The First Lesson in Magic

Wells wiped his ring on his sleeve, leaving a damp streak on the fabric. The dripping, thankfully, had ceased. "Does that happen often the first time?" he asked. Frustration pricked at him; everyone spoke of his potential, yet he couldn't even manage the simplest spell on his own.

Cirus shrugged. "Some take to it immediately, others do not. Like any craft, it requires practice."

Wells glanced at Aria. Her yellow eyes were fixed on him, full of reproach, but she remained silent. "What?" he demanded, feeling the weight of her stare.

"Nothing," she said unconvincingly. "Just try again, Wells. This time, I will help you draw upon the myran." She let out a theatrical little laugh. "It is, after all, what I am here for."

"You know, Aria, a joke is less amusing when the teller is the only one laughing," Wells grumbled, closing his eyes.

Aria gave his shoulder a pinch that was slightly sharper than necessary. "Oh, be quiet and concentrate."

Wells tried again. As he followed the myran toward the Greatwood, he felt the familiar power pour into him, but this time, another presence brushed against his own awareness. It was not an intrusion, but a guide—a gentle mental hand that steadied his and lent him the strength to expel the myran from his body. As he focused his thoughts on forming a sphere of water, he could hear Aria’s voice echoing his own in his mind.

He opened his eyes as the cold sensation rushed out of him. A perfect ball of water, shimmering with a vibrant blue light, erupted from his ring and struck Cirus squarely in the chest. Laughing heartily, Cirus swept a hand over the damp spot on his tunic. Steam rose from the fabric, and a moment later, it was perfectly dry.

"Excellent, Wells! Truly!" Cirus exclaimed. "My only critique is your speed. Water magic is the most fundamental and must be commanded swiftly. Watch." He raised a hand, and in less than a second, a water sphere shot from his ring. He swept his arm horizontally, and with each motion, another sphere burst forth, as if from a living fountain.

"You see?" he asked. "In a magical duel, you will not have minutes to cast a spell. Your opponent will likely be far quicker."

"Why are you so worried about me fighting?" Wells inquired, a question that had been nagging at him. "I thought my only task was to learn how to reopen the gateway between our worlds."

"You are correct," Cirus said, shifting in his saddle. "But with warlocks pursuing us, I want you to know the basic combat skills every wizard must possess. Now, again."

The rest of the day became a blur of concentration and repetition. By late afternoon, the spell that had initially taken him two agonizing minutes of focus now took a mere thirty seconds. Then Cirus demanded he produce a ball of ice, and the casting time reverted to its extended length. Under Cirus’s direction, he alternated between the two forms, his speed with water slowly influencing his speed with ice until, by day’s end, he could conjure either in half a minute.

"You did well today, Wells," Cirus commented as they unrolled their bedrolls that night. "You are a quick study, which is encouraging. We will, however, be staying with water magic for some time. I do not believe you are ready for earth magic."

Wells placed a thick tree branch on the ground next to his bedroll for Aria. "What is that for?" Cirus asked, his curiosity piqued.

"So Aria can sleep near me," Wells explained.

"Ah," Cirus murmured. "Do you intend to do this every night?"

"Yes," Aria chirped from the branch.

"May I make a suggestion, then?" Cirus said. "Keep the branch. We will not always be near trees, and I believe Aria would appreciate a consistent perch. I can fasten it to your saddlebag if you like."

"That sounds like a good idea," Wells replied, suppressing a yawn.

"Get some sleep," Cirus said brusquely. "I will wake you for your watch in a few hours."

Wells closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly. It felt as though only seconds had passed when a hand shook him awake. A fire was now crackling a few feet away. "What is it?" Wells mumbled.

"Your turn to keep watch," Cirus said. Even in the fire’s faint glow, Wells could see the exhaustion on his face; he was yawning widely and struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Alright," Wells agreed. He stood and limped toward the fire, sitting down as the sound of Cirus’s soft snoring began nearby, making the task of staying awake feel monumental.

The hours crept by. The velvety, star-dusted black of the sky softened to a delicate lavender and then a pale blue. Nothing happened, but after an hour or two, a profound cold settled deep in his bones, a chill the fire could not seem to touch. By the time the sun was just peeking over the horizon, Cirus and Aria were stirring.

"Cirus," Wells murmured, his teeth chattering, "how much farther to Pelara?"

“Pelara,” Cirus gently corrected. “We should arrive before nightfall. I hope to meet my friends at a local inn, The Blade and Band.” He clapped his hands together. "But for now, forget such things. I wish to continue your training."

Wells nodded and shifted in his saddle. For the next hour, he practiced, launching balls of ice and water in rapid succession. It was a start, he thought, but it was a pathetic display compared to Cirus's fluid power. Wizard training, he was discovering, was less about thrilling incantations and more about tedious repetition.

Finally, Cirus raised his hand. "That will suffice for now," he said. His expression was far from satisfied, but Wells gladly accepted the grudging approval. "I will now teach you a slightly more complex spell. I want you both to pay attention, as Aria's assistance will be crucial." He then gave a detailed description of how to form a storm cloud, and how Aria could use her kithara abilities to summon lightning from it. The spell was incredibly intricate, but Aria seemed to grasp the fundamentals.

Wells's first attempt was a dismal failure. His efforts produced only a small, pathetic gray puff of mist that hovered before him. It didn't rain so much as weep, releasing a few miserable droplets that spattered his head. Frustrated, he opened his eyes.

"Damn it!" he yelled, and the force of his anger caused the weak cloud to dissipate. He glared at the empty sky.

"There is no need for such anger, Wells," Cirus observed coolly. "Just try again. Once you succeed, we can rest and—" His voice died. His eyes were fixed on something over Wells's shoulder. A single, sharp word: "Run!"

"What?" Wells asked. He turned, his blood running cold. On the horizon, a cloud of dust was rising. Within it, three hazy figures were closing the distance with terrifying speed. A knot of dread tightened into ice in Wells's stomach as he urged Solea into a gallop, Cirus close behind. Aria shot into the air above them, leaving her branch behind.

They rode hard for ten minutes. Each time Wells dared a glance over his shoulder, the figures were closer. "Cirus!" he shouted. "We can't outrun them!"

"I'm afraid you're right!" Cirus called back. "Wells, you and Aria ride on! I will see what they want!"

"No!" Wells cried out. "You'll be—"

"Wells, I am more than capable," Cirus interrupted. "Now go." He dragged Situs to a halt. Wells hesitated, his own horse slowing. "Go!" Cirus roared, his voice laced with a panic that finally spurred Wells into action.