting yourself with a levitation spell is no easier than lifting yourself by your own bootstraps. Einar caught him with a hastily cast levitation loop just in time.
The magister lifted Pai to the balcony and released him there. The child mage was ghastly pale, his teeth chattered, he trembled like a leaf in the wind, clearly shaken by the experience. His saviour looked no better.
“Let’s go to my study and drink some coffee,” said Einar Sharlou. Pai nodded, a blank expression on his bloodless face.
A cup of steaming coffee and a chocolate cupcake restored Pai in no time – he even started laughing at his mistake – but did little to calm down his young mentor. Einar wanted details – how exactly Pai had cast that horrible Transvolo – and wanted them now.
“You are lucky, lucky kid!” he said, covering his face with his hands. “The basic principles… you don’t understand them at all. I can’t blame you – they take years to learn and comprehend – but attempting Transvolo without them is pure madness…”
“But master Sharlou! I noticed some similarities, patterns, and…” Pai tried to chime in.
“I know,” Einar stopped him and added softly. “I know. You are a very talented lad, Pai, and it shows. But, please, next time, take me with you. I haven’t built my bridge to casting Transvolo yet but I know the theory well. And another thing: don’t experiment with height yet, work on the ground level. Next time, no one may be there to catch you.”
…For many years, Einar Sharlou had been dreaming of this moment, the moment when he would see the stars of Transvolo for the first time. Of course, he had always imagined casting it himself, not just following a thirteen-year-old mage. But the stars were no less beautiful for that.
One of them was closer to them than the others, Einar could even see one of its biggest planets, a gas giant, slowly moving in front of it. So that’s why Pai’s Transvolo was wrong: its path came too close to a star, to an alien sun harbouring alien worlds. For a moment, Einar felt a burning desire to know what kind of worlds they were but he had no chance even to ask; the stars disappeared, replaced by brief darkness followed by the colours and sounds of the real world.
Einar and Pai crash-landed on the library floor and stood up, surrounded by students, magisters, and librarians, all looking at them with their mouths agape. Milian, the only smiling face in all the crowd, put his book aside and cheered the Transvolo mage who, he knew (unlike the rest of the crowd) was Pai and not Einar. Awakened by Milian’s hearty cheer, the library hall roared with happy voices, all praising Sharlou for what they thought he had done.
“Your targeting still needs work,” Einar whispered to Pai. “You missed the spot by four halls!”
“I know,” smiled Pai, almost glowing with pride and joy. “Sorry, master.”
***
“Juel! Pai's learned Transvolo!” That was Jarmin, greeting the team leader with a happy yell when Juel returned from his training on the college grounds. “And I’ve finished my painting!” added the little boy no less happily.
Juel took a deep breath, leaned against the wall and stood there in silence for a while. Then he slowly sank to the floor and sat there, cross-legged and bow-backed like a sullen stone gargoyle on a graveyard.
“Juel, are you okay?” asked Jarmin, all his mirth turned to worry in an instant.
“I’m just tired,” said Juel. He didn’t even try to sound convincing.
After that day’s excruciating training in the blazing sun, the news of Pai’s success became a final blow to the young Faizul. Reality shoved his true mission into his face again and there was nowhere to run. Indeed, if he were to try, his own master, Kangassk Abadar, would find him even beyond the charted lands and kill him, slowly. Same with Irin, Lainuver, and Kosta: their Kangassks took the Order’s oaths as seriously as Juel’s master did. The rest of the boys, those with more liberal masters… the rest Sainar would find and destroy himself.
Juel Hak had no choice. He had to go. And he had to make everyone follow him whether they wanted or not. Strangely, these thoughts helped Juel calm down, and when he did, a dream, fiery, rebellious dream, lit up under his heart again: to subvert the Order’s expectations and instead of sacrificing the boys to the mission, lead them safely to Benai Bay.
Juel’s breath steadied, his emotions stopped their frantic dance; the young warrior was at peace with himself and felt safe on his journey again. It was a false feeling of safety, he knew, but just like wild Faizuls, his people, the ones he didn’t even remember, he used self-deceit often to keep going and knew how to trick himself into believing the lie. So he did.