My Path to Magic (10 page)

He hesitated, but didn't rush to take the money.  Another helpless white on my hands!

"What now?"

"You are so concerned for the family, you do so much for the kids… and I have never apologized to you!"

"For what?" I did not understand.

"I invaded your house, took the place of your father... perhaps, you're angry with me."

I sighed.  How typical for the white to apply his standards to everybody.  And I thought he was an empath.

"Have you not been lectured about the psychological differences in the school of magic?"

"Yes I have, of course.  I always tried to... well... to treat you with understanding..."

But he never understood me fully, anyway.

"If my father had spent enough time at home to be remembered.  If you had come to our house when I was eight, not eleven.  If you had tried to preach to me.  If you had forbidden me to buy that damn moped.  If you had bought those fucking bees before I left...  Anyway, if you had done things differently, I would have hated you to the depths of my soul.  But you hadn't...  I think blood parents also don't always understand their children, but somehow they do well."

He smiled.

"You have become more mature.  Wiser."

Just one thing left now: I had to find a job.  Oh, money, money...

The day I was leaving for Redstone turned out to be noisy and senseless.  On the eve of my departure, I went to the station and performed a little trick: I sold my express non-stop railroad ticket to one lucky guy.  I was going to return to Redstone by suburban railroads, changing them at every town.  It was not quite legitimate, but  that way I would save an extra eighteen crowns.  The bad thing was that the way back by the suburban railroad would take twice as much time. 

My mother kept trying to shove a jingling worn-out wallet in my backpack, and I kept taking it out.

"Tommy, please, take it for your trip!"

"I don't need money!" I was dead set on that.  "You need it more.  I can always make money in the city."

If I only knew how!

At the last moment it turned out that the train I needed did not stop at the Wildlife Outpost, and Uncle Gordon had to give me a ride on his jalopy through two mountain passes.  There were pros to it—no time for a teary parting, and cons—I did not manage to talk to Mom about my father again.

I started my irritatingly slow travel via local rail lines that departed rarely and stopped at every shabby station.  Good thing that Mom had shoved some grub into my bag, and Joe had poured a calabash of mead of his own make (it was so much more fun to travel with that drink).  It took me 26 hours to reach Ekkverh Junction.  From there, trains to Redstone departed twice a day, and I had to waste another three hours between routes.  Taking a nap at the station was fraught with troubles, and I did not want to squander money on a baggage locker, so I sat in the waiting room, hugging my backpack and dying of boredom.

At first, I entertained myself by visualizing a speech that I would be making in front of Quarters, who would certainly want to know what I was doing the whole summer.  Should I tell him about the island and the quarantine?  Then on my last penny left after the ticket purchase, I bought a local paper from a newsboy (you could put it under your ass, and the seat wouldn't be so freezing cold) and read it from cover to cover.  The contents of eight yellow pages captured the essence of provincial life: a harvest festival, local news, anecdotes, obituaries, ads, and crosswords (the latter turned out to be amazingly stupid).

I quickly looked through the ads: farmers selling cattle, furniture, tractors and equipment, unusually few suggestions to buy puppies and kittens, and an entire section at the end devoted to magical services.  Three dozen wizards offered local townsfolk remedies for male potency, cockroach extermination, improving the tempers of horses, and the treatment of root rot in roses.  Naturally, there were no dark magicians among them: which of us would voluntarily agree to live in the boonies?  The dark mages are irresistibly attracted to big, crowded cities, full of amenities and devoid of insects.  There was no work for NZAMIPS here as well, and I sympathized with the poor fellows who operated the local "cleaning" service—they must have been sent there for some mortal sin.  However, if the situation in Ekkverh was changing the same as in Krauhard...

And then, as though an invisible hand squeezed my mind, the sense of a touch on the back of my head became so vivid that I turned around.

Surely, in this preserve of white magic, there wasn't a single NZAMIPS' office (perhaps, local farmers didn't even know what that was).  For the whole county, there was one on-site inspector, and he lived somewhere in Redstone.  Hardly any of the locals knew the subtleties of the licensing of dark magicians and the limitations that NZAMIPS imposed on our practice—they used to pay cash after the work had been done without asking for a receipt or invoice.  You couldn't meet representatives of the government there even by accident, and a bit of competition wouldn't hurt the local "cleaning" service.

I carefully pulled off a newspaper coupon for a free ad, took a pen from a news vendor and filled in: "A dark magician, specialist in the undead and otherworldly phenomena.  Pricelist available.  Warranty.  Free consultation."  As a contact number I provided the phone of a girl I knew who worked in the answering services.  She was the half-blind girl with well-developed vocal strength who was a secretary for three or four small companies that were too poor to keep a separate office.  She was valued for her good telephone manners: the girl never asked stupid questions like: "Who are you looking for?"  Another advantage—she lived near the university, not far from me to check for the news regularly.

Finally, I fell back into my old ways.  As they say, you can't wash the stripes off a zebra. 

Part 2.  PRIVATE PRACTICE

Chapter 7

Redstone University occupied two complexes or, as people said, "territories".  The new territory was located on the outskirts of town, across the river, and consisted of a noisy dormitory and laboratories for the Faculty of Alchemy, as large as factories.  They say there were greenhouses and stables somewhere behind the dormitory, but I never dealt with that side of the university's life.

The old territory and the heart of the university was the Redstone School of Magic, the first educational institution to teach dark and white magicians together—the pioneering attempt to reconcile the opposites.  The founders of the university discovered a magic formula for the successful preparation of magic art specialists: joint education with ordinary people in some disciplines, like alchemy and pharmaceuticals.  Nowadays such arrangement is considered standard, but in the past the innovation was regarded as revolutionary.  Since then, the classic "apprenticeship" has fizzled out—graduates of specialized alchemical and magic institutions lagged seriously behind ordinary university graduates in their skills.  It was assumed that the joint training allowed ordinary people to actually get acquainted with the logic of magic (an important life experience was presented at the right time in their lives) and helped magicians better integrate into the society.  Also, the dark, being in the absolute minority, were unable to bully the white, which was a huge bonus for the latter.  The Redstone school quickly grew into a university, regularly supplying society with talented alchemists, the mightiest white magicians, and the strongest combat sorcerers.  Soon I will join them.  This year, twelve dark students expressed an intention to undergo the Empowerment.  If you trust statistics, among them there would be at least one master, a couple of generals, and one genuine archimage.

I sat on the square in front of the faculty building, waiting for my turn to take the Empowerment (that day there were three others scheduled for the ritual) and getting annoyed at mere trifles.  My dear Uncle (kick the bucket already, you old goat!) refused to explain the essence of the ritual, despite the whole summer of my practicing with the Source.  "If you know it in advance, you will fail it for sure!  Just remember: you should refrain from using your power for as long as possible.  Got it?  For as long as possible!"  That was all that I was able to shake out of him.  Now my peers were preparing for the most important moment of their lives by fasting and taking special herbs (Uncle forbade me from touching them), while I stupidly sweated in anticipation of troubles.

The shadow of the sundial had crawled to noon when I noticed a guy that was supposed to take the ritual before me.  I did not know his name; the dark rarely get to know each other.  The newly-made magician threw a gloomy look at me and, without saying anything, disappeared in the direction of the main building.

I was next.

All students learned quickly the place occupied by the Faculty of Dark Magic; this was the area where you'd better not walk in the evening.  Beginners often mistook it for a utility structure—against the background of the main building with tall lancet windows and colored tints on precious finish, the three-story box looked weird, resembling the prison on the King's Island.  The university's authorities regularly considered transferring the faculty to the new territory (the city municipality was all in favor of that idea), but it did not budge; to build such an institution from scratch required a shocking amount of money.  The current monstrous building sported a unique magical structure that was capable of retaining and absorbing the fatal consequences of student errors and, in fact, carried that function out regularly.  According to the stats, two percent of dark magicians died in the process of learning.  But today the townsfolk could rest safely; for the whole week the building was at the juniors' disposal.

A dark carpet runner was spread in front of the entrance, pennants with the wise sayings of famous combat magicians hung on the walls (could you believe it—combat mages were able to speak eloquently!), and crows, consorts of plagues and wars lined up on the roof, attracted by emanations of magic.  In the lobby I was met by the dean and an instructor with two assistants.  Representatives of the city authorities—the same goblin-like cop and an unknown dark mage—were silently present as well.  Nothing unexpected so far.

"You have finally decided to go through the Empowerment," Mr. Darkon said, looking a little sad.

I was still pondering that question prior to the incident at the NZAMIPS' office, but afterwards it became a must-do thing.

"I'm not going to quit alchemy."

"Everybody says so."

The instructor politely cleared his throat: "If you are aware of the risks associated with the Empowerment, please sign here!"

That was the disclaimer—the university pledged to do its utmost to ensure the safety of the ritual, but it refused any responsibility for injuries received in the process.  On top of that, there was my own written application, a letter from my immediate family (I hadn't reached twenty-one yet), a health certificate...  At one time, just the list of the necessary paperwork was enough to discourage me from becoming a magician.  I hated bureaucracy!  But I didn't have a choice and signed the disclaimer without looking.

I was tapped on the shoulder, wished success, and escorted to a large door that was upholstered in black leather.  I tried to figure out what would happen next, but the instructor immediately began lecturing me about historical parallels and my responsibility to society, reminding me of the incessant babble of the white kids.  I was not in a mood to argue on a day like this and patiently waited until his speech dried out.

Just through the doors the corridor broke off at a spiral staircase that led down to the second underground level.  That was quite logical—rituals of this kind had to be conducted in a lab with the highest safety level, and regulations prescribed that such places must be hidden in basements.  I had never been there before.  My imagination painted a secret temple with torches and pentagrams, but in reality the place turned out to be quite prosaic: the clanking iron staircase ended in a tiny dressing room with a single bench and a coat rack for jackets.  There, I was asked to change into the ritual costume (it looked like a black pajamas), and from thereon I continued barefoot, pretending to be a seasoned mage, because a dark magician arriving at the ritual in socks with holes didn't strike me as comical.

With great effort, the instructor swung open a door made of cast iron (like a vault), but there was no temple behind it—just a small room without sharp corners.  Bluish-white lights glared on the walls of polished silver.  If there were any magic wards present there, they did not stick out.  One of the assistants went ahead of me, the other breathed down my neck from behind, and the instructor showed the way, occasionally tugging me by the sleeve and annoying me greatly.

I hated to be grabbed or pulled!

The door locked behind us with a dull clanking sound that caused my heart to skip a beat anxiously.  Why did the door need to be locked?

"This important-for-every-dark-magician day..." the instructor monotonously droned.

He managed to maneuver so masterfully that I noticed our destination at the last moment: it was a short iron table with four leather bracelets.

"Perhaps..."

As though by accident, he took my hand and started pushing me down onto the polished surface.  All my instincts howled at once.  I rushed to the door but was adroitly intercepted by the second assistant and laid on the damned altar.  That it was an altar was as clear as day.

"I have changed my mind!  I do not want to go through the ritual!"

"Too late," the instructor replied after catching his breath, "You'll leave this room as a dark magician or won't leave at all."

"A-ah!"

Damn!  The walls were thick there; furthermore, it was the basement.  I tried to pull myself together (figuratively speaking, because my hands were fastened behind my head).  Today two other students had taken the ritual before me and both were alive and intact; I even saw one of them.  Though the color of his face was..."