Chapter 2

I could have slept in for another hour, but I wanted to see Rose off. A single coin was the cost for Old Thomas, who made a career driving his carriage between the outskirts and the city. My father had let him know a few days before to come by at the right time and pick up Rose. While we weren’t quite of age to start apprenticeships yet, she wanted to begin the first day of the week. She waved, and even though I was green with jealousy, I still smiled as I waved back.

Why does this world have a seven day week as well? I wondered absently. Perhaps it’s something about the number that people are drawn to, but I was not concerned, more pressing things occupying my mind as my father and I waved the carriage off.

It was hardly the first time I’d be in the garden alone with my father, or tending the greenhouse, or minding the counter. I don’t know if it was simply coincidence or if he was trying to be encouraging, following up his compliment from the past evening, but the pollen brush was waiting for me on the counter. I looked over the rows of blooming flowers, paired in their differences, each a potential for something new.

I only delayed a second before picking up the brush and setting into the routine. Brush, dust, wash. Brush, dust, wash. The processing of each pair was separated by a cleansing, ensuring no cross contamination.

“So, this party for you and your sister,” my father started, his voice hesitant. “Anything you’d, uh… like to have there?” He didn’t look up, his voice distant, but it was slow and methodical as if he were thinking over each word before speaking it. “Thirteen is a special age. If there’s anything you want me to get for you, just let me know.” The offer obviously had strings attached, in the sense of reasonable limitations. We weren’t rich by any means, so an ‘anything you want’ offer sounded more carte blanche than it truly was.

I stopped for a moment before putting down the brush and turning to him. “How about now?” I countered.

“Now?”

“Yes. I just want to talk.”

My father shrugged nonchalantly before trimming another stem. “Shoot,” he prompted.

“Magic.”

Snip

Jard cursed as he overcut, the flowering head damaged by the shifted scissors. “We don’t talk about that…” he told me. His voice was grave and slow, bordering on anger as it prickled me to hear. The atmosphere shifted and even the greenhouse felt cool.

“I know it’s a real thing,” I insisted, adamant as I refused to drop it. “I heard there have been mages that pass through town! If the military uses it then clearly it—”

Thunk! The scissors stabbed into the old wooden table. I recoiled at the noise, not loud or threatening, but novel. “I said… we don’t talk about it,” he grunted back at me, putting an end to the discussion.

“Fine,” I grumbled as I turned and stepped out of the greenhouse, shoving the door out of the way.

“Wait, Ren, come back!” Jard called as soon as the door slammed. He didn’t chase me though, just seemed to watch me through the window as I jogged down the dusty roadway.

~~~

I had only made it halfway through the day with my father, and it felt like I was walking for hours afterwards. Nowhere in particular, just moving my legs alone so I could clear my head, until I stumbled by a familiar face.

“Ren!” Tobian called, waving a gloved hand with more fingers exposed than covered. “Boy… you look like you found a bee in your breakfast,” he chuckled.

“Hmm,” I grumbled, trying to look calmer, now also annoyed at how easily expressions showed on my face. I used to be better than that. “Just… had another argument with my father. Every time I so much as mention magic or the mages, he shuts it right down and refuses to let me talk about it!”

“Aw, don’t feel so harshly about it,” he told me, a sympathetic smile shifting his eternal stubble. “He cares about you, and messing around with magic can be dangerous. You see that, right?”

I reincarnate into a world with actual magic, and I’m not even allowed to learn about it! I thought, exasperated. Instead I just said, “Yeah, I suppose.”

The old drifter nodded, rubbing his chin. While he and Jard rivaled each other in age, he had a more carefree attitude to himself, though he still exuded that calm, thoughtful aura that mature adults do. I wondered if I had gotten to that point before I died. “Sounds like you don’t agree though,” he eventually commented.

“Would you?” I countered. “I mean… it’s magic! I’m sure you’ve heard of the mages, the pride of the military; able to fly and shoot fire from their hands.”

“They can’t all shoot fire,” Tobian chuckled. “But I see where you’re coming from.” He closed his eyes slowly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But children like yourself shouldn’t be worrying about the military and war.”

I hated that, the way people look at me in this body, as if my mind was lesser. I bit back the retort though, just clenching my fists a bit tighter.

“But that’s not to say that they don’t teach magic to those your age,” he continued.

What!? I straightened, surprised to hear that. I had only heard of adult mages in the stories that made it to my ears, of fighting wars, hunting dragons, and policing the country. “You mean they teach it to children?”

Tobian stiffened. His lips pulled tight and his eyebrows flicked higher. “Well, yes…” he answered, hesitant.

“And you know this how?” I prodded further, trying not to get my hopes up.

He scratched the back of his neck, hemming and hawing as he looked away from me. His attention turned to the clouds, then the ground, then the tree he was just leaning against. He took a step back as he looked along the length of it and it swaying in the wind. I watched as it continued bending and bending until it was undeniably not the wind that warped the strong oak and shook its form. It’s branches waved and the leaves rustled as the wind naturally died down, but the tree shook like a puppet with half its strings cut. Then I finally noticed his hand raised just above his waist, his fingers dancing in the air as he was playing an instrument, performing the melody of magic. The branches curled low, a couple leaves brushing my face as the trunk kneeled, bowing to its master before returning to its faux stability.

Then his fingers stood still, and the tree responded in kind.

“…Wow,” was all I could say as I saw magic for the first time.

“That’s how I know,” he finally confirmed. “I’m a mage.”