Chantal Boudreau's Blog, page 44
August 12, 2011
The Colour of Change - a Magic University teaser tale
As the children left the classroom for the last time that year and threaded their way down the hilly trail, their tiny teacher watched them go with a hint of melancholy. The gnomish woman was nothing special to look at. Her hair was a plain brown and simply styled. Her eyes were an equally plain brown and hidden behind reading spectacles. Her clothes were conservatively cut and offered nothing in the way of colour, all neutral, natural shades. With a sigh, she stepped away from the door.
Another of the teachers approached her, a little man with stiff greying hair and friendly eyes.
“So I hear you may be leaving us? Your last year? You’re a little young to be retiring, aren’t you Cerissa?”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet, Mortimer, but the winds of change may be blowing. Not retirement, but possibly a different career path,” she informed him, gathering the papers from her desk.
Her colleague smirked. “Do tell, do tell. What sort of leap were you looking at making? You’ve been a school-teacher all of your life, have you not? Where do you go from there?”
Cerissa gave him a sad smile. She wanted to say supreme Master mage, grand adventuress, world explorer, heroine of exceptional reputation, but all of those things were just silly dreams. For the moment she was just plain old Cerissa June, instructor of the fifth grade. That had been enough for her until recently. It was safe. It was sure. What exactly had happened to her to suddenly make her want something more?
She had looked down at her simple clothing one day and realized that it no longer represented what she wanted to be.
“Anything but ordinary,” she whispered to herself.
“Hunh? What was that?” Mortimer asked.
“Silly man, you know that I’ve been dabbling in magic,” she said more loudly. “I’ve been noviced to Ardelle for five years now. She thinks I’m ready to move on. She says I have an amazing aptitude for transformational spells and she insisted I apply to Magic University. They’re sending someone for my interview later this week. They may not accept me, in which case, I’ll be back here next year, but if they offer me a place in the Trials...well, I guess I’ll have a decision to make then, won’t I?”
Cerissa had already been through this debate in her head, and had come to her conclusions. She was committed to seeing this through, if she was allowed the opportunity to participate in the Trials. She would go, and she would give it her best shot, without looking back. “No regrets” would be her mantra. But Mortimer didn’t need to know that. Her ambitions might not pan out and she did not want his pity if that was how things went.
“Good luck then, Cerissa. You’re a braver person than I. Perhaps what we do isn’t all that exciting, but our job is important, and we leave our mark on the world.”
But had they, Cerissa wondered. They had helped mould young minds, they had invested time and effort in the future, but aside from vague memories some would keep from their childhood, nobody would remember what they had done. Cerissa wanted to leave more of a legacy than that.
She arrived home within the hour and started gathering up the things she wanted to take with her to the interview. When she was done with that, she would prepare supper and after eating she planned on calling it an early night.
“Reeree? Is that you dear?” her elderly mother called from the other room. Cerissa set her bag aside and walked over to the doorway. She had already made arrangements for her sister, Pomona, to come stay with her mother if she was chosen to attend the Trials. Cerissa had avoided marrying, having children and other responsibilities that would tie her down, but one cannot escape aging parents unless nature dictates otherwise and claims them early, as it had with her father. She had put in her time with her mother. Now it would be her siblings’ turn.
“It’s me. I’m just making things ready for the interview. They could be coming as soon as tomorrow. They told me anytime within the week. When I’m done I’ll make us something to eat.”
The white-haired gnomish woman peered at her daughter, her eyesight failing.
“Something for Rex too?” she asked.
“Of course, Mom. I’d never forget Rex.” The albino gecko in question gazed at Cerissa through the glass of his terrarium, blinking his deep pink eyes and flicking his little forked tongue. She had summoned the familiar as one of Ardelle’s final tests, to see if Cerissa was ready for the Admission Trials. The little lizard seemed to suit Cerissa’s personality perfectly. She liked to talk, and he didn’t mind listening.
Her bag packed and supper on the go, Cerissa returned to sit with her mother.
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, Ma, or am I being foolish, chasing crazy dreams?”
“Now, don’t you start fussing over this, Reeree. It’s about time one of my children actually aimed for something bigger. You’ve worked hard to get to this place. I had many dreams I chose not to chase, and I did live to regret it. Isn’t that what you said you weren’t going to do? No regrets? Pommy and Fraser would never leave this place. It’s best that it’s you.”
Cerissa nodded. Her siblings were not the type who would ever stray far from home. Then again, until recently, neither was she. This would be a huge change for her, if she succeeded. She might never find her way back to Smallport, once she left.
Her dreams were rather chaotic that night. At the most vivid point, she found herself standing before a replica of herself, and her double was maligning her in a somewhat cruel way.
“Look at yourself,” the second gnomish woman snapped. “You’re no wizard. Wizards are special – they have spark, they have pizzazz. Why would you ever think you could be anything but ordinary? Your clothes, your eyes and your hair say it all. I’m a nobody. I’m meant to live a small, quiet life in a small, quiet town where nothing ever changes and nobody ever aspires to anything more. What makes you think that you can do it? You’re no explorer. You’re no adventurer. And you certainly aren’t hero material. You were right with what you suggested to your mother. All of this is foolish. Put it away in a little mental box, stash it in some dark corner in the closet of your mind and forget about it. You were never intended to be anything more than Cerissa June, school teacher.”
Cerissa awoke still wallowing in those doubts, something she had promised herself she wouldn’t do. She was startled by an early morning visitor, a messenger who had been sent to inform her that the interviewers from Magic University had already arrived and would be expecting her at the community hall after lunch. She rushed around her little house; tidying up, making sure her mother was tended to and trying to force her negative thoughts out of her mind. When she finally got around to gathering up her magical tool bag and scooping Rex up out of his terrarium she was a nervous wreck. She might not have been, she considered, if her dreams had not been so discouraging.
Cerissa noticed, as she slipped Rex into his special pouch within her bag, that his skin felt odd. She did not know enough about reptiles to determine the cause and hoped her little friend hadn’t fallen ill. His pink eyes were as bright as ever and he did not seem lethargic in any way, so she assumed that it was nothing serious. With a quick goodbye to her mother, she set off for her interview.
The community hall stood at the highest point in town. All of the Shortlands rested within mountainous terrain or the foothills below those mountains. Smallport was no different. The entire town had been built on a hill, and Cerissa, with stubby legs unaccustomed to much climbing, tired quickly. She paused to take a breath by a large bush of hydrangeas, pulling Rex out of her bag to check on him.
“Aw, Rex – I’m so tempted to just turn back and give this up now. How can those interviewers take me seriously? What if that other me in my dream was right? I know I’ll regret it if I don’t try, and I swore to myself that I won’t allow myself to make any choices I know I’ll regret, but I just don’t think I’ll make any sort of impression on them. I need a way to show them that I really am special, no matter what my other me said. I need to show them that I’m ready to change.”
Change was everything here, and not just with regards to her lifestyle. Transformational magic was her strong point and that was what she had to demonstrate to the interviewers. How could she do that while she was struggling to deal with change herself? She had to find something that would strengthen her resolve and give her much needed confidence.
Rex started scrambling frantically about on the rock upon which she had placed him, scratching vigorously at himself. She watched him for a few moments and finally realized why his skin had felt so strange. He was shedding it. Perhaps, she thought, that’s what I need to do too.
If the thing that was bothering her so much was that she was convinced she didn’t match the image of a wizard, that she was too small and plain and that she didn’t stand out, then maybe she needed to shed her skin. What better way to show that transformation was her greatest talent?
Cerissa glanced around for inspiration. The hot pink hydrangea blossoms caught her eye. She had always loved that colour. It was warm, bright and invigorating. It was something that was hard to ignore – just what she wanted. She could shed her plain look with just an infusion of vibrant colour. Touching a single stubby finger to one of the flowers, she spoke the words of a spell she knew very well. Had anyone been observing, it would have seemed to them that the colour poured directly from the flower into the very fabric of her clothing. It also streamed up into the roots of her hair, gradually trickling its way down every strand. The pink even invaded the irises of her eyes. By the time the spell was complete, she no longer looked like a dowdy little school mistress. She was now so colourful it almost hurt to look at her.
“There,” she declared, gathering Rex up to return him to her bag. He could finish his scratching and shedding inside. She now felt like a completely different person and the idea of presenting herself to the interviewers no longer bothered her. “I’m not Cerissa June, school teacher anymore. I’m Reeree, aspiring wizard extraordinaire.”
She took a deep breath, mentally readjusting herself to go meet her destiny.
“Remember – anything but ordinary…and no regrets.”
And with that she set off for her date with fate.
Another of the teachers approached her, a little man with stiff greying hair and friendly eyes.
“So I hear you may be leaving us? Your last year? You’re a little young to be retiring, aren’t you Cerissa?”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet, Mortimer, but the winds of change may be blowing. Not retirement, but possibly a different career path,” she informed him, gathering the papers from her desk.
Her colleague smirked. “Do tell, do tell. What sort of leap were you looking at making? You’ve been a school-teacher all of your life, have you not? Where do you go from there?”
Cerissa gave him a sad smile. She wanted to say supreme Master mage, grand adventuress, world explorer, heroine of exceptional reputation, but all of those things were just silly dreams. For the moment she was just plain old Cerissa June, instructor of the fifth grade. That had been enough for her until recently. It was safe. It was sure. What exactly had happened to her to suddenly make her want something more?
She had looked down at her simple clothing one day and realized that it no longer represented what she wanted to be.
“Anything but ordinary,” she whispered to herself.
“Hunh? What was that?” Mortimer asked.
“Silly man, you know that I’ve been dabbling in magic,” she said more loudly. “I’ve been noviced to Ardelle for five years now. She thinks I’m ready to move on. She says I have an amazing aptitude for transformational spells and she insisted I apply to Magic University. They’re sending someone for my interview later this week. They may not accept me, in which case, I’ll be back here next year, but if they offer me a place in the Trials...well, I guess I’ll have a decision to make then, won’t I?”
Cerissa had already been through this debate in her head, and had come to her conclusions. She was committed to seeing this through, if she was allowed the opportunity to participate in the Trials. She would go, and she would give it her best shot, without looking back. “No regrets” would be her mantra. But Mortimer didn’t need to know that. Her ambitions might not pan out and she did not want his pity if that was how things went.
“Good luck then, Cerissa. You’re a braver person than I. Perhaps what we do isn’t all that exciting, but our job is important, and we leave our mark on the world.”
But had they, Cerissa wondered. They had helped mould young minds, they had invested time and effort in the future, but aside from vague memories some would keep from their childhood, nobody would remember what they had done. Cerissa wanted to leave more of a legacy than that.
She arrived home within the hour and started gathering up the things she wanted to take with her to the interview. When she was done with that, she would prepare supper and after eating she planned on calling it an early night.
“Reeree? Is that you dear?” her elderly mother called from the other room. Cerissa set her bag aside and walked over to the doorway. She had already made arrangements for her sister, Pomona, to come stay with her mother if she was chosen to attend the Trials. Cerissa had avoided marrying, having children and other responsibilities that would tie her down, but one cannot escape aging parents unless nature dictates otherwise and claims them early, as it had with her father. She had put in her time with her mother. Now it would be her siblings’ turn.
“It’s me. I’m just making things ready for the interview. They could be coming as soon as tomorrow. They told me anytime within the week. When I’m done I’ll make us something to eat.”
The white-haired gnomish woman peered at her daughter, her eyesight failing.
“Something for Rex too?” she asked.
“Of course, Mom. I’d never forget Rex.” The albino gecko in question gazed at Cerissa through the glass of his terrarium, blinking his deep pink eyes and flicking his little forked tongue. She had summoned the familiar as one of Ardelle’s final tests, to see if Cerissa was ready for the Admission Trials. The little lizard seemed to suit Cerissa’s personality perfectly. She liked to talk, and he didn’t mind listening.
Her bag packed and supper on the go, Cerissa returned to sit with her mother.
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, Ma, or am I being foolish, chasing crazy dreams?”
“Now, don’t you start fussing over this, Reeree. It’s about time one of my children actually aimed for something bigger. You’ve worked hard to get to this place. I had many dreams I chose not to chase, and I did live to regret it. Isn’t that what you said you weren’t going to do? No regrets? Pommy and Fraser would never leave this place. It’s best that it’s you.”
Cerissa nodded. Her siblings were not the type who would ever stray far from home. Then again, until recently, neither was she. This would be a huge change for her, if she succeeded. She might never find her way back to Smallport, once she left.
Her dreams were rather chaotic that night. At the most vivid point, she found herself standing before a replica of herself, and her double was maligning her in a somewhat cruel way.
“Look at yourself,” the second gnomish woman snapped. “You’re no wizard. Wizards are special – they have spark, they have pizzazz. Why would you ever think you could be anything but ordinary? Your clothes, your eyes and your hair say it all. I’m a nobody. I’m meant to live a small, quiet life in a small, quiet town where nothing ever changes and nobody ever aspires to anything more. What makes you think that you can do it? You’re no explorer. You’re no adventurer. And you certainly aren’t hero material. You were right with what you suggested to your mother. All of this is foolish. Put it away in a little mental box, stash it in some dark corner in the closet of your mind and forget about it. You were never intended to be anything more than Cerissa June, school teacher.”
Cerissa awoke still wallowing in those doubts, something she had promised herself she wouldn’t do. She was startled by an early morning visitor, a messenger who had been sent to inform her that the interviewers from Magic University had already arrived and would be expecting her at the community hall after lunch. She rushed around her little house; tidying up, making sure her mother was tended to and trying to force her negative thoughts out of her mind. When she finally got around to gathering up her magical tool bag and scooping Rex up out of his terrarium she was a nervous wreck. She might not have been, she considered, if her dreams had not been so discouraging.
Cerissa noticed, as she slipped Rex into his special pouch within her bag, that his skin felt odd. She did not know enough about reptiles to determine the cause and hoped her little friend hadn’t fallen ill. His pink eyes were as bright as ever and he did not seem lethargic in any way, so she assumed that it was nothing serious. With a quick goodbye to her mother, she set off for her interview.
The community hall stood at the highest point in town. All of the Shortlands rested within mountainous terrain or the foothills below those mountains. Smallport was no different. The entire town had been built on a hill, and Cerissa, with stubby legs unaccustomed to much climbing, tired quickly. She paused to take a breath by a large bush of hydrangeas, pulling Rex out of her bag to check on him.
“Aw, Rex – I’m so tempted to just turn back and give this up now. How can those interviewers take me seriously? What if that other me in my dream was right? I know I’ll regret it if I don’t try, and I swore to myself that I won’t allow myself to make any choices I know I’ll regret, but I just don’t think I’ll make any sort of impression on them. I need a way to show them that I really am special, no matter what my other me said. I need to show them that I’m ready to change.”
Change was everything here, and not just with regards to her lifestyle. Transformational magic was her strong point and that was what she had to demonstrate to the interviewers. How could she do that while she was struggling to deal with change herself? She had to find something that would strengthen her resolve and give her much needed confidence.
Rex started scrambling frantically about on the rock upon which she had placed him, scratching vigorously at himself. She watched him for a few moments and finally realized why his skin had felt so strange. He was shedding it. Perhaps, she thought, that’s what I need to do too.
If the thing that was bothering her so much was that she was convinced she didn’t match the image of a wizard, that she was too small and plain and that she didn’t stand out, then maybe she needed to shed her skin. What better way to show that transformation was her greatest talent?
Cerissa glanced around for inspiration. The hot pink hydrangea blossoms caught her eye. She had always loved that colour. It was warm, bright and invigorating. It was something that was hard to ignore – just what she wanted. She could shed her plain look with just an infusion of vibrant colour. Touching a single stubby finger to one of the flowers, she spoke the words of a spell she knew very well. Had anyone been observing, it would have seemed to them that the colour poured directly from the flower into the very fabric of her clothing. It also streamed up into the roots of her hair, gradually trickling its way down every strand. The pink even invaded the irises of her eyes. By the time the spell was complete, she no longer looked like a dowdy little school mistress. She was now so colourful it almost hurt to look at her.
“There,” she declared, gathering Rex up to return him to her bag. He could finish his scratching and shedding inside. She now felt like a completely different person and the idea of presenting herself to the interviewers no longer bothered her. “I’m not Cerissa June, school teacher anymore. I’m Reeree, aspiring wizard extraordinaire.”
She took a deep breath, mentally readjusting herself to go meet her destiny.
“Remember – anything but ordinary…and no regrets.”
And with that she set off for her date with fate.
August 5, 2011
Genre Engendered
When I write, I’m just a person, according to several of my readers, and that’s as it should be. What do I mean by that?
This seems to be a week of people questioning the relevance of gender in speculative fiction of various genres: from whether or not there is a bias for or against writers of certain genders in certain genres, if there are truly ways of “writing like a girl” vs “writing like a guy,” and whether or not gender stereotypes are as prevalent in speculative fiction as the used to be – for example, is the strong female character as common or more so than the damsel in distress? I decided I wanted to offer my view on the matter, including why I’m pleased that I’m often considered an androgynous writer – that my writing doesn’t necessarily reflect my gender.
One blog entry regarding the Inter Galactic Medicine Show magazine - http://www.magicalwords.net/edmund-r.... - went as far as to compare their submissions and percentage of acceptances on a gender basis, and suggested that since the percentages were fairly similar, the fault of their fewer female acceptances to male acceptances fell squarely on the shoulders of those submitting – that if they received similar numbers of submissions, they would have comparable male to female writer content. That begs the question then: why are fewer females submitting?
As a writer of various genres, I know my answer is: perceived expectations. When I first began writing speculative fiction, I wrote strictly fantasy. My writing style then was “fluffier” and more whimsical; I preferred happy endings and tried to write things that were awe-inspiring and beautiful (not that I was very good at it.) I liked to lean towards storylines that were excessively romantic and emotional, at the expense of a solid storyline and things like action and adventure. Some people would say that I “wrote like a girl”. The writers I read varied, but the women writers trended towards fantasy, whereas the majority of SF and horror was written by men.
As my writing style matured and I changed as a person, it was eventually reflected in my story choices. My fantasy got darker. I moved away from the “pretty and perfect” mode and developed flawed, diverse characters. I stopped aiming for the happy ending and tried to achieve more powerful, meaningful ones instead, even if it meant exceptionally tragic endings in some instances. My female characters reflected more of my own personality and they became more rugged, more stubborn, and in some cases more domineering. Some would say that I stopped “writing like a girl”, although my stories still usually include an emotional element along with the action, the darkness and the gore. I strayed into horror, where I found a comfortable niche, and to my surprise a very inviting and encouraging circle of writers, readers and publishers. Why was I surprised? Ill-conceived notions, based on what I had seen to that point, that horror and SF were genres that favoured men.
I’ve had an initial amount of success since then – just a start, but I hope to see that grow. I haven’t submitted much to magazines like IGMS, but that’s more out of a desire for creative freedom. From my limited experience as a writer, as well as from what I’ve seen as a reader, those types of magazines have very rigid requirements, both stylistically and on a technical level. They like clean lines between their genres and fairly formulaic structures to the stories they accept, but perhaps that does explain why they get fewer submissions from women. If it takes a bit of an oddball leap to enter a genre dominated by the opposite sex, then the resulting stories written by those women are bound to be different from the norm as well. As a writer, we are taught very early to match our submissions to the typical content of the venue in question. If my different writing style and unusual approach to the genre clashes with your “traditional” content, I’ll probably refrain from submitting. I’ve seen very talented female genre writers struggling to get published because they don’t fit into any of the neat, tidy boxes out there. Readers are losing out as a result, but hopefully the current drastic changes in publishing will help to correct that, giving the truly creative more methods for sharing their work.
Are there ways of resolving the imbalance, or should we even bother? Personally, I’m very comfortable with the space I’ve carved out for myself, and acceptance of my work, plus respect for me as a writer, seems to be growing every day. If I ever “make it”, I hope to be able to mentor other female rookie writers in the genres that I prefer. There doesn’t seem to be enough of that going around, although there are some fabulous female support groups, like Broad Universe and Wicked Women Writers.
One commenter to the blog post regarding IGMS suggested that they might actually want to woo more women or writers of different ethnicities, to counter any faulty perceptions that happened to exist about their publication. I don’t necessarily think that some sort of affirmative action plan is the solution, but I’m sure that there are minor changes that could be undertaken to make submitting to their magazine more inviting to women, I’m just not sure how willing any of the existing publications are going to be to make those changes.
What does the future hold for female writers in male-dominated genres? Everything is pretty fuzzy in the publishing industry right now, but if male writers like Nicholas Sparks can be genuine successful in a female-dominated genre like romance, it bodes well for us on the other side of the spectrum.
In the meantime...I’m just going to keep writing like a person.
This seems to be a week of people questioning the relevance of gender in speculative fiction of various genres: from whether or not there is a bias for or against writers of certain genders in certain genres, if there are truly ways of “writing like a girl” vs “writing like a guy,” and whether or not gender stereotypes are as prevalent in speculative fiction as the used to be – for example, is the strong female character as common or more so than the damsel in distress? I decided I wanted to offer my view on the matter, including why I’m pleased that I’m often considered an androgynous writer – that my writing doesn’t necessarily reflect my gender.
One blog entry regarding the Inter Galactic Medicine Show magazine - http://www.magicalwords.net/edmund-r.... - went as far as to compare their submissions and percentage of acceptances on a gender basis, and suggested that since the percentages were fairly similar, the fault of their fewer female acceptances to male acceptances fell squarely on the shoulders of those submitting – that if they received similar numbers of submissions, they would have comparable male to female writer content. That begs the question then: why are fewer females submitting?
As a writer of various genres, I know my answer is: perceived expectations. When I first began writing speculative fiction, I wrote strictly fantasy. My writing style then was “fluffier” and more whimsical; I preferred happy endings and tried to write things that were awe-inspiring and beautiful (not that I was very good at it.) I liked to lean towards storylines that were excessively romantic and emotional, at the expense of a solid storyline and things like action and adventure. Some people would say that I “wrote like a girl”. The writers I read varied, but the women writers trended towards fantasy, whereas the majority of SF and horror was written by men.
As my writing style matured and I changed as a person, it was eventually reflected in my story choices. My fantasy got darker. I moved away from the “pretty and perfect” mode and developed flawed, diverse characters. I stopped aiming for the happy ending and tried to achieve more powerful, meaningful ones instead, even if it meant exceptionally tragic endings in some instances. My female characters reflected more of my own personality and they became more rugged, more stubborn, and in some cases more domineering. Some would say that I stopped “writing like a girl”, although my stories still usually include an emotional element along with the action, the darkness and the gore. I strayed into horror, where I found a comfortable niche, and to my surprise a very inviting and encouraging circle of writers, readers and publishers. Why was I surprised? Ill-conceived notions, based on what I had seen to that point, that horror and SF were genres that favoured men.
I’ve had an initial amount of success since then – just a start, but I hope to see that grow. I haven’t submitted much to magazines like IGMS, but that’s more out of a desire for creative freedom. From my limited experience as a writer, as well as from what I’ve seen as a reader, those types of magazines have very rigid requirements, both stylistically and on a technical level. They like clean lines between their genres and fairly formulaic structures to the stories they accept, but perhaps that does explain why they get fewer submissions from women. If it takes a bit of an oddball leap to enter a genre dominated by the opposite sex, then the resulting stories written by those women are bound to be different from the norm as well. As a writer, we are taught very early to match our submissions to the typical content of the venue in question. If my different writing style and unusual approach to the genre clashes with your “traditional” content, I’ll probably refrain from submitting. I’ve seen very talented female genre writers struggling to get published because they don’t fit into any of the neat, tidy boxes out there. Readers are losing out as a result, but hopefully the current drastic changes in publishing will help to correct that, giving the truly creative more methods for sharing their work.
Are there ways of resolving the imbalance, or should we even bother? Personally, I’m very comfortable with the space I’ve carved out for myself, and acceptance of my work, plus respect for me as a writer, seems to be growing every day. If I ever “make it”, I hope to be able to mentor other female rookie writers in the genres that I prefer. There doesn’t seem to be enough of that going around, although there are some fabulous female support groups, like Broad Universe and Wicked Women Writers.
One commenter to the blog post regarding IGMS suggested that they might actually want to woo more women or writers of different ethnicities, to counter any faulty perceptions that happened to exist about their publication. I don’t necessarily think that some sort of affirmative action plan is the solution, but I’m sure that there are minor changes that could be undertaken to make submitting to their magazine more inviting to women, I’m just not sure how willing any of the existing publications are going to be to make those changes.
What does the future hold for female writers in male-dominated genres? Everything is pretty fuzzy in the publishing industry right now, but if male writers like Nicholas Sparks can be genuine successful in a female-dominated genre like romance, it bodes well for us on the other side of the spectrum.
In the meantime...I’m just going to keep writing like a person.
July 29, 2011
Another Magic University teaser tale
And this one is actually called “Tease”. This little story introduces Urwick, the dark elf competitor in Masters & Renegades #1: Magic University. But Urwick has a secret...
Tease
Urwick peered in through the entrance to Astra’s Alehouse. It wasn’t his usual haunt, but it would have to do. His favourite tavern was off limits until he was finished participating in the Magic University Elite Seat Admission Trials. He could not go home or be with the one he loved until he had run the course of the Trials either. With all that in mind, and time to waste, this seemed like his best option.
If nothing else, Urwick would blend in at Astra’s. He would get a few strange looks because of his dark skin and moonlight-coloured hair, but most of the people who frequented Astra’s were associated in some way with the University, so the presence of a dark elf wouldn’t be unheard of. The University attracted all sorts.
Urwick made his way quietly to a table in one of the dimly lit corners of the establishment. He wanted to keep to himself in case anyone did recognize him. Students and faculty at the Alehouse generally didn’t mingle, and if he made it clear he didn’t want company, the assortment of patrons would likely respect that.
He sighed and eased himself back into his chair. It was going to be a lonely and boring evening. He hoped the Alehouse would have some kind of entertainment, to make the time pass a little faster. In the meantime, he decided to order a half decanter of wine. It would take the edge off of his mood and help him to relax.
Urwick decided that it would be prudent not to indulge in a full decanter, as tempting as the idea was. While he wasn’t concerned how imbibing would affect his performance the following day, he wanted to be reasonably alert. He would be observing, taking notes and drawing conclusions, and it wouldn’t do to have an alcoholic fog blurring his thoughts, not to mention that navigating the trails of the Trials would be unpleasant with a hangover.
He called over the serving girl and placed his order. While waiting for her return, Urwick scanned the tavern for items of interest. There were a few vaguely familiar faces, but most people were ignoring him, including those he suspected he might know. His own preferred watering hole was the focus of patrons looking for a more casual leisure time. It tended to be crowded and boisterous, and all about having fun. Astra’s was much more reserved. There were usually elements of political posturing within its walls, cliquish groups and those who aspired to network. The sycophants and their lack of sincerity left a foul taste in Urwick’s mouth, but all of that had become the norm at the University. Sometimes he asked himself why he was even bothering with the Admission Trials, or with the University at all, but every time the notion rose to the surface, fate would find a way to remind him exactly why.
As the barmaid arrived with his wine, and Urwick tipped her well with instructions to leave him be, he noticed the attention of several of Astra’s patrons had been redirected to the front of the Alehouse. Pouring his first glass of wine, he craned his neck to see if he could get a glimpse at what they were finding so interesting. He had just lifted the glass to his lips and had taken his first sip, when he caught a glimmer of green out of the corner of his silvery eye.
Urwick almost choked on his wine, straining to get a better view. The form of a woman moved through the crowd, an extraordinary woman whose skin was the colour of forest foliage and whose hair fell in lively greenish-brown curls across her shoulders – a dryad. Urwick’s heart raced when her wide emerald eyes met his, and he tensed until he realized that she was not approaching his table. Instead, she moved to the space directly across the room from his and took a seat at the best lit part of the table there.
Urwick was not the only one watching her at first, but she shot dismissive glances at the others looking her way, and eventually the only exchange remaining was the one between dark elf and dryad. While such tactics might not work elsewhere, everyone at Astra’s knew that anybody frequenting the Alehouse was possibly a very powerful mage. You did not disrespect any stranger you met there, aware of the potential consequences. Curious, Urwick leaned back in his chair, fondling the bowl of his wineglass.
“You sadistic temptress,” he murmured. “Why are you doing this to me? You know I can’t acknowledge you. Any of the others could be here, playing witness. This is so cruel.”
Her eyes lit up with mischief. She could not hear him across the loud barroom, but Urwick knew she had some idea what he had said. With a smirk, she shrugged off her mossy-coloured cloak. Urwick drew in his breath sharply and sat up instinctively. She was wearing a very daring, low-cut leafy dress. It left very little to the imagination. She ran a hand slowly over the top of her exposed skin, purposefully to draw his attention there. Her smile widened.
Urwick wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. She was testing the limits of his patience and endurance.
“Playing dirty – this is so not fair,” he sighed. She was toying with him, that much was obvious, and enjoying every moment of it. Urwick suspected there would be some form of retaliation in her future. As much as he wanted to tear his eyes away and focus on his wine instead, the stirrings in his body would not allow it to obey.
Next came the hair toss, another wicked ploy. Phantom sensations teased at Urwick; the silky touch of tresses on skin, the sweet aroma of woodland flowers blended with a hint of pine, none of which he could actually experience from across the room, but he knew them anyway. Scent-associated memories were supposed to be the strongest.
“You wicked seductress,” he breathed, fighting frustration.
This lovely woman had sought him out just to bring him torment. She knew there was nothing more desirable than something you weren’t allowed to have. Maybe that’s why she was insisting on teasing him this way – it was all some sort erotic game for her. She had been in his position herself once, interested in what was tentatively within her reach, but not supposed to touch. She had caved to her desires at that time and had broken the rules for his sake. Urwick liked to believe he had more willpower than that.
The dryad was not satisfied with letting him go with a single gesture. A lithe leg slid out from beneath the table. The slit in her dress allowed the fabric to fall away, exposing her verdant thigh. A few heads turned in response, despite the earlier warning looks she had cast their way. This time her glances to those men were a little more hostile. This was between her and Urwick, her display intended only for him. It was not her fault that he had forced her to seek him out, to prey upon him in a public place. The dark elf tried to resist reacting, but his pulse quickened and he could not force the thoughts of what they would do if he could get his hands on her out of his mind.
“So, you want to prove that I’m just as weak as you,” he whispered before emptying his glass and pouring a second. The wine was supposed to last the evening, but he was looking to it to dull his senses. He would need more than a half decanter for that. If anything, the wine was making him more eager. “You want to show that I’m just as likely to give into my animal urges as you once were; when something that has captivated me has been placed within easy access. I won’t let you win.”
Urwick still didn’t understand why she had suddenly been smitten with him when she had first taken notice of him. He must have done something or said something that had sparked an avid interest, but he might never know what. She kept insisting he knew, but he didn’t.
Urwick was aware that he was the envy of all of the men in Astra’s at that moment. Everyone else there wished they were the centre of the dryad’s attention. She might not be sitting at his table, but she was still managing to create a scene that involved the dark elf, with only subtle movements and hungry looks. Urwick didn’t want that kind of notice. It could make what he had planned next day at the Trials more difficult - if not impossible. Thinking of his obligations, he tore his gaze away from the shimmering vision of green and locked his eyes on the wine glass before him.
It was not an easy task. All of her teasing had left him wanting more. His thoughts kept drifting back to nights of passion, inviting whispers, well-placed hands and firm flesh that yielded deliciously to him along with that haunting but succulent woodsy scent. It constantly drove him to distraction and to the desire to allow his eyes to drink in the sight of her again. He twitched and shifted in his chair again, thankful for the table and shadows that shielded him mostly from view. She would know that her efforts were overpowering him otherwise. She would see that he was sweating and ready to break. All it had taken was that one seed of temptation.
“I won’t give in,” he groaned. “Until tomorrow evening, I don’t know you. You’re a stranger to me, just like you are to the others.”
Urwick downed his second glass of wine, this time without any hesitation. It did not provide him with the liquid courage he sought to fight off her wordless advances. He could hear her soft laughter, even though doing so through the roar and buzz of the crowd would seem impossible. He could imagine her whispering his name. She was too cunning for him, setting up this alluring play. She would be victorious after all.
His reserves of inner strength faltering, Urwick raised his eyes towards her table again. To his surprise, she was gone, but she had left a leafy looking silken scarf on the table, a sign perhaps – a summons. He wondered where she would have disappeared to. Surging to his feet, he strode directly to her table and gathered up the scarf. This was a mean trick, getting him all worked up, and then abandoning him, leaving only this token in her stead.
“Back door,” a man standing beside the table informed Urwick. “She went out the back. There’s an alleyway out there. You might still be able to catch up with her.”
The dark elf nodded a thanks and then swiftly heeded the stranger’s instructions, seeking out the rear exit. The dryad had not headed off down the alleyway, as the man had suggested. She was waiting for Urwick when he emerged from Astra’s and she grabbed him firmly by the wrist. She then gave him a gentle push and pressed him up against the wall, resting her body against his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her moist lips brushing his dark pointy ear. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night. I wanted you now.”
Urwick practically melted there on the spot. He felt exactly the same way.
“Here?”
She laughed at his foolishness.
“I’m desperate, not dumb. I booked a room at the Gilded Drake Inn, third door to your left on the second floor. Only the best for us – it will be like a brief vacation. No one will be watching for us there, and I doubt you’ll run into any of the other candidates. Give me a head start, a couple of minutes, and then you can follow me to the room. I know this means you won’t be all that well rested...”
“I’ll suffer,” Urwick insisted. He wasn’t joking. He could think of no other way he would rather be spending his night, even if it meant he would be dead on his feet the next day.
The woman in green draped her arm around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a lengthy kiss. It left him breathless and starved for more. With a teasing giggle, she released him and scurried off down the alleyway. Urwick sagged against the cold, hard brick of the wall. He was an incredibly fortunate man.
Minutes seemed like hours to him as he waited to give her the head start that she had asked for. It gave him time to contemplate all of the wicked things he would do with her once he was able to catch up with her again. As he finally started out after her, he was glad she was the type who was occasionally willing to overlook the rules. Tonight, he expected they would be breaking all of them.
----------------------------------------------------------
This little tale may have left you with more questions than answers about Urwick and his lady in green. The good news is you can find the answers in Magic University. The bad news is, you’ll have to wait until September to read it.
Tease
Urwick peered in through the entrance to Astra’s Alehouse. It wasn’t his usual haunt, but it would have to do. His favourite tavern was off limits until he was finished participating in the Magic University Elite Seat Admission Trials. He could not go home or be with the one he loved until he had run the course of the Trials either. With all that in mind, and time to waste, this seemed like his best option.
If nothing else, Urwick would blend in at Astra’s. He would get a few strange looks because of his dark skin and moonlight-coloured hair, but most of the people who frequented Astra’s were associated in some way with the University, so the presence of a dark elf wouldn’t be unheard of. The University attracted all sorts.
Urwick made his way quietly to a table in one of the dimly lit corners of the establishment. He wanted to keep to himself in case anyone did recognize him. Students and faculty at the Alehouse generally didn’t mingle, and if he made it clear he didn’t want company, the assortment of patrons would likely respect that.
He sighed and eased himself back into his chair. It was going to be a lonely and boring evening. He hoped the Alehouse would have some kind of entertainment, to make the time pass a little faster. In the meantime, he decided to order a half decanter of wine. It would take the edge off of his mood and help him to relax.
Urwick decided that it would be prudent not to indulge in a full decanter, as tempting as the idea was. While he wasn’t concerned how imbibing would affect his performance the following day, he wanted to be reasonably alert. He would be observing, taking notes and drawing conclusions, and it wouldn’t do to have an alcoholic fog blurring his thoughts, not to mention that navigating the trails of the Trials would be unpleasant with a hangover.
He called over the serving girl and placed his order. While waiting for her return, Urwick scanned the tavern for items of interest. There were a few vaguely familiar faces, but most people were ignoring him, including those he suspected he might know. His own preferred watering hole was the focus of patrons looking for a more casual leisure time. It tended to be crowded and boisterous, and all about having fun. Astra’s was much more reserved. There were usually elements of political posturing within its walls, cliquish groups and those who aspired to network. The sycophants and their lack of sincerity left a foul taste in Urwick’s mouth, but all of that had become the norm at the University. Sometimes he asked himself why he was even bothering with the Admission Trials, or with the University at all, but every time the notion rose to the surface, fate would find a way to remind him exactly why.
As the barmaid arrived with his wine, and Urwick tipped her well with instructions to leave him be, he noticed the attention of several of Astra’s patrons had been redirected to the front of the Alehouse. Pouring his first glass of wine, he craned his neck to see if he could get a glimpse at what they were finding so interesting. He had just lifted the glass to his lips and had taken his first sip, when he caught a glimmer of green out of the corner of his silvery eye.
Urwick almost choked on his wine, straining to get a better view. The form of a woman moved through the crowd, an extraordinary woman whose skin was the colour of forest foliage and whose hair fell in lively greenish-brown curls across her shoulders – a dryad. Urwick’s heart raced when her wide emerald eyes met his, and he tensed until he realized that she was not approaching his table. Instead, she moved to the space directly across the room from his and took a seat at the best lit part of the table there.
Urwick was not the only one watching her at first, but she shot dismissive glances at the others looking her way, and eventually the only exchange remaining was the one between dark elf and dryad. While such tactics might not work elsewhere, everyone at Astra’s knew that anybody frequenting the Alehouse was possibly a very powerful mage. You did not disrespect any stranger you met there, aware of the potential consequences. Curious, Urwick leaned back in his chair, fondling the bowl of his wineglass.
“You sadistic temptress,” he murmured. “Why are you doing this to me? You know I can’t acknowledge you. Any of the others could be here, playing witness. This is so cruel.”
Her eyes lit up with mischief. She could not hear him across the loud barroom, but Urwick knew she had some idea what he had said. With a smirk, she shrugged off her mossy-coloured cloak. Urwick drew in his breath sharply and sat up instinctively. She was wearing a very daring, low-cut leafy dress. It left very little to the imagination. She ran a hand slowly over the top of her exposed skin, purposefully to draw his attention there. Her smile widened.
Urwick wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. She was testing the limits of his patience and endurance.
“Playing dirty – this is so not fair,” he sighed. She was toying with him, that much was obvious, and enjoying every moment of it. Urwick suspected there would be some form of retaliation in her future. As much as he wanted to tear his eyes away and focus on his wine instead, the stirrings in his body would not allow it to obey.
Next came the hair toss, another wicked ploy. Phantom sensations teased at Urwick; the silky touch of tresses on skin, the sweet aroma of woodland flowers blended with a hint of pine, none of which he could actually experience from across the room, but he knew them anyway. Scent-associated memories were supposed to be the strongest.
“You wicked seductress,” he breathed, fighting frustration.
This lovely woman had sought him out just to bring him torment. She knew there was nothing more desirable than something you weren’t allowed to have. Maybe that’s why she was insisting on teasing him this way – it was all some sort erotic game for her. She had been in his position herself once, interested in what was tentatively within her reach, but not supposed to touch. She had caved to her desires at that time and had broken the rules for his sake. Urwick liked to believe he had more willpower than that.
The dryad was not satisfied with letting him go with a single gesture. A lithe leg slid out from beneath the table. The slit in her dress allowed the fabric to fall away, exposing her verdant thigh. A few heads turned in response, despite the earlier warning looks she had cast their way. This time her glances to those men were a little more hostile. This was between her and Urwick, her display intended only for him. It was not her fault that he had forced her to seek him out, to prey upon him in a public place. The dark elf tried to resist reacting, but his pulse quickened and he could not force the thoughts of what they would do if he could get his hands on her out of his mind.
“So, you want to prove that I’m just as weak as you,” he whispered before emptying his glass and pouring a second. The wine was supposed to last the evening, but he was looking to it to dull his senses. He would need more than a half decanter for that. If anything, the wine was making him more eager. “You want to show that I’m just as likely to give into my animal urges as you once were; when something that has captivated me has been placed within easy access. I won’t let you win.”
Urwick still didn’t understand why she had suddenly been smitten with him when she had first taken notice of him. He must have done something or said something that had sparked an avid interest, but he might never know what. She kept insisting he knew, but he didn’t.
Urwick was aware that he was the envy of all of the men in Astra’s at that moment. Everyone else there wished they were the centre of the dryad’s attention. She might not be sitting at his table, but she was still managing to create a scene that involved the dark elf, with only subtle movements and hungry looks. Urwick didn’t want that kind of notice. It could make what he had planned next day at the Trials more difficult - if not impossible. Thinking of his obligations, he tore his gaze away from the shimmering vision of green and locked his eyes on the wine glass before him.
It was not an easy task. All of her teasing had left him wanting more. His thoughts kept drifting back to nights of passion, inviting whispers, well-placed hands and firm flesh that yielded deliciously to him along with that haunting but succulent woodsy scent. It constantly drove him to distraction and to the desire to allow his eyes to drink in the sight of her again. He twitched and shifted in his chair again, thankful for the table and shadows that shielded him mostly from view. She would know that her efforts were overpowering him otherwise. She would see that he was sweating and ready to break. All it had taken was that one seed of temptation.
“I won’t give in,” he groaned. “Until tomorrow evening, I don’t know you. You’re a stranger to me, just like you are to the others.”
Urwick downed his second glass of wine, this time without any hesitation. It did not provide him with the liquid courage he sought to fight off her wordless advances. He could hear her soft laughter, even though doing so through the roar and buzz of the crowd would seem impossible. He could imagine her whispering his name. She was too cunning for him, setting up this alluring play. She would be victorious after all.
His reserves of inner strength faltering, Urwick raised his eyes towards her table again. To his surprise, she was gone, but she had left a leafy looking silken scarf on the table, a sign perhaps – a summons. He wondered where she would have disappeared to. Surging to his feet, he strode directly to her table and gathered up the scarf. This was a mean trick, getting him all worked up, and then abandoning him, leaving only this token in her stead.
“Back door,” a man standing beside the table informed Urwick. “She went out the back. There’s an alleyway out there. You might still be able to catch up with her.”
The dark elf nodded a thanks and then swiftly heeded the stranger’s instructions, seeking out the rear exit. The dryad had not headed off down the alleyway, as the man had suggested. She was waiting for Urwick when he emerged from Astra’s and she grabbed him firmly by the wrist. She then gave him a gentle push and pressed him up against the wall, resting her body against his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her moist lips brushing his dark pointy ear. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night. I wanted you now.”
Urwick practically melted there on the spot. He felt exactly the same way.
“Here?”
She laughed at his foolishness.
“I’m desperate, not dumb. I booked a room at the Gilded Drake Inn, third door to your left on the second floor. Only the best for us – it will be like a brief vacation. No one will be watching for us there, and I doubt you’ll run into any of the other candidates. Give me a head start, a couple of minutes, and then you can follow me to the room. I know this means you won’t be all that well rested...”
“I’ll suffer,” Urwick insisted. He wasn’t joking. He could think of no other way he would rather be spending his night, even if it meant he would be dead on his feet the next day.
The woman in green draped her arm around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a lengthy kiss. It left him breathless and starved for more. With a teasing giggle, she released him and scurried off down the alleyway. Urwick sagged against the cold, hard brick of the wall. He was an incredibly fortunate man.
Minutes seemed like hours to him as he waited to give her the head start that she had asked for. It gave him time to contemplate all of the wicked things he would do with her once he was able to catch up with her again. As he finally started out after her, he was glad she was the type who was occasionally willing to overlook the rules. Tonight, he expected they would be breaking all of them.
----------------------------------------------------------
This little tale may have left you with more questions than answers about Urwick and his lady in green. The good news is you can find the answers in Magic University. The bad news is, you’ll have to wait until September to read it.
July 22, 2011
The Element of Fear
There is not a single self-respecting horror writer who doesn’t have at least a rudimentary understanding of the element of fear. I’m not just talking about graphic gore or general creepiness, I’m referring to the psychological aspect of fear that is an essential part of all horror. It is a focus on that element that can transform startling to downright bone-chilling.
Some people consider the “gross-out” factor the most significant part of horror, or even the air of evil, but if you look at the true masters of the horror genre, their expertise lies in their methods of building suspense and tapping into the more deep-rooted fears of the reader. The most common type of fear you’ll find in horror is the universal fear of death, be it a fear of dying, perhaps at the hands of a serial killer or the claws of some terrible monster, or the fear of things already dead, like ghosts, ghouls or zombies (my favourite, and something you’ll find in several of my published tales). These often tie in easily with the element of gore and shock value, so they tend to be the fears that most novice writer will use.
The more creative tales dig a little deeper, and target other basic fears, common but not all pervasive – claustrophobia, being trapped in a confined space, maybe being buried alive as one possibility, is a situation you might expect to find, fearing heights is another, and fearing for the safety of your loved ones rather than your own personal safety (I used this fear in my story “Silence in the Court”, which appears in May December Publications’ anthology Say Goodnight to the Bad Guy) is another. The majority of readers can relate to these fears and they are fairly easy to introduce into a believable plot.
The stories I find really intriguing are the ones that play off of the more unusual phobias: a fear of clowns, for example, or a fear of the water. These are selective individual fears, and incorporating them into a horror story is more of a challenge because even if the reader does not fear these things him or herself, you need to draw them into that mindset and have them share in the protagonist’s terror. It can be done, and done well, but it’s a tricky endeavour. You have to get under the character’s skin and into their head. You need to make someone who wouldn’t normally fear those things see what would frighten someone who is subject to the phobia. I’ve been trying to capture that feeling in one of my short stories, Driven (I have an excerpt from the story on my Scribd.com account, chantal_boudreau) that explores a scenario from the perspective of a woman afraid of driving who is caught in a traffic jam.
The point is that the element of fear is relative, and the horror writer can either take an easier route and choose a fear common to all, or go with something more obscure and have to work to make it real for the reader. Personally, I like a challenge, so I’ll be trying to write more tales like Driven, and hopefully I can make them just as scary as my others. What puts the fear in you?
Check out my podcast tale, “Rats!” on horroraddicts.net, part of the Wicked Women Writers challenge – listen to all of the stories and vote for your favourite before August 1.
Some people consider the “gross-out” factor the most significant part of horror, or even the air of evil, but if you look at the true masters of the horror genre, their expertise lies in their methods of building suspense and tapping into the more deep-rooted fears of the reader. The most common type of fear you’ll find in horror is the universal fear of death, be it a fear of dying, perhaps at the hands of a serial killer or the claws of some terrible monster, or the fear of things already dead, like ghosts, ghouls or zombies (my favourite, and something you’ll find in several of my published tales). These often tie in easily with the element of gore and shock value, so they tend to be the fears that most novice writer will use.
The more creative tales dig a little deeper, and target other basic fears, common but not all pervasive – claustrophobia, being trapped in a confined space, maybe being buried alive as one possibility, is a situation you might expect to find, fearing heights is another, and fearing for the safety of your loved ones rather than your own personal safety (I used this fear in my story “Silence in the Court”, which appears in May December Publications’ anthology Say Goodnight to the Bad Guy) is another. The majority of readers can relate to these fears and they are fairly easy to introduce into a believable plot.
The stories I find really intriguing are the ones that play off of the more unusual phobias: a fear of clowns, for example, or a fear of the water. These are selective individual fears, and incorporating them into a horror story is more of a challenge because even if the reader does not fear these things him or herself, you need to draw them into that mindset and have them share in the protagonist’s terror. It can be done, and done well, but it’s a tricky endeavour. You have to get under the character’s skin and into their head. You need to make someone who wouldn’t normally fear those things see what would frighten someone who is subject to the phobia. I’ve been trying to capture that feeling in one of my short stories, Driven (I have an excerpt from the story on my Scribd.com account, chantal_boudreau) that explores a scenario from the perspective of a woman afraid of driving who is caught in a traffic jam.
The point is that the element of fear is relative, and the horror writer can either take an easier route and choose a fear common to all, or go with something more obscure and have to work to make it real for the reader. Personally, I like a challenge, so I’ll be trying to write more tales like Driven, and hopefully I can make them just as scary as my others. What puts the fear in you?
Check out my podcast tale, “Rats!” on horroraddicts.net, part of the Wicked Women Writers challenge – listen to all of the stories and vote for your favourite before August 1.
July 16, 2011
Magic University (September Release)Teaser Tale
This post was published to Word Blurb at 11:59:34 PM 15/07/2011
Magic University Teaser Tale
A little prequel tale about how Reid and Stiggle first met
Deadly Preparations
“No, no, no, no, NO!” Gerant roared in frustration. He walked away in a huff, red-faced and wringing his hands. “You have to learn everything you can before you get there. The competition is stiff, and you need to think beyond the skills of a typical apprentice. These are elite seats – elite seats! How are you supposed to win one if you can’t get a simple shielding spell right?”
The younger man kneeling on the floor before him, and smoking slightly as a result of the flame spell that had gotten past his defences, stared at his mentor sheepishly. The slight points to the student’s ears were barely visible through his lush dark hair, but his facial hair betrayed his mixed bloodlines.
“I haven’t even been offered a place in the Trials yet,” he protested.
As if summoned by his words, there was a knock at the great oaken door, one loud enough to suggest someone of great mass and strength. Abandoning his apprentice, Gerant stomped over to answer it, wrenching it open with annoyance. There was no hulking figure on the other side. Instead, a bubble floated there, containing something that looked like an iridescent butterfly. It drifted past Gerant into the room and began to grow until it was almost the same size as the man holding open the door. Instead of a butterfly, it now appeared to be a shimmery wisp of a woman.
“That’s a Magic University messenger, reserved for special announcements,” Gerant muttered. “You were saying?”
“I am here with a message for Reid Blake,” the wispy woman declared. Her voice was soft and pretty, but there was a tinny quality to it.
“I’m Reid Blake,” the younger man on the floor replied. “What’s my message?”
“Congratulations, Mr. Blake. Your application for the Magic University Elite Seat Admission Trials was successful. You have exactly three months to prepare yourself and journey to the university trial grounds. Do what you need to, to make yourself ready, and good luck.” Her task complete, the magical messenger faded into non-existence.
Gerant sighed and stroked his bearded chin. He eyed Reid.
“Well that sucks all the wind out of your argument, doesn’t it? Now you are on their roster. This settles it. We are going to keep practicing that spell until you can do it in your sleep – you need at least a minimum level of effectiveness with each of the spells on that list I gave you. I don’t know if it’s laziness or you’re just easily distractible, but you obviously haven’t been putting the effort in required to perfect them. I don’t want to play drill sergeant, but if I have to, I will. You just don’t seem to understand – placing anywhere but in the top three isn’t acceptable. You don’t want to end up like me.”
Reid blinked vacantly at that remark and glanced around the well-furnished room with lavish decor. He had actually hoped to end up just like Gerant, only not so cranky and alone. A lucrative trade as a magic instructor like his mentor, a pretty little wife, perhaps, and maybe even children, was what Reid was hoping for in his pursuit of happiness. It didn’t matter to him if he were a Master mage or a Renegade, despite the stigma. But it mattered to Gerant. He felt they both had something to prove.
“Well...actually...”
“Don’t be an imbecile!” Gerant snapped. “If you stay a Renegade like me all of your life, you’ll be a nobody. You’ll face ridicule and disgust. People will always mistrust you, expecting you to fumble a spell and blow them up along with yourself. And worse, you’ll stoop to lows you wouldn’t have to if you were a Master. If you become a magic instructor like me, you’ll have to resort to scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to looking for the students you need to earn your bread and butter.”
That was an intentional insult – a slap in the face directed at Reid. Gerant’s expectations for Reid were low, even if he was, supposedly, the best student that the man had ever had. Reid had never understood how he was expected to have confidence in his own abilities if his mentor did not have any faith in him. Gerant was considering him a failure before ever really giving him a chance. Reid had months to improve on his spells, and he was still making progress, but Gerant was an impatient man and he wanted to see success now.
Reid hung his head. He was inclined to fight Gerant on this, to argue in his defence, but he had doubts about his own worth as a spell-caster. He had been shunned by his family for choosing to study magic in the first place, since they suffered from the bias common to the parts of Turmetti that bordered on Seaforest, where Renegade magic was illegal. Without their support, Reid had not been able to afford a Master mage instructor, so their reluctance to accept his choice had forced him to go Renegade, the greater of two evils in their opinion.
Reid had been careful in selecting his trainer. Aside from the Renegade stigma, Gerant had a reputation that surpassed that of some of the Masters in the area. Reid was certain he could not have done better for his money. Gerant was a skilled and diligent taskmaster, with a hefty repertoire. He had never been sloppy with his lessons, and he had never let Reid get by with just “good enough”. The mature Renegade even expected a certain standard of quality with one spell before allowing Reid to proceed to one he deemed more difficult, just like a Master would.
But Gerant was not without his faults.
He had been in Reid’s shoes almost thirty years ago, with an invitation to the Trials and the desire to learn everything that he could about Master magic. After spending much more than Reid had playing novice to a faculty member at the University, and running himself deep into debt in the process, Gerant had come exceptionally close to securing the third elite seat, missing out by a matter of two points – but he may as well have missed out by a hundred. There was no special accommodation for fourth place and having spent so much preparing himself, Gerant had no means of paying the outrageous cost of a regular seat or even further training as a novice. He had left, thoroughly disheartened.
Reid was not sure how Gerant had managed to clear his debt with the University, but he had, and then he had severed all ties with them. Bearing an unhealthy chip on his shoulder, he had fallen for the first Renegade grifter who preyed off of the losing candidates leaving the University after the Trials. Gerant’s loss had made him a bitter man, his failure for the sake of those two points eating its way into his soul. Reid thought it was awful the way that Gerant had allowed that one experience to sour his perspective of life for its entirety. He had reasonable wealth, and a better reputation than most Renegades. He could have been enjoying his success. He could have been happy.
“Come on,” Gerant said gruffly, “Back into position. I want to see a shield big enough for three people – and no holes this time!”
“I still don’t understand. I won’t have to shield anyone other than me at the Trials. It’s an individual event. Why would I have to perfect this?” Reid sighed, returning to his earlier pose.
“I told you, unless you get this right, we aren’t moving on to the next thing I need to teach you. It’s a fundamental prerequisite to the spell. I wish for once you would stop questioning me and just do as I ask.”
Gerant was using his frustrated tone of voice again. That didn’t stop Reid from pushing back once more.
“Well, I’d probably manage to do this if I actually had two more people here to surround, to use as a reference. Creating a big empty bubble around myself seems so pointless.”
Gerant placed a hand firmly atop Reid’s head, lowering his voice.
“There will be a lot of things you might consider pointless challenges at the Trials as well, and you won’t be able to beg special privilege because it might be easier under different circumstances. You’re more than half my age, but you wouldn’t know it to listen to you. Stop whining and grow up. Now I suggest you do as you’ve been instructed, because I’m going to launch flame at you at the moment you should have that spell up, if you started casting immediately – whether you’re ready or not.”
Reid knew better than to resist when Gerant started making threats. He never made idle ones. The student hastily started into his shielding spell, hoping that he would get it right this time.
# # #
Reid awoke to the sound of blood-curdling screams. At first, they had seemed to blend into his dreams, a part of the nightmares generated by the amount of stress he had been under lately. Then, he gradually shuddered into consciousness in the dark and recognized that the horrible sounds he was sure were coming from Gerant were real. Still groggy, Reid scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the door. The sounds, he realized as his head cleared, were coming from Gerant’s laboratory.
Reid sprinted down the hall. Had he not been in a panic and had he been acting proactively, he would have grabbed a weapon or a wand before surging out of his room. Instead, frazzled, he left empty-handed, barefoot and wearing only light cotton pants tied at the waist. When he finally screeched to a halt in front of the laboratory door, the screams were deafening and growing more desperate. Reid tried to quiet his breathing and calm his heart, which thrummed frantically in his chest. If he were a brave man he would have flung the door open and rushed in, hoping to rescue his mentor from whatever was causing his torment. But Reid’s initial burst of action was now tempered by his fear and he had to steel himself in order to merely turn the doorknob.
Reid opened the door a crack and peered in. At first, it appeared that Gerant was locked in a hostile embrace with something monstrous and shadowy at the centre of the room. There was also a small blur of movement in the dimly lit far end of that space, something that dipped and bobbed as Gerant and his aggressor danced their brutal waltz. The pair turned, and with this new angle, Reid could see that the grotesque creature wrestling with his mentor did not have the man enveloped, but rather had plunged its scythe-like claws into his torso – hence the screams. Gerant was not trying to overpower the demonic beast, but merely extricate himself from the hideous talons that had speared his intestines and pierced other vital organs. The monster, on the other hand was attempting to better its grip, twisting its fingers into the wounds and embedding them as deeply as flesh would allow.
Fear clutched at Reid’s heart upon viewing Gerant’s predicament. He wished he knew how to banish the demon, or at least fight him off of his instructor, but duelling such creatures was the work of veteran mages, not an apprentice, even a highly skilled one. If Gerant had failed to hold it off, then Reid had no hope in doing so. He would have expected himself to flee knowing this, but some previously unknown inner strength kept him there, not allowing him to run while there was the faintest possibility he could help Gerant. He opened the door a little wider and quietly crept into the room, crouching behind the table that stood near the entrance.
And then Reid saw opportunity. Gerant finally managed to loose himself from the fiend’s claws, forcing it back with a minor blast of magical energy. The demon had been the only thing holding the wizard upright and he slid to the floor in agony. Reid had been practicing day and night with his shield spell, at Gerant’s command, and had not yet perfected it to his mentor’s satisfaction, but he realized he had to seize his one and only chance. Shielding someone else from a distance was one of the most difficult variations of the spell, yet Reid had to try. Pushing back his fear, he concentrated and dug in deep before casting the spell.
Reid thought it was interesting. When he had time to think before acting, he often botched the spell. Under pressure the way he was, however, he managed to remain centred and the magic flowed true. Seconds later Gerant was encased in a magical force field more solid than any Reid had ever succeeded in creating. It held firm against a flurry of strikes from the monster and protected the wizard it was targeting from its blows.
The frustrated demon did not stop its attempts to break through the shield, but it didn’t have much longer to try. Free from its constant molestation, and despite the great pain that he was in, Gerant evoked the magic he needed to banish the beast. It disappeared in a puff of hazy, foul-smelling smoke.
Reid didn’t hesitate. He dropped the shielding spell and ran over to his fallen teacher as fast as he was capable of moving. Reid knew that the banishing magic had probably used up any of Gerant’s remaining internal resources of power; the man had likely sealed his fate in the process. Reid fell to his knees and gathered his mentor in his arms.
“Healing potions!” Reid gasped. “Where are your healing potions?!”
Gerant shook his head. There wasn’t time. Moaning in pain, he pressed something small, made of warm polished red stone, into his apprentice’s hand. The dying man whispered one last incantation and Reid felt the transference of some unidentified magical energy from Gerant to himself.
“Take him,” Gerant murmured weakly. “Make good use of him. Don’t let me down.”
Before he could say anything else, he was seized by a terrible coughing fit and began to spew blood. He choked and gurgled, his eyes rolled back, and then, with one shudder, he lay still.
Reid called his mentor’s name and shook him gently by the shoulders, but he could tell by the man’s limp form and blanched, cooling skin that he was dead. There would be no one there to give Reid anymore training. The last couple of months he had left to prepare for the Trials, Reid would be on his own.
Still stooped over Gerant’s body and cradling the unusual bauble Gerant had given him in his hand, Reid caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A faint flitting noise also grabbed his attention. He raised his head in time to see something the size of a large bird whip past his face, close enough that Reid felt a breeze and something ruffle his hair. It was no doubt the same thing that he had seen moving at the far end of the room when he had first entered – but what was it?
Reid straightened up and took a good look at the item that Gerant had passed him. It was an amulet of sorts, carved with a grinning demonic face and tiny wings. What had Gerant meant by “take him?” What was so special about this ugly little trinket? He felt the same energy that had been transferred to him along with the amulet stir inside him as he examined it. Suddenly, the thing that was fluttering about the room dropped out of the air, settling solidly at Reid’s feet. He turned to get a better look at it.
Reid stared and blinked. The creature before him was even more offensive-looking that the stylized version of the beast carved into the stone. Its hide was a shiny brownish-green, like the skin of a frog and its tiny semi-humanoid body had an emaciated appearance, its ribs clearly visible and its waist wasp-like. Its thin, elongated fingers and toes were tipped with needle-like claws and its squat horned head looked almost human, except for its slitted golden eyes and pointy little teeth that it exposed when it grinned like its miniature rock effigy. It flapped its bat wings, and screeched at Reid, while waving its wiry tail. Startled, Reid jumped back, almost tripping over Gerant’s corpse in the process.
“What the hell?” Reid mumbled, not sure what to make of this creature or Gerant’s death-bed gift. He eased away from the small monster, hoping that Gerant’s work bench might reveal some answers. The fiend hopped after him, gnashing its tiny teeth.
Being careful not to take his eyes off the little intruder for very long, Reid scooped the loose papers that Gerant had obviously spread out for observation off of the countertop. It was a pair of summoning and binding spells – the type of things that Gerant had warned Reid to always avoid. One was a simpler spell, but not basic enough for someone as untrained as Reid to attempt. The document spoke of invoking a stiggle imp, apparently something intended to enhance the user’s magical abilities. Reid wasn’t sure if it had actually been intended for him, to help him in the Trials, or if Gerant had purposefully summoned the little demon to assist him with the second spell Reid now clutched in his hands.
“A watchdog fiend,” Reid sighed.
The spell was intricate and dangerous; something that would be a stretch for Gerant even on a good day. That demon had definitely been something Gerant had in mind for Reid and the Trials. Summoned properly, it would have proved to be a very powerful tool, an infernal servant to do Reid’s bidding - but the spell had been too much for Gerant, and he had lost control somewhere along the way. He had paid for it with his life, all because he did not have confidence in his apprentice.
Reid knew there were rules against summoning allies for the sake of the Trials, but that was only once you had arrived on site. Bringing a magical creature along that could enhance your abilities was not against the rules at all or any familiar would be banned from the Trials, and they weren’t. Reid turned his gaze to the disgusting stiggle imp. If he could figure out what it could do, and how to get it to follow his commands, it would be a useful thing to have during the Trials.
“Hey! Stiggle imp! Get up on the counter here so I can get a better look at you,” Reid ordered, taking a step back to watch how the imp would respond. Reluctantly, it took a few short hops forward and then took a flying leap up onto the flat surface in question. Perched there, it craned its bony little neck forward and glared at Reid, making quiet, unhappy, growly noises.
Reid was stunned. It had obeyed his command, even though it had seemed unwilling. Gerant actually had passed over the binding spell to Reid before dying, and now he had some semblance of mastery over the beast.
“Damn!” Reid exclaimed in wonder. He would have to search the premises for any reference materials that would offer tips on how to make the imp more readily compliant. But first things were first. Reid decided all of that would wait until tomorrow, after finishing his night’s rest and then heading into town to report Gerant’s death to the authorities, and to make arrangements for his burial. Reid had no idea who the man’s next of kin was, but he would leave that mess to Gerant’s executor.
“Stay here, Stiggle Imp, and I’ll be back for you sometime tomorrow,” Reid directed. Exhausted, he returned to his bed, not noticing the gleam of mischief in the imp’s eye as he departed.
# # #
Reid had all but forgotten about the imp after a long drawn out day explaining the situation to the authorities and being subject to intensive scrutiny by a local Master mage with truth spells. Once they were satisfied that he was telling the truth, Reid was given leave to go home – Gerant’s home anyway. He was informed that someone would be by to fetch Gerant’s body the following morning. There would be no burial, as the veteran Renegade had made other arrangements upon his death. They also told Reid that Gerant’s solicitor would arrive then as well, to take inventory of the dead man’s belongings and to discuss his will. Reid hoped he would at least get a small tuition refund, considering he was still owed two months training. It would help with the trip to Anthis for the Trials.
When he arrived at the house after dark, Reid fell into bed without thinking of checking in on the stiggle imp in the laboratory. He was practically asleep before his head hit the pillow. He had nightmares that night, as he would for many nights after Gerant’s death, reliving the fear and the pain of watching his mentor suffer at the hands of the watchdog fiend. He awoke with a start, heart pounding and bathed in sweat. He noticed then that the pounding was not only it his chest, but also at the front door. It was morning, and people had come to do their business.
Reid hurriedly dressed and rushed to answer the door. He was surprised to find the Master mage who had questioned him the day before standing there, accompanied by two burly-looking men.
“We’re here for the body,” he stated without expression. His men pushed their way past Reid into the house.
Annoyed but not in the right mind-set to fight with them, Reid gestured down the hall.
“Third door to your right, and I warn you, it’s a mess. I haven’t touched a thing in there since the demon attack, thanks to the lengthy interrogation yesterday.”
The Master mage marched past him dismissively, followed closely by his hired hands. After they were gone, Reid realized that Gerant’s solicitor had been standing behind them. The small man had advanced into the doorway once they were out of the way.
“I’ll need to do the rounds of the house, for tax purposes, you understand,” he insisted in a nasally voice, stepping past the threshold. He glanced around the room, and drew in a deep breath. “He has quite a bit more here than the last time I visited.”
“For tax purposes? Who will be inheriting? I know he had no wife or children, so what will it be – nieces or nephews? Brothers or sisters? Cousins perhaps? Do you think they’ll let me stay here until I have to leave for Anthis in a couple of months?”
The nervous little man froze, eying Reid curiously. “No, none of that. Gerant was an only child, and his parents are long dead. He had no close relations. You mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
The solicitor smiled in a patronizing way.
“Gerant had a stipulation in his will. Whoever was his apprentice at the time of his death would inherit everything. All of this is yours, Mr. Blake, minus estate taxes, of course.”
Reid was floored by this revelation, and quickly took a seat so he would not fall over. All of this was his? While it seemed outrageous, in some way it did make sense. Gerant’s obsessive goal in life was to win one of those elite seats, even if it had to be done vicariously through one of his apprentices. If he died while preparing a student for the Trials, he would want to leave them in the best position possible to succeed. While their training might be incomplete, they would have plenty of resources to aid them in that quest. But there was one problem.
“I expect we’ll be able to settle the estate in about three to six months, after we make sure there are no outstanding liens on the property and the like. Until then the title for all of this will be suspended until transfer, you don’t have claim to sell any of this property, but you can make use of it as you please. You may want to maintain it as best you can, to preserve its value for future sale.”
Reid’s heart sank. He had been lifted to believe that he would be able to supply himself with the best of the best for equipment. Instead, he had been dropped again. He would have to resort to picking through all of Gerant’s clutter to see if he could find anything worthwhile, including enough loose change to get him to Anthis. Sagging and distracted at the notion, Reid almost failed to notice the gruesome sight of Gerant’s bloodied and battered cadaver being carried back from the laboratory by the two large and now badly scratched up men.
“You could have warned us about the stiggle. And you weren’t kidding about the mess in there. It’s a complete disaster zone,” the Master mage muttered with disdain. “If you like, I can dispose of the nuisance for you, before we go.”
“No!” Reid snapped. The imp was the one thing he was sure he would have to help him. The last thing he wanted was for someone to take that from him, too. The wizard shrugged.
“Suit yourself. I won’t offer again. He’s your problem now, Renegade.”
With that, the threesome departed, corpse in tow.
Reid swivelled to speak to the solicitor, but the little man had already wandered off, working on recording the inventory. On his own again, Reid decided that it was time to begin the clean-up required in the laboratory.
When the door swung open, Reid’s stomach lurched. The place had been a little untidy when he had left, and the idea of having to wipe up the remnants of Gerant’s carcass made the bile rose in his throat, but he wasn’t anticipating the chaos that he found there. He had told the imp to stay in the room, but he hadn’t told it to not touch anything.
As a matter of fact, it looked like not a thing in the entire laboratory had been left untouched. Everything had either been either overturned, tossed to the floor, smashed to smithereens, torn up, chewed on or even peed on. If Reid had hoped to find anything useful in this room, it was much less likely to happen now. He caught sight of the imp clinging to a bookshelf, shredding one of the books there. That was the last straw.
“Stiggle, come here!” Reid bellowed.
The imp hissed before dropping the book and flapping over to his master. He obeyed, settling on Reid’s bare forearm. The creature’s sharp little claws pierced skin, gouged flesh, and drew blood. Reid yelped, shaking the imp free.
“On the floor! Sit on the floor!” Reid barked. He could make the forearm thing work, but first he would have to construct some sort of armoured bracer as defence against the little demon’s claws. The imp obeyed, nattering with irritation at the discomfort of his assigned place.
Reid exhaled heavily. He would now have to work twice as hard before the Trials than he had been, including practicing what he had already learned so far until he had it close to perfection. The imp had proven as much curse as blessing, his search for useful things would be like finding needles in a haystack, and he now bore the burden of trying to fulfil Gerant’s final wish.
That would take an awful lot more preparation.
With that in mind, Reid stepped around the imp, straightened his shoulders, and braced himself for the toil to come. It would be a long hard road to Magic University.
Magic University Teaser Tale
A little prequel tale about how Reid and Stiggle first met
Deadly Preparations
“No, no, no, no, NO!” Gerant roared in frustration. He walked away in a huff, red-faced and wringing his hands. “You have to learn everything you can before you get there. The competition is stiff, and you need to think beyond the skills of a typical apprentice. These are elite seats – elite seats! How are you supposed to win one if you can’t get a simple shielding spell right?”
The younger man kneeling on the floor before him, and smoking slightly as a result of the flame spell that had gotten past his defences, stared at his mentor sheepishly. The slight points to the student’s ears were barely visible through his lush dark hair, but his facial hair betrayed his mixed bloodlines.
“I haven’t even been offered a place in the Trials yet,” he protested.
As if summoned by his words, there was a knock at the great oaken door, one loud enough to suggest someone of great mass and strength. Abandoning his apprentice, Gerant stomped over to answer it, wrenching it open with annoyance. There was no hulking figure on the other side. Instead, a bubble floated there, containing something that looked like an iridescent butterfly. It drifted past Gerant into the room and began to grow until it was almost the same size as the man holding open the door. Instead of a butterfly, it now appeared to be a shimmery wisp of a woman.
“That’s a Magic University messenger, reserved for special announcements,” Gerant muttered. “You were saying?”
“I am here with a message for Reid Blake,” the wispy woman declared. Her voice was soft and pretty, but there was a tinny quality to it.
“I’m Reid Blake,” the younger man on the floor replied. “What’s my message?”
“Congratulations, Mr. Blake. Your application for the Magic University Elite Seat Admission Trials was successful. You have exactly three months to prepare yourself and journey to the university trial grounds. Do what you need to, to make yourself ready, and good luck.” Her task complete, the magical messenger faded into non-existence.
Gerant sighed and stroked his bearded chin. He eyed Reid.
“Well that sucks all the wind out of your argument, doesn’t it? Now you are on their roster. This settles it. We are going to keep practicing that spell until you can do it in your sleep – you need at least a minimum level of effectiveness with each of the spells on that list I gave you. I don’t know if it’s laziness or you’re just easily distractible, but you obviously haven’t been putting the effort in required to perfect them. I don’t want to play drill sergeant, but if I have to, I will. You just don’t seem to understand – placing anywhere but in the top three isn’t acceptable. You don’t want to end up like me.”
Reid blinked vacantly at that remark and glanced around the well-furnished room with lavish decor. He had actually hoped to end up just like Gerant, only not so cranky and alone. A lucrative trade as a magic instructor like his mentor, a pretty little wife, perhaps, and maybe even children, was what Reid was hoping for in his pursuit of happiness. It didn’t matter to him if he were a Master mage or a Renegade, despite the stigma. But it mattered to Gerant. He felt they both had something to prove.
“Well...actually...”
“Don’t be an imbecile!” Gerant snapped. “If you stay a Renegade like me all of your life, you’ll be a nobody. You’ll face ridicule and disgust. People will always mistrust you, expecting you to fumble a spell and blow them up along with yourself. And worse, you’ll stoop to lows you wouldn’t have to if you were a Master. If you become a magic instructor like me, you’ll have to resort to scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to looking for the students you need to earn your bread and butter.”
That was an intentional insult – a slap in the face directed at Reid. Gerant’s expectations for Reid were low, even if he was, supposedly, the best student that the man had ever had. Reid had never understood how he was expected to have confidence in his own abilities if his mentor did not have any faith in him. Gerant was considering him a failure before ever really giving him a chance. Reid had months to improve on his spells, and he was still making progress, but Gerant was an impatient man and he wanted to see success now.
Reid hung his head. He was inclined to fight Gerant on this, to argue in his defence, but he had doubts about his own worth as a spell-caster. He had been shunned by his family for choosing to study magic in the first place, since they suffered from the bias common to the parts of Turmetti that bordered on Seaforest, where Renegade magic was illegal. Without their support, Reid had not been able to afford a Master mage instructor, so their reluctance to accept his choice had forced him to go Renegade, the greater of two evils in their opinion.
Reid had been careful in selecting his trainer. Aside from the Renegade stigma, Gerant had a reputation that surpassed that of some of the Masters in the area. Reid was certain he could not have done better for his money. Gerant was a skilled and diligent taskmaster, with a hefty repertoire. He had never been sloppy with his lessons, and he had never let Reid get by with just “good enough”. The mature Renegade even expected a certain standard of quality with one spell before allowing Reid to proceed to one he deemed more difficult, just like a Master would.
But Gerant was not without his faults.
He had been in Reid’s shoes almost thirty years ago, with an invitation to the Trials and the desire to learn everything that he could about Master magic. After spending much more than Reid had playing novice to a faculty member at the University, and running himself deep into debt in the process, Gerant had come exceptionally close to securing the third elite seat, missing out by a matter of two points – but he may as well have missed out by a hundred. There was no special accommodation for fourth place and having spent so much preparing himself, Gerant had no means of paying the outrageous cost of a regular seat or even further training as a novice. He had left, thoroughly disheartened.
Reid was not sure how Gerant had managed to clear his debt with the University, but he had, and then he had severed all ties with them. Bearing an unhealthy chip on his shoulder, he had fallen for the first Renegade grifter who preyed off of the losing candidates leaving the University after the Trials. Gerant’s loss had made him a bitter man, his failure for the sake of those two points eating its way into his soul. Reid thought it was awful the way that Gerant had allowed that one experience to sour his perspective of life for its entirety. He had reasonable wealth, and a better reputation than most Renegades. He could have been enjoying his success. He could have been happy.
“Come on,” Gerant said gruffly, “Back into position. I want to see a shield big enough for three people – and no holes this time!”
“I still don’t understand. I won’t have to shield anyone other than me at the Trials. It’s an individual event. Why would I have to perfect this?” Reid sighed, returning to his earlier pose.
“I told you, unless you get this right, we aren’t moving on to the next thing I need to teach you. It’s a fundamental prerequisite to the spell. I wish for once you would stop questioning me and just do as I ask.”
Gerant was using his frustrated tone of voice again. That didn’t stop Reid from pushing back once more.
“Well, I’d probably manage to do this if I actually had two more people here to surround, to use as a reference. Creating a big empty bubble around myself seems so pointless.”
Gerant placed a hand firmly atop Reid’s head, lowering his voice.
“There will be a lot of things you might consider pointless challenges at the Trials as well, and you won’t be able to beg special privilege because it might be easier under different circumstances. You’re more than half my age, but you wouldn’t know it to listen to you. Stop whining and grow up. Now I suggest you do as you’ve been instructed, because I’m going to launch flame at you at the moment you should have that spell up, if you started casting immediately – whether you’re ready or not.”
Reid knew better than to resist when Gerant started making threats. He never made idle ones. The student hastily started into his shielding spell, hoping that he would get it right this time.
# # #
Reid awoke to the sound of blood-curdling screams. At first, they had seemed to blend into his dreams, a part of the nightmares generated by the amount of stress he had been under lately. Then, he gradually shuddered into consciousness in the dark and recognized that the horrible sounds he was sure were coming from Gerant were real. Still groggy, Reid scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the door. The sounds, he realized as his head cleared, were coming from Gerant’s laboratory.
Reid sprinted down the hall. Had he not been in a panic and had he been acting proactively, he would have grabbed a weapon or a wand before surging out of his room. Instead, frazzled, he left empty-handed, barefoot and wearing only light cotton pants tied at the waist. When he finally screeched to a halt in front of the laboratory door, the screams were deafening and growing more desperate. Reid tried to quiet his breathing and calm his heart, which thrummed frantically in his chest. If he were a brave man he would have flung the door open and rushed in, hoping to rescue his mentor from whatever was causing his torment. But Reid’s initial burst of action was now tempered by his fear and he had to steel himself in order to merely turn the doorknob.
Reid opened the door a crack and peered in. At first, it appeared that Gerant was locked in a hostile embrace with something monstrous and shadowy at the centre of the room. There was also a small blur of movement in the dimly lit far end of that space, something that dipped and bobbed as Gerant and his aggressor danced their brutal waltz. The pair turned, and with this new angle, Reid could see that the grotesque creature wrestling with his mentor did not have the man enveloped, but rather had plunged its scythe-like claws into his torso – hence the screams. Gerant was not trying to overpower the demonic beast, but merely extricate himself from the hideous talons that had speared his intestines and pierced other vital organs. The monster, on the other hand was attempting to better its grip, twisting its fingers into the wounds and embedding them as deeply as flesh would allow.
Fear clutched at Reid’s heart upon viewing Gerant’s predicament. He wished he knew how to banish the demon, or at least fight him off of his instructor, but duelling such creatures was the work of veteran mages, not an apprentice, even a highly skilled one. If Gerant had failed to hold it off, then Reid had no hope in doing so. He would have expected himself to flee knowing this, but some previously unknown inner strength kept him there, not allowing him to run while there was the faintest possibility he could help Gerant. He opened the door a little wider and quietly crept into the room, crouching behind the table that stood near the entrance.
And then Reid saw opportunity. Gerant finally managed to loose himself from the fiend’s claws, forcing it back with a minor blast of magical energy. The demon had been the only thing holding the wizard upright and he slid to the floor in agony. Reid had been practicing day and night with his shield spell, at Gerant’s command, and had not yet perfected it to his mentor’s satisfaction, but he realized he had to seize his one and only chance. Shielding someone else from a distance was one of the most difficult variations of the spell, yet Reid had to try. Pushing back his fear, he concentrated and dug in deep before casting the spell.
Reid thought it was interesting. When he had time to think before acting, he often botched the spell. Under pressure the way he was, however, he managed to remain centred and the magic flowed true. Seconds later Gerant was encased in a magical force field more solid than any Reid had ever succeeded in creating. It held firm against a flurry of strikes from the monster and protected the wizard it was targeting from its blows.
The frustrated demon did not stop its attempts to break through the shield, but it didn’t have much longer to try. Free from its constant molestation, and despite the great pain that he was in, Gerant evoked the magic he needed to banish the beast. It disappeared in a puff of hazy, foul-smelling smoke.
Reid didn’t hesitate. He dropped the shielding spell and ran over to his fallen teacher as fast as he was capable of moving. Reid knew that the banishing magic had probably used up any of Gerant’s remaining internal resources of power; the man had likely sealed his fate in the process. Reid fell to his knees and gathered his mentor in his arms.
“Healing potions!” Reid gasped. “Where are your healing potions?!”
Gerant shook his head. There wasn’t time. Moaning in pain, he pressed something small, made of warm polished red stone, into his apprentice’s hand. The dying man whispered one last incantation and Reid felt the transference of some unidentified magical energy from Gerant to himself.
“Take him,” Gerant murmured weakly. “Make good use of him. Don’t let me down.”
Before he could say anything else, he was seized by a terrible coughing fit and began to spew blood. He choked and gurgled, his eyes rolled back, and then, with one shudder, he lay still.
Reid called his mentor’s name and shook him gently by the shoulders, but he could tell by the man’s limp form and blanched, cooling skin that he was dead. There would be no one there to give Reid anymore training. The last couple of months he had left to prepare for the Trials, Reid would be on his own.
Still stooped over Gerant’s body and cradling the unusual bauble Gerant had given him in his hand, Reid caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A faint flitting noise also grabbed his attention. He raised his head in time to see something the size of a large bird whip past his face, close enough that Reid felt a breeze and something ruffle his hair. It was no doubt the same thing that he had seen moving at the far end of the room when he had first entered – but what was it?
Reid straightened up and took a good look at the item that Gerant had passed him. It was an amulet of sorts, carved with a grinning demonic face and tiny wings. What had Gerant meant by “take him?” What was so special about this ugly little trinket? He felt the same energy that had been transferred to him along with the amulet stir inside him as he examined it. Suddenly, the thing that was fluttering about the room dropped out of the air, settling solidly at Reid’s feet. He turned to get a better look at it.
Reid stared and blinked. The creature before him was even more offensive-looking that the stylized version of the beast carved into the stone. Its hide was a shiny brownish-green, like the skin of a frog and its tiny semi-humanoid body had an emaciated appearance, its ribs clearly visible and its waist wasp-like. Its thin, elongated fingers and toes were tipped with needle-like claws and its squat horned head looked almost human, except for its slitted golden eyes and pointy little teeth that it exposed when it grinned like its miniature rock effigy. It flapped its bat wings, and screeched at Reid, while waving its wiry tail. Startled, Reid jumped back, almost tripping over Gerant’s corpse in the process.
“What the hell?” Reid mumbled, not sure what to make of this creature or Gerant’s death-bed gift. He eased away from the small monster, hoping that Gerant’s work bench might reveal some answers. The fiend hopped after him, gnashing its tiny teeth.
Being careful not to take his eyes off the little intruder for very long, Reid scooped the loose papers that Gerant had obviously spread out for observation off of the countertop. It was a pair of summoning and binding spells – the type of things that Gerant had warned Reid to always avoid. One was a simpler spell, but not basic enough for someone as untrained as Reid to attempt. The document spoke of invoking a stiggle imp, apparently something intended to enhance the user’s magical abilities. Reid wasn’t sure if it had actually been intended for him, to help him in the Trials, or if Gerant had purposefully summoned the little demon to assist him with the second spell Reid now clutched in his hands.
“A watchdog fiend,” Reid sighed.
The spell was intricate and dangerous; something that would be a stretch for Gerant even on a good day. That demon had definitely been something Gerant had in mind for Reid and the Trials. Summoned properly, it would have proved to be a very powerful tool, an infernal servant to do Reid’s bidding - but the spell had been too much for Gerant, and he had lost control somewhere along the way. He had paid for it with his life, all because he did not have confidence in his apprentice.
Reid knew there were rules against summoning allies for the sake of the Trials, but that was only once you had arrived on site. Bringing a magical creature along that could enhance your abilities was not against the rules at all or any familiar would be banned from the Trials, and they weren’t. Reid turned his gaze to the disgusting stiggle imp. If he could figure out what it could do, and how to get it to follow his commands, it would be a useful thing to have during the Trials.
“Hey! Stiggle imp! Get up on the counter here so I can get a better look at you,” Reid ordered, taking a step back to watch how the imp would respond. Reluctantly, it took a few short hops forward and then took a flying leap up onto the flat surface in question. Perched there, it craned its bony little neck forward and glared at Reid, making quiet, unhappy, growly noises.
Reid was stunned. It had obeyed his command, even though it had seemed unwilling. Gerant actually had passed over the binding spell to Reid before dying, and now he had some semblance of mastery over the beast.
“Damn!” Reid exclaimed in wonder. He would have to search the premises for any reference materials that would offer tips on how to make the imp more readily compliant. But first things were first. Reid decided all of that would wait until tomorrow, after finishing his night’s rest and then heading into town to report Gerant’s death to the authorities, and to make arrangements for his burial. Reid had no idea who the man’s next of kin was, but he would leave that mess to Gerant’s executor.
“Stay here, Stiggle Imp, and I’ll be back for you sometime tomorrow,” Reid directed. Exhausted, he returned to his bed, not noticing the gleam of mischief in the imp’s eye as he departed.
# # #
Reid had all but forgotten about the imp after a long drawn out day explaining the situation to the authorities and being subject to intensive scrutiny by a local Master mage with truth spells. Once they were satisfied that he was telling the truth, Reid was given leave to go home – Gerant’s home anyway. He was informed that someone would be by to fetch Gerant’s body the following morning. There would be no burial, as the veteran Renegade had made other arrangements upon his death. They also told Reid that Gerant’s solicitor would arrive then as well, to take inventory of the dead man’s belongings and to discuss his will. Reid hoped he would at least get a small tuition refund, considering he was still owed two months training. It would help with the trip to Anthis for the Trials.
When he arrived at the house after dark, Reid fell into bed without thinking of checking in on the stiggle imp in the laboratory. He was practically asleep before his head hit the pillow. He had nightmares that night, as he would for many nights after Gerant’s death, reliving the fear and the pain of watching his mentor suffer at the hands of the watchdog fiend. He awoke with a start, heart pounding and bathed in sweat. He noticed then that the pounding was not only it his chest, but also at the front door. It was morning, and people had come to do their business.
Reid hurriedly dressed and rushed to answer the door. He was surprised to find the Master mage who had questioned him the day before standing there, accompanied by two burly-looking men.
“We’re here for the body,” he stated without expression. His men pushed their way past Reid into the house.
Annoyed but not in the right mind-set to fight with them, Reid gestured down the hall.
“Third door to your right, and I warn you, it’s a mess. I haven’t touched a thing in there since the demon attack, thanks to the lengthy interrogation yesterday.”
The Master mage marched past him dismissively, followed closely by his hired hands. After they were gone, Reid realized that Gerant’s solicitor had been standing behind them. The small man had advanced into the doorway once they were out of the way.
“I’ll need to do the rounds of the house, for tax purposes, you understand,” he insisted in a nasally voice, stepping past the threshold. He glanced around the room, and drew in a deep breath. “He has quite a bit more here than the last time I visited.”
“For tax purposes? Who will be inheriting? I know he had no wife or children, so what will it be – nieces or nephews? Brothers or sisters? Cousins perhaps? Do you think they’ll let me stay here until I have to leave for Anthis in a couple of months?”
The nervous little man froze, eying Reid curiously. “No, none of that. Gerant was an only child, and his parents are long dead. He had no close relations. You mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
The solicitor smiled in a patronizing way.
“Gerant had a stipulation in his will. Whoever was his apprentice at the time of his death would inherit everything. All of this is yours, Mr. Blake, minus estate taxes, of course.”
Reid was floored by this revelation, and quickly took a seat so he would not fall over. All of this was his? While it seemed outrageous, in some way it did make sense. Gerant’s obsessive goal in life was to win one of those elite seats, even if it had to be done vicariously through one of his apprentices. If he died while preparing a student for the Trials, he would want to leave them in the best position possible to succeed. While their training might be incomplete, they would have plenty of resources to aid them in that quest. But there was one problem.
“I expect we’ll be able to settle the estate in about three to six months, after we make sure there are no outstanding liens on the property and the like. Until then the title for all of this will be suspended until transfer, you don’t have claim to sell any of this property, but you can make use of it as you please. You may want to maintain it as best you can, to preserve its value for future sale.”
Reid’s heart sank. He had been lifted to believe that he would be able to supply himself with the best of the best for equipment. Instead, he had been dropped again. He would have to resort to picking through all of Gerant’s clutter to see if he could find anything worthwhile, including enough loose change to get him to Anthis. Sagging and distracted at the notion, Reid almost failed to notice the gruesome sight of Gerant’s bloodied and battered cadaver being carried back from the laboratory by the two large and now badly scratched up men.
“You could have warned us about the stiggle. And you weren’t kidding about the mess in there. It’s a complete disaster zone,” the Master mage muttered with disdain. “If you like, I can dispose of the nuisance for you, before we go.”
“No!” Reid snapped. The imp was the one thing he was sure he would have to help him. The last thing he wanted was for someone to take that from him, too. The wizard shrugged.
“Suit yourself. I won’t offer again. He’s your problem now, Renegade.”
With that, the threesome departed, corpse in tow.
Reid swivelled to speak to the solicitor, but the little man had already wandered off, working on recording the inventory. On his own again, Reid decided that it was time to begin the clean-up required in the laboratory.
When the door swung open, Reid’s stomach lurched. The place had been a little untidy when he had left, and the idea of having to wipe up the remnants of Gerant’s carcass made the bile rose in his throat, but he wasn’t anticipating the chaos that he found there. He had told the imp to stay in the room, but he hadn’t told it to not touch anything.
As a matter of fact, it looked like not a thing in the entire laboratory had been left untouched. Everything had either been either overturned, tossed to the floor, smashed to smithereens, torn up, chewed on or even peed on. If Reid had hoped to find anything useful in this room, it was much less likely to happen now. He caught sight of the imp clinging to a bookshelf, shredding one of the books there. That was the last straw.
“Stiggle, come here!” Reid bellowed.
The imp hissed before dropping the book and flapping over to his master. He obeyed, settling on Reid’s bare forearm. The creature’s sharp little claws pierced skin, gouged flesh, and drew blood. Reid yelped, shaking the imp free.
“On the floor! Sit on the floor!” Reid barked. He could make the forearm thing work, but first he would have to construct some sort of armoured bracer as defence against the little demon’s claws. The imp obeyed, nattering with irritation at the discomfort of his assigned place.
Reid exhaled heavily. He would now have to work twice as hard before the Trials than he had been, including practicing what he had already learned so far until he had it close to perfection. The imp had proven as much curse as blessing, his search for useful things would be like finding needles in a haystack, and he now bore the burden of trying to fulfil Gerant’s final wish.
That would take an awful lot more preparation.
With that in mind, Reid stepped around the imp, straightened his shoulders, and braced himself for the toil to come. It would be a long hard road to Magic University.
