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It had been a long time since Hamid was in college—longer, really, than it actually was for him, now—but he still remembered how it was learning magic, how wizards were supposed to do it. They practiced, practiced, and practiced some more; eventually, with time and effort, they could build up to casting any spell they pleased. This had never worked for him. Either he couldn’t cast a spell or he could, and over time the repertoire of spells he could cast would grow. Sometimes these were spells that he had observed others casting and sometimes they weren’t—now, casting his mind back to Eldarion and her magic, Hamid tried to force it. A wizard learned a spell through study and practice and hard work; even though this had never worked for him before, Hamid thought that it was worth it, at least, to try again now.
He had seen Eldarion cast Plane Shift twice. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to the magic itself at the time, but he’d still seen it. Hopefully, at least on some level, this meant that he would be able to recreate it.
He closed his eyes, tried to draw upon the feeling of casting a new spell, the power wrought by Eldarion’s final Plane Shift. It had sent Sasha and Grizzop spinning off to who-knows-where, and Hamid was the only caster in their party, the only one who might be able to find the spell to get them back.
Magic rushed out of him, formless and shapeless and impotent. The grass crisped; the air burnt his lungs and tasted of dill; the magic faded. Nothing had happened.
Hamid took a breath of the magic-scented air, and he tried again. He tried again, and again, and again; the closest he got to plane shifting anything was when he disappeared a sizeable chunk of dirt a few feet away from him—but the squawking of Carter inside was evidence enough that the dirt had not shifted planes but had rather shifted locations, either into the Harlequin’s lap or bed, he couldn’t quite tell.
I’m getting closer, Hamid told himself. Closer—
His leg twisted under him, and he staggered; the world seemed to spin around him, and he sunk to the grass, breathing heavily. The air around him was thick with magic, unformed and unused, dissipating into the atmosphere even as he tried to pull it back into himself and try to cast the spell again. Nothing happened, except that the air grew thicker and harder to breathe; nothing happened, except that somehow without casting even one single successful spell, Hamid had run his reserves of magic dry, and those reserves were now floating out in the world around him, refusing to do as they ought, refusing to rescue Sasha and Grizzop and bring them home again. Because of course Sasha and Grizzop could be rescued, could come home—either Hamid and Azu would do it, or Sasha and Grizzop would do it themselves, but no matter what they would all find each other again, would bring their friends home again. No matter what; no matter what. The LOLOMG would all be reunited again someday, he knew they would, he knew it. He just had to try harder—he just had to do better, be better, and find a way through like they always had before.