The Young Magician

offered his hand to Samuel who shook it firmly.

They wove between the tables and approached a simple door at the rear of the room. Some of the old men watched them as they passed with a mixture of expressions. Some seemed curious, others smirked, while others merely glanced up momentarily before returning to their own affairs. Tulan knocked three times on the door and, after some moments, a voice called to enter.

‘This is Master Salmus Dividian,’ Tulan whispered as they stepped through. ‘He is Custodian of Records and therefore in charge of student admissions.’

They entered into the brightly lit study where within, an aged man wearing spectacles right on the tip of his pointed nose was busily scribbling notes on a parchment. His beard was thick and curly about his chin and his hair was edged with grey. He put his quill aside and turned his attention to the newcomers, coughing to clear his throat and removing his spectacles to peer over his nose at them.

‘Ah, Master Goodwin,’ he called with a throaty voice. ‘How pleasant to see you again.’ He did not sound at all sincere. ‘And what do you have with you? A new student, perhaps, or a new worker for the kitchens?’ Master Dividian laughed heartily at this and Samuel could tell it was not something he did often.

‘This is Samuel, Master Dividian,’ Tulan introduced and the older man’s eyes flicked briefly to Samuel. ‘Master Kelvin has sent him with his best wishes and proposes to sponsor the boy.’

‘But this boy has no talent at all,’ Master Dividian grumbled. ‘How can Master Kelvin expect me to waste my time? I thought the man would have more sense.’

Tulan spoke again. ‘You will find that he does have some talent, Master Dividian, but of course he needs training and some refinement. I’m assured he has the potential to be a gifted magician with the proper schooling.’

Dividian looked unconvinced and sucked at his cheek. ‘If it is Master Kelvin’s wish, than I shall grant the boy an opportunity to prove himself, although the last thing we need is another outlander. Why can’t you find me more decent Turian apprentices?’ he said with unhindered disdain. ‘I’ll give him a cot with the others in the foreigners’ dormitory. He’ll have to do his best to catch up and if he can’t, I’ll put him out the front of the city to find his own way home.’ With that, the man replaced his spectacles and searched the papers on his desk until he found the sheet he required. ‘Samuel,’ he spoke to himself as he scrawled down the name beneath a host of others. ‘That was my old mule’s name. Good day!’ He then called out and waved at them dismissively, without looking up.

Tulan returned a half-hearted ‘good day’ and they left the room. ‘So that is what you are up against, Samuel,’ he said. ‘Just do your best to ignore him and try to keep out of his way. If you get on his wrong side, it will make your life here much more difficult. Imperials like him will always treat outsiders like you with contempt, so just do your best to avoid them. Having outlanders in the Order is still considered something of an inconvenient necessity and is not looked upon favourably by most. Times are changing,’ he sighed, ‘but ever so slowly.’

Samuel nodded and followed Tulan back across the room. More glances were applied to him, followed by the same mumbling, scowls and sniggers. He was starting to feel that this place was not really as wonderful as he had expected at all. In Stable Canthem, they would talk about the Imperials and laugh about them. Here, he was the one being singled out.

‘I am long late already, Samuel, so best wishes to you,’ Tulan said and gave Samuel directions to his lodgings. ‘Although it has been my pleasure to escort you here, the task has not been kind to my schedule and I must rush. Take care and I look forward to meeting you again in the future and seeing what marvels you have accomplished.’

‘Thank you, Tulan,’ Samuel said with gratitude, and they shook hands again warmly.

‘I’m sorry I must rush, but you will be well taken care of here. Goodbye.’ With that, Tulan walked back towards the school gates, leaving Samuel to fend for himself.

Samuel looked around. This was a strange place, indeed. Old men, young men and boys alike eyed him like a circus spectacle as they passed. They were all wearing black garments, while he still stood in the brown trousers and white shirt that Master Kelvin had given him, so he supposed he must look greatly out of place here. Gathering his wits, Samuel began moving between the various buildings, as per Tulan’s instructions, eventually finding the appropriate one. It had ‘Apprentice Dormitory Three’ ornately carved on a decorative sign by the door, with curling golden letters that almost seemed to burn with fire upon the wood.

Stepping inside, Samuel found himself within a great, two-levelled room. A kitchen and tabled area covered the bottom floor with many chairs and places to study, while a balcony, ringed with many narrow cots, hugged the walls above. A spectacled young man a year or two older than Samuel was the building’s only inhabitant and he sat at a table reading with his arm in a white sling, hanging across his chest. The boy ignored him completely as Samuel climbed up the steep stairs and threw his belongings onto an apparently vacant cot, no possessions by its side. A window nearby revealed another building, a twin to this one, only a few strides away.

Not knowing what else to do, Samuel lay on the cot-it was surprisingly comfortable-and rested, thinking about his strange, new surroundings. He hoped the people were friendlier than they seemed or he was surely in for a miserable time.

Eventually, with nothing else to do or fill his thoughts, he swung his feet back to the floor and went back downstairs to speak with the other boy.

‘Just arrived?’ the boy stated as Samuel approached, not even glancing up from his book.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.

‘You could have been from Hammenton,’ the boy continued. ‘They had a small school there, too, until just recently.’ The boy finally looked up to meet Samuel’s gaze. ‘But you’re not from there.’

‘No,’ Samuel replied. ‘I’m from Stable Canthem, in…’

‘Marlen,’ the boy finished for him. ‘I’ve heard of it. I’m Eric Goodfellow.’ He offered his good hand to Samuel and they shook. His sandy hair was cut straight across, just above his glasses, as if edged off with one quick snip of a pair of scissors and the rest of his hair looked like it had been modelled from a bowl. It was not a fashion that Samuel would have chosen for himself, but at least this boy was being polite, although admittedly a little strange.

‘I’m Samuel.’

Eric nodded and returned to his book, reading a few more lines before setting it down upon the table.

‘Do you have some talent already?’ Eric asked.

‘They said I do, but I’m not sure about this whole magic thing.’

‘Well, you’ll find out soon. You won’t be here long if you don’t have at least some skill with magic.’

Samuel nodded in understanding. ‘What happened to your arm?’

‘I broke it a few days ago. I managed to levitate to the ceiling-but then I got nervous and couldn’t hold my spell.’

‘I think I did that once,’ Samuel stated.

Eric adjusted his eyeglasses and examined Samuel more closely. ‘You must have some ability, then. The others are with Master Glim. I’ll introduce you when they return. So, what have you learned so far? What can you do?’

‘They told me I’m not allowed to use any magic until I get taught how.’

‘Of course. It’s very dangerous to practise magic without proper supervision. I heard about one boy who was practising in secret and lost control. He was covered in mage-fire. It’s a terrible kind of fire made of uncontrolled magic. It burns your skin and flesh and damages your mind in dreadful ways. He left soon after-terribly scarred and unable to communicate in any way. I hope that doesn’t happen to you.’

‘So do I!’ Samuel declared.

Eric laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.’ For the first time, the boy actually looked welcoming.

They talked for a time until, towards mid-afternoon, a collection of tired and limping boys came in and sat at the tables or crawled up the stairs and collapsed onto their cots, each dressed in near-identical sets of black shirts and trousers.

‘This is Samuel, everybody!’ Eric called loudly.

A few boys waved in greeting or gave a welcoming moan. One boy came and sat with them. He was bright and energetic with his short, black hair combed neatly into place.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Eric. Eric Pot.’