The Wizard And The Dragon (8 page)

“Neither
was I, when I was your age. You are capable of using magic. I saw as much when
we were down in the cellar. It’s hard to explain exactly, but trust me that you
will understand it one day. When you are older.”

“Me?
I can use magic? Like you?” The idea of it both thrilled and terrified me.

“If
you let me teach you. Would you like to learn?”

My
mind raced to say yes but I had a rare moment of forethought for a boy so
young. I had seen Tower create food and items out of gemstone. He had cast
spells sometimes with crystals, and sometimes with nothing at all. He had
created fire. Consuming, burning, killing fire. I hated flames. Anything more
than the candle in my room was too much.

Minutes
passed as I went over my thoughts. Tower was staring at me expectantly.

“Can
you teach me to hold fire in my hands?”

Tower
tilted his head at me.

“So
it can never hurt me?” I added

“With
time, I can,” he replied with a single, small nod.

“Then
yes. Please.”

“Then
we’ll start tomorrow.”

Tower
got to his feet and walked up to his room, likely to make the final
preparations.

I
sat alone at the table. There was a pile of freshly summoned food that my
stomach could no longer ignore, but I didn’t reach for it just yet. I was
staring at my hands in my lap and imagining holding fire in them, or sending
torrents of flame through the air from my fingers. I thought back to how the
fire had so quickly gotten out of control in my village, and I couldn’t decide
if I had just made the best or worst decision of my life.

My education began
with a series of questions. Tower had cleared the food, plates, cups, and
utensils from the central table and replaced them with a daunting pile of
objects. Most of them were books but there were also quills, loose papers,
crystals, and other things I didn’t recognize.

“Do
you know how to read and write?”

“I
can read a little. I don’t know how to write,” I answered.

“Has
anyone ever read something to you?”

“Sometimes.
My parents could only read a little better than I can. There were signs in the
village that I was taught. The village wizard sometimes told us stories, but
more often when I was younger.”

He
nodded along to my words. “I will teach you. At first I will instruct you with
all that you need to know, but eventually you will be able to learn and teach
yourself. Ultimately, you will be your own best teacher. Now,” he continued,
“this wizard of yours. What did he tell you about magic?”

“Nothing.
I think my parents were afraid of it and always told me not to ask him any
questions. Sometimes, on special occasions, he would cast spells to entertain
the village. He would make lights appear in the sky and whirl around our
tables. I always thought they were the most amazing thing I had ever seen,
until I came here.”

Tower
scoffed. He stopped pacing immediately afterwards and looked directly at me.
His mouth was a firm, straight line. “I will teach you more in one year than
that man gained in his entire life,” he spoke with a tone that I had never
heard from him before that moment. I think it was pride.

“More
questions,” he bellowed and resumed pacing. “Tell me what you think of magic.
What do you think it is?”

“I
don’t know.”

“Try.
Guess,” he offered.

“It’s
dangerous. It’s wonderful and terrible at the same time. It’s something
impossible.”

“Ah,”
he said in response to my final word. “Impossible,” he repeated it for me and
smiled. “I think most people would agree with you. It is a good answer. But it
couldn’t be more wrong.”

I
looked at him with confusion. I couldn’t understand how he could say holding
fire and creating things seemingly from the air were not impossible actions.
Even at that young age, I had discovered and innately felt that the world had
rules. Magic always appeared to me as a method of breaking those rules.

“Think
of a tree. Picture it in your mind. It is an apple tree. You pick one of the
apples and you take a bite out of it, exposing the core of the apple. You dig
out one of the seeds from inside of it. If you plant this seed into the earth
it will grow into its own tree over many years. In maybe five years it may bear
more apples with more seeds. Do you think any of this is impossible so far?”

I
shook my head.

“Good,”
he said with a smile. “Now. This time, I have the apple. I take a bite and pick
out a seed. I place it in the ground. But I am a wizard. I focus my magic onto
the seed in the ground and I channel energy into it. The seed sprouts in
seconds. The trunk of the tree pushes out of the ground and expands. Branches
stretch out and leaves begin to pop out along them. That’s when I stop. This
new tree has gone from seed to bearing apples in only a few minutes. I ask you,
what is the impossible part of what I just described to you?”

“The
time. I mean, the speed. You made the tree grow so fast,” I said the words
slowly, as if I was trying to avoid a trap I might fall into.

“Yes,
all the magic did was increase the rate of what would eventually happen. You’re
correct. And that, Bryce, is the essence of magic. You do not do impossible
things. You effect the potential of things. Sometimes you will accelerate and
unleash the potential of something. Other times, like I do with our food, you
freeze the potential. You slow it down, sometimes to a complete stop. Do you
understand?”

“No.
I’m sorry, but I don’t,” I lowered my eyes to the floor as I spoke.

“Don’t
worry. You will. Another example for you to think on. Were you ever taught how
to make a fire?”

“Yes.”

“Tell
me how.”

“I
watched my mother do it many times. I helped collect wood and strip it for
tinder. She would take a rock and strike it at metal to create a spark.”

“Flint
and iron. Yes,” he nodded. “You said you used wood to burn in the fire. Why
wood? Why not stone? Or soil?”

“I
don’t know.”

“Think
back to the apple tree. It wouldn’t be able to grow without sunlight and air.
You would think that a tree grows out of the ground, and that the majority of
what makes the tree is taken from there. That’s incorrect. The wood is mostly
carbon. The tree extracts it from the air. However, this process requires energy.
Sunlight, the light and heat of the sun, that energy, is absorbed by the tree
and used to fuse the carbon from the air into itself.”

I
watched Tower intently. I was surprised to find myself following along with
what he was saying, even if I didn’t understand the meaning of some of his
words.

“Now,”
he continued, “you take that same wood that has been created by trapping
sunlight. You create that spark of heat, and flames are produced from the wood.
What is fire? Light and heat. What was the sunlight used in the process to make
the wood? Light and heat. In a way, the fire is the sunlight. But most things
are not made in this way. Like the wood, only certain materials have energy
trapped within them. It is that potential that magic can harness and control,
and it is that potential that limits the power of magic. The gems here, the
stone, the...”

I
felt like I was on the cusp of comprehending what he was trying to explain, but
I was too young. He smiled warmly at me and placed a hand on top of my head and
ruffled my hair.

“Keep
this in your memory. You’ll understand it one day.”

The
wizard walked to the table and picked up one of the books and a single feather.
When he placed them in my hands, he cupped his hands over my own and drew my
attention to his eyes. He stared at me with purpose.

“These
items are yours now, but only if you promise to take care of them. They are
enchanted objects, like the candle in your room, and will remain so as long as
they are kept close to the tower. Do not let any flame come into contact with
them or they will be destroyed. Do not allow them to get wet or they will be
ruined. Do you promise?”

I
nodded. My heart beat faster in my chest. I had never been entrusted with
anything so precious.

“This
is your quill,” he said and pointed to the feather. “It has been partnered with
this book for longer than either of us have lived. It will never require ink
but it will only work on the pages of this book and no other surface. I will
teach you how to write and draw with it.

“The
book is very special. I’ve only discovered two like it in the tower. Whatever
you mark down in its pages will vanish when you close the book. If you write
anything on its pages it will no longer be there when you open it again.
However.”

He
opened the book on my lap and took the quill in his hand. He ran the tip of the
feather slowly in the middle of one of the empty, open pages. It only took him
a few seconds to write the single word. When he was finished, he tore the page
out of the book and I gasped. He gave a small laugh and then closed the book.

“Open
it again now and turn to the page. You’ll find no trace of the damage done. In
fact, the page will be back as if nothing was done to it at all.”

I
did as he asked and marveled when it was found to be true. I blinked several
times at the renewed page as if there was a trick I could blink away. I looked
up at him and saw that the page was still in his hand.

“What
you write and draw can be preserved by removing the page before closing the
book. Remember that, and remember too that it will only do so when near the
tower. If you took this outside and walked away with it, it would turn into an
ordinary book forever. Even if you brought it back here, the magic would be
gone.”

I
clutched the book to my chest. It was the greatest piece of treasure I had ever
owned.

“Now,
for the rest of the day I want you to do whatever you like with the book. Get
comfortable holding the quill. Get used to making lines with it on the pages.
Pull as many out as you like. You can try drawing the candle in your room if
you like or,” he held up the paper and pointed to the word in the center of the
page. “Try to recreate the lines and shapes of this word. This is your name.
This says ‘Bryce’.”

I
took the page from him as if it were made of gold. I had never seen my name
before. In that tower, surrounding by magical artifacts and gemstones, my name
on that page seemed equally as mystical and wonderful to me.

I
went up to my room and took the first steps of my education.

We
settled naturally into a daily routine. In the morning we would eat and then
see to the needs of the tower. The rocks and stones we had extracted from the
mines were broken down and removed of their gemstones. In a few weeks we had
several sorted piles of differently colored and sized crystals and gems.

The
giant spider was fed twice daily, on the scraps of meat that we set aside after
our meals. It seemed to be afraid of Tower and myself and made no attempt to
extend its limbs out of its prison. He explained that the spider was that size
only because it had grown beneath the tower, and that it was as incapable of
thought and emotion just like any normal-sized spider, but I had my doubts.
When I stared at its many eyes I could swear that I saw a stirring of the same
intelligence I had seen in the dogs of our village.

It
was usually late afternoon when we started our lessons. Reading and writing
came first in the day, and spellcasting and magical lessons were reserved for
the evening.

Tower
proved to be a patient teacher and was adept at getting to the root of most
problems that cropped up, especially when I was not able to explain why I
didn’t understand something. Without being able to read and write, learning to
do so was like learning another language.

The
first few weeks saw slow progress, but I think that was intentional. He spaced
out each letter of the alphabet so I had an in-depth introduction to a new
letter per day, with examples of the letter and words that started and
contained it.

After
each letter was introduced to me, Tower used an enchanted book of his own to
create pages of examples. He would neatly print about a dozen words to go with
the new letter—apple on the first day, boat on the second, chair on the
third—and have me practice recreating each of the words in my own book. He
encouraged me to experiment, make mistakes, and to often close the book to
erase early attempts until I got better at it.

In
the few hours that I spent practicing to write the words and commit the new
letter to memory, Tower would busily sketch examples of each of the new words.
On the first day, when the letter ‘A’ was taught, I was given his drawings of
apples, axes, acorns, aprons, ants, and arrows. He would pronounce each word
for me and then have me choose the correct picture that matched the word he
said.

After
a few days I had quite the collection of words and pictures, and Tower
encouraged me to mix them up and try to match them on my own later. He told me
that it was okay to get something wrong or be unsure as long as I went to him
for a correction. I must have driven him mad with all of my questions.

When
we had covered the entire alphabet, he once again utilized his pictures and
written words. However, this time, now that I knew every letter, he focused on
the sound and pronunciation of each chain of letters. He read single words
aloud for me and then insisted I read them back to him by sounding the word out
for myself instead of simply repeating the sounds I had heard him say. It was
an important distinction, and one that eased the first steps of my education.

Those
early days were meticulous and painstakingly slow, but resulted in a solid
foundation for which Tower could teach upon. He tested me daily and was
thorough in that he often backtracked and included questions about letters and
words that we had covered days or weeks earlier. He relentlessly repeated his
lessons until reading and writing ceased to be about memorization and recalling
the rules. Instead it became a natural, effortless connection to thoughts and
ideas in my head.

The
reading and comprehension of sentences and the messages they contained came
next, and this is when the two areas of learning truly intersected. The lessons
about magic were clearly my favorite of the two and Tower was ingenious and
crafty enough to bait me with that knowledge. He pointed to the books of spells
and magical writings on the table and told me that when I had learned enough to
read them for myself, the only limiting factor on what I could learn was the
speed at which I read.

The
first magic lessons, in the evening of the first days when I was still being
taught the alphabet, began equally as slow as letters and words. What Tower
taught was similar in an odd way. In the same way that I already knew many
words and ideas, and only had to be taught to recognize how they appeared in
written form, I discovered that feelings and sensations that I knew were also
linked to practicing magic.

I
was taught focus and concentration first, and to differentiate between what I
was experiencing when I was exposed to magic rather than a physical sensation.

Focusing
took many days, and I can describe it like a sliding of the mind. If you hold
up both of your hands away from your face at different distances, and extend
only your index fingers, you will have one finger in the foreground and another
in the background of your vision. If you switch your eyes between the two you
will see your vision slide and warp each time you switch. The sensation was not
dissimilar to that.