Master of Fire - 6. The College of Magic

“That must be Barrone…look, you can see the ocean. It’s late. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow to go into town, give us more time to look around,” Chandler suggested. The boys stood beside the road, on a hill that overlooked the town.

“That’s a good idea. It looks pretty big, and we could use more time.” Marty agreed.

The setting sun painted red the sky as the boys prepared to spend the night in the woods west of the city.

The next morning a brisk breeze was at their backs as they approached the city gates. There were guards—two of them—and they were in uniforms that included chain mail shirts. A man sat on a tall stool beside them. He wore a non-descript robe and sandals. The guards were brisk, but not unpleasant. “Name and place of birth,” they asked. “What is your business in Barrone?”

The boys had agreed that Chandler would speak for them both, and discussed what he would say. “My name is Chandler; I was born in Stuttgart. This is Marty; he was born in Sedona. We’ve come to Barrone to use the library and look for maps.”

“You’re magic users?” the Guard asked, surprised. “The only library is at the College of Magic.”

The old man stirred. “Yes,” he said. “They’re both magic users…and of the Light. Let them pass.”

The guard waved the startled boys through the gate before they could thank the old man.

*****

“College of Magic?” Chandler said, astonished.

“We’re both magic users?” Marty said, equally amazed. “I thought everyone used magic…”

“Maybe so,” Chandler said, “but did you see anyone…anyone…use magic to do anything as…as hard, as complicated as healing Robbie’s burn? I saw it…it was third degree. If you hadn’t been there, he probably would have died of shock then, or gangrene, later. Maybe that’s what they mean by magic user.”

“I didn’t see anyone kill with magic, either,” Marty said, bitterly. “Wonder what the guy in the robe would have thought of that.”

Chandler grabbed Marty’s hand and spun him around so that the boys were facing one another. He pushed the younger boy from the center of the road and against the wall of a building. “Marty, I love you. You saved my life. That man was evil. He would have killed us both for the saddlebags that cost me less than three crowns. The whole world is better off with him dead. I don’t know how to say it, but you’ve got to get over this. We’re not in California any more. The rules are different here. I need you.” Chandler’s voice became more hesitant; he didn’t know what to say or how to deal with the situation.

“Do you really love me?” Marty asked.

“Oh, yes,” Chandler’s voice caught, “Yes, Marty, I do love you.”

“Then it will be all right,” Marty said. He hesitated, “Chandler, I love you, too.”

*****

“So, healing—and killing…don’t worry, I’m okay with it…I don’t like it, but I can live with it…if they make me a magic user, what makes you one?” Marty asked. “I know that your glow is brighter than anyone else I’ve seen. Does that mean you have a lot of magic in you? That you can do things more than wash, and wipe, and clean clothes, and hoe and split wood? And start a fire with moonlight…maybe that’s why he said you were a magic user.

“You said the saddlebags cost you less than three crowns,” Marty added. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Chandler said, “but I’m getting used to something messing with my head. I’m not sure I mind it so much, now that I understand it.”

The boys whispered to one another as they walked down the main street, trying to understand the world in which they found themselves. Not paying attention where they were going, they looked up to find that they were at a quay, and that the ocean lay before them. Both boys were familiar with the Pacific Ocean, so it was not the sea that amazed them. It was the collection of ships, and the activity at the wharves.

To their south, the river that paralleled the road emptied into the sea. Boats and barges, propelled by sails and oars or towed by mules walking along the riverbank, traveled up-river. Other barges loaded with grain, timber, and stone moved downriver, propelled and steered by sweeps. When they reached the mouth of the river, these barges were hooked to hawsers and towed along quays by teams of oxen or mules toward the shelter of the port. In the harbor, lay ships of various kinds: catamarans the size of railroad boxcars, rowboats that would hold no more than one person, sailboats that would hold perhaps two people, lateen-rigged vessels, and barges.

“What is it you don’t see?” Chandler asked, after the boys had watched the activities for a while.

“Anything capable of blue-water sailing,” Marty answered quickly. “Even the biggest are only coastal freighters. I guess that means there’ll be no navigation charts of the world…”

“Perhaps the College of Magic that old man…” Chandler began, when a cry from the quay broke his thought. A few dozen yards away, a boy-child was flying a kite. The land breeze had taken it far over the ocean, and perhaps three hundred feet into the sky. Then, the string had broken, and the kite, a contraption resembling a bird with four sets of wings, began moving rapidly out to sea and losing altitude. The laughter of sea gulls punctuated the child’s anguished cries.

Chandler’s mind flashed to a day when he, perhaps seven years old, had launched a toy sailboat in the sheltered waters of Puget Sound. The wind had filled its sails, and the little boy glowed with pride and delight until a gust of wind jerked the lead line, breaking it, and eventually taking the ship out of sight. Time to find out if I really can do magic, Chandler thought. Visualize, that’s what the boys said they did when they hoed, and washed, and planted. He imagined a hand reaching for the kite. Gently, he thought. It’s paper and glue and maybe a little balsa wood… He wrapped his imaginary hand around the kite and saw it lift and begin to drift back toward the child.

Marty watched a line of light stream from Chandler to the kite, mimicking the motions Chandler made, unaware, with his left hand. Careful not to interrupt his friend’s concentration, Marty watched the kite slowly drift in…in…down…in…down, and into the hands of the delighted child.

“That was amazing,” a tenor voice said from behind Marty. “My little brother would have been heartbroken if he had he lost that kite. Our grandfather made it for him. May I know your name so that we can thank you?”

Marty and Chandler turned to see a handsome boy who appeared to be in his mid-teens. He was dressed in green, silken tights and white tunic, and had a short, broad sword strapped to his waist. The child, clutching the kite carefully, scampered over to the boy.

Chandler spoke first, “It may have been a shift in the wind that brought the kite back. The wind is tricky, you know.”

“I’ve sailed this coast for 40 years,” the boy said, “and I know the wind. The land breeze is caused by a storm south of us…you can see the clouds on the horizon. It is a constant breeze; it will strengthen and gust, but not shift, until the storm strikes and passes over us. No, it was not the wind, although if you wish me not to acknowledge your magic, I will say no more.” He brushed his hands together and spread them. It’s like he’s brushing away or dropping the matter, Marty thought. I’ll have to remember that gesture, and see if others use it, too.

“Yeah, thanks,” Chandler said. “We’re happy that the boy has his kite, but we don’t want to…well, make waves.” Make waves, Chandler thought. Where did that come from! Why am I tongue-tied!

“My name is Kedron; my little brother is Douglas,” the boy said, putting his arm around the child’s shoulder.

Marty, sensing Chandler’s discomfort, replied, “My name is Marty; my companion is Chandler.”

“Are you clerics, then? Or Valarians?” the boy asked, apparently forgetting that he had promised to say no more.

“We are neither, but what about us suggests otherwise?” Marty replied.

“Well, you’re not armed except for your staffs and whatever daggers may be hidden in your clothes, and you don’t seek reward or recognition. You could be thieves, but I don’t think a thief would have used his magic to save a boy’s kite. You could be clerics—mendicants, maybe—beggars. But, well, in truth, you don’t look pious enough. You could be Valarians who believe so strongly that they will return to the Light when they die that they sometimes take great risks on behalf of others, and seldom carry arms. But since you are none of these, you become a puzzle.”

“We do not want to present an enigma,” Marty said, “for that, too, would attract attention. We have traveled to Barrone to study maps of the world, and hoped that sailors at a seaport might have them. None of the boats appear suitable for blue-water sailing, however, so we must petition the College of Magic, I suppose.”

“You must be from far inland not to know that sailors’ maps are a Guild Secret,” the boy said. “Even the ones we use along this coast.”

“Oh,” Marty said.

“I think, uh, that we’ve got to find the College of Magic,” Chandler said. “Do you know, I mean, would you tell us where…how to find it?”

Kedron gave directions, concluding with, “My grandfather is a teacher at the college, but he will not be there today. Anyone should be able to help you, though. Now, I’ll say, Well met, and urge you to find shelter before morning, for the storm will hit by then.” Taking Douglas’ hand, he led his little brother along the quay.

“That’s it!” Chandler exclaimed. “I knew something was funny, now I know.”

“What?” Marty asked.

“We’re in the southern hemisphere,” Chandler announced.

“When did you realize that?” Marty asked.

“The storm. Kedron said it was creating the land breeze. But it’s south of us…if we accept east as where the sun rises. Storms are low pressure systems. The wind from this one is blowing clockwise. That happens only in the southern hemisphere!”

Chandler paused. “What do you mean, when did I realize that?”

“I thought you knew,” Marty said. “The sun rises in the east, all right. But it’s in the northeast. In the northern hemisphere, it rises in the south east.”

“Oh.”

The sun was half-way across the northern sky when the boys reached the college. The entrance was unimpressive: a single door wedged between two buildings that appeared to be warehouses. The door was closed, but as they approached, they saw it open. A boy perhaps the same age as Chandler, wearing a plain, brown robe stepped out and walked quickly away. As they neared the door it opened again. An older man, who wore brown tights and a brown vest over a white tunic and who had a short, wide sword belted to his waist, came out.

“Your pardon,” Marty began, “is this the College of Magic?”

“They call it that,” the man said, “although I don’t know why. They can’t even tell me the weather between here and Valparasio. Go on in. Fat lot of good it’ll do to ask them anything. Good day.” He strode off in the direction of the docks.

The boys watched the man walk away. “Should we knock?” Chandler asked.

“I think it’s more like a business,” Marty said. “A lot of the places we visited at Riverside had closed doors, but we just walked in. Let’s try…”

The door opened to a narrow hallway. A few feet from the door, a small table constricted the hallway. A boy with bright red hair sat behind the desk. He wore a yellow tunic belted at his waist, and sandals. He was kicking his feet at the legs of the table, and scowling.

“Uh, hello,” Marty said.

“Uh, hello, yourself,” the boy said, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Have you lost your way? This is the College of Magic…the docks and public houses are due east of here. Actually,” he said after a pause, “they’re due east of everything in town. Even you can’t get lost.”

“I am so glad to meet you,” Chandler said, “We asked especially for the unpleasant boy.”

The boy started at being spoken to in that manner, and said, “Watch that I don’t turn you into a mouse…or a cockroach.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Chandler said. His voice was matter-of-fact. “Conservation of mass. The energy released would blow the world off its axis.”

The boy gasped and jumped from the stool. “I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t know…I thought you were…”

Marty looked at Chandler and whispered, “Conservation of mass? Do you really think Einstein applies here? First you’re a geologist, now you’re a physicist. Chandler, you surprise me every day.”

“Are they good surprises?”

“Oh, yes,” Marty said taking his friend’s hand.

“Um, may we start over? Please,” the boy asked. He looked from Marty to Chandler and back again. He was clearly puzzled. “My name is Rudy, and I’m really not unpleasant, I think. The man who just left…well, he was very unkind to me, and I spent my anger on you. Please, I’m sorry…”

Marty let go Chandler’s hand. “Yes, Rudy. We’d like to start over. I am Marty; my friend is Chandler. We’re looking for maps…maps that might help us find our way home.”

“I don’t understand,” Rudy said. “We have maps, but where are you from that you can’t find your way home?”

“Well, to start with, the place we lived is on the west coast,” Marty said. He didn’t want to lie to the boy, but wanted to impress him with the gravity of the situation without revealing more than might be wise.

“Oh,” Rudy said. “Please,” he added, opening a door in the wall opposite his desk, “Will you wait here? I’ll find someone…”

Rudy showed them into a room that was about twenty feet square, and which contained a plain table and four chairs. A sideboard against one wall held a tray with a silver pitcher and real glasses…the first glassware the boys had seen in this world. Chandler peered into the pitcher and announced that it was empty. On the wall opposite the door they had entered was another door, shut. Two high, narrow windows that overlooked the street provided light.

There was a brief knock on the door and Rudy entered. “Master Fitzgerald will be here in a…whoops…!” The boy dodged as a man wearing a nondescript robe breezed into the room.

“Thank you, Rudy. Please ask another apprentice to watch the front door and then come back here. You’ll need to hear this, too.”

“You were on the gate this morning, weren’t you, sir?” Chandler asked.

“I was. Please do not call me sir, however, as I am not noble. I am Master Mage Fitzgerald, or Master Fitzgerald. Ah, Rudy, would you please pour refreshment, and join us at the table?” He gestured for Marty and Chandler to sit. Rudy poured a light golden liquid from the pitcher into the glasses. The boys exchanged puzzled looks, but said nothing.

When all had been served and Rudy was seated, the boys gingerly sipped their drinks. The glasses contained cold lemonade.

Master Fitzgerald spoke. “Welcome to Barrone and the College of Magic. Rudy told me the same thing you told the guard this morning; you want to examine maps.”

Marty and Chandler looked at one another. “That is correct, and thank you, Master Fitzgerald, for your welcome,” said Chandler.

Master Fitzgerald continued, “I expected to see you here, and arranged to leave the gate in order to be here when you arrived. Unfortunately, I was drawn away by a minor crisis in the alchemic lab. I was not able to tell Rudy to expect you. He told me that you were from the west coast, but didn’t say more.” The man’s unspoken question hung in the air.

Chandler looked at Marty, who nodded.

“We’re from the west coast of the North America continent. Specifically, northern California, in the United States of America,” Chandler said. “Please, what continent is this?”

Master Fitzgerald pursed his lips, and thought for a moment. “I could call it Australasia,” he said. “That means southern land, and while it would be correct, it would be misleading. In point of fact, at present it has no generally accepted name. It was once called Gondwana…Ah, do you recognize that name, Chandler?”

When the boy nodded, Fitzgerald continued. “That, too, is misleading. That name merely means land. It may one day be called Arista, which is the current name of the mountain range that runs along the spine. I’m afraid that there is no continent of North America in this world.”

Rudy’s gasp when he realized what Master Fitzgerald was saying nearly masked Marty’s sigh. But Chandler heard, and reached across the corner of the table to take Marty’s hand. “I’ll take you home, Marty. Somehow, we’ll get home,” he whispered.

“Rudy, by your oath, you are not to discuss or reveal what you have heard or will hear,” Fitzgerald said. The boy nodded, solemnly. Master Fitzgerald continued, “Shortly we will go to the library and examine maps…so that at least you know where you are. First, however, would you answer a few questions?”

After the boys nodded, he continued, “You are obviously from a different world. How long have you been on this one?”

“We arrived about 40 days ago…in the woods, a few day’s walk south of Riverside, which is west of here. We stayed for a while with a farm family near where we arrived, and have been on the road most of the rest of the time,” Marty said.

“How did you get here? Did you know what you were doing, or was it accidental?”

Chandler said, “I’d better answer that one.”

Marty nodded, and Chandler picked up the narrative. “About four months ago, I saw a gate open from our world to this one…well, I think it was to this one. It was to another world, in any case. A boy we knew rode through the gate with an older boy who I think…I’m sure…was from the other world. It took me three months to work up the courage to try to find the gate. Marty had something that had belonged to the older boy…something that came from his world. I thought…I hoped…that it would open the gate. Somehow, it did, and I rode through…I sort of forgot that Marty behind me on the m…m…m…I can’t say it…I forgot that Marty was riding behind me, and I dragged him with me.”

This time Marty took Chandler’s hand and squeezed it. The boys looked at Master Fitzgerald. He nodded. “Come…let us look at the maps.”

Master Fitzgerald led them down the hallway and past a series of rooms before entering a library. Shelves filled with books and scrolls lined the walls. High windows on two walls admitted bright light. Desks and carrels, equipped with inkwells and lamps, were scattered about. Rudy led the boys to a large table on which Master Fitzgerald spread the scroll he’d selected.

“There’s nothing, really, that resembles our geography, is there?” Marty asked.

“No…this looks a little like Africa and Madagascar, but that’s a stretch,” Chandler said. Turning to Master Fitzgerald, he asked, “You knew of Australia and Gondwana. Do you know of our world?”

Fitzgerald rolled up the map and slid it back into its place. “Your world is undoubtedly one of several? Many? No one is sure, that touch this world—and perhaps each other—occasionally. We know that these worlds exist. We know that some things—people, animals, and plants; ideas and stories; diseases—occasionally pass between them. We know that certain things that happen on one world may manifest themselves on other worlds. Certain things are so…important is the best word I know…so important that they exist on more than one world. Australasia is a word coined from a language that is—or seems to be—used on many worlds. It merely means southern land.”

Fitzgerald continued, “Gondwana is a construct from another scholarly language. America and California are not words with which I am familiar. I’m sorry.”

“How do things…real things, not ideas…go from one world to another?” Chandler asked.

“Again, I must say that I do not know. The greatest mages of this Age do not know the answer to that question. The doors between worlds can be large or small; they open and close when they will, and not when we will. They are quite noisy. Oh, not to the ear, but to a magic user. I was awakened by such a noise about a month ago; it may have been your crossing.”

They had returned to the first room, and Rudy had poured more of the lemonade. Another boy was sitting on the desk in the hallway. He looked curiously at them until Master Fitzgerald glared at him.

“Master Fitzgerald, at the city gate you said that we were both magic users and that we were of the light. Please, what did you mean, and how did you know?” Marty asked.

“My work at the gate is as a Sembler.” When the boys’ brows furrowed, he added, “One who sees the truth. It is a duty that I perform a few days a year in lieu of paying taxes to the baron of this city. I look at those who approach. I see the truth or lie in their answers to the guards’ questions. When I looked at you, I saw a bright glow of power, telling me that you were magic users; the glow was golden, telling me that you were not evil, or servants of the Dark. It was also shaped differently from all the magic I’ve ever seen. That, and your questions, aroused my curiosity.”

“Uh, Master Fitzgerald,” Marty said, “you should know that on our world, we… people… can’t do magic.”

The mage nodded. “What I have read suggests that of all the worlds, this is the only one where the power of magic is strong enough to be useful. If your world has stories of magic users, those stories were likely first told by people who came from this world—or who had visited it. So…you have the power of a magic user…but have you used magic?”

“Marty healed a boy who burned his arm, and I brought together moonlight to start a fire. We learned to use magic to clean clothes…and ourselves…and to split wood, hoe weeds, and plant a hedgerow,” Chandler said.

“Um hmm,” the mage said, looking from Marty to Chandler and back. The boys exchanged looks, and Marty spoke. “I killed someone…I think it was with magic.” He waited for Fitzgerald and Rudy to recoil with horror, but neither said anything.

Marty continued, “He had attacked Chandler, thrown him against a tree and was choking him. I didn’t know it, but he was about to stab Chandler with a dagger. I grabbed him, just to pull him away, and he…” The boy’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “He died. His flesh disintegrated, and there was nothing left but his bones…I saw magic light leaving him…” Marty’s stomach lurched with the memory; Chandler saw Marty’s distress, and squeezed his hand.

Master Fitzgerald sat still for a moment, looking hard at Marty. When he spoke, his voice was warm. “When a person kills, the act leaves a mark on them. The mark can be seen, with practice, by a magic user. There is no such mark on you. You said that you only wanted to pull the man away, and that is the truth. It seems to me that something other than you did the actual killing. You were, at worst, a conduit for that something else. At best, you were not even the conduit, but just happened to be there when it happened.”

The mage continued, “We teach that magic is neither good nor evil, and that magic does nothing without being directed by a magic user, whether he be a mage, a healer, a smith, or a farm boy splitting wood. Most of the time, that’s true.”

He turned to Rudy, “You would normally learn this after you became a journeyman, but…” addressing all three boys, “…there are times when magic seems to have a will of its own. Something—and many of us believe it is magic, itself—works to help maintain balance between Good and Evil, between Darkness and Light. We know it happens. We don’t know how or why it happens. That may be what happened when the man tried to rob you and kill Chandler. It may be, as well, that your magic and his evil were so incompatible that he was destroyed. Without having been there and having seen it, I cannot be sure. I am sure, however, that you were not tainted by his death.”

Rudy, emboldened perhaps by his Master’s confidences, spoke for the first time. “Why was he trying to kill you?”

“He said he wanted our backpacks,” Chandler said. “Marty made them from the saddlebags of my m…m…from the saddlebags.”

“Hmmm,” Fitzgerald said. “Aside from those bright metal rivets, they don’t seem terribly valuable. Of what are the rivets made?”

Chandler fingered the rows of heavy studs that lined the edges of the former motorcycle saddlebags, and formed the image of an eagle in their centers. “Aluminum, probably, plated with chrome. They’re just decoration.”

“May I?” Master Fitzgerald asked. When Chandler handed him one of the packs, the mage touched one of the studs, and concentrated. After a moment, he touched another, and another. When he looked up he said, “It is more likely that he was attracted to the shine of the chromium, of which there is a tiny bit on the surface, and that he was unaware—as you seem to be—that the bulk of the material is mithral, a very rare and valuable metal.”

“Mithral?” Marty blurted without thinking. “That’s Elven metal.”

“Yes, and it is rare that one would see it outside of Elvenhold, or in the hands of anyone but an elf,” Fitzgerald said.

Marty and Chandler sat, stunned. Then Marty whispered, “There are elves?”

“Oh, my,” Fitzgerald said. “So many things to tell you. But, enough for today. There is to be a party at my house, tonight, and you must have an opportunity to bathe beforehand…You haven’t found a place to live, have you? Good. Will you come to my house, meet my family, and stay with us? Rudy, you will come, too, of course. Fetch your party clothes…and come quickly behind us.”

“Master Fitzgerald,” Chandler began. “We would not impose on you…you’ve already been more than kind…”

“In truth,” Fitzgerald said, “I do this for the sake of my own family and for my prince more than I do it for you. Rudy, could you start a fire with moonlight?”

The boy shook his head, “No, Master.”

“Could you heal a burn?”

“No, Master.”

“You see,” Master Fitzgerald said, “You have shown that you can use great power, more than my young friend Rudy has, even though he has studied for nearly half a decade. For your sake, and ours, you must…you must learn how properly to use that power. You must learn control, and…well, the rules, before you hurt yourselves or others.”