Young Writers Society

This is one of my favorite chapters, probably because it has the most Lord Darian in it so far. There's also some explanation of the magic system (about time).

The End of Time

Part One: The City

Chapter Five: Lessons

About an hour after he’d first displayed to Darian that he could use magic, Nendo found himself standing in front of a set of double doors on the mansion’s ground floor, made of heavy dark wood and, like every door in the mansion, engraved with the design of a mirror decorated with wisterias. The doors to Lord Darian’s magic room.

Nendo didn’t know what could be in the room. All he knew of it was that Cura had dragged him past it on his first day, telling him it was strictly off limits. Yet here he was, because Darian had summoned him.

He twitched his fingers, examining the stiff white bandages Cura had carefully wrapped around each burnt digit. It had been a long time since he’d last used magic, and he had forgotten how the blue fire burned his skin when it came out.

Again, he found himself thinking about the incident—about falling, the sensation of wind roaring past, the senseless desperation that had led him to create a magic shield. Nendo hadn’t intended to do it. He never liked using his magic much, mostly because it ended up attracting undue attention to himself.

Well, now he’d attracted the Count of Miria’s attention, thought Nendo, somewhat bitterly. He wondered just what was waiting from behind the doors…

“Enter,” a soft voice called from the other side of the doors. Nendo stepped forward and pushed them open; they swung forward soundlessly. He stepped inside, taking in the room he’d just entered.

It wasn’t a particularly large room, and was easily the most plainly furnished room Nendo had seen in the mansion. The floors and walls were paneled with dark wood, but there was no other ornamentation, save four circular etchings set at regular intervals on the floor, and two wooden cabinets lining the walls, not to mention the ubiquitous mirrors: two of them, on the room’s long walls.

At the far wall hung a portrait, and standing in front of that portrait, his hands clasped behind his back, was Lord Darian.

Nendo took a tentative step into the room, his shoes ringing against the polished floor. He stood, waiting for Darian’s acknowledgment. A part of him wondered if he should bow—as Cura had taught him to do in the presence of his lord—but he wasn’t sure if he should if Darian wasn’t facing him.

“There you are,” said Darian, turning around. Nendo quickly ducked into a bow from the waist.

“Er—my lord,” he said.

“Look up,” said Darian. Nendo obeyed in an instant. “Listen—I do not want to speak to you as your lord here. I would like to be able to address you as equals…as fellow students of magic craft.”

Nendo’s heart slammed violently against his ribcage. He kept his eyes on the approaching lord, who was, to Nendo’s surprise, not dressed in a noble’s typical shirt and pants, but a set of magician’s robes—white robe edged with silver embroidery, black surcoat embroidered with matching silver and lavender designs, a trailing lavender sash wrapped around his waist. The robes suited him, thought Nendo in an offhand way. Darian looked most in his element as a mage, not a noble.

“Er…all right,” said Nendo, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. The next second, it struck him that he’d been rather impolite to his lord, and he added, “Um—my lord.”

“You can dispense with all that in here,” said Darian with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Like I said, we are both fellow magic students.” He then turned to glance at the portrait on the wall.

The portrait caught Nendo’s eye as well. It wasn’t a particularly large or detailed, depicting a head and torso view of a man in black-and-lavender magician’s robes similar to the ones Darian wore. The man appeared very similar to Darian as well, with shaggy dark hair falling into midnight blue eyes, and skin just as icy pale. He looked older, though, and bore a kinder aura than Darian: his mouth was twitched up in a pleased smile, and laugh lines surrounded his eyes.

“Who’s that?” said Nendo, although he felt he already knew.

“My father,” said Darian, confirming Nendo’s suspicion. “Lord Darvon, Fifth Count of Miria…” He lifted a hand, and rested it on the portrait’s gilt frame. Something in the tenderness of the gesture startled Nendo, and he recalled Cura’s words: Lord Darian admired him very much.

“I see,” said Nendo, rather stupidly. Still, he didn’t have a better response; he’d never known a father and didn’t know the right things to say to a boy who had lost his father six years ago.

“He was a good man,” said Darian, something akin to a smile—a real one, not just a sardonic smirk—tugging at the corners of his lips. “If I could be half the man my father was, I’d be happy.”

Nendo could only just stand there, discomfited by the sudden vulnerable side Darian was displaying. He hoped the moment would end soon, because otherwise he didn’t know how to deal with this—a noble boy speaking so fondly of his father. Nothing in Nendo’s life had prepared him for such a situation.

“But you didn’t come here to learn about Lord Darvon, did you?” said Darian, turning back around. Nendo suppressed a relieved sigh. “First things first, I’ll start with a question: How do you know magic?”

Nendo had been expecting this question. He straightened his shoulders, met Darian’s eyes, and said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” An annoyed flicker passed over Darian’s face. “What does that mean? You clearly performed magic back there. You created a shield—you used battle magic. Don’t tell me you were never taught.”

“I wasn’t,” protested Nendo; seeing Darian’s continued annoyed expression, he clarified: “Well…I don’t remember being taught or not.”

“How can you not remember something like that?” snapped Darian.

“It’s just…” Nendo struggled for words. “I just don’t. I…I don’t remember a lot about my early life. Before I was six or so. It’s just…a blank. I guess I learned magic then, or something.”

And it was true: he didn’t remember. No matter how hard he tried to sift through those long-forgotten depths, those years of his childhood (before, he assumed he had taken to the streets), nothing came except a faint ominous feeling and the murky lapping of the river against the shoreline. That was all he could remember, even though he felt those first six years had been integral.

Darian still looked skeptical, but must have decided not to pursue the matter any longer. Instead, he said, striding across the room towards one of the cabinets, his robe swishing with every step, “It doesn’t matter how you know magic or not…what matters is you know it. Although not that well.”

Strangely, Nendo didn’t feel that the flatly-intoned words were an insult; he thought the same thing about his skill with magic. Darian was rifling through the cabinet, making loud clanking sounds, before he withdrew and held out something long and tall to Nendo—a wooden practice staff. Nendo stepped forward to accept it, the polished wood of the staff strangely warm beneath his bandaged fingers.

“You can’t just blast magic willy nilly from your fingers,” Darian said, his voice somewhat muffled as his head was stuck in the cabinet again—he appeared to be searching for something else now. “It’ll eventually burn your fingers off. The first step in practicing magic is to have a staff, a focal point for your power.”

He emerged from the cabinet with a staff of his own. It wasn’t a wooden practice staff like Nendo’s: Darian’s staff was more than a head taller than he was, and wrought from elegant dark metal. It was tipped with a small highly-polished mirror; from the bottom of the mirror dangled a bundle of tiny, pale pink, ceramic wisterias that jingled softly when the staff moved. Nendo had never seen a staff quite like it before; it wasn’t grand and festooned with precious jewels like the staffs the mages in parades carried, but had its own sort of delicate grace.

“This staff is Shade Mirage,” said Darian. “The familial heirloom staff of Miria. Since the days of my ancestor Asan, it has been passed from father to son.”

Nendo nodded. Darian stepped forward, approaching one of the circles inlaid in the floor, beckoning for Nendo to follow. Nendo did so, standing a little ways behind Darian as he watched Darian turn the staff upside down with a neat flick of his wrist, so that the mirror was pointing at the circle.

“Do you know how to perform a basic attacking spell?” Darian asked.

“Well…” said Nendo. “I don’t—I’m not sure, I just, when I want to attack, I just think about—shapes, I guess—shapes that would be fit for cutting and striking.”

He couldn’t explain it any other way, pathetic as that explanation might be. Nendo knew that other mages—trained mages—relied on set forms to perform different kinds of magic; Nendo, however, just sketched designs that he felt suited the situation. For attacking, he created fierce lines ending with spear-like points, while for defending he focused on drawing solid and sturdy boxes.

“Hmm, well,” said Darian. “That’s a crude, but effective, way to use battle magic. It’s much easier when you follow the prescribed forms, though—watch.”

Nendo obeyed, keeping his eyes peeled as Darian drew the outline of a circle in a single swift motion, so quickly Nendo barely saw his hand move. The etched circle in the floor flared alight with purple fire.

Darian began sketching in lines with slow and purposeful movements that Nendo felt were only for his benefit—he could tell that Darian could draw the circle much faster, in mere seconds. He watched as sharp-edged lines of purple fire criss-crossed the circle at angles, coming together in a design that spoke of force and action.

The next second, with another flick of his wrist, Darian sent the circle flying forward, straight towards the opposite wall. The circle flared alight with a burst of purple fire before bursting out of existence and leaving behind a charred line on the wall. Nendo stared at it, imagining what would have happened if a person was standing in the way of the attacking spell.

“Did you see it?” said Darian sharply. Nendo nodded.

“This is the most basic attacking form,” explained Darian. “Depending on the intent and strength the caster puts in the circle, it will do anything from knock over a target to slicing him in half.”

Ouch. Nendo shuddered mentally at the image.

“Try it,” said Darian.

“What?” said Nendo, startled. He’d already forgotten the pattern that Darian had woven.

Darian sighed. “Pay attention…” He lowered the staff to the circle again, this time drawing the magic circle more slowly, pausing after each line to give Nendo time to burn the image into his memory. Now that Darian was sketching the circle more slowly, Nendo could see that it wasn’t half as complicated as he thought it was: There were only five straight lines crossing the circle, intersecting in acute angles, forming a design like a star.

“The basic form attacking spell,” said Darian, when he was finished. “Now try for yourself.”

Nendo nodded, glancing one last time at the glowing lines before they flickered out of existence. He lowered the head of the practice staff to the circle and began to call forth the familiar fiery blue confidence. It surged through his veins, but instead of escaping through his fingers it raced through his palms into the warm wood, before gathering in a crackling ball of bluish energy at the tip of the staff. A vague memory floated through Nendo of a street performer showing off something the Coalition called “electricity”. He remembered how the blue sparkles had leapt from metal rod to metal rod, through a process the performer had called “conduction”.

He felt that the staff was conducting his magic just like the metal rods had conducted the electricity, driving it through his veins and into the wood. The magic gathering in the tip of the staff was clamoring to escape, so he gave it an exit, swinging the staff in a circle around him (in admittedly not as crisp a motion as Darian’s). Blue fire surged out and formed the outline of a circle, matching the outline etched in the floor.

Nendo continued adding other lines, copying the pattern he’d seen in Darian’s circle. It was, to his surprise, much easier to cast magic with the staff while following a set design. There was none of the soul-draining weariness or burning pain in his fingers that came with using only his willpower and hands. The lines of blue fire he created were somewhat shakier than Darian’s, but much more crisp than the haphazard patterns he created on his own.

When he was finished with the circle, Darian didn’t respond except to nod. Sweat standing out on the back of his neck, Nendo flooded the circle with his intent, sending it where Darian had earlier scorched the wall. His magic exploded against the wall in a shower of blue sparks, sending Nendo stumbling backwards. He stared, wide-eyed, at the angry dark mark the spell had left on the wall.

“That was rather—powerful,” said Darian, a slight smile gracing his pale features. “I do believe you need more control, though. Come here—don’t grip your staff so tightly, it’s not someone you’re trying to strangle; yes, like that. Move swiftly, decisively. Don’t think, just let the magic guide you. And muscle memory too, I suppose. Yes, like that…”

How long Nendo spent in the magic room, under Darian’s patient instruction, he didn’t know. After that first lesson there were only others—lessons in the right way to position his staff, on how to flick his wrist so the lines of fire simply burst out instead of having to drag his staff to draw them, on the right way to direct his intent in a single point of focus. Then, after Darian was satisfied Nendo could perform a basic attacking spell, he began drilling Nendo in defense. He taught Nendo how to draw firm lines in right angles, and how to cast the spell before him like a shield, correcting Nendo’s missteps all the while. Nendo was surprised by how patient the lord was; despite Nendo’s many, and sometimes foolish, errors, Darian never once raised his voice, although he did get increasingly sardonic.

After what must have been almost two hours of training, Nendo’s knees were trembling and his every muscle felt floppy as cloth. He’d never cast this much magic before in such a short space of time, and although the staff helped focus his energy, he still felt so weary he could barely stand.

It took Darian some time to notice Nendo’s increasing weariness. He was still standing straight and drawing lines of purple fire with as much vigor as earlier. In the middle of showing Nendo—yet again—the proper way to cast a defensive spell, Nendo fell to his knees, his head pounding and the staff dropping out of his hands with a loud clunk.

“Ah,” said Darian, dispelling the half-formed magic circle and kneeling beside Nendo. Much to Nendo’s surprise, Darian placed a startlingly cool hand on his shoulder, turning Nendo to face him.

“Sorry,” mumbled Nendo, reaching for the staff again. Darian, however, snapped his fingers to direct Nendo’s attention back to him.

“It’s perfectly all right,” he said. “You’re just a beginner…of course you wouldn’t have the stamina to last. Come, can you stand?”

“Y-yeah…” Nendo wasn’t actually certain if he could, but he didn’t like the idea of having the much thinner and paler boy haul him up. With a grunt of exertion, Nendo tentatively lurched to his feet.

“You’ve probably had enough, haven’t you?” said Darian as he set his staff with surprising gentleness on the floor.

Something about the lord’s tone annoyed Nendo, but Nendo held his irritation in check and said, truthfully, “I guess…it’s pretty difficult.”

“It always is, especially at the beginning,” said Darian. “I was three when I started, so I’ve had more experience. Already, though, you’re making quite a deal of progress.”

He stepped backwards, so they were about five paces apart, before clasping his hands and inclining his head to Nendo. The magician’s bow, Nendo realized. Hastily, Nendo copied the gesture, dipping his head somewhat lower because Darian was a senior magician.

It felt strange, bowing to a nobleman not as a servant, but as a fellow battle mage. Sure, a much weaker mage…but a mage nonetheless. Funny, how Nendo had before considered magic only a weapon of last resort; now, he was being formally trained in magic craft. And he liked it. Every time, even when his spells blew apart in his face and knocked him backwards, he felt a strange sense of triumph seeing the blue fire—his fire—shoot from the staff as he willed it. It was something he could do. Something of his own.

The rustling of cloth alerted Nendo to Darian straightening again. Nendo pulled out of the bow as well.

“You’ve done well,” said Darian.

Nendo couldn’t think of anything to say to this; he had to turn to the side to hide from Darian the heat that had risen in his face. Being praised for his magic craft was something he wasn’t used to; usually the vendors or guards who he used magic on roared indignantly at him, calling him a devil boy or worse. Pulling out of his recollections, Nendo said, “Why…?”

“Why what?” said Darian, who had bent down to pick up Shade Mirage again.

“Why…” Nendo paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “Why are you teaching me…?”

It was the question that had been swirling inside him ever since Darian had first ordered him to go to the magic room. Why had Darian decided to teach him, Nendo, a mere servant, a former street boy?

Darian fixed Nendo with a long, piercing stare, his blue eyes expressionless. Nendo started to flush under Darian’s scrutiny. At length, the lord spoke: “I didn’t want to waste your potential.”

“Potential…?” said Nendo.

“The magic that you unleashed back there,” explained Darian. “It was powerful, supremely so. Some of the most powerful battle magic I’ve ever seen… I thought it would be a shame to let that raw power go to waste, without anyone to help you refine it.”

A long pause, and then he said, quieter, “You are no ordinary street boy, Nendo.”

Nendo stared at the floorboards, embarrassed. He’d never been subject to such high praise before…except from Tey. How many times had Tey gasped in awe at Nendo’s feats, how many times had he said, “That was amazing!” or “Incredible!” at every little thing Nendo did?

Once again, Nendo reached into his pocket, fingering the fragment of wood that was now his only attachment to his former life, and Tey.

“Well…I suppose we’re done here for the day,” Darian was saying, striding towards Nendo while reaching for something inside his robe. “You ought to practice during your free time, though—here.”

Nendo blinked as he saw a thin, black-covered book shoved in his face. An image of a basic magic circle was embossed on gold on the cover beneath gold lettering of the book’s title.

“What’s this?” said Nendo.

“It’s a book that contains diagrams of various battle magic circles,” said Darian. “I don’t suspect you’ll be able to read it, but you should be able to copy the diagrams, they’re step by step…”

Nendo accepted the book, turning it over so he could read the title. Basic Battle Magic Forms, the golden letters read, and beneath them, in smaller type, was Lord Darvon, 5th Count of Miria.

“Your father wrote this?” he said.

“Excuse me?” Darian had been heading back to the cabinets. He stopped, mid-step, and turned back to Nendo.

“Your father,” said Nendo, indicating the name on the front of the book. “Did he write this?”

“How would you know?” said a wide-eyed Darian.

“His name’s written on it,” said Nendo. “I’m guessing he’s the person who wrote it, why else would it be—”

Before he could finish, Darian was in front of him, alternating astonished glances between Nendo and the book. At length, he spoke, his throat convulsing. “You can read?”

“Um…yeah,” said Nendo, feeling foolish.

Darian gazed back at Nendo, astonishment still written all over his pale features, before giving his head a disbelieving shake, dark hair flying into his eyes. “You…you are no ordinary street boy.”

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I do believe I like the next part better, because we get some motivation behind Jyuna's character. The Presulis scenes are some of my favorite, actually.

As for this one...well, writing it, I liked it a lot, but looking back...mehh. I'm pretty sure I started going overboard with description again, and there are unnecessary words littering the place all over. I'd appreciate shredding for word economy, since this chapter is some of the clunkiest writing I've produced so far. I'm also not sure how much the magic system makes sense.

More critiques makes a happier Bickazer, so don't hold back. ^^