Chapter Text
“Did you remember to add your pigs’ blood before the chickadee feather, Ulric?” asked Master Wilken. “It’s in your textbook: three drops. No more, no less, otherwise the whole potion will be unusable.”
Of course he remembered his pigs’ blood. He smirked up at his professor from his seat at the wooden alchemy table. It was old wood, scratched from years of use and miscalculations, just like Master Wilken. “I’d have less of a problem remembering my ingredients if you stopped breathing down my neck, old man.” Ulric’s voice was as confident as it was weasley.
Wilken shook his head. “Just be sure to consult your textbook. I won’t be made responsible for your poor attitude, boy.” With that, Wilken turned and walked away, his long, emerald robe dragging across the cobblestone floor.
Go bother your other students and let me work. They clearly need the help , thought Ulric. He dusted off his tunic and looked back to his cauldron. It sputtered and bubbled over a low flame on a round stone, the red ooze inside churning from his latest ingredient. The potion was supposed to reinvigorate the consumer, but in its current state, Ulric would rather run a marathon than drink it. He consulted his dusty textbook.
One feather from a chickadee, for lightness of step , he read. He opened his bag of alchemy components, digging through tree roots, ceramic jars of cow bile, and vials of turpentine for his feather collection. He’d never had the time to organize the bag, but his hands probed through the items with learned confidence. Out came a small drawstring pouch that touted dozens of feathers from dozens of birds. He unceremoniously dumped them out.
Now, which one of these is a chickadee feather? He sifted through the pile. Damn, they all look the same! He’d never excelled at bird identification. Ulric picked out a brown feather with gray speckles from among the feathers. Close enough. He tossed it into the cauldron. Wilken would never be the wiser.
Whatever bird the feather came from, it wasn’t a chickadee. And the potion knew it. The red liquid turned a sickly yellow and went still. Ulric grimaced, but potions were known to suddenly change with new ingredients. Surely, it’s supposed to do that? He thought. He almost reached for his textbook, but decided against it.
It wasn’t supposed to do that. The cauldron shook violently, rattling its iron legs against the tabletop. The entire class of twenty stopped working on their own potions and looked up. So did Master Wilken. As Wilken started towards him, Ulric rushed to grab the cauldron’s handle, throwing himself onto the table, knocking aside his component bag. It was too late. The cauldron spun and flung itself onto the floor, spraying its contents across the room (thankfully, it missed Ulric). A hefty portion splashed all over Wilken’s robe, at which point the now-acidic potion ate away at his drawers. After its outburst, the cauldron clattered onto its side, empty. The room was silent as twenty pairs of prying eyes darted up to Ulric.
Wilken’s booming voice shattered the silence. “What on God’s green earth is the matter with you, boy?!” He descended upon Ulric. The slapping of his sandals as he crossed the room was like thunder. “I’ve told you time and time again that alchemy is a delicate and precise science. You need to listen to your textbook!”
He reached Ulric. He looked at the dozens of feathers that were now scattered over the table. “Get your head on straight.” He pointed a finger at Ulric’s components. “Unlabelled ingredients, messy bag… what I see here is a total lack of attention to detail. You’re lucky this potion had such a small reaction.”
“ Small reaction?” The words snuck out before Ulric could help himself.
“Yes! You’re lucky there wasn’t an explosion.” Wilken put his weathered, thick hands on the table. “This was a simple potion, boy. If you can’t manage not to ruin it, you may want to reconsider your enrollment in this school. Now, clean up this mess. You’ve failed today’s assignment.” He turned to the students, who weren’t even pretending not to listen. “This is a valuable lesson to the rest of you. Pay attention to your ingredients, or you’ll end up like your classmate.” Wilken stalked away as the bottom of his robe disintegrated, flashing a glimpse of his ankles.
The class returned to their work. A few students spared Ulric a sympathetic glance, but he didn’t meet their eyes. He spent the remainder of the period gathering his fallen ingredients and cleaning up what was left of his potion (that hadn’t started dissolving into the floor, that is). The other students finished their potions, and, while some were duds, none of them had to endure the same catastrophic failure as Ulric.
“It was just one damn feather!” Ulric recounted as he and Agnes made their way through the throng of students pulsing along one of the narrow hallways that made up the veins of the Fairfire Vault. Torches burned in the sconces along the hall, sending thick, choking smoke over the crowd. The inner halls were much older than the school’s castle facade. The tight halls forced Ulric and Agnes shoulder-to-shoulder with the entire student body every time they had to change classes.
“Why didn’t you label your feathers? I made tags for all of mine. I can help you, if you like.” Agnes absentmindedly flipped through her component bag, which Ulric saw was perfectly labeled and organized. Everything about her was organized, from her immaculately pressed white robe to the impeccable rows of braids on her head.
What a suck-up.
Ulric flicked a scrap of lint from his own white robe. “I don’t have the time. Wilken just loves his power trips. He has us chasing our tails trying to make potions that are so simple even a child couldn’t ruin them. He ought to teach us real magic. If he hadn’t gotten into my head about the pigs’ blood, I’d have made top marks.”
Agnes sighed. “It’s just your first year. Alchemy takes a lot of work to learn, and even more to master, but I know you’ll get there.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“I’d do better if they actually gave me a challenge.”
The wave of students broke out onto the courtyard. Ulric finally had room to breathe. The gnarled old hawthorn tree in the center of the courtyard loomed over the student body. He’d always hated it. It was supposed to be a symbol of the school’s commitment to natural magic as well as alchemy. He knew better. Natural magic was as big of a waste of time as the useless potions he’d been brewing.
But today, the tree stood unbothered, much like the three figures standing beneath it. First was the tall, muscular Master Wilken in a fresh, undamaged robe. Second was Headmaster Euphemia, standing hunched over her cane. The woman was ancient. Ulric often wondered why she hadn’t yet turned to dust and blown away. He didn’t recognize the third figure, and from the growing murmurs of the students, neither did anyone else.
The mystery man sat on a chair brought from a nearby classroom, and he was engaged in a hushed conversation with Headmaster Euphemia. Wrapped head-to-toe in ratty, deep blue robes, the man looked like a corpse that had died from some long-ago plague and had recently risen by a necromancer’s hand. He was dirty and covered in scabs. Ulric was glad to be standing so far away, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one. The mass of students stopped moving forward as more and more of them noticed the wretched man. As the semi-circle of students closed around the courtyard, Euphemia raised her hands and began to speak.
“My dear wizards, sorcerers, and conjurers of the future, may I have your attention, please?” Her body may have been frail, but Euphemia’s voice was as powerful as ever. “We have a very special demonstration for you. This,” she gestured to the corpse, “is one of my oldest and dearest friends, Savnock the Enlightened.”
Ulric stifled a laugh as the crowd began to whisper. This was Savnock the Enlightened? The supposedly legendary wizard looked like he had both feet in the grave. What’s he going to demonstrate, Ulric thought, how to properly lie in a coffin?
Savnock shuffled to his feet. “Thank you, my friend,” he croaked. All of his remaining teeth were black. “What I want to show you today is powerful magic. Older than I, older than this tree, older than your Vault. I had long thought it extinct… never have I been so happy to be proven wrong.” He drew a gnarled, ginger-root hand from his shawl. “Once, I was an alchemist, like many of you one day dream of being. My research led me to rediscover the oldest kind of magic: thaumaturgy. The only kind of magic without a cost. The only pure magic.”
He raised his hand. “I want to show you what pure magic looks like.”
Ulric’s eyes widened. Blue light, like misty lightning, crackled to life in Savnock’s hand. He pulled the light from one palm to the other like a juggler as it swirled and swelled. It grew and grew, bloating in his hands. When it seemed that he could hold it no longer, he released it. He launched it up, over the heads of the silent student body. It exploded in a shimmering burst of flower petals, which sprinkled down onto the students. Ulric caught one. It was real, not an illusion. He gawked. The decrepit Savnock had made something concrete out of nothing, without touching a single component. It was instant, and he hadn’t given anything up to do it.
I should be the one doing that , was the only thought racing in Ulric’s mind.
That wasn’t the only arcane feat that Savnock performed. He sent a pack of spectral dogs running through the crowd, turned Wilken’s robes into a set of gleaming armor, floated Headmaster Euphemia above the students. Ulric watched Savnock’s hands. He wove the magic intricately. His hands may have been withered, but he molded the magic like a potter with clay. He was perfect. He swept the crowd up in a frenzy of excitement, climaxing in thunderous applause at the end of the demonstration.
As he finished, he collapsed into a coughing fit and sunk back down into the chair. He looked up and Euphemia and chuckled. “My lungs are not what they used to be… perhaps I need to rest.”
She nodded and turned to the student body. “Thank you all for your attention. Now, I think we’ve interrupted your classes for long enough. Return to your studies. With enough hard work, you might become as skilled as Master Savnock one day. Remember: study brings dis covery.” She chuckled.
Ulric scoffed.
Ulric couldn’t stop thinking about the demonstration. It played over and over in his mind during the rest of his lessons, study time, and now during the evening meal. He had seen true power, and he couldn’t focus on venison stew after a show like that. How in the world did Savnock rediscover thaumaturgy ? He had consulted the library during his class break, and no one had used thaumaturgy in over a hundred years. How could he wield that power so casually? Savnock didn’t even know what he had. All that power, and he decided to perform cheap party tricks for untalented, unremarkable students. He was wasting all that potential!
With magic like that, I could become a court magician , Ulric thought. No, think bigger. Why serve a king when you could be a king?
Besides, the man was probably dying. Ulric guessed that Savnock had only a few good years before he went completely senile. He must want to pass on his great discovery before he dies. He did say he wanted to show us pure magic.
Ulric stood up from his seat beside Agnes. The student body sat scattered across several long tables, sitting in small groups. They were half-way through a dinner of venison stew and roast potatoes. He turned to the faculty table at the head of the hall and started towards it. Savnock sat in a plush dining chair beside Euphemia and Wilken, who chatted away with one of the natural magic professors. Savnock sat silent and nursed his goblet of wine.
Ulric arrived and leaned over the table with his hands behind his back. He gave Savnock his most fawning smile. “I just wanted to say how inspired I was by your demonstration today. That was truly incredible magic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Savnock chuckled. “Thank you, dear boy. It’s always a pleasure to hear that from the younger generation.”
“Oh, I mean it. Your magic is much more impressive than what they teach here. I bet I could learn more from you in one day than I’ve ever learned from the Vault.”
Wilken cleared his throat, turning away from his conversation and furrowing his brow. “This isn’t the time for that, Ulric. Go back to your table and finish your dinner.”
Ulric ignored him. “I’m serious. At your… advanced age, you might want to consider an apprentice. Someone with real initiative. I can promise you that there’s no one in the Vault with more initiative than me.” He gestured to himself to punctuate his sentence.
“That’s enough, boy.” snapped Wilken. “Don’t be so rude to our guest.” He turned to Savnock. “Ulric is… ambitious, but he has no eye for detail and no respect for authority. If you are to take an apprentice… take anyone else.”
Savnock waved his hand dismissively. “Thank you, Wilken, but there’s no need.” He put down his wine and tented his skeletal fingers. “Ulric, was it? I can appreciate your tenacity, but I have no need of an apprentice. Magic like mine is a talent; it cannot be taught. I sense no such talent from you.”
He finally looked up at Ulric. “In fact, I sense little talent for magic at all. Wilken told me about your little mishap in class today. Can you explain your little mistake?”
Ulric stuttered. “I–”
“I thought so. If you can’t follow the instructions of a simple potion, you may want to consider finding work outside the realm of sorcery. There are many castles on the edge of the Elderwood, and a king always needs someone to scrub his chamberpot.”
Ulric said nothing. He clenched a fist out of sight of them.
“I think it’d be best if you return to your table,” Wilken said.
Ulric turned around and stumbled back to his seat. Some of the nearby students and even a couple of professors snickered as he passed. He plopped down next to Agnes. She looked up from her book.
“Ulric, are you alright? Your face is… um…”
He wished he could cover his burning cheeks. “I’m fine! Just fine!” His voice was louder than he meant it to be. “The old man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I bet he’s feeble-minded…”
“What are you talking about?”
Ulric barely heard her. “That bastard must have a journal, or some notes, or something. Blowhards like him always take notes.”
“I think you need to step back and breathe. Please, think this through.” Agnes placed a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged her off. “Oh, I’ve thought it through. The faculty always retire to the study after dinner. I’m sure he’ll go with them. Then I’ll search his room.”
“Are you sure you can’t let this go? That would get us into terrible trouble…”
“I just won’t get caught. I’ll be in and out before he knows what’s happening.” Ulric smirked. “By sunrise, I’ll be the most powerful wizard the Vault has ever seen.”
Agnes sighed. “If this is really what you want, I’ll help you. Is this what you really want?”
“Oh, I’m sure of it. I’m absolutely sure.”
Ulric and Agnes were among the first students filing out of the dining hall when dinner concluded. The early spring sun was already setting against the budding trees surrounding the Vault. The pair crept through the spiraling hallways, past classrooms and dormitories, up to one of many towers that made up the castle. This was the faculty wing. Ulric had never been here. This was one of the newer additions to the school, with stone walls that hadn’t been smoothed by generations of student hands and flaming torches with holders that had never felt the bite of rust. Of course the most comfortable living quarters went to the professors.
They passed door after door, each bearing a bronze placard with the names of the faculty. Master Peregrine. Master Wilken. Master Rose. At the top of the tower, they came upon a door labeled “Guest.”
Ulric jiggled the brass handle. It was locked.
“This is a bad idea,” whispered Agnes. “We should just forget about this whole thing!”
“Not until I see whatever that fool is hiding.” Ulric pressed harder on the door.
“How can you be sure he’s hiding anything? Maybe he’s just gifted. Sometimes people are just born with those abilities. I’ve heard that it happens.”
Ulric pushed his entire body weight on the door. “He claims to have ‘rediscovered’ thaumaturgy, but I’ll bet he has some skeletons in his closet. He must have summoned a demon, or killed a partner, or trapped a genie…”
“I think you’re making that up. He may be a tad strange, but Savnock the Enlightened is, well, enlightened! If he did get his magic like that, then maybe we should stay away from him.”
He had an idea. Ulric pulled a stone out of his component bag (granite, from a troll’s nest), looked around, and smashed it into the door handle.
Agnes gasped. The door crept open. Torches from the hall pierced the dark room. Without a second thought, Ulric pulled a torch from the wall and stepped inside.
Even with a torch, darkness hung heavy in the bedroom. Savnock had draped a thick curtain over the window, blackening the large, circular chamber. It was austere, as most rooms in the Vault were, though it still held a comfortable bed and an old desk. The only other things there were a golden bird cage and a bulky wooden chest with a rusty lock, sitting untouched upon the bed.
Ulric smiled and handed Agnes the torch. “He’s smart enough to keep his secrets locked up,” he held up his chunk of granite, “but foolish enough to leave them unguarded.”
He brought the stone down on the lock, which clattered to the floor. Agnes winced. She glanced down the hallway from where she stood at the door. “Do you think anyone heard that?”
Ulric didn’t say anything, instead choosing to open the chest and sift through the ragged robes within. His stomach flipped. There was nothing inside except for the moth-bitten rags. There was no tome, no journal, no hint to the secret of Savnock’s magic.
“What?! No, no!” He dumped the contents of the chest onto the bed and rooted through them, hoping for any possible clue. Nothing. He checked the sides of the chest, his hands growing frantic as he found no latch or secret compartment.
He whipped around to Agnes, eyes wild. “Search the desk! I’m checking the bed. There has to be something here!”
Agnes hesitated for a moment before she began a cautious search of the desk drawers. Ulric tore apart the bedsheets, throwing the linens and pillows to the floor. “Come on, come on!” he panted as he ducked under the bed. There was nothing down there but a colony of dust bunnies. He gave the area a quick scan. He was about to pull his head up and continue his search, until he caught sight of a thin, leatherbound book poking out from beneath the mattress.
“Aha!” He snatched it up. “Nice try, you old bastard!” He beamed with pride, Agnes peering over his shoulder as he opened the book. His face fell. The page was covered in neat, organized writing. It would have been perfect, if it hadn’t been written entirely in cipher. He tore through the rest of the pages. Each was the same as the last. He finally found, what he presumed to be, the secret of perfect magic, and it was just out of reach.
“Disappointed?” called a voice from the hall. Agnes and Ulric turned to see Savnock standing in the door, looking out over the wreckage of his room, eyes burning with cold fury. “You know, it isn’t wise to enter someone’s quarters uninvited. You never know what could be waiting for you.”
Agnes stepped back. Ulric stepped forward. He waved the journal at Savnock. “What is this? Can’t you write in English?”
Agnes put her hand on his arm. “Please, calm down.”
Ulric shook her off. “No! I need answers, damn it!”
Savnock was silent. Then he threw his head back, filling the silent room with his creaky, hoarse laughter. “You expect me to answer your questions? Dear boy, you’re the trespasser. You have no claim here.”
“Come on!” Ulric’s voice rose to match Savnock’s. “How do you do it? You have a magic patron, don’t you? Or a genie?”
Agnes spoke up. “Master Savnock, we’re very, very sorry to intrude. I don’t know what came over us. I guess we were just so impressed by your magic… we’ll just leave you be.” She tried to pull Ulric’s arm, but he didn’t budge.
Savnock shook his head and turned to Agnes. “You seem like you’ve a good head on your shoulders. It’s a pity you followed this nosy little boy too deep into trouble.” He pulled his hands from his robes. Bright light already danced on his fingers. “I offer you my sincerest apologies.”
Agnes opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late. Savnock hurled the warbling magic right at her, where it struck her in the stomach. She recoiled, clawing at her stomach. Her voice croaked and the room turned cold. Her skin turned frosty like a pond in winter. Her movements slowed, her limbs groaning as she fought against the spell. Then she went still, her face frozen with an open, silent scream as the last warm breath escaped her lips. The torch still smoldered in her hand.
Ulric stepped back. He had never seen a frost spell take hold so quickly. She was frozen before he could utter a word. He couldn’t stop looking at her wide, icy eyes.
“You should count her lucky,” said Savnock, turning his attention to Ulric. “I wanted to spare her your fate.”
Ulric swallowed. What could possibly be worse? “My fate?”
“Yes. your persistence is… irritating, to say the least. But it won’t be for much longer. You have no idea who you’re meddling with. You say you truly want to know my secrets?” Savnock stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.
Ulric nodded. Despite everything, the possibility of an answer made his heart race. He looked to the door. Maybe he could push past Savnock before the man could fire off another spell? Agnes had always been slow to react. Perhaps he could avoid her fate.
“Very well. I’ll grant you this kindness.” Savnock moved aside the neckline of his robe. Suspended around his neck was a delicate silver chain that held a sapphire pendant. The gem seemed to roil and churn, its surface murky like the sky before a storm. “Do you know what this is?”
“No…”
“As I suspected. Euphemia has forbidden mention of them in her school. She would be furious if she knew of mine. You see, thaumaturgy needs a focus, something special to give the magic purpose. This is a reliquary. I had thought them all destroyed or lost, until I was able to produce my own. It has blessed me with that power, the power to perform such feats, to live a life of such renown.”
Ulric couldn’t take his eyes off the amulet. Just looking at it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“In the age of sorcerers, all the great wizards had them,” continued Savnock. “Now, only mine remains.”
“How do I get one?” Ulric asked suddenly. There was an urge building in his stomach, an urge to rush the old man, strangle him, take the thing for himself.
Savnock chuckled. “It’s impossible. The creatures that bless the reliquaries are now extinct. But you’re in for a special treat, dear boy. You get to see the full, undiluted power of reliquary. I use it for much more than just party tricks. It’s just a shame you’ll never tell anyone about it.”
The reliquary glowed. Savnock smiled a sickening black smile. The magic began to crackle to life in his hands. “Goodbye, Ulric.”
Ulric leapt forward. He dashed toward Savnock with an outstretched hand, ready to snatch the reliquary. With a lazy wave of his hand, like he was a fly to be swatted away, Savnock sent the magic at him. The magic arched like lightning between their fingers before running up Ulric’s arm and straight into his chest.
He stopped. He checked himself over. He didn’t feel any different. “Ha! Did you waste all your magic on today’s display, old man?” Ulric laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be powerf–”
Ulric interrupted himself with a loud retch as the room began to spin. He fell to his knees and clutched the floor to keep from falling off the earth. His vision blurred. He was sure ants were trying to force their way out of every pore in his body. His skin was too tight. It compressed and pulled against his muscles, threatening to collapse his body in on itself. His nose filled with the smell of burning flesh. He convulsed on the ground. He curled into a fetal position, but there was no relief to be found on the cold, stone floor. He needed to vomit up every organ in his body just to release some of the pressure.
Somehow, it got worse. A thousand tiny cracking sounds filled his ears. He realized that those were his bones. Each one splintered into a thousand pieces as his blood boiled and sizzled against them. His muscles unwound and coiled up again. He screamed as he sunk into himself, writhing in pain. He shut his eyes to keep them from popping out of his deflating skull. He was being rearranged, shuffled like a deck of cards. His flesh melted right off of him, only to reform and string a new, alien body together.
Ulric had no idea how long the breaking, the shrinking, the screaming went on for. It could have been a minute, or it could have been a thousand agonizing years. But ever so slowly the pressure decreased, and he could finally breathe again. He took a slow, shallow breath in lungs that didn’t feel like his anymore. He opened his eyes.
The stone floor was much closer than it had been before. He shivered. He couldn’t feel the protection of his thick robes anymore, nor the cold of the floor. He reached out a hand to steady himself and the nausea came flooding back.
These aren’t my hands .
His hands were perfect, with slender fingers and unblemished brown skin. These hands were anything but. These hands were a garish, unnatural blue, with four stubby fingers on each bloated palm. These hands were shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. He didn’t want to learn what creature these vile hands belonged to.
Savnock’s voice brought him back to reality. “I never thought I’d see such a creature again…”
Ulric looked up at the wizard who now towered over him. Savnock examined his reliquary. “This thing has always had a mind of its own, but this… this is unprecedented.”
Ulric got to his feet. The room had become much, much bigger. Even the journal (which he had dropped during his transfiguration) was larger than him. He was barely bigger than a mouse. Savnock took a massive step towards him.
“What a transformation!” Savnock seemed almost giddy. “I had meant to vaporize you, dear boy, but you’ll be much more valuable like this…” His hand reached down towards Ulric’s tiny frame, ready to swallow him up.
Ulric found himself running. His diminutive new legs took off, dragging the rest of his body with them. He knew he had no chance of escaping through the door, not as Savnock loomed over it. Instead he dashed under the bed, running through the field of now ankle-high dust bunnies.
Savnock fired off two blasts of magic. Each one swirled and grew into a misty, incorporeal hand. Both dove after him. The hunt was on as Ulric scampered back and forth, dodging the swiping hands. He emerged from the other side of the bed, desperately searching for a way to escape.
The window!
Urged on my adrenaline, Ulric clawed his way up the velvet curtain to the windowsill. The hands blew towards him. The fabric swung wildly from the gust. Ulric clung tight and managed to pull himself up the curtain. The hands closed in. The window was open just a crack, but a crack was enough. He squeezed through the gap as the hands reached him. They were upon him now, stretching toward him.
He had no other option. He closed his eyes, stepped off of the windowsill, and fell.