“Haha, look! There’s the witch!”
I whirl around, the hood of my cloak slapping me in the face, but it’s not like I care. I’ve been tormented so many times but this sounds like a new attacker. I drop the knife that I use to carve runes and imagine a new one, sharper and crueler, forming in my hand. I’ve always been able to do this.
A group of boys steps out of the shadows of the forest, grouping around me and the tree I’m currently carving runes into. I finish carving the rune I’m on (the uncontrolled energy in half-carved runes can be dangerous) and slowly stand up to face the boys, my knife still clutched in my hand. “I’m working,” I say carefully, “on something the Mage told me to do. What do you want?”
“We want for you to stop, Ciravi,” snarls one of the boys, a snobbishly handsome brat whom I know only as Fanel. “Magic is useless.”
“Oh? You do know that if the Mage’s spells fell out of upkeep half the cows in the village would stop giving milk? Most of the bigger trees would die? Every one of our crops would be eaten to stubble by pests?” I retort. “Let me finish my work and then I’ll get back to you.” With the sort of movement that suggests that it would be nice if I never saw them again, I crouch back down and start carving another rune.
The boy who spoke earlier kicks me. Something brown and wet splotches against my arm, thrown from farther away. I brush it off, reminding myself that it’s only mud. I’m about to finish the rune when suddenly I’m barraged by dirt projectiles from almost every direction at once.
I defend myself with the few spells I’ve learned from being the Mage’s apprentice, but eventually the attack is too much and I have to run. I dart off, knife still clutched in one filthy hand, ducking dirt bombs. I am about to give up and face defeat when suddenly there is a burst of green light and a deafening explosion. I am thrown flat on my face. Splinters of wood patter off my back, and I remember: The unfinished rune!
I get up slowly, avoiding the sharp shards of plant material laying around me, and go back the way I came. I have to tell the Mage to teach me some combat spells.
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The results of the request are rather disappointing. The Mage laughs nervously, tells me not to worry about it, and sends me to my room with an assignment to read the first half of a series of papers titled “On the History of Magic and All Major Wars.” With a sigh I set about reading the things, procrastinate some, read some more, repeat. The result is that I’m up until the moon has almost set and only get one or two hours of sleep.
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“Eerghghg.”
I blearily blink myself awake, then have to fight the urge to go back to sleep again. The sun is high in the sky already and I’m still in bed and feel gritty and disgusting. I don’t want to move. I want to lie here and…
I force my eyes open again, drag myself out of bed, and shuffle to the washroom where I splash ice-cold water in my face. As soon as the sting of the brilliant coldness touches my skin, I’m awake and spluttering.
The Mage is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, glaring at me impatiently. “You were supposed to be up five hours ago.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I was reading the fifth paper.”
His face softens. “It is partly my fault; I should not have given you that much to do. Break your fast and then there is something I need to tell you.”
