A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (11 page)

Basilard grinned.
In the faint light, he looked like a vampire. “You have to learn how to fight.
I'm going to teach you martial arts and magic. “

“Magic?” Eric
asked, suddenly a lot more excited. He knew sleight of hand, but the real deal
. . .Maybe mercenary work wouldn't be so bad.

“Yeah, magic,”
Basilard said. “But before that you have work on martial arts.”

Eric's excitement
dropped a notch. “What does fighting have to do with magic?”

“Mercenary magic
is
fighting. It's called 'magecraft'. Magic that can be used quickly and
efficiently for immediate application. A mage needs to be as quick with their
staff as a fighter is with their sword. Now we're gonna warm up and then I'm
gonna show you basic techniques.”

It was pitch
black by the time the first lesson was over. Exhausted, cold, and sore, Eric
found the dorms by streetlight. Upon hearing the door open, Aio looked up from
his book and covered a laugh.

“Roomy, you're a
mess.”

“I know,” Eric
muttered as he climbed into bed.

Every morning at
dawn, Basilard would knock on his door and drag him out for lessons. It was
hard getting out of bed that early, but since he still had to go to school, it
was the only time they had. Basilard explained that Ataidar policy forbid
hiring full-time members until they had a high school diploma, its equivalent,
or were legally adult.

Eric was
eternally thankful that he arrived in this world during early spring because
the weather was cool and windy. It made Basilard's training sessions bearable.
If
I had to do this in the summer, I'd pass out.
Basilard taught him holds and
how to get out of them; proper technique for punches, blocks, and kicks, and
the proper stance for all of them. Every day he felt sore and every night he
grew stronger.

After training,
Eric showered and ate breakfast. The food lost more and more of the spark it
had when he first ate those wild berries two weeks ago.
I'm single-handedly
proving Ciatosan's Theory.
The food of this world was becoming normal for
him. Aio pointed this out when he smacked a biting burger without a thought.

After breakfast,
Eric left for high school; weekends meant more training. He liked school this
time: he had friends and was able to test out of most of the classes. When
school was over, he did homework with his friends, more training, and on the rare
occasion, play.

“You don't seem
to have time for basketball anymore,” Revas said as he passed to Eric.

He was moody for
days after the orc attack, but Oito cheered him up somehow. It involved
feathers, super glue, and Noreji.

Eric caught the
ball and dribbled. “I'm training for a full-time job.”

Annala ran to
block him. “Full-time job? But you haven't finished school yet.”

“You know, I'm
not really a teenager.” This surprised her long enough for him to slip past her
and dunk. “In Threa, I've already gone through college. Somehow I de-aged on
the way here.”

Annala caught the
ball on the rebound. “I should have expected that. That's what happened to the
other otherwor-”

“There are
others!?”

Annala ran past
him to the other end of the court. Eric ran after her, but she refused to
elaborate until she took a shot of her own. He blocked it. Revas caught it and
threw from half-court. Annala jumped for an alley-oop. “They drop in from time
to time because of the Mischievous Sage.”

“Just like me!
Where are they? Can I—”

“They're dead.”
Seeing Eric's shock, she added, “From old age; the last one was two hundred
years ago.” She turned her back on all three of them. “Of course, my father
remembers it like it was yesterday . . . What does the passage of time mean to
the immortal elves?” She spun back, smiling brightly. “We made great advances
in Manaology because of them.”

“Here it comes .
. .” Revas droned.

“Pure life energy
flows in the veins of Noitaerc, The Great Tree That Supports the Worlds, and it
is this energy that preserves youth and life in all things. Since you were
pulled through those veins, your body became so saturated with it that you
regressed physically but not psychologically.”

“I drank cosmic
tree sap and it worked like a fountain of youth?”

“That's oversimplified,
but . . .yeah.”

Revas recovered
the ball. “Weren't we talking about his new job?”

“Oh, yeah . . .it's
The Dragon's Lair. I'm going to be a mercenary.”

Oito hissed
amusement. “I've heard of that plassse. It'ss full of nutjobsss and weridosss.”

“Yeah, especially
the captains,” Revas added. “Think that'll happen to you, Eric?”

The human shook
his head. “No, I'm going to keep my sanity.”

There was little
schoolwork for him to do, but plenty of guild work. Basilard assigned him a
large tome called
The Spirit and Its Power
by Dengel Tymh. It described
the spiritual abilities available to everyone with a soul, even Otherworlders
like him.

The most basic
was drawing mana from within and controlling it. Step one was to sit down,
breathe deeply, and think of nothing other than mana. The first time he created
a visible ball of light, the world changed. He saw others do magic and studied
with supernatural creatures, but his skeptical side still insisted it was some
kind of elaborate hoax. Staring at the little ball of magical power he created
himself, Eric could no longer refuse to see the truth.

He really was in
another world: magic was real, elves and demons went to school, gods made house
calls. That little ball of light made everything real. He was even starting to
believe that tale about Chaos, Order, and Noitaerc. He went to bed with a smile
on his face.

After a month,
the lessons were no longer a chore. He'd lost weight and gained muscle.
Basilard said he was starting to look like a mercenary. He meant it as a
compliment, but Eric still wasn't sure.
What if I have to kill someone? What
if I get killed? Basilard has that scar . . .

“'The guild shall
be our home and everyone in it shall be family.' That's a quote from our founder—The
Mother Dragon,” Basilard said after his most recent lesson. “I'll tell you the
story behind that quote someday. Now show me how much mana you can generate.”

Eric cupped his
hands, took a deep breath, and focused on directing his mana flow to the space
between his hands. A light appeared; it flickered, but was big enough to fill
his hands.

“Not bad. I think
you're ready for the next step.”

“What's the next
step?”

“Mana bolts.”

Basilard led him
to an isolated area of the park far from park benches and sport courts. The
only things around were trees and archery targets.

“The simplest
form of magecraft is projectile mana. Observe.” Basilard held his open palm up
and fired a ball of light. It punched a baseball-sized hole in the target. “To
do that I gathered mana in my hand, forced it into a sphere, and launched it.
You only need the third rule.”

“The third rule
is willpower, right, Daylra?” Eric asked.

“Correct.” He
cocked his hand and punched, sending a ball of light soaring towards the target
and creating a similar-sized hole next to the first. “Now what was different
about those two?”

Eric looked over
the two techniques in his mind before answering. “The first is based on
willpower alone and the second one adds momentum.”

“Correct again,”
Basilard praised. “Martial Arts leads into Mercenary Magic. Learning how to
punch correctly leads to the first step in using mana bolts correctly: The
motion and willpower are the same. The only addition is mana. Now try it.”

Eric stepped up
to the plate. Once he felt ready, he cocked his hand, focused on moving mana to
it, and punched. A ball of light flew from his fist, but fizzled out before
reaching the target.

“Hmm,” Basilard
mused. “You have to maintain focus or the bolt will fall apart.” Eric nodded
and this time the bolt collided with the target and dissipated harmlessly. “Where
are you aiming?”

“At the target,
Daylra.”

“You won't hit
the target by aiming
at
the target,” Basilard said, “Aim at the space
behind it. Focus on that space and your force will flow there.” Eric tried a
third time and punctured the target. “Not bad. I want you to keep doing that
until noon.”

The next week was
nothing but mana bolts. Leaf buds grew and Basilard reminisced how his mentor
made him shoot the tiny leaves instead of the big archery targets. The final mana
bolt lesson would take place at an actual shooting range. If Eric had to
compare it to something, it would have been a bowling alley: a large building
composed of long lanes with targets at their ends and an attached snack bar and
video arcade.

“Why'd we come to
this one?” Eric asked.

“I have a craving
for nachos,” Basilard said, “If you can punch a hole I'll buy you something.”

Eric stared at
his target. He took a deep breath and cupped his hands. The mana flickered,
then grew to a steady size. It gave him confidence. He willed the ball forward,
but it didn't budge.

“Try yelling,”
Basilard recommended, now holding a basket of nachos.

Feeling silly,
Eric said, “Ahhh . . .”

“Oh come on,
apprentice! You have to mean it!” Basilard shouted, munching nachos. “If you're
embarrassed about screaming when it's only your Daylra, how are you going to
cut it in battle?”

Basilard's
encouragement attracted attention from other lanes and people walking by. It
made Eric self-conscious and his mana bolt faded as a result.

“Think about
something you would use this power for,” Basilard advised, softer.

Eric racked his
brains for something he could champion: World peace? No, that was too
far-fetched. He could never do that because greater people than he had failed.
Becoming an important member of the Guild? Even if he did learn this technique,
he would only be a novice. As his depressing thoughts continued, his mana bolt
grew fainter and fainter.

“Hey!” Eric
glanced over his shoulder to see Annala with a bow in her hands and a quiver
over her shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, hi, Annala.
What are you doing here?” The mana bolt faded entirely.

“Archery, of
course,” the elf said with a smile. It made him feel better despite his
troubles. “I come here every week to practice.” She drew and fired.

Annala
. .
.Eric remembered how she had been hurt protecting him; Revas and Oito too.
I
don't want anyone putting themselves in danger because of me.
Eric squared
off against his own target and a mana bolt formed almost instantly.
I want
this power to protect my friends!

“AHHHH!”

Like pulling a
trigger, the mana bolt shot from his hands and collided with the target. The
impact threw up dust and obstructed it. When it cleared, there was a hole.

“Yeah! That's how
you do it!” Basilard slapped Eric on the back. “Keep that up and you'll make
Novice in no time!”

“Yes, that was an
impressive shot,” Annala agreed. “More than I would expect from someone who
hadn't heard of mana until recently.” Eric blushed and scratched his neck. He
insisted it was nothing while Annala insisted it was far from nothing.

“Now for the next
step,” Basilard said, “Fire a mana bolt at me.”

Eric was so
surprised he stopped scratching. “What?”

Basilard walked
in front of the target. “Fire a mana bolt at me.”

“All right, if
you insist.”

Eric crossed his
hands and gathered mana in his palms. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the
mana becoming a sphere. With a yell, he fired. The bolt that blew a hole in the
target failed to even reach Basilard. It splattered against a light screen in
front of him. Basilard cocked the nacho cheese dish, threw it at Eric and it
splattered in the same place. By virtue of the cheese stain, Eric could see it more
clearly.

“This is a
barrier; a projection of willpower,” Basilard said. “It follows the same
principles as a mana bolt, but the opposite application.” He dropped the
barrier and the cheese fell to the ground. “This will be your final lesson
before your entrance exam: Proof of Skill.”

The rest of
Eric's basic training focused on barriers. The master/apprentice pair returned
to the park and Basilard explained how they worked on the way: a projection of
the user's spirit, reinforced by willpower and summoned by thought. Eric spent
hours trying to get it right before he finally succeeded. Basilard's approving
smile made him blush. Then his mentor poked the barrier and it shattered. Eric
blushed harder in embarrassment. The second phase had begun: strengthen his
barrier to the point it could actually protect him.

“Is this why
spiritual power is so important?” Eric asked, “Barriers and magecraft?”

“No. It's more
fundamental than that; a strong spirit is vital for all warrior skills because
all warriors fight monsters. A monster's will to live is a scary thing; I've
seen them walk off limbs and regrow decapitation. If a warrior's spirit isn't
strong enough, the monster will ignore everything they do.”

“The Knee-Jerk
Shield,” Eric recited. “A barrier all living things possess that makes most
ranged weapons useless. Aside from a longbow arrow, physical intimacy is lost
between the user and the ammo, and as a result, the latter cannot be charged
with intent to kill. A weapon without this intent cannot harm monsters or
non-suicidal sapients. “

“Very good. If
this was a pop quiz, I would give you an A.”

Eric raised his
barrier again. “Is it?”

“No. But it's a
good thing to know because it was a history-changing technique.”

Eric lowered his
barrier again. “I can imagine. With all the training longbows and magecraft
require, professional soldiers rise in importance.”