Firebrand

Lightning from a Clear Sky

Next day's alchemy work passed without much incident; once again, Martel worked alone, which he did not mind. By now, he knew every part of it well; the little workshop felt familiar with its cupboards full of ingredients and salves, tools on the tables, and plants hanging from the air.

He did his labours until the bell rang. Upon hearing it, Martel cleaned his tools and workspace, put aside the finished ingredients, and took out his key that he could lock up once he left.

The door to the laboratory flung open. Mistress Rana stepped through. She had soot in her face, but Martel did not dare to ask. "Good! You haven't left. Wait here."

She disappeared back into her sanctum; Martel heard the stairs creak as she walked up. Confused, he stood tripping in one place, mindful that he needed to get to his lesson.

A minute later, his teacher returned. She handed him a folded note, barely a scrap of paper. "Get this to Master Fenrick. Don't forget to lock on your way out." She retreated to her laboratory.

Martel stuck the note into his pocket. It would have to wait; for now, elemental magic waited for him.

~

Martel stared at his hands, holding water and fire respectively. He had no difficulty summoning each of the elements in sequence; he could even keep his focus to feed the flame in one hand while pulling water from the air into the other. But he could not initiate both at the same time. If he tried to think of fire and water, his mind inevitably summoned one after the other; if he tried to think directly of steam, nothing happened except a light breeze might pass between his hands.

"Don't worry, lad, don't get frustrated. If you can master all the basic elements, you can surely accomplish this. Just need more practice," Master Alastair assured him.

Martel nodded a little. While progress would be nice, in truth, he did not feel frustrated. This was not like in the beginning, where he feared that he did not have the talent at all to wield magic. In the past half year, he had learned each of the elements faster than any novice Master Alastair had taught, his teacher had confided. Evidently, being older had not held Martel back. He felt certain that he would get the hang of this sooner or later, and he could only wonder at the possibilities it would afford. Creating rainclouds was an obvious one, but no doubt, the applications were many.

"Master, what is the most advanced piece of elemental magic you can do?"

His teacher had a wry smile on his face. "It's not something I use often, since its only purpose is destructive. But I do believe even the most experienced weathermages cannot do the same." A small cloud appeared hovering above Alastair's hand, and Martel knew this was not simply steam, but the genuine kind that might float across the sky if released outside. "Any of them can create rainclouds, of course. " The wisp of white turned dark, and a few drops rained onto the mage's hand. "But they lack the skill in fire."

The cloud disappeared. Alastair pointed a finger at the ring of water that surrounded them, floating near the edge of the circular hall. Without a crackling sound, a bolt of lightning leapt from the wizard's finger to hurl through the air and strike the water.

Martel watched with fascination as the energy spread around the ring. Gesturing for the novice to stay back, Alastair twitched his hand slightly, and the lightning seemed to jump back up from the water, returning to his hand. It crackled around his fingers for several rounds before dissipating. "Not very useful for watering crops," he said with a wink, "but it'll kill a locust or two."

~

After class, Martel was on his way back to his room when he stuck his hand into his pocket and remembered the note from Mistress Rana. Afraid to delay delivery any further, he turned around and headed for the western part of the castle, where the faculty had their living quarters.

He knocked on the door belonging to Master Fenrick's chamber. No answer. Wondering what to do, Martel tried the handle. It was not locked. The door creaked open. A strange sight met him.

Books lay everywhere, in stacks or open atop whatever surface seemed available. Clothes were scattered across the floor or hanging on furniture. A collection of odd items could be seen on a shelf. Martel identified the silver-wound wand, which Master Fenrick had shown in class. But he could not recognise the other objects.

He approached, frowning. One consisted of various metal rings within each other, with a tiny, red stone in the centre. Another was simply a rock, which had a dull, black-green hue. Some kind of odd, uneven tube, made from bronze, with pieces of glass in either end. A tiny figurine carved entirely in green stone, except it did not resemble any creature he knew. A small box cut from a white material, possibly ivory, whose content he could only guess at. As much as curiosity urged him ahead, Martel figured it best not to fumble around with the unexplained artefacts belonging to a wizard.

Yet nothing prevented him from reading the note. Feeling only a little guilty, Martel unfolded the strip of paper.

All ingredients ready. Will get to work. Takes a few days. -R

He could easily guess the context. It seemed like the potion would be made. Martel folded the note back together and looked around for a suitable place to leave it. The desk seemed the most likely candidate, assuming the scrap of paper would not get lost in between stacks of books, pieces of parchment, and writing utensils that littered the space.

In the end, he placed the note on the open pages of the book in the middle of the desk. Yet as he did, his eyes fell upon the content of the tome. One page was dominated by an illustration of a strange symbol. Completely circular, it had various patterns inside, which he could not trace. It only took him a moment to remember where he had seen it before; it adorned the skin of the comatose Gerard.

Martel tried to read the text, but it was all written in Archean. Same with the title on the cover, as he closed the book. Quickly, he grabbed a piece of charcoal and copied the letters of the title to a blank piece of parchment. Opening the book back to how he found it, Martel made his retreat.