Marbles: The Hawk Who Refused to Die a Virgin

Chapter 19. Opal Sucks At Magic

"Oh shit I forgot about the hug," said Opal as he tore his teeth into a haunch of roast cave elk, his first red meat since inadvertently wishing the party down into the bowels of Hawk Mountain.

Lucy sucked her teeth in mock dismay. "Doesn't count as a real session then," she said.

Languin, who was sitting next to Lucy and across the campfire from Opal, got up and walked over to Opal. He knelt in front of Opal, smiling, his arms wide. Something in his manner didn't make it patronizing.

Opal wiped his mouth on his sleeve, got to his feet and hugged Languin tightly. Jezebel, feeling an inkling of Lucy's genuine surprise, hacked up a bat.

"I am teaching Opal combat magic, starting tonight," said Languin, over Opal's shoulder. "Would you like to learn as well, Lucy?"

"I can't learn that kind of magic, unfortunately," said Lucy. "It's inimical to healing magic. I'd have to be a world class wizard to absorb two opposing schools."

"Ahh that is true, I had forgotten," said Languin. "We will still learn physical combat as a team, if that is OK."

"Oh sure," said Lucy. "This is great that you're doing this guys. Really great. But can gnomes learn magic? I thought you guys just did like, tiny autonomous perfume spraying machines and stained glass and stuff."

"Those are stereotypes but yeah," said Opal "Throughout our history there hasn't been a single gnome who could pretend to hide a coin behind a child's ear without totally fucking it up."

"It is true," said Languin. "There are no known gnome practitioners of magic. But it is not like we have much else to do." And with that he brought a candle out of his pack. "We are starting with fire."

"Neat," said Opal.

Elves teach as if they have five hundred years to get their point across, which, in their defense, they often do. They approach every subject both holistically and obsessively--they have all the time in the world to learn.

What Languin and Opal didn't know was that no elf had set out to teach a non-elf anything, at all, ever. But because Languin's dad bod made him a pariah to all elf kind, no one had ever asked for his advice, and Languin was more than happy to try to do the impossible--to teach a gnome how to perform magic.

At first they just talked about fire. How sapients had such a fraught relationship with it. How civilization desperately needed it and yet lived in constant fear of it getting out of control.

Languin asked about how Opal felt about fire, which Opal had never thought about seriously before. They talked about gnome stoves, which were adorable cast iron toads in every warren room, with wide open mouths for wood and pipes trailing up from their butts.

They talked about how Opal had been punished for using a magnifying glass to light pieces of paper on fire during recess when he was in elementary school. Opal had completely forgotten about that. They talked about how maybe the mind is like a magnifying glass for the almost unconscionable amount of stimulus the sapients encounter every day. How in dreams that glass focuses everything we experience into memories and burns them into the backs of our heads. Shit like that.

One morning, when their campfire had settled down into cold coals, Languin tossed a coal to Opal and asked him to wipe the coal under his nose, that he would smell smoke and ash all day. When they finally encountered a root system that they could dismantle for more firewood, Languin asked Opal to use his battle hatchet to cut the wood until blisters bloomed on his palms. Lucy chanted over these blisters until they healed, then Languin asked Opal to cut wood again.

One night Languin asked Opal to sleep in the next chamber over, so that he would think of nothing but fire, about how the lack of it was killing him, about how he should shiver, and learn. On the next night Opal would go to sleep grateful for fire. Opal did all this, always after a long day of hiking in a dank cave, his legs aching, exhausted.

Then they just made fire in regular ways. Opal had some matches, they used those. Languin had flint and steel, and taught Opal how to make a fire with them, and Opal knew that if he didn't show Languin the patience to learn how to make fire using a flint and steel then Languin would stop teaching him about magic. So Opal learned how to knap sparks into whisper thin shavings of wood while Languin learned healing from Lucy, or taught quarterstaff techniques to Lucy, or showed Lucy how to lock her forearm in real tight when she got her enemy in a chokehold holy shit, holy shit Opal was still jealous when they touched or he heard their little in-jokes, which they had somehow made in a cave even though they had never been more than ten feet away from him?! Whew. Breathe deep my man.

OK dude. just let it happen. You learn and improve on your own. Let her love whomever she wants to love.

"Just let it happen," said Languin one night as he and Opal sat across from one another, crosslegged. Languin's candle stood upright on the ground between them. Lucy and Marbles were asleep. Jezebel, who hated being in this cave, was off to just eviscerate some bats. Not even eat them. Just leave them struggling, bowels out, on the ground. Little miss psycho.

"I love all the work that you have put into learning about fire, Opal," said Languin, who encouraged Opal whenever he could. "I feel that it is best to ponder and thoroughly learn about the phenomenon that you wish to replicate with magic first. Then, the principles of magic, whether healing or hurtful, are the same, regardless of what spells you are trying to cast."

"Magic, in essence, is change," continued Languin. "Lambs' wool, embryos, steaming soup, they all exist in every state that they could ever be in, at all times. Blankets, doddering old men..."

"Cold soup," said Opal.

"Exactly," said Languin. "Your job is to harness your emotions and desire to effect change. Creating magic is no different from causing change using traditional means. Cleaning your room, getting your GED..."

"Losing weight," they said together. They smiled and pointed at each other in chubby solidarity.

"Concentrate on the concept of fire, and associate it with a strong emotional stimulus," said Languin. "Nobody likes to say it but the negative stuff, especially for combat magic, often works best. Someone who bullied you, getting fucked over for a promotion at your job. Something you thought you got over years ago but still gets your goat to this very day."

"Mmmm, Languin," said Lucy, sleepily, dreaming of the elf in her sleep. Languin pursed his lips, embarrassed for both Opal and himself.

"OK I'm ready," said Opal.

"Now," said Languin, holding out his hand, palm outward towards the candle flame. "Out it goes." The flame blinked out, leaving them both in the subdued light of the campfire that Lucy and Marbles were bundled up next to. "Now," said Languin, his palm still out, "on it comes." The flame unguttered from the wick and began to burn again.

"Still neat," said Opal.

"OK," said Languin. He leaned over and simply blew out the flame. "Hold out your hand like I did." Opal did as he was bidden.

"You can effect this change, Opal" said Languin. "You have seen stranger changes happen in this very cave, be it over a millennia or in a minute." He pointed out to the gigantic stalactites hanging from the ceiling. "Tiny drops dripping into columns of stone?" He pulled a strip of dried cave elk jerky from his pack and pointed it at Opal like a floppy wand. "Alpha male into middlin' meals?" He paused and gazed at Opal, who had uncomplainingly threw his pudgy fire hydrant-sized body into every kooky learning exercise that Languin had cooked up for him over the last two weeks. "From bitter rival to trusted friend?"

Languin snapped the strip of jerky into the middle of Opal's outstretched palm. "Ow dude!" said Opal.

"Make it happen, Cap'n," said Languin. He got up and walked to over to the campfire, lay on his bedroll, and went to sleep.