Chapter 8: Settings, Lectures, and Purpose

  *Ding*

  I barely felt the pressure as a new function of the implant was released. Either I was getting used to it, it was integrating better, or my pain receptors were getting fried. I hoped for one—or both—of the first two. As for the last, I don’t think you can actually smell burning brain.

  Sniff-sniff

  Just musty plants and soil, musky caged creatures, mildewy cloth…ewww, that was from my robes. Laundry scent beads took a prime space on my list. Medieval worlds may be associated with vulgar smells, but fantasy worlds were not. Not in my mind, anyway. I have noticed Master Alric standing further away from me than usual. Was there a ‘downwind’ indoors?

  “Focus, Book.” Alric snapped his fingers. I hoped that wouldn’t become a habitual act. I would have to break his fingers if it did. I don’t think any official apprenticeship code of conduct could save me if I did, however. Unless, maybe, the appeals board has dealt with my Master before.

  You, focus. “Sorry, Maste….”

  I was focusing, but the Matrix-green glowing text floating about a foot in front of my face held my attention.

  Can eyes be both unfocused and boggled at the same time? No doubt that’s why Master Alric stared at me with growing concern. I think my eyes may be sprained.

  The floating text superimposed over my Master faded to nothing. I could see him clearly, and the worry touched me.

  “Book?!”

  I started, then shook my head to dust off some of the shock. It took what little restraint I still had not to burst out laughing. Between the look on Master Alric’s face and the whole absurdity of, well, my life, it was a close call. However, it was not the worst Terms of Service I had ever seen. It even had that hyperlink at the tail end. I wonder, what would happen if I mentally clicked it? Did I have service on this planet?

  Or would the intergalactic law come looking for the perpetrators? I’m positive that the orcs that had abducted me had hacked the implants, thus violating the boldly stated warranty. It had to be worse than tearing the tag off a mattress. Were there Intergalactic Warranty cops? More important, would they help us or dissect us?

  Best not to find out. My orcs may even be employees of T.U.S.K. Industries, for all I know, doing some real-world testing. It’d be my luck they were authorized parties, with the proper permissions for this fantasy/sci-fi smashup. However, something tells me that humans did not fall under T.I.’s umbrella of approval.

  Wait (//again?//), T.I.? Really?

  “Book!”

  Whoa, when did Master Alric get so close to me? His face was inches from mine. His expression was a comic mix of ‘Pissed off!’ and ‘Should I call 9-1-1?’, a total wreck.

  “No sir, uh, yes sir,” that was becoming too common for my taste. “I’m good, Master,” a little giggle slipped out. “Just excited, that’s all.”

  What’s wrong with me?

  He backed off a few paces, the ‘Pissed off!’ taking control of his features. “Well, contain yourself, Apprentice. This is a serious profession. You cannot go around here slack-jawed and… and all goofy!”

  Don’t laugh, not even one giggle out of you!

  “I am sorry, Sir.” I hoped he could hear the capital ‘S’ I placed on the honorific. I’d stepped in it, again. Do I say 'again' too much? I’ll work on it. I bet there was a library somewhere around here where I could grab a thesaurus. Look for English/Elvish: A Beginners Guide to Synonyms and Antonyms of Words; A Pocket Reference for the Discerning Offworlder. Or, maybe I had an E-reader in my head, and it was already downloaded. I'd have to drive down under…what was that link?

  OK, my sanity was fraying. It was just so absurd!

  “Booook,” Master Alric said, clear warning coloring the tone of his voice.

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  “Here, sir.”

  I could see he doubted me, so I straightened my back and squared my shoulders, standing at attention as best as I could.

  He nodded.

  “Let us start, then. The last time, you figured a way to entice the [mana] to bend to your will.”

  “Bribery.”

  “Just so. Too much, too fast. To continue the analogy, you offered gold coins, when all that was needed was a handful of coppers. You told me that you offered purpose to the [mana]. A good enticement, yes. But too good, and too soon in your training. You lack the control needed to temper your intent. That will only come with time, repetition, and discipline. Purpose is the end goal, what all [mana] exists for. Literally. [Mana] is the power of creation, the residuals from the birth of all life. The Mother of Trees—bless her roots—formed the world, and all it contains. From the singular blades of grass and individual grains of sand, and to the pinnacle of Mount Birch that pierces beyond the clouds. This you know, as it has been passed down from the first ancestors, generation after generation.”

  He gave me a look. I nodded, showing I had indeed received such knowledge. Great grand pappy Bookmyer had told me all about it. Yep.

  “Bless her roots.” I threw it in, thinking it couldn’t hurt. I’ll have to remember that conversational tidbit for the future. Work on when to insert it. I doubt I would have too many opportunities, other than with Master Alric. Besides him, and Tess, I didn’t talk with many people. The occasional vendor, like that flirty clerk at the tailors. I couldn’t wait to see her again—for the robes, obviously. I chatted with some of my Master’s suppliers but had no elven friends to speak of.

  “Yes,” he continued. “When She finished her great feats of creation, there was a surplus of Her energy. In Her great wisdom, the Mother of Trees…”—I noticed that it was always ‘of Trees’, never just ‘Mother’—“...chose to leave behind Her divine energy. Our ancestors took it upon themselves to be its caretakers. Some became destined to wield this energy.”

  “[Mana]”

  “Yes, obviously, Book. That is what we are talking about, after all.”

  'I'm trying to be a part of the conversation, dude'. Tess had me saying ‘dude’, now. Can’t wait for the day that slips out in place of ‘Master’.

  “[Mage]s wield [mana],” he placed a heavy emphasis on the word, for my benefit. Pshaw. “They do this directly, shaping the raw form to their needs. [Healer]s beseech the [mana], asking for the return of a person’s body to its natural state. The perfection to which the Mother of Trees intended us. And, before you ask…” I closed my trap. “…it’s the nature of us elves to be imperfect. To need growth, just as the natural world is ever-changing on the surface, and eternally stable underneath. The perfection of imperfection.”

  I smiled when he said that. My life’s goal has always been to be perfectly imperfect. In that, I was the ‘Master’. There was the whole duck metaphor here but in reverse. Also, it seemed the elves didn’t know about a planet’s molten core. Unless they had the right of it, and science the wrong. Nope, I am not a flat earther.

  “Artisans,” Master Alric continued, “such as [Enchanter]s, [Alchemist]s, and of course, [Scrivener]s, we coax [mana] into physical objects. Now, Book, what is the one thing all these classes have in common? What do they give the [mana]?”

  Wow, that was a lot of green. Despite the color distraction, I knew the answer.

  “Purpose.”

  “That is correct,” he smiled the smile of a proud papa. “Purpose. It is what everything strives for, in the end.”

  It hadn’t been hard to figure out where this lecture had been headed. I still reveled in the praise.

  “I thought that was what I did, though?”

  “Yes, but as I said, it was too much. You need to learn control, Book. That is the key.”

  “Coppers, not gold.” Something clicked, to a way back lesson. “The right ingredient for the right job.” Hindsight makes everything simple.

  “You get it, now. So. Clear your mind, consider how much purpose is needed, and control your intent.”

  “Clear, consider, control,” I muttered. I had yet another mantra.

  “Clear, consider, control.”

  Intent was a key factor in any form of magic. That and Purpose. Both words came up regularly in Master Alric’s lectures. And they were lectures, not just instructions. The penultimate Master that he was amazed me. He had a way of making the most complicated of theories both clear and simple. And always obvious, after the fact. I couldn’t see why he had this modest shop and studio on this modest street. Surely, he was good enough for something much grander. Maybe a position at the palace, working directly for the Elven Matriarchy. Have an impressive title like Chief Scroll Maker, or Grand Master, or…what was a Vizier? Wazir? Like the guy with the talking parrot in that cartoon movie, with that one guy, the hyped-up comedian. Was it ‘Frozen’? Nah, something else.

  “We’re not going to make it, Book.”

  So, it’s ‘we’ now? Interesting.

  "Yes, Master.” He looked at me funny. “I mean, no Master?” Was that right?

  “No, Book. We are not.”

  It was late on Five-day, the sun lowering to its slumber. It only gave us one full day to fulfill the order. Master Alric had completed 17 of the scrolls today, very respectable. Add in the six he’d done yesterday afternoon after I got rolling on the infusions. No cracked carafe; no modern art decorating the walls. And ceiling. That left 27 more to go. I’m not sure what could be done to finish up in time.

  “What can I, we, do, sir?” Hey, he said it first. Why not take this chance to embrace the ‘we’. That’s a lot of we-we. Ouch, even I winced at that one.

  “There is only one thing to do.”

  Give up? I needed to keep that off of my face. Master Alric was one for persistence above all else. Not to mention the acquisition of more coins.

  Golds, not coppers, he-he.

  “You are going to have to make some of the [torchlight] scrolls.”

  Yeah, there was no way he would give up this contract. But how…wait, what did he just say?!

  “Did you hear me, Book? I said that you…” Alric started to say before I cut him off.

  “Yes, Sir!” There was that capital, again. “I’m ready…you won’t regret it…I can do it!” This all ran together, the words fighting each other to leave my mouth. Like a pack of cartoon dogs, the sentiments wedged up together in the open doorway and got stuck, butt-cheek to butt-cheek. All they needed was a cheeky—he-he—animated mouse to egg them on. I always rooted for that mouse.

  *Sigh*, I miss cartoons.

  OK, Book. Do your breathing exercises, just like you learned in therapy. Breathe in for a 5 count, hold for 10, breathe out for another 5 count. This may come across as an overreaction, but it is not. Magic, with a capital M. Haven’t I already been doing magic, what with the [ink; common], [apprenticeship unlock], and general infusions of [mana]? Sure, but all that was practical stuff, nothing fun!

  “Where do I start, Master?” I was calm, I was controlled. Maaagic!!!!!!!!!!!

  “First, use the solvent and clean the old ink off of your hands,” he told me. I looked at my hands, and sure enough, they were stained in varying shades of gray. That’s how the normally mesmerizing silver ink dried when not properly treated. Or you blow a carafe of the stuff up in your hands. And your face, and…well, everywhere. Even the tip of a nose.

  “There are multiple steps needed to create a magic scroll. The first is…”

  write. I'd love to hear about any mistakes so I can fix them.