The Currents of Magic

Chapter Thirteen

"I'm not the only one that Moon brought here?"

"Of course not," said Damian. "There are over one hundred tempests in Eldrin's Dale. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Then we should be in the same age class. You'll have to start in the first discipline, but that will only affect parts of your schedule..." Damian kept talking, but Meyer wasn't listening. His thoughts had snagged on the first sentence.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Damian. "I know. I'm really short. And I was pushed forward a class."

Damian glanced around the room, and Meyer took a moment to collect his thoughts. He hadn't given much consideration to the specifics of Moon's offer to train him as a sorcerer, but he definitely hadn't envisioned himself training alongside other people. The idea almost seemed ludicrous, and his self-pitying defenses shuddered at the prospect that his situation was not unique, but still, he felt a flicker of optimism rattle his hardened spirit. He wasn't alone.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Damian. "I heard that without any training you managed to break an enchantment. Is that true?"

Meyer prepared himself for another exchange that would undoubtedly leave him feeling even more ill-informed. "Well, I've definitely never had any magical training, and I hardly understand the first thing about magic," he said. "In truth, I'm still having trouble believing I'm magical."

To Meyer's surprise, Damian laughed. It was light-hearted and childish, and again Meyer found himself thinking about Damian's youthful appearance.

"What's funny?"

"It's just whenever people arrive from the Outlands or the Far South, or any of the fallen lands, they seem to treat magic like its mystical. I mean, from what I understand you have Healers out there, even if they're casting pretty simple spells, and you have artifacts from the Great Realms. Isn't that enough to have a basic understanding of magic?"

"I don't know. Back where I'm from magic is more natural: a Healer puts people to sleep and fixes broken bones; the Great Realms invent a few nifty trinkets. Sure, magic. But here people treat it differently: real sorcerers, powerful spells. Doesn't it sound a bit legendary?"

"Not really."

Meyer shook his head slowly. "I just keep coming back to the thought that I can do magic," he said. "And it's the hardest part for me to believe, even though it should be what I'm most certain about. I've definitely done magic a few times, and I can't deny that I've felt something strange, or seen something strange, or both, every time it's happened."

"Have you tried doing any magic recently?" said Damian.

"No."

"Well, why don't you try?"

Meyer smiled slightly, wondering why he hadn't thought of the idea himself. "I really don't think anything will happen," he said. "But I'll try."

He pushed himself up against his headrest, preparing himself to attempt the impossible. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind and tried to connect with his magical sense. He didn't feel anything, and despite his best effort to concentrate, his mind would not stay focused. A small part of him felt disappointment, but there was also a sense of relief. If he wasn't magical, then he could go back to Vanroc. He just need to give it one more try to be certain...

Taking a deep breath, Meyer tried to probe outward with his mind. In the past, it had just happened. All of a sudden he would be feeling with a new sense, and the rest would be natural. But as he sat straining with his eyes closed, he couldn't find that sense.