Chapter 1

 

George and James had been sneaking up onto the roof of their school and hiding behind the parapet since they were in kindergarten together, even in the winter, when it was cold and sometimes icy up there. They could peek over the parapet and have a good view of Sutter’s Village since the school was one of the tallest buildings in the community.

Years had passed since kindergarten. George and James had grown much older. They were about to graduate from school. George would test at the Magic College of Praxis in Capitol City the next day, a very prestigious honor that George would have on account of his family heritage. James, born to a lesser bloodline, would be apprenticed to a local wizard right in Sutter’s Village. The two youths didn’t really expect to see each other much after they parted ways, so they were enjoying one of the last times that they thought they would ever hang out together.

That day, they were in for a real treat, a rare spectacle. Below them, in the town square that their parapet faced, a public trial was underway. A local washerwoman had been accused of committing science. Scientists were terrorists and insurrectionists against the governance of the Society of Sorcerers Born. Proponents of science claimed that anyone could do science. They claimed that one didn’t have to be born with the Gifting of Magic in their bloodline to understand the workings of the universe. The more outspoken and revolutionary scientists spoke of a day to come in which Sorcerers Born and common peasantry would be equals, sharing in the fruits of society side by side. Unthinkable!

The washerwoman who stood accused of practicing science sat in a chair with her back to the fountain that graced the middle of the town square. She was flanked by her guards, who seemed hardly necessary as the woman looked completely broken emotionally as well as physically exhausted. George didn’t doubt that Anti-Science Inquisitors had kept her up all night trying to convince her to confess.

Before her, upon a raised stage, sat a Wizard’s Tribunal, made up of three local ranking wizards from Sutter’s Village. One of them was one of George’s current teachers. One of them was the school principal. The third was an older teacher who had retired before George and James had grown old enough to attend his advanced classes.

Around the town square, about a hundred folk had gathered to see the trial. The Wizard’s Tribunal had called for witnesses. A competing washerwoman was testifying, not just looking at the faces of the Tribunal, but passionately presenting herself to the gathered crowd, trying to stir them up to her side of things.

“Mabel and I have, of course, had a friendly rivalry through the years in our respective laundry businesses…”

A heckler from the crowd interrupted. “It’s not so friendly now, is it?”

The witness, though she paused to glare wickedly at the heckler, was undeterred. “But, of late, Mabel’s business has taken all my customers, even generational customers, babies whose diapers I washed growing up and then paying me to wash their own children’s diapers. And why? Because she uses this!”

The witness pulled from her satchel a pouch. Untying the straps on the pouch, she dumped the contents, a white crystalline powder upon the ground dramatically. Though George and James, hidden behind their parapet, were behind the Tribunal’s stage, George could imagine them raising their eyebrows at this display.

“What is this?” asked the school principal, the central figure of the Tribunal.

“It’s–” began the witness.

“Let the defendant answer for herself,” instructed the principal.

The defendant, Mabel, looked up. There didn’t seem to be any hope on her face or in her voice. She looked resigned to her fate. She did, however, still possess some dignity about her. She would do her best to answer the questions presented to her with whatever honesty she could. George wondered how a nice lady like her could ever have gotten mixed up in science

“They are simple salts, m’lord. They soften the water.”

“Soften?” The principal seemed incredulous. “Why would water need softening? Water is not hard.”

“Unless it is ice.” The older, retired teacher on the Tribunal had not spoken until now. When he did, the crowd all “oooooooooed” and “aaaaaaaaaahed” as if that was the most profound thing they had ever heard.

A pause made it apparent that she wouldn’t interrupt one of the Tribunal members, the witness took the opportunity to continue to testify against her business rival. “She makes Sutter’s grime go away.”

The crowd “oooooooooed” and “aaaaaaaaaahed” again. Everyone in Sutter’s Village knew that anything or anyone who washed in the local well water would be covered in a harmless but distinct crusty layer known as Sutter’s grime.

“Is this true?” the principal asked the crowd. “Are there any witnesses that can attest that this washer woman makes their clothes clean without Sutter’s grime?”

Several villagers came forward, guiltily confessing that they had preferred that Mabel do their laundry since it made their clothes, towels, and diapers softer and grime free. They swore on the graves of their ancestors that they had no idea whatsoever that science was involved..

The principal looked at Mabel. “Whence did you learn this water softening science?”

“M’lord, I took in a traveler for the night a few weeks ago, one who was poor and could not pay. He wanted to offer me something in repayment, so he showed me how to make my laundry business prosper by softening the water. He said the water from our wells here in Sutter’s village was hard. I laughed at first. Whoever had heard of hard water, lest it be ice, as the good old master has rightly said? But the traveler bade me to do a load of laundry after he had treated the water with salts. And the results, many assembled here are wearing right now.”

The crowd got nervous and shifted uncomfortably, as if their clothes had somehow contaminated them with science.

“We’ve heard enough,” the principal proclaimed. “Washerwoman Mabel, we, this lawfully assembled Wizard’s Tribunal, hereby find you guilty of practicing science.”

Ominously, at that moment, the town bell rang the hour, signaling to George and James that they had to leave their special spot and return to their classes, both of them vowing to never, ever have anything to do with science.

Chapter 2

 

“Look out below!” came a cruel voice from above.

George looked up just in time to see a globe of liquid water, the size of a ripe melon, fall from the sky and strike the boy walking in front of him. Upon striking its target, the watery missile burst, drenching the boy. Chortles and guffaws came from above.

George glared at the aerial tormentors who had cast the spell that had created and launched the watery attack. Two older students from the Magic College of Praxis stood on a flying carpet some fifty feet above the line of Hopeful Candidates walking the road uphill to the magnificent Praxis Campus. The buildings of the campus, many of them made, either wholly or partially, of a magically grown crystal, glittered like diamonds in the distance.

What George and the other Hopeful Candidates were doing that morning was an annual ceremonial humiliation. Each year, on Entrance Exam Day, a procession of Hopeful Candidates would walk to school, only to be harassed by the upperclassmen. Striking back was forbidden by the victims. They were required to endure this indignity as a sign of their toughness.

Of course, officially, according to the College, the harassment was not to rise above the level of light pranking. Upperclassmen who went too far in their pranks could face censure, suspension, or even, theoretically, expulsion if a Hopeful Candidate were, in any way, permanently injured during their walk to campus on the morning of Entrance Exam Day. Another motivation for the pranksters to not go too far in their hazing was that, in order to attend the College of Praxis, all Hopeful Candidates had to come from, or be sponsored by, powerful noble families. Any upperclassmen who strayed too far from what was culturally considered normal pranking could be subject to retribution from vengeful relatives or allies of their target.

Nevertheless, whether the upperclassmen practiced restraint or recognized any kind of limits on their behavior or not, George found the whole ritual repugnant. The Society of Sorcerers Born ruled over lands steeped in honored and honorable tradition. Be that as it may, George didn’t think this annual ritual humiliation represented anything honorable.

After Hopeful Candidates were accepted into the school, they were no longer required to walk there. Starting the day after a student passed the Entrance Exam and wasn’t a Hopeful Candidate anymore, every student who possibly could, unless they woke up already there each day because they lived in campus housing, found a way to transport themselves to school without walking. Some rode flying carpets like the one floating over the line of Hopeful Candidates tossing water globes that morning. Some rode flying brooms. Some wore rings of flying. Some used one-shot, short term flying spells that would last just long enough to get them to school. Looking up and scanning the air above him, George could see a couple of students with a family resemblance that made them look like brother and sister riding a pegasus that was adorned at the base of its neck with the crest emblem of a powerful noble family.

The only form of transportation that wasn’t allowed for getting oneself to school was teleporting or plane shifting, as the school was well-warded against such intrusions for security reasons.

“What are you looking at?”

George had made the mistake of looking at the two water-tossing bullies riding the flying carpet a bit too long, and had probably allowed his disgust at the whole hazing ritual to show on his face. Now, he would be the next target. George lowered his head, bracing himself. He resolved to take what was going to come without making it any worse, though what he heard coming from above didn’t sound good.

“No, man! Don’t do that! It’s not worth it! You’ll get us both in trouble! He’s probably the kid of someone important.” Apparently, one of the two bullies wasn’t necessarily nicer than the other, but was more conservative and less hot-headed than his companion.

The more reckless of the youths wasn’t going to listen to any advice about restraint, however. “Did you see the way that little prick looked at us? Who does he think he is? Someone needs to show him his proper place.”

The globe of liquid that splashed itself on George wasn’t a globe of water. It was a globe of urine. The stench overwhelmed George. When he thought it was safe to open his eyes without getting urine in them, he saw the flying carpet flying on ahead so its occupants could bother other Hopeful Candidates. Then, George’s heart swelled with gratitude for his parents’ gift to him, for it had not been cheap, though his mother had enchanted it herself in her workshop. George’s outfit made a fluttering sound as it rustled of its own accord. Every drop and spot of filth on it flew off as the fabric magically restored itself to its pristine condition.

“Hey!” a student walking next to him exclaimed as some of the nasty substance flung from Geroge’s attire splattered on him. “Oh, great! This one’s got self-cleaning clothes. Must be nice!”

Once on campus, George could take care of his face and hair in a washroom. Then, he’d be good as new. In the meantime, he plodded on, wondering what else this day had in store for him. The hazing ritual was over, once and for all. It only happened once in a student’s life and everyone went through it. It was behind him now. If that was the worst thing that happened to him all day, he thought it would be a pretty good day. After all, his new life was just beginning. HIs attitude was optimistic. George felt that he stood at the threshold of a thousand possibilities, and all of them good.

 

Chapter 3

 

On campus, George came out of a washroom, fresher and a little less nervous about what was to come. After all, he’d already overcome one of the worst things he had ever heard could happen at the Mage College of Praxis. He wondered what James would have thought of him this morning both during the walk to school and of the consequences afterward. George hoped that James would get an adequate education from his local master there in Sutter’s Village. Of course, it would never be as broad or deep an education as George would receive here at the College of Praxis, but some things could not be changed, and one’s born station in life was one of them.

George thought about the evil scientists who had spread the corrupting scientific knowledge that had eventually ensnared a nice lady like Mabel the washerwoman. Why couldn’t these science-mongers just accept the natural order of things, that in this life, people were either born with the Gift of Magic or they weren’t. This was simply the way of things, the way of the world. Those born with the Gift of Magic should lead because they were more fit to lead. It wasn’t anybody’s fault that some were born with magic and some weren’t. Of course it was true that those with strong magic gifts sought out others who also had strong magic gifts to produce children with the greatest chance to also have strong magic gifts. But why wouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they? By producing sorcerer bloodline dynastic families, the Society of Sorcerers born had brought stability and advancement to the world.

The Society had made a better world for all. All children in Sutter’s Village had been taught in school that before the Society of Sorcerers Born had been founded, the world of Zorethea had been a chaotic place, filled with famines, wars, pestilences, and other suffering for the masses. Now, peace and harmony reigned, thanks to the Society’s wise and powerful leadership. No, George thought, these scientists were not the freedom fighters they claimed to be. Science, if followed as a philosophy and a way of life, would lead humanity back to the Dark Ages.

George took in the campus’s sights and sounds. Upperclassmen with flying steeds were landing at rooftop stables that, while their riders were in classes for the day, would house everything from pegasi to griffons, keeping predators like griffons separate from their natural prey, the pegasi. The campus was decorated with magical tree species, though none of them had in-season fruit at the moment. The colors of these trees varied from delicate mauves to stunning silvers, the silver ones sparkling in the morning sun.

All of the upperclassmen seemed to know where to go and were filtering away from the quad in the middle of the campus into the various classroom and lab study buildings. There were about five adult mage instructors herding freshmen candidates into the center of the campus around the quad. George hurried over to join them. He could hear their voices giving information and instructions, amplified by spells that projected their voices to every ear in the crowd.

“This year’s pool of candidates is the largest our college has ever had,” a tall instructor with jet black hair, beard and mustache, this year’s Entrance Exam Day Proctor proudly proclaimed. “By our calculations, it will take two and half days to sort out who will attending the college this year, who will not, and at what ranking those who are attending will start. At the end of the school day today, if you have not been informed that there’s been a final decision that you won’t be attending the college this year, then you are free to return tomorrow. For those who return tomorrow, there will be no hazing. None. The Testing of the Hopeful Candidates is to happen once a year only, no more. All upperclassmen will be informed of this. Any upperclassmen who attempt any Testing of the Hopeful Candidates tomorrow will be dealt with harshly.

“The Entrance Exam will now begin. Each of you, unless your turn doesn’t come up today, will be paired off with an opponent. You are to defeat your opponent by any nonlethal means necessary that doesn’t leave permanent harm. Our judge’s panel is observing to settle any potential disputes that may arise today.” The Entrance Exam Day Proctor gestured to the tops of nearby campus buildings where instructors in dark robes and masks could see the entirety of the quad below. Students were to never know exactly who the judges were.

Next, the Proctor bade the students to all sit in a giant ring around the quad. Because of the voice amplification magic he used, everyone could hear him perfectly. “Let the testing begin. We have many candidates who must prove themselves. Ligas of Sutter’s Village step forth. Mylerna of Renalja, step forth.”

George knew Ligas as another boy from Sutter’s Village about his age. George and Ligas had never been close friends, but they’d never hated each other either. George and Ligas had always invited each other to birthday parties when they had been younger.

George knew that Renalja was a region on the far side of the Kh’shon Hills. He’d seen it on maps in his studies, but never been there. Renalja was known in history for holding out against takeover by the Society of Sorcerers Born for a long time since their population had a much higher than normal percentage of people born with the Gift of Magic than other lands. Renaljans had been able to resist and keep their independence well into recent history. A series of politically advantageous marriages, however, had eventually enmeshed the Renaljans with the Society of Sorcerers Born enough that the Renaljans had finally joined the Society.

Mylerna was a tiny, petite girl, yet she looked dangerous. There was something in her eyes that looked wrong. The expression on her face reminded George of a much older woman, though she was clearly a teenager. The way the Renaljan walked and moved with an air of pure confidence also seemed too adult for a teenager. She reminded George of a predator stalking prey.

A boy George didn’t know whispered next to him, “She looks small and weak, but my old teachers from elementary school always taught that magic is the great equalizer. When one can summon fire and lightning from one’s hands, muscles and size and bulk don’t matter.”

George whispered back. “Not everyone has magic though. The science terrorists call science the real great equalizer. Science works for everyone, they say.”

The other boy scoffed. “Well, I don’t see any of them here today, do you? Magic rules the world no matter what the science freaks say.”

Their conversation was cut off as the Entrance Exam Day Proctor shouted to the two candidates who were to duel first, “Begin!” 

 

Chapter 4

 

Mylerna of Renalja didn’t waste any time dispatching Ligas. With a wave of her hand, the earth underneath the tall boy who was her opponent liquified into quicksand, swallowing him in an instant. A mere moment after the duel had started, it was as if Ligas had never been standing there at all.

The Entrance Exam Proctor’s voice boomed through his amplification spell. “May I remind the candidates that lethality and permanent harm are forbidden in today’s duels?”

In response, Mylerna held up one hand with a flourish. She pulled in her fingers on that hand, one by one, counting down from five. When all her fingers were closed and the hand was a fist because she had reached zero, she made a magical power gesture with her closed fist and the earth where Ligas had been standing suddenly released him, prone and gasping for air. Ligas was covered in dust and looked horrified by what he had just gone through. As soon as he could speak, he screamed “I yield!”

Mylerna’s face looked cold and passionless, as if Ligas were nothing more than an insect studied in a magnifying glass. The Proctor declared her the winner. “Mylerna will advance through the duels. Ligas will consult with a guidance counselor in Building A.”

Being defeated in the Entrance Exam Duels didn’t necessarily mean rejection as a Hopeful Candidate. The judges were to evaluate a candidate’s overall performance, but it didn’t look good for Ligas, since he hadn’t had a chance to demonstrate that he could do anything, worthy of entrance to the college or not. George watched Ligas make his way through the crowd of his peers toward Building A, still shaking and trembling from the trauma of being buried alive and not being able to breathe for a good fraction of a minute. He had probably thought the he was going to die, rules against it notwithstanding.

According to the rules of the Entrance Exam, Mylerna, as the winner of a duel, had the option of continuing to duel as long as she felt up to it, or to sit back down and wait to be called on again. Mylerna opted to continue to duel. George watched as she continued to take out five more candidates, one after another. Having seen how quickly she had created Sucking Quicksand underneath Ligas, her new opponents attacked her as quickly as they could and kept their feet moving, never staying in one spot long. Her first opponent after Ligas dodged to the side as soon as the Proctor had started the duel and flung a bolt of lightning at the Renaljan girl. A column of earth and stone rose up instantly in the lightning bolt’s path, blocking and grounding out what would have been a shocking jolt.

George knew that the Renaljans were famous earth elementalists. Apparently, Mylerna was skilled in her people’s specialty. It was as if the element of earth was her friend and her partner in battle. After defeating her fifth opponent after Ligas, for a total of six, she opted to sit down until called again. She didn’t seem the least bit winded or fatigued after six duels in a row. If anything, she seemed bored.

“George Fothergill? Come with me please.” George looked up to see an instructor picking his way through the crowd of students seated on the quad, coming in his direction, beckoning.

George complied, picking his way back through the crowd toward the instructor. He seemed like one of the younger instructors. Although powerful mages could use magic to keep their bodies unnaturally young as they aged, the mages of the Mage College of Praxis tended to not do that. In the occasional conversation in which people ever wondered why, it was generally concluded that the instructors, teachers, and professors wanted to maintain the appearance of their age as a constant reminder of how much more time they had been studying, practicing, and mastering magic. So, George was pretty sure this guy not only looked like one of the younger instructors, but was one.

Once George had emerged from the bulk of the students watching the Entrance Exam duels, the young instructor repeated, “Come with me, please,” offering no more information or explanation.

George obediently followed the man into Building C, taking his cue from the man’s silence to not ask any questions nor to try to make any conversation. Building C was a three-story building with administrative offices on the first floor and a set of large lab rooms on floors two and three. The two of them climbed the nearest staircase to reach one of the lab rooms on the second floor. The teacher leading George opened the door to the lab room and gestured for George to go inside.

Stepping inside, George was shocked to see his father, George Fothergill, Sr. (George was a junior) sitting at a teacher desk at the end of the lab room. Seated around the desk were three of the school’s professors who seemed to be doing their best to keep up faces for playing card games involving wagering. The instructor who had brought George closed the door and left.

“Hello, George,” said his father. His father smiled at him, cordially, formally, with neither warmth nor malice. George recognized that his father was in business mode, his manner of presenting himself at formal events and official meetings. “How has your day been so far?”

“Educational, sir.” George wasn’t sure how to respond, but he thought that would be a good answer.

“Excellent, George.” His father looked to the teachers on either side of him before meeting George’s eyes again. “The masters here at the College of Praxis believe that I should be the one to administer your Entrance Exam myself.”

George was confused. “Do you mean I’m supposed to duel you, Father?”

His father’s smile softened and became more real for a moment, reaching his eyes. For a second George could see his father’s great love for him, but also something else…was it sadness?

“No, my son. There are other acceptable forms of Entrance Exam than dueling, though dueling is by far the most common and popular. Today, you and I are going to be using some of the equipment in this room to assess your Gifting of Magic. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let us proceed.”

 

Chapter 5

 

George Fothergill Sr. rose from the desk, his long formal test proctor robes flowing around him. He indicated a pedestal in the room with some of the magical equipment on it and beckoned his son, Geroge Jr., to follow him to it. A moment later, they stood facing each other across the pedestal gazing down at a small wooden circle with multicolored patterns on it, about the size of a large serving platter. The wood comprising it was three inches thick. George Jr. thought the designs on it looked such that if it weren’t laid horizontally upon the top of the pedestal, it could have been a dart board if hung vertically on a wall. In the center of the circular wooden board was a pretty, red, translucent stone, about the size of a human heart. Concentric circles with measurements in inches were marked in the board to show how far the red stone might be pushed off center.

“Move it with your magic, George,” his father said.

“Yes, Father.”

George had done things like this before in his classes lots of times. This would be easy. George gazed intently upon the stone and mentally grasped it with his mind, imagining its hardness, smoothness, and mass. Then, he mentally pushed. Inexplicably, the stone didn’t budge. This confused George. He grimaced, the skin between his forehead and nose wrinkling  and his eyes squinting with the effort showing on his face. George uttered words in the language of magic related to telekinetic manipulation and to movement in general to strengthen his efforts, though he normally in the past had only needed to do that with much heavier objects than this red stone on the testing board.

Finally, the red stone lurched forward about half an inch, but then stopped, going no further. George didn’t give up, though. Finally, as he began to grunt with effort, his father gently said, “That’s enough, son. Let’s try something else.”

For the next test, George led him over to a wall where his father pulled aside a curtain. The curtain covered a window into the small room next door. Through the window, George could see a small boy, about seven years old. The boy wasn’t dressed in mage school robes. He was dressed like a commoner.

“What is the boy thinking, George? Read his mind,” instructed his father.

“Yes, Father.”

George had never been the best at telepathy, but he should have been able to read at least the surface thoughts of the young child easily. Nothing came to him, though. Finally, George had to guess.

“He’s hungry. He’s wondering when he’s going to eat.”

George’s father sighed. “That’s a common guess, so we make sure that the subjects are fed before they are brought into the testing chamber so that can’t be the case. We also make sure they’ve recently relieved their bladders and bowels for the same reason, because it’s a common guess.”

“What is he thinking, Father?”

“Don’t worry about it, son. It doesn’t matter now. This way.”

They went back to the main teacher’s desk in the room. George’s father picked up a human skull from the desk.

“Can you tell me anything about this person? Anything at all? How old were they when they died? Male or female? Their name? Their profession?”

George murmured the magical words of a spell that should have briefly conjured the dead spirit of the skull’s owner for a brief conversation. Nothing happened. It seemed to George as if the skull’s empty eye sockets mocked him with their gaze. George was self-conscious of how long he had struggled at each of the previous tests, so this time he gave up quickly and sadly shook his head, facing downward. too ashamed to meet his father’s eyes.

They tried a few more tests involving a deck of cards before this father thanked him for doing his best.

Hearing his father thank him for doing his best after such abject failure finally broke George to the point where he broke protocol and spoke freely even though in this situation he shouldn’t speak unless spoken to.

“Father, I don’t know what’s happening today. I can do better than this! I know I can! I have many times!”

In spite of the fact that he was 15 years old, a graduate of Sutter’s Village Basic Magick School, and a Hopeful Candidate at the Magic School of Praxis, George was on the verge of crying like a small boy the age of the telepathy subject in the next room.

George’s father stepped forward and put his hand on his son’s shoulder, steadying him. “It’s all right, George. I will explain. Sit down.”

They sat at the teacher’s desk, his father in the main chair, and George on a student stool.

“George,” his father began gently, “none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not?”

“No. You have been the victim of a conspiracy, it seems. All these years, your teachers have been covering up the fact that you have little to no talent for magic.”

“What? But I’ve been using magic at school for years.”

HIs father raised his eyebrows for emphasis and smiled knowingly. “At school, yes, at school, where your teachers were able to convince you that you were using magic that was, in fact, theirs.”

“No! No! Why would they do such a thing?”

His father sighed heavily. “Because no one wanted to be the one to tell George Fothergill Sr. that his son had no magic.”

George was in shock. “But I moved the red stone a little.”

“Yes, you did,” his father conceded. “But you don’t have enough magic to ever be a true wizard.”

“Father, what will happen now?”

“There will be firings at your school, of course. Several firings.”

“But what will happen to me?”

“That, my son, will be a little harder.”

 

Chapter 6

 

“I don’t understand! You’re breaking up with me?” Melindra sobbed, her eyes gushing forth such a deluge of tears that George knew that his now ex-girlfriend must have magically smudge-proof make-up, which made sense, since her family was just as affluent as his.

The scene that George had chosen to break the bad news to Melindra was her family’s private garden. While he had known that breaking up with the only girl he’d ever kissed in his young life would be devastating for her, he loved her, so he didn’t want it to be extra devastating for her in any way. By choosing her parents’ garden, Melindra didn’t have to receive the news in public in front of any of their peers, nor did she have to receive it in front of any of her family members. It was just the two of them. She would have a chance to compose herself, to decide when to tell who in her life, her parents, her friends, everyone, and how to tell them.

George Fothergill and Melindra Will-O-Wisp had been sweethearts since they had been little. Since the Fothergills and the Will-O-Wisps were each among the social elite of Sutter’s Village (each family had ancestors among the town founders), the pairing had been encouraged by their elders. Indeed, such a pairing would have been the kind that class conscious members of the Society of Sorcerers Born sought out for their children anyway. Both families were wealthy, with strong political connections, and consistently produced offspring with the Gifting of Magic. The fact that these two young people sincerely liked each other from a young age meant that it would save the adults around them the trouble of matchmaking for a generation.

“I’ll be gone for several years,” George explained again. He had already told Mel the version of his story that he had agreed with his father to tell everyone so that no one ever found out that George had very little of the Gifting of Magic, barely any at all. Mel kept weeping and begging and persisting however, forcing the devastated young man to repeat the details over and over, sounding to himself as if he were trying to convince himself. George shoved his own feelings down far inside his heart. He knew that he would have his own private time to cry later. Right at that moment, he knew that what Mel needed was for him to be strong. If both of them broke down, instead of just her, then there would be a real mess. If George allowed himself to get emotional and cry, he might tell her the truth, the truth that he had no magic, that he was not worthy of her, that if they ever had children, those children might be born without the Gifting of Magic.

“My uncle needs help running his herbalist shop in Taalvora. I’ll continue my mage studies there.”

Melindra snuffled back some of her sobbing to control herself enough to speak. “Taalvora isn’t that far. We could afford for you to come have teleportation visits with me sometimes. And, eventually, you’d be able to use teleportation magic on your own, and so could I. Couples have long-distance relationships all the time. Well, maybe not all the time, but enough. We don’t have to break up.”

Mel’s hands were wet with her tears. She pushed back her unruly blonde hair, streaking it wet with her tears. She gazed at him with her moist blue eyes. George wanted very much to touch her hair. To put it back in place for her, but he knew that if he did, he was only making this harder for both of them.

What she said about teleportation visits was true, of course. It was also true that sometimes long-distance couples did indeed make it through times of separation and go on to get married. But how could he tell her that he, George Fothergill, jr., descended from a long line of powerful Fothergills, would never use teleportation magic because he didn’t possess even enough of the Gifting of Magic to be accepted into any mage college at all, even a lesser one than Praxis.

He knew what teleportation felt like, of course, because he had traveled that way many times on family trips. But those teleportations had been powered by his father’s magic or his mother’s magic, not his. He would never know what it felt like to wield such magic himself. Never.

He and Mel were seated at a beautifully ornately designed metal bench, painted white, in a secluded alcove in the garden. This was the exact spot where the couple had shared their first kiss, the first kiss for either of them as individuals. In desperation, Mel grabbed onto his hands. George couldn’t look her in the face. He looked away. 

His gaze found the colorful fluttering of a beautiful blue and yellow butterfly as it alighted upon one of the magical carnivorous flowers the Will-O-Wisp family kept in their garden. George knew what would happen, but he couldn’t turn his gaze away. For one, eternally frozen second of time, a fleeting moment of beauty, the butterfly majestically rested on the orangish-pink flower. That moment would have made a beautiful painting. As a painting, that moment could be made to last forever, the beauty of the butterfly could live forever. But…

Vrusssh! Faster than George could blink, the carnivorous Bug Muncher flower had taken its meal. It remained closed for about three seconds, then opened. The scene in the garden looked as before, except that the butterfly, the beauty of the moment, was gone. George disengaged his hands from Melindra’s, huskily said, “I’m sorry”, rose from the bench, and walked away as her small frame behind him was wracked with sobs.

It’s begun, George thought. I’ve begun to lose everything.

 

Chapter 7

 

Three days later, George stood on the docks of Leeward, a small port town on the coast, miles and miles away from Sutter’s Village. The main road through Leeward ran right down to the docks, the same road that ran three days journey back inland to Sutter’s Village. George looked at the road, a little muddy from a recent rain and rutted from countless wagons carrying cargoes to and from the docks at all hours of the day and night.

George’s mother’s tea from far away lands came up that road to Sutter’s Village. George’s mother had cried during George’s final farewell with his parents. George’s father hadn’t cried aloud, but George had seen one single tear fall down his father’s cheek. George honored his father’s stoicism by ignoring it as his father ignored it.

The only one who seemed upbeat at the parting was Starstorm, his father’s bonded p’ckit dragon. P’ckit dragons were normally monochrome, but Starstorm was a deep midnight blue with white speckles all over him. A mere five inches long plus his tail length, Starstorm had been with the elder Fothergill since before the lord of the manor had been George’s current age.

“Starstorm being with you will help your mother to worry a little less about you. His eyes are keen and his mind is sharp. As an assistant wizard, he knows more than many full-fledged wizards, and often has more sense, too.”

“Awwwww…..shucks!” the little reptile had said.

Starstorm had done his best to keep the mood light, to make people laugh and smile. Even George’s mother chuckled a few times. Finally, it was time for George to leave the Fothergill house and join up with a merchant caravan taking crops and vegetables to the ships in Leeward. For three days, George traveled down the road from Sutter’s Village to Leeward. He made no friends among the caravan, kept to himself, and only really talked to Starstorm. The caravaners were farmer folk. They saw George as a nobleman from a mage family, not someone of their class or station. George wouldn’t have been unfriendly, conceited, or rude to them, but he wasn’t sure how to relate to their gruff talk and he didn’t understand much of their agricultural jargon. He was only going to be with them three days, so he didn’t bother trying to bridge the gaps created by social class.

Now, he stood on the docks looking at the road, thinking of it like an umbilical cord running back to Sutter’s Village, his last connection to all he had ever known as home. Soon, he would set foot for the first time in his life aboard a seagoing vessel. The road would follow him no more, cut away by the shoreline like an umbilical cord being cut, separating a newly born human being from a placenta. Sutter’s Village had incubated him, taken care of him, nurtured him. It had been all he’d ever known. Suddenly, he was being thrust into an unfamiliar and, if he was honest with himself, slightly scary world.

“Hey! There’s a tavern! It looks a lot more lively than the little one in Sutter’s Village.” Starstorm stuck his head out of George’s rucksack. The p’ckit dragon, as he often did, pulled George out of his reverie, which was good, since it was a depressing reverie.

“Let’s go inside!” the little dragon urged.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you tired of standing out here? Aren’t you hungry or thirsty?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then, let’s go!”

“All right.”

George looked at The Fairweather, a merchant ship that was to depart that night, at sunset, which was still several hours away. Starstorm was right. There was no point in standing around the docks for hours. George had enough money that it wouldn’t be extravagant to go hang out a little more comfortably in the tavern for a few hours.

Inside, George saw that Starstorm had been right. Widdlebottom’s, as the establishment was named, was filled with sailors and travelers from all over Zorethea, not all of them human. George could see more than a couple fae-bloods in the crowd. As George cautiously took in the sights of the place, with its rough looking clientele, Starstorm suddenly surprised him by leaping out of his rucksack, flapping his little wings and making his way to the bar, calling loudly for the barkeep’s attention. This seemed out of character to George.

Then, George remembered that Starstorm was over five hundred years old, and had lived for centuries before befriending George’s father. George had only seen Starstorm in the context of Sutter’s Village. The young failed mage realized that the small dragon must be far more worldly and experienced than he had ever imagined.

After talking to the barkeep, which George couldn’t overhear because of the general level of background noise, the dragon flew back to George, excitedly.

“C’mon! C’mon! I got you a seat at the bar. This place has flavors and tastes I haven’t experienced in over a century, at least.”

“Are you sure we should be imbibing alcohol? Alcohol…”

“Clouds the mind, I know,” the little dragon finished. “You sound like one of those teachers at the school in Sutter’s Village. Now, there’s a whole world to explore, my young friend.” Starstorm smiled at him mischievously as his eyes sparkled with amusement.

George walked up to the bar and sat down. There were already two tankards there, since Starstorm had already ordered. The barkeep had moved on down the bar to serve others.

The p’ckit dragon stood on the bar, eye level with George seated on a barstool. “Look, kid, I’m over 500 years old. I haven’t out of Sutter’s Village much for at least a century. I need to live a little, and since you’re my charge, I’m going to help you have a little fun, too. Ok? Just trust me.”

“Alright,” George said reluctantly. His life, the only life he’d ever wanted, with Melindra and magic, was already gone forever. What could really come from taking advice from a frolicking p’ckit dragon in a rough tavern that could be worse than that?