14 Years Prior…
James’ head pounded, his shoulders hunched as he walked home. His light-green uniform - a polo-top and shorts - failed to his the scraps on his arms, and the bruise on his thigh. He trudged with his head hung, uncombed hair just reaching down to cover his eyes.
The afternoon was late. The sun positioned low on the horizon, it illuminated the faint miasma emitted from the shielding stations as the light struck the opaque surface. It was early Summer, the heat not yet fierce enough to boil the tarmac James walked upon. His sneakers squeaked with each step, he pondered how long until this pair would stop creating unwanted noise. The last pair had taken four months; the harsh material had always fostered blisters on the teenagers feet, up until the holes in the soles were too big to patch over. He always hated his new things.
He winced, walking along the main road from school - an uphill slant that twinged his bruised thigh. The soccer ball had only hit him in the head. A few ‘friends’ has knocked it hard into the goals James had stood in unwillingly. It was a good shot. It always seemed like the good things were the most damaging to James. The ball sent him to the nurses bay, where the kind old nurse asked him: “What was it this time Master Scanlan?” She was a grandmotherly woman, especially so for James' scapes and scraps out at lunchtime. Her mother-hen nature, when James first met her, comforted him; now, all he felt was disappointment. He'd become too frequent a visitor, in his mind, another person who had to go out of their way to aid him. He mumbled about a soccer ball to the head, and the nurse set him down on a bed to rest.
She had held him until twenty-minutes after the last bell; on the last day of school no less. His eyes were still fuzzy, having stumbled over his own feet a few steps on the way home. They’d had to send for his brother Richard to take little Pete home. It was no issue, as despite being two years James’ junior, Richard had the gift of the gab in convincing others; the teachers gushed over his maturity. James hoisted his bag up again, wishing it was a shell for him to hide inside.
Concrete apartment-blocks, with too few windows on the outside, framed James’ solitary walk. Each building hugged its neighbour, a cascading sight of concrete and unfilled frames. Windows only added to the Summer heat, for those trapped in these multi-storied bunkers, so they were removed early this season. It did not help. James knew that from experience.
He looked up at the street signs, he waited for the one that signalled his block. The walk was always the hardest part of his day. There was no laughter from Pete’s antics, or Richard’s insistence that the family should buy more sweets as they filled him up more at school. There was only the silence. The deep sullen self-inflicted silence.
It was once filled with tears, or self-loathing, or questions as to why he couldn’t stop the slow creep of isolation from entering his walk. His eyes had grown weary of tears, his soul now apathetic and so the silence consumed him.
The sun had fallen behind James, a long shadow cast before him. The twenty-minute hike had comes thirty, and forty, slowing as he neared his own concrete complex.
Pete had marvelled at the complex. To him it was a blank canvas. A wall became a medium of thought, the ceiling a challenge to reach, and the lack of windows an invitation to innovate. At only nine-years-old little Pete had demonstrated a cunning eye for creation. He also displaced an extreme tolerance for risk.
James recalled how neighbours watched his precarious exploits, as Pete stood on a window frame’s edge building a path to the next apartment window. Richard, the conniving smarty-pants that he was, managed to console the anxious crowds. He’d placate them with assurances that it was safe, and even offered to show them a forged signature of their mother’s like; he had taken the brunt of the blame when Pete first fell.
Luck had it that it was only a single floor he fell, before being caught by a workman the floor below, installing the Winter-windows. Mum and Dad had been stern with the pair of miscreants, especially James who was made to do the communal laundry for the floor in recompense. However, there was a note of sadness in their eyes when they learnt that James had not been a part of the escapade. When he was asked why he said he, “didn’t understand the fun in it.” His parents had shared a look, that his teenage mind didn’t fully understand, and they hugged the teenager saying that they always had his back.
James could not understand why, but he felt as if he had disappointed them. Hadn’t he done the right thing?
James shook his head of the memory, clutching his temple when the headache returned. Sorrowful was an apt description of the lad, but he’d given up describing himself a while ago.
He climbed the concrete steps, up and around the concrete floors, only to stumble and trip on his heavy feet; they too felt like concrete. He never tried to get scuffed and dusted but it always happened. The dust had dried his tears often enough that it acted as a foundation for his face. A wretched look, and sometimes James wished he could make it go away. He’d wanted to be happy, but the world conspired against him. He got up off the floor.
Standing before the apartment door, James waited. His chest rose, and a cough deflated it. Faint rustles came from behind the heavy door, but still James waited. He waited until the tightness lessened. The weight had fled from his feeble heart.
He opened the door. Inside was another world. The transmuted walls of the commission plates had been painted in vivid colours. Blues and reds and yellows, of diverse images and of childish creation; the apartment was a place of life. James had never felt welcome in it.
His family jumped out from behind their single sofa. Cheers erupted, with Mum holding young Lucy on her shoulders. Even the little one appeared to cheer.
James looked back and forth, even over his shoulders. Dad laughed and went over to hug his son. James was a shorter teen and so his Dad lifted him and wrapped in a bear hug. Warmth suffused his tired body. His brothers ran to Dad’s feet and cheered all the same. They patted James on the back, smiles radiating love.
“What-what-what…” James stammered.
“Oh, we are so proud of you James!” Mum said.
“Unbelievably so!” His Dad said putting James down.
Surrounded by family the world appeared a little brighter. He didn’t understand why they were all so pleased with him. His headache had disappeared though.
“Why?” He asked. Mum walked closer, leaning down to give her son a hug. Lucy patted his head leaning down.
“Your results came back today. You’ve been accepted to a Mage-school! Bluestone Hall no less!”
James could not believe it. He searched and searched for signs this was an elaborate joke, a cruel prank, but no. He was a possible Mage.
A smile burst across his face. Tears streamed down his face as he held his family close. It was a chance, finally somewhere to start anew.
“Thank you”
A Few Months Later…
James hesitated outside the bluestone building. Mum had left him at the gates, his sister stood with her waving. He’d vanished into a new world, a brighter one. Old stone buildings stood before him, awesome in size and structure. The centre of the campus was a majestic chapel. He’d been shown the inside of it during a tour, before the term began. The outside was rugged bluestone, mined from the heart of Victoria; the inside was inlaid with a New Zealand mineral called Punamu - it glistened and brought a sense of wonder to James’ mind.
The chapel was at the schools centre, with an open quadrangle before its entrance. James had walked through the open quad, witnessing older students go about their morning routines, catching up with friends and converse with teachers and staff. It was a bustling environment that felt close-knit despite the open sky above. The campus held two green ovals and a defined soccer pitch that would double for Magic-games. The simple ball sport truly came alive when combined with elaborate magics.
The school was a dream. James held close his satchel, a navy blue with the schools crest on the front of it. He’d been provided a score of books, treasuring each one as his most valuable possession. Many were primers on magecraft, and yet it was a humble leather bound tome devoid of all writing and graphs that stole his attention.
It was his book. He vowed it would be his spell book, in time.
So, James stood before a bluestone building, anxious to what it may contain. He leant forward and back, compelled to enter but his body refused to move. He debated going home, forgetting this wonderful opportunity, escaping before his hopes to be a NoM born mage dissipated like smoke; leaving him once again with nothing.
A young boy opened the buildings door. He was of similar height to James. Signs of puppy fat on his cheeks, but a lean figure was slowly emerging from his teen body. Black hair and of oriental descent, James stood silent before the young man.
“Hi!” Said the dark-haired teen. “My names Yi-… um, its Danny, Danny Feng.”
“Hi, I’m James.” James murmured. Danny tilted his head at him, but as if hearing a call looked over his shoulder inside the building.
“So wanna come in? I’m new myself, so we can see what being a boarder will be like.” He beamed at James. James blinked, and he smiled.
“Sure.” He followed his new friend inside, and began his journey at Melbourne’s Spellcraft Academy; Bluestone Hall.
A Year Later…
It was the day. James tapped his personal tome. Tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap…
“It’ll be fine James. You’ll be fine.” Danny stood by side, encouraging his friend. They stood inside the Memorial Hall; a place to commemorate the lives lost to the Undead and Beast-Tide. Today it was a place to commemorate new beginnings.
School officials stood on the stage at the front of the hall. Their chairs positioned in a semi-circle facing a lectern. The students sat before the stage - rows and rows of chairs cascading back until being raised, so all seated could watch the proceedings. Usually the hall only hosted services and assemblies. Today, the hall hosted the Awakening.
James’ year-level only made up a quarter of the hall. Each boy awaiting their turn to place their hand on the mana crystal inlaid in the lectern for the occasion. Most were generational mages, eager to receive their title and schools as fully-awakened mages. However, in the crowd James and three other NoM born students were anxious.
“It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.” James repeated the phrase as a mantra. Danny patted his friend on the back, more self-assured. His family possessed a long mage lineage, even if he was a part of a side-branch of the clan. James, however, understood how dire this ritual was for him.
He was either a mage, or not. Failure meant mediocrity. Success meant life.
James looked over at the other NoM scholars. Big Fergo fidgeted, his seat creaking and squeaking with his incessant movements. James felt sorry for each chair he deign to collapse onto. Sweet Matilda was still in her seat, but her head was constantly moving. Roving back and forth with her eyes, she was as on edge as the rest of them. It was only Finlay, a similar boy in stature and heritage to James, that sat completely still. He was dead silent.
“You’ll be fine James.” A voice affirmed from behind him. James turned to see Mr Jack. He was a middle-aged man with greyed hair and a kind countenance. His gut was a little too wide for the aisles between the rows, but it provided a heartiness to his presence.
“The world knows how hard you’ve worked. It’ll be right.” His baritone voice had a way with James. Calmness suffused the young man. Whether it Mr Jack’s presence as an Abjurer or his ability as a teacher which comforted James, he did not fully know.
James turned to the stage, hearing thuds. Standing before the cohort was the Headmaster, Magister Roy. he was an esteemed old student of the Bluestone, and one of the few Melbourne born mages to become a Magister. His father aided in the foundations of Melbourne’s Tower and of the modern aspects of the school, a powerful Magus in his own right. The Headmaster's own accolades began before he was Headmaster. He was the youngest Magus ever-recorded in Victoria, an internationally recognised figure on the modernisation of the teachings of magic, and a decorated Officer from fighting along the Brisbane-line; he was James’ idol. It was thanks to his progressive attitude towards NoMs, and his influence in enforcing such views, that James was at Bluestone Hall today.
“Boys. Girls. My colleagues. Special guests. Today we witness the emergence of the next generation. You have all worked extremely hard, elevating yourselves and striving to be the best each of you can become.” His voice resonated throughout the hall. Every face in the crowd paid him sole attention.
“There are some who will be disappointed in today’s proceedings. All of you will face many challenges and hurdles ahead. Today is the beginning of your new lives, for better or worse, spawning from this ceremony, ad infinitum. Know this, however…” He paused, looking over the cohort with grey eyes. He soaked in the scene before him, acknowledging all.
“This school is for all students. From the highest of Magi to the lowest of our magicless brethren. This school thanks each, and every one of you, for your service to this point and we will endeavour to aid you to ad infinitum. Good luck.” The room erupted with applause.
“Well, that’s good. Even if I don’t become a mage I can be magicless at a magic school.” James whispered sardonically to Danny. Danny answered with a concerned expression, before turning back to the stage. He also was consumed by the spectacle.
An official from the Tower stood up and began to call the role. James palms were greased in sweat. He proceeded to put his tome away, as to not damage the cover.
The first of the cohort walked up to the stage. Unlike public schools, of the kind that Richard or Pete may end up, the proceedings was full of excitement. Each student had already responded well to magical aptitude testing, so this was more or less a formality to most. Despite such results James felt only fear in his gut.
“Next.”
“Evoker, Tier 3 Air affinity.”
The newly minted Air sorceress smiled.
“Next.”
“Transmutation, Tier 2 Earth affinity.”
The Earth mage grimaced. He’d expected a higher affinity.
“Next.”
Matilda walked across the stage to the lectern. James held his breath.
“Ah! Biomancer, Tier 3 Positive-mage. Congratulations.”
Matilda maintained her sweetness, eyelashes fluttering in astonishment. It appeared her aptitude was well earned; her family will be well cared for. Their was only a small pang of envy in James' heart as he clapped for her.
“Good for her.” Danny applauded the new cleric with the rest of the cohort. James nodded to himself. The success had eased the butterflies in his stomach.
The roll continued to be called. Soon it was Danny that walked on the stage. James wished him luck as he strode to the front of the hall. He appeared to already have it in spades.
“Next.”
“Diviner…” The official paused a moment, studying the mana crystal.
“We have a Divination, Transmutation, Tier 2 Water mage. Congratulations.”
Danny was dumbstruck. His eyes wide as the hall cheered. It wasn’t everyday a frontier mage had the benefit of two starting schools. James gave him a fist bump, his friend unable to sit still once he'd returned to his seat.
After the brief applause the awakenings continued. There was a Magma mage, conjurer; an Ice mage, evoker; and even an Earth and Water dual-mage, abjurer. A variety of schools and affinities made themselves know. There were a few people who failed to awaken, each guided out by Headmaster Roy, each time the light dimmed in the room ever so slightly; the energy lost in the vacuum of a kids crushed dream. Before long it was Fergo’s time on stage.
“Next.”
He placed his large mitt onto the crystal.
“Transmutation, Tier 5 Earth affinity.”
Fergo didn’t know what to do. He stood with a look of consternation on his face, a weird lack of excitement. A loud explosion emanated from the young man’s backside.
“Eeeeewww, Fergo!” Shouted a gaggle of girls. Most of the hall laughed and welcomed the high affinity Earth mage. He was a basic transmuter with an edge, but still James felt better that another NoM born had become a mage. The gaggle giggled as the big boy stepped off the stage, face flushed. It was a cheerful atmosphere within the hall. However, following Fergo was Finlay, composed and stern. The whispers and muttering softened as the boy walked up the stage, enigmatic.
“Next.”
A plethora of lights flashed, dimly. Each one came to the crystals surface before fading, only a dimmed light remained.
“Evoker, Generalist.”
Finlay turned to the official, hand extended. The official, with grace, shook the boys hand. Headmaster Roy stood by Finlay’s shoulder and guided him out the hall. The mood in the room faded from excitement to filling with anxiety. Those who had yet to be awakened felt their nerves increase, akin to James’ prior to the event. James, now, only felt fear. The official neared his name on the roll.
“It’ll go well, have faith.” Mr Jack whispered behind him. James nodded, a stern face plastered over his nervous disposition. He ambled up the stage.
“Next.”
James stood before the lectern, lost in the turbulent mana crystal’s opaque surface. After some vicious breaths, stolen from the still air, James placed his hand on the crystal.
The world darkened. All light, noise, emotion and passion, all of it dimmed. His body was locked in place, his nerves abrogating their responsibility of responding to his will. Greyish light flashed across the crystal, James was uncertain to its meaning. He’d lost the ability to hear, and soon the ability to see. It felt as if the world was monochromatic, so bleak; so futile, worthless.
The last thing he saw was Mr Jack rushing with all his might to the stage front. His lips moved so slowly to James, casting an incantation. He failed to reach James as he collapsed.
He fell into darkness. It was a soft fall.
A Few Hours Later…
The sick bay was too bright for James’ waking eyes. The harsh white light searing into his retinas. A hand held his own, firm.
“What…” James mumbled. His mouth felt full of cotton.
“Shhh. It’s okay love, Mum and Dad are here.”
James tried to focus on the blur to his left. He was flat on a gurney, a dark haired blur to his left and at the foot of his bed. A hand emerged from the edge of the distorted vision to pat his leg. He shuddered, restorative mana rushed through his body; a caring infusement.
“That should help, I’ll leave you three with him.” The school nurse said.
James blinked. His eyes focused and yes there was three people in the room. Headmaster Roy stood in the rooms doorway. James scrambled to sit up. Why would he be here?
He felt only pain, in his mind and body.
“Slowly now. Your um… Mana conduits, I think they said, are drained. We were told you’d also feel famished.” His Dad said. James froze at the term ‘Mana conduits’. Then he remembered the Headmaster, proceeding to cry.
“Shh shhh. It’s okay. Are you in pain?” Mum asked worried.
James turned to the Headmaster. “I’m a Generalist aren’t I?” He whispered. “That’s why your here.” The Headmaster titled his head. His eyes, a wondrous grey, scanned the young man who shed tears of grief. He walked over to the bed. He stood by the right side, facing James’ parents and him. He was an imposing man, built strong an firm despite the signs of age. However, that imposing demenour faded to compassion, warmth emenating from his stoney features.
“Master Scanlan,” He smiled. “You are far from anything general. Congratulations.”
James sat, slack jawed. His eyes, frantic, watched his parents; they nodded, smiles adorning their humble faces. The tears intensified. However, they spoke of joy and relief, far from wretched grief.
“You, Master Scanlan, are the first of your kind in this institution.” James didn’t grasp the Headmaster's meaning.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to say I’ve called on an old student - Magus Doherty - to come aid in your studies, for you are an enigma in your talent. You are a Dust mage, Master Scanlan. A Tier 4 Affinity Dust mage, with the dual schools of Illusion and Enchantment at your disposal. A sharp talent and bright future lie ahead Master Scanlan; I look forward to hearing of your hard work.” The Headmaster shook the bewildered boy’s hand. He bid his parents a “G’day” and left the sick-bay.
James failed to move, as his parents hugged him hard. He sat still. Silent.
This is a beginning. My beginning. Where is my spell book; my spell book!
Despite the drain, the weariness, the fake mana born high; James felt exhilarated. An array of emotions coursed through him, and he felt them - he felt them all. He hugged his parents. And, he smiled.
