Firstborn of the Frontier

“Tell me Howie. What would you say is the defining factor that separates a Magus from a regular person?”

A question with an obvious answer, but one I stop to think about while sitting at Uncle Teddy’s dining table. Not because he’s tricksy or anything, as Theodore Ellis is a straight shooter in every which way, so I doubt he’s trying to pull a fast one on me. Thing is, magic ain’t always straightforward, so the answer might not be as simple as I think. Seeing how I ain’t pressed for time, there ain’t no harm in taking a moment to consider my response. That’s one thing I’ve learned from my time in Pleasant Dunes. Loose lips sink ships, or in my case, loses you a hand. Not saying I’m to blame for how things went down, but I ain’t entirely without fault either. Ron wanted me to work for him after all, right up until he saw that this bronco wouldn’t break, so he cut his losses and had me crippled to ensure I wouldn’t be a threat moving forward.

Proved him wrong in the end I did, though I’d call that too little too late. Juice wasn’t worth the squeeze, not by a long shot, but I don’t know what I could’ve done different. Not say anything to Noora I guess. Kill Wayne the moment he threatened me maybe, instead of worrying about what others would think if they heard the recording of me confessing my sins. Or kill Ron the first time we crossed paths, which would’ve saved me a whole lot of heartbreak in the long run. More proof positive that my daddy was right. Mercy to your enemies is cruelty to yourself, a mistake I ain’t ever gonna make again.

As for Uncle Teddy’s question, I find myself unable to put together an answer that I like, so I go with the obvious answer even though I don’t think it’s right. “The ability to cast Third Order Spells?” I ask, which is a mistake, because any answer given without confidence is nothing more than a guess.

“You asking me, or telling me?”

“Asking,” I say, with a bit of a smile to show I got no real answer for him, and he offers me a nod in return.

“Good. No shame in admitting ignorance.” We share a small smile as we both remember what my daddy used to always say. ‘There is no cure for stupidity, but ignorance can be fixed.’ The moment comes and goes in the blink of an eye before Uncle Teddy gets back on track, looking to make up for lost time as quick as he can. “You’re not entirely wrong. That is the definition of a Magus, with the bare minimum requirement to be considered one is having three Third Order Spell Structures embedded in memory. It’s not the answer I’m looking for though. What I want to know is what you think makes a Magus capable of casting Third Order Spells, while more than ninety percent of humanity will never move past Second Order Spells, assuming they even make it so far.”

“Hard work and dedicated effort.” The answer leaves my lips before I have time to think twice, which only goes to show I still got a lot to learn when it comes to thinking things through before I speak.

“That so?” Raising an eyebrow ever so slightly, he asks, “So you believe that anyone capable of casting a Cantrip can eventually learn Third Order Spells so long as they apply themselves? Or that anyone who can’t is simply lazy or refuse to apply themselves?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t frame it like that exactly,” I reply, even though it’s close enough. The Frontier is a dangerous place, but it’d be a whole lot safer if everyone could sling a Third Order Spell or two each and every day. Granted, the best of them are all restricted like Fireball, Call Lightning, or Erupting Earth, but there are plenty of unrestricted Third Order Spells that’d be useful in and out of combat. Raise an Earthen Wall to temporarily hold back a flood and buy time to stack sandbags or dig ditches or whatnot. Plop down a Stinking Cloud to flush rodents and pests out of your granary without spoiling what you got stored inside. Throw on a Fly Spell to get away from Abby knocking on your gates or fetch a doctor for a midnight medical emergency. Seems obvious to want the ability to do these things, and don’t seem all that far out of reach so long as you work hard at it, except most folks I’ve met can’t be bothered to even try. Not just the vagabonds and layabouts you don’t expect nothing from, but decent, hardworking folk who seem to have a good head on their shoulders, yet somehow think Third Order Spells are far beyond their ken, like they could never learn one even if given the best teachers and a million years to try it.

Never understood that sort of mindset myself. I get it, people got jobs and stuff, but even at base value, those Third Order Spells can be real useful. I know the difficulty ramps up between First Order and Second, then kicks it into high gear when moving from Second to Third, but that ain’t an excuse to not even try. Then again, most folks know you ought to stay fit enough to run away from Abby if need be, yet few bother to ever exercise besides what walking they gotta do to get where they going. To work, the bar, and back home is pretty much it, their whole lives contained within a perimeter around those three points. As for me, I could never. Even if I’m stuck homebound for the long run, there’s no way I can live out the rest of my life behind these walls. A run along the shores of Last Chance Lake, a hike up to the peaks of Mount Rime, a stroll through the shady forests surrounding the town, there’s so much to see and do within a day’s ride of the walls, and yet most townies confine themselves to an area even smaller that what the walls afford them.

Unfathomable is what that is, and I doubt I’ll ever think different.

“Four to eight years of post-secondary education.” That’s what Uncle Teddy says in reply, and I’ve no idea what he’s going on about. It must show, because he adds, “That’s how much education it takes to produce a typical Magus in the old world. This is after twelve years of primary and secondary education mind you, meaning even the youngest Magi are around twenty-two years old, while the average sits at twenty-five, and not everyone who tries is able to succeed.”

“I ain’t ever been to school, and I picked it up fine,” I reply, which earns me a frown rather than the proud look I was expecting.

“You’re an outlier,” he says with a shake of his head. “Even putting aside the three years you spent under my tutelage, it’s not often you see a self-taught Spellcaster utilizing Orthodox methods, much less one that makes it to Magus. An Innate or Intuitive Caster perhaps, but Newtonian Spellcasting isn’t something most pick up without proper step by step guidance. I’m talking whole courses and textbooks designed to teach a set number of Spells, walking you through every step of the process. The mathematical concepts can be formulated and solved by anyone who understands the numbers, but knowing how to turn those numbers into a Spell Structure is a whole different kettle of fish.” Giving me a look that is half admiring and half forlorn, he sighs and says, “The fact that you managed to work out Fireball from a memorized Formula and notes from your mother who never used the Spell herself is a testament to your talent. Your hard work and dedication were the tinder which enabled your success, but your talent was the spark that made it even possible at all.”

And he wishes he could’ve been there to see it himself. Can tell from the look of guilt in his eyes, how he blames himself for not being there and wishes it were otherwise, but it wasn’t his fault. Was my decision to draw a line in the sand, because I knew he fought the decision to disavow my daddy and earned himself a bellyful of ire from the higher ups for it. Knew then that I was going down a different path from what we both envisioned, and I didn’t want him wasting his time on someone who was never gonna be a Ranger. That’s why I stopped showing up for these Sunday lessons, and why he never pushed to have me come back. Not until now at least, and I still ain’t so sure as to why, though I am grateful to be here and benefit from his years of experience.

Either way, I’m not entirely sure if he’s taken me in as his apprentice again, and I’m too afraid to ask. Could be he thinks I’m too much of a loose cannon to be left uneducated and unattended now that he knows I can sling three Fireballs a day, but so far, there haven’t been any lectures on morals or ethics just yet, only magic and math like how it used to be. Granted, this is only our second lesson since sitting down at my ‘trial’, but aside from glancing over the first few pages of the Spell Formula for Eldritch Palm and realizing it was too much Spell for me to comprehend, we’ve pretty much picked up where we left off with him teaching me the ins and outs of Spellslinging. Standard stuff, like reviewing Spells and studying the flows, or repetitive practice in the form of slinging Spells, then doing it again while balancing a stack of plates on my head and dodging beanbags all the while. Throw in a bit of theoretical exercises and general Q&A, and that’s how our lessons have gone so far, and I’ve been loving every minute of it.

Don’t know what that means in terms of our relationship, and don’t want to ask for fear of ruining everything. I can see how much he missed our time together, these scant few hours between church and lunch which we shared every week, and truth is I miss it too. Regret stopping it to begin with, but I knew folks would talk when they found out the Marshal was spending so much time teaching a student who wasn’t ever gonna sign on with the Rangers, and I wasn’t about to let anyone find fault with him.

Still, I should clear things up as soon as possible, because apprentice is a loaded word for a lot of traditionally minded Spellslingers, and comes with a whole host of expectations I ain’t sure I’m ready to take on. It’s all but synonymous with ‘successor’ in most things magical, someone to pass on the customs and traditions to a new generation and ensure they’re not lost to the ravages of time. A Structure doesn’t change, but how you go about parsing the Formula or linking the flows to your movements and intonations is usually unique to each and every caster. Stuff you learn from your teacher, mentor, master, or whatever you want to call it, with some traditions being so old you can trace them back to antiquity, when magic was all hush hush and only the best and brightest were allowed to even learn of its existence.

Now, I won’t say it’s all a load of crock, because there’s still a lot we don’t understand about magic. There are a good number of man-made Spells that have been tailored made for a certain purpose, like Detect Water, Beguile Person, or Flamethrower, but most Spells are derived from Spell Cores, meaning they’re of Proggie Origin. Alien magic, essentially, concocted by an inhuman mind for use by aberrant life forms which appears to have developed independently from any other form of life on this world or the old. They say there’s less than 2 percent difference in the DNA of a person and chimp, which I’m told is our closest living relative, but from the Illusions I’ve seen, they don’t look much like people at all. Sure, they’ve got some similarities, but putting clothes on a chimp won’t fool no one into thinking they a human, not once you’ve gotten a good look at them.

In contrast? Abby don’t even got 2% in common with human DNA, because they don’t use the same building blocks for their genetic code. That’s what makes them Aberrations. They ain’t natives to these here parts, because if they were, there’s next to no chance of them developing completely independently of all other life on the planet. Not to say they’re aliens from some distant planet chock full of Abby, as there ain’t no proof they came over on meteors or whatnot. Could still be some form of Aetheric life, bioengineered terraforming agents for something living in in the Immaterium that’s looking to jump over to another plane of reality, or something else entirely. No one really knows, the same way no one really knows why some Spells work the way they do, only that they do.

That’s why even the best Spellslingers around gotta cling to old conventions and traditions to get things done, and we don’t got a good answer as to why. Take Fireball for example. Incendo – Magna – Invoko. That’s the chant I use, the vocal component to the Spell which was popularized by a movie from the old world which I’ve only see amateur recreations of. The somatic component is from the same source, reaching up high into the sky like you grabbing the sun and wrenching it down into your fist, before shooting your hand out like a spear with two fingers pointing at the target you want to hit. A sensational, showy movement combined with a dramatic Latin chant, both of which were designed for the stage rather than real, every day life. So of course, my first thought when learning the Spell was to change them both up, because it’s silly to use a movement and chant that is so instantly recognizable when you fixing to really ruin someone’s day.

Except I couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I tried, the connection between the Spell, those words, and the big, showy movements had already been made in my mind, and there was no changing it after the fact. Not without investing a lot of time and effort into it at least, more than I care to with so much on my plate. Strange, isn’t it? Was my first time learning the Spell, so you’d think I’d be starting off fresh and able to use whatever somatic and vocal components I liked, but that ain’t how the magic works. A large part of it is the math, that’s for sure, but even with the Structure nestled in my mind, I couldn’t use any other words or movements to trigger the Spell. The reason? Far as I can tell, even though I know on a conscious level that the words and movements don’t matter, my subconscious will accept no alternatives when it comes to slinging Fireballs.

And that’s the power of tradition and popular culture. Looking at it from another angle though, you could say those stories and shows helped me form an image of how the Fireball Spell looks, sounds, and even feels, allowing me to learn it more easily than I otherwise would. I had access to a good number of Third Order Spell Formulas, but while I admit I put most of my time time and effort into Fireball, part of it was because I saw the best results while studying it. Could be because of those stories again, but then you look at the only other Third Order Spell I can use, and you’ll see the power of tradition at work again. Water Breathing, a man-made Spell designed for the express purpose of dealing with aquatic Abby, and a Ritual I saw my daddy use time and time again.

Could be why I found learning Fireball and Water Breathing so much easier than the other Third Order Spells, ones which I’ve had little to no progress with just yet. Because I already had the foundation laid out for me, one placed down brick by careful brick whenever I watched one of those shows on stage or saw my daddy prepping for another dive into Last Chance Lake. The math gets you the Structure sure, but understanding the symbolism behind the movements and the meaning behind the invocation allows you to better link your mind and intent with the cadence and rhythm of Aether flowing through the Structure itself.

That right there is what makes it magic, rather than Aetheric Science; our lack of understanding and the knowledge that there’s more to it than raw numbers or indisputable fact.

Which is why most Magi put so much stock into their lines of succession, and what Uncle Teddy means when he mentions knowing when, where, and how to apply the mathematical formulas. Those can be derived in an almost infinite number of different ways, but having a formula alone does not a Magus make. If it were, you’d have Spellslingers killing each other for their Spell books in the streets, but it doesn’t happen because them numbers and letters are mostly gobbledegook without someone to explain what all the variables stand for, how to go about deriving them, and what it means in terms of flow, shape, cadence, and dynamics. Even then, there’s more to being a mentor or teacher than passing on a Formula; they’re sharing their knowledge, understanding, and traditions accrued over centuries or even millennia, wisdom and experience gathered over countless lifetimes of trial and error. Little of which is rooted in indisputable fact mind you, as in there’s no real basis behind why some Magi do things the way they do. They do it that way because that’s how it works for them, for the same reasons why I couldn’t use different Vocal or Somatic components to Fireball no matter how hard I tried.

Don’t got anything to do with Structure or Formula itself. No, I couldn’t change things because I’d already made up my mind on how the Fireball Spell ought to be. It's a backwards sort of faith, one based more on results than fact, but faith all the same. If you do these things in this order and this manner, then this happens; do it in a different way, and you will fail.

Then it hits me, the answer to Uncle Teddy’s question. “Faith?” I ask, still not entirely sure I’m right. “You saying that’s what separates a Magus from a Spellslinger?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth or give me that look,” he replies, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his chicory coffee before explaining, “This isn’t the start to some lecture about you yawning during mass, though I’m sure the Padre would appreciate it if you made some effort to stifle them.”

“It’s the daily Minor Regenerations,” I complain, because this time it really ain’t my fault. “Can sleep a solid twelve hours and wake up fresh as a daisy, but once the Spell kicks in, it’s like I’m caught in a pit of fatigue.”

“How poetic,” Uncle Teddy drawls, giving me a look that says he don’t buy my story one bit. “You ever consider switching things up and casting Minor Regeneration on yourself before bedtime instead of first thing in the morning?”

…Honestly? Not even once. Always wake so sore and achy in the morning, I can’t hardly wait to cast the Spell to hurry along my healing, but I ain’t about to admit as much. “I supposed I’ll try that startin’ tonight,” I say, avoiding his slate grey eyes so I don’t have to acknowledge the twinkle of amusement caught up inside them. “So if this ain’t about me yawning in church, then what’s it all about?”

“Right now, faith, because you brought it up.” Waving a hand as if to dispel my sour expression, he explains, “Call it confidence or conviction if you prefer, but it’s all the same. You don’t wholly understand how the Spell Structure works, only that it does, and that strength of conviction is partially why you are able to make use of it. This is true of all Spellcasters, because who among us can claim complete and total understanding of a Cantrip much less a Spell? Why does one systematic flow of Aether propel a Bolt of kinetic force while a second, similar flow propels a Bolt of flame instead? There’s an answer there to be sure, but not one we’ve been able to grasp, which means that every time you cast a Bolt Cantrip, you’re operating on faith.”

Which makes too much sense for me not to agree. Before today, I’d’ve said faith was only necessary for Rituals and the like, but now I see different. Sure, we know how to solve the Formula and use that to embed the Structure into our minds, but that’s only one or two steps removed from monkey see, monkey do. Knowing how to do something ain’t the same as knowing how it works. Just look at Aetherarms. Any fool can pull a trigger to fire off a shot, but it takes a whole lot of learning and plenty of practice to build one yourself. Not like anyone can do it either, Ron found out firsthand when he lost his old gunsmith and had to make do with Junior. Magic is the same, only in a different way, though I’m still not entirely sure what Uncle Teddy is getting at here.

And I say as much, because that’s what I’m here for. To learn, and he’s always happy to teach me a thing or two. “What I’m saying is that this faith and conviction in magic comes easily to you, and it’s because you possess an inherent understanding of magic which you are not wholly aware of.” Before I can protest this talk of talent again, Uncle Teddy says, “I’ll prove it to you.” Getting up from his chair and heading over to the bookshelf, he pulls out a few random books and opens the top one to a random page. Gives it a quick glance, then brings everything back to the table before putting the open book down in front of me. “Take a look at this page and this page only. If you can identify what Spell this is from that much alone, then I’ll give you five dollars.”

Only thing I like more than a challenge is getting paid, so I smile and get right to it. The numbers and letters to the formula don’t mean much on their own, especially when I don’t know what any of the variables refer to, but you see enough of the math and you can pick out the patterns within. My first time through the page gives me nothing, but that’s just to familiarize myself with the formula as a whole. The second time through, I pay more attention to the repeating offenders, not just the letters themselves, but the subsections of the formula that call back to other parts within the same page. Just like that, I start to see a pattern, a cumulative build-up without any output. Suggests a convergence of some sort, a concentration or condensation perhaps depending on the School of Magic. It’s doesn’t have the quick and dirty feel of Evocation, nor the slow and steady accumulation of Conjuration, but a static presence that is simply there with no other purpose than to exist, which is a thread I tug on in hopes of finding clues enough to identify the Spell this Formula belongs to.

“Pretty sure this is an Abjuration Spell,” I say after a good bit of pondering, pointing at the relevant sections of the formula and explaining my thoughts so he knows it’s logic and reasoning rather than inborn talent. “Same sets of variables with six similar coefficients show up repeatedly throughout the page, but them numbers don’t form a shape or curve like you’d expect. They’re hexagrams laid out side by side, working together to build something… not solid. Dense. Layered. Passive too. Doesn’t stop so much as just… get in the way, like a strainer or something. Also, the Formula as a whole lacks a variable representing a constant tether point, like what you see in Shield or Force Barrier, so I don’t think this is a physical barrier. Not solely a self-targeted Spell either, else you wouldn’t need to solve for all these same variables in so many different configurations.” Moving my finger down the page in search of another pattern to parse through, I keep seeing the same six variables again and again, with only minor changes to the numbers around it create a dizzying knot of sluggish flows which I struggle to visualize without losing my way.

Dense. Dizzying. Sluggish. Untethered. That’s what I’ve got from this snippet of the formula, an intangible yet definitive defense that doesn’t so much stop something as absorb and filter. This isn’t meant to protect the body, but the mind, which narrows my options down to two, and unluckily for Uncle Teddy, I know one of those options well enough to eliminate it. “This is Mental Fortress,” I say with all confidence. “Protection from Mental attacks, not just direct damage Spells like Mind Spike and Psionic Blast, but also Enchantments and Illusions like Charm or Fear. You still feel the effects of those Spells, just lessened and muted after pushing past the defenses laid out.”

Gesturing for me to hand the book over, he flips back through the pages until he reaches the start of the chapter titled ‘Mental Fortress’. “One for one,” he says with a proud smile, placing the book aside to go grab another. “Double or nothing?”

Enjoying the game for what it is, I parse through the numbers, but come up empty. After about fifteen minutes of solid effort, I throw in the towel after realizing I ain’t found a single thread to tug at and got no where else to go. Uncle Teddy magnanimously lets me turn the page and keep going, and that’s all it takes to notice the pattern of symmetry throughout the formula, wherein you solve for one variable then plug it in later to find its inverse counterpart in negative space. Still ain’t enough to figure out the Spell, though I’m guessing it’s some sort of concealment Spell. Not sure if it’s meant to block sight, sound, or some other sense, not from just these few pages alone, and it becomes clear why as soon as Uncle Teddy shows me the answer. Obscure Self is the Spell, one meant to hide from Divination Spells, meaning it’ll warp your face and voice on a recording, but do nothing to change how you look to the naked eye.

Right useful for avoiding detection from cameras and such, but you can still be identified by your clothes or gear, since none of that gets hidden. “One more try,” I say, and Uncle Teddy is happy to oblige, picking out a page from a third book which he places down in front of me. Doesn’t take more than a minute for me to figure it out, and I can’t help but look up with a grin. “Lightning Beam,” I say, before I can think better of it and realize I’ve stepped into a trap I should’ve seen coming.”

“Seems you’ve studied the Spell Formula long enough to recognize it at a glance,” he says with pursed lips, and there’s no denying now. Not without lying at least, and I don’t want to get into the habit, as I can’t say I enjoy doing it much. “Hmm.”

“Never could get the Structure down pat,” I say, feeling sheepish about having spent so much time on it with nothing to show. “The flows are too erratic, overlapping and packed in tight to start with, like a complicated knot that turns in on itself. It’s funny though. Spell ain’t so much of a beam as it is a long burst of lightning, one that bounces back and forth between your hand a point 30m straight ahead.”

Still none too pleased to learn I’ve had access to another dangerous and illegal Spell Structure for years now, Uncle Teddy opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it and sighs. “Just don’t expect me to bail you out if you get caught with any of those Spells prepared in town,” he says, dashing my hopes of ever getting any pointers about the Spell. “Not just here in New Hope mind you, but in any town along the Bulwark whether they be Federal, Metis, or even New Sonora down south. I’m sure Sherrif Patel will have warned his counterparts without breaking the gag order, so tread lightly moving forward.”

Not like I got plans to travel anytime soon, so I accept the warning with a suitably contrite nod. Suppose this means his help and guidance will be limited to legally obtainable Spells then. Still plenty to choose from, like Nondetection, the other Abjuration Spell that first formula could’ve belonged to, one meant to guard against Divination Spells similar to Obscure Self, except it’s Divination as opposed to Illusion. There’s also Spirit Guardians which Sergeant Begaye used to Conjure up three spectral defenders down under dark, or Fly and Haste, which I haven’t tried yet because you don’t want to be testing either of those Spells on your own.

Looking forward to it really, because Uncle Teddy ain’t the only one who’s missed our time together…

“Putting aside your unlicensed studies,” Uncle Teddy says, with a grimace to say that this ain’t the end of it at all, “You’ve proven my point well enough. Though unable to embed the Spell Structure into memory, you not only identified the Spell from a snippet of the Formula, you even parsed how the Spell functions without having ever cast it yourself. We could ask every Magus in town today, and we’d only find a handful who could do the same, with most limited to their respective Schools of expertise. That’s a gift son, your gift, a familiarity and comprehension of the flows that makes sense to you and you alone.”

I still don’t buy it, because the numbers make perfect sense and I don’t see how others don’t get it, but I suppose he could be right. Reading me as easily as I read those Formulas, Uncle Teddy shakes his head with a smile and continues. “I’ve seen the inverse too, scholars and arcanists who can break down a Sixth Order Spell and explain it in a manner even a child could understand, yet they themselves couldn’t cast a Third Order Spell to save their life. You understand without comprehending, while they comprehend without understanding, and if you want to create a brand-new Spell to suit your needs, then it is imperative you learn to do both. You need to not only feel out how the Spell works, but be able to visualize the whole Structure and understand how and where the Aetheric Dynamics interplay with one another to create the intended effect. Then and only then will you have the ability to alter and improve the Mage Hand Spell Structure.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding my since it all sounds up and above board. “So… How do I do that?”

“Same way you do anything else,” he replies. “You put in the work.”

Which is where he sets me to task casting Conjure Weapon out in the yard to get a feel for the Spell. The idea is to familiarize myself with the Spell until I can visualize the Structure as a whole and see if there’s any overlap when compared to Mage Hand. Which I also have yet to visualize in its entirety, but that’s homework far as Uncle Teddy is concerned. The worst part is, the similarities might not even be visual in nature, or even mathematical, because it’s not like Mage Hand was derived from Conjure Weapon. Was derived from Ethereal Palm, but it’ll be years before I can embed that Structure in memory, seeing how it’s a Fifth Order Spell. Best I can do is try and Frankenstein some concepts from other Spells and tack them onto Mage Hand in hopes that it all works out. Conjure Armour, Spiritual Weapon, Spirit Guardians, hell I’ll study whatever Spell I can think of if it even has a chance of helping me out. Like throwing cooked pasta at the wall and seeing what sticks, a Hail Mary effort from which nothing is likely to come of, but I gotta at least give it a try.

Ain’t as easy as it sounds though, because Conjure Weapon is a tricksy Spell to pull off. Unlike most Spells, like say Fireball or Bolt where you cast the Spell and it does the rest, you gotta supply all the parameters for Conjure Weapon before it can take effect. I’m not talking about physical dimensions or anything, because it’s not like the Spell understands Metric or Imperial. You can’t plug in the numbers for the weapon you want and have it spit something out, because that would make too much sense. Instead, you gotta provide the parameters with memory of purpose, encapsulate your experiences with the weapon you want and feed that to the Spell, which then creates something to match that experience out of Ectoplasm for you to wield. Sounds simple enough, but you try and sum up what it’s like to hold a hatchet in hand without using any words, and you’ll understand why it ain’t so easy. The feel of it in your hand, the heft of its weight, the sound it makes as it cuts through the air and when it connects with the wood, the Spell takes all of that awareness and mindfulness from your consciousness and subconscious both to Conjures the perfect tool to suit your needs.

Difficult memories to pull up, because who pays attention to that sort of stuff when you pick up a tool? Takes a bit of effort to provide what the Spell needs, and more focused effort than I can give in a mere two and a half seconds. Speed ain’t important though, since I’m doing this to get a feel for the Spell, so I take my time feeling out the flows and falling into the cadence of the magic itself. A few minutes later, I successfully Conjure up a nice little hatchet to hold in hand, one almost twin to the hatchet that done cut off the very same appendage I’m working so hard to replace. A touch macabre you might say, but I ain’t ever held a sword, spear, or bonafide battleaxe before, so how am I supposed to supply the sensation of wielding a weapon I ain’t ever used? Hell, I don’t even use a lumber axe all that much, because truth is, even though I’m physically capable of using one, I feel more in control with a smaller, lighter hatchet which chop firewood good enough, and I’m nothing if not a stickler for control.

Soon as the hatchet takes form, Uncle Teddy has me give it a few swings. Nothing fancy, not even real combat training, just wants me to flap my arm about while holding the thing to get a better feel for it. Has me let go and try to have it float it place too, but that don’t end in any way save for the hatchet dropping right down into the dirt by my feet. The second time round, I hold it out a little further so as to avoid losing any toes to match my missing hand, and I keep it that way the next dozen tries too, but let’s just say I won’t be clearing out Abby with a single swing like Sergeant Begaye anytime soon.

And when it’s clear I’m growing too bored and frustrated to keep going, Uncle Teddy has me cast the Spell again. Rinse and repeat, with little minor curveballs thrown in, like asking me to put a spike at the top of the hatchet, craft a doubled headed hatchet instead, or give it a good toss at some targets he got lined up a little ways off.

“Make no mistake, son,” Uncle Teddy begins, after I’ve burned through a dozen First Order Spells and we head back inside for a chat. “You’ve set your sights high, and no matter how hard you work or talented you might be, there’s still no guarantee of success. Only the best and brightest are capable of taking a working Spell and changing it into something else. Most fail, and those who succeed are typically going in the other direction, taking a higher Order Spell and reducing it into a lower Order Spell.”

“Whereas I’m trying to take a Cantrip and turn it into a proper First Order Spell,” I reply, “And it’s always easier to destroy than it is to create.” Conjuring up my Mage Hands to give them a little flourish, I add, “A stronger, faster, more durable Mage Hand that lasts a full hour per cast without Concentration. That’s the dream, so I can keep the Spell active all day and shoot a gun without having to recast the Spell again.” One hour per cast would mean I’d have to dedicate all my Spellslinging efforts to keep this hypothetical Spell up for 14 hours, assuming I never use my Concentration to extend the base duration. Add in a solid 8 hours of sleep afterwards to get back to full strength, and that accounts for 22 hours of the day. So I’d have to go without the Spell for at most 2 hours a day while I’m awake, which ain’t great, but is head and shoulders above what I got now. Besides, my limits are growing with each passing day, and as long as I keep pushing to improve, it won’t be long before I can cast 16 First Order Spells without needing to rest, or even more later on down the line.

So yea. All I gotta do is create a new Spell that fits all those parameters, a feat most Immortal Monarchs shied away from because it was just too damn difficult. Easy peasy, right?

Though I try to put on a happy face, Uncle Teddy can see I’m struggling to hold on to hope. Patting me on the shoulder, he heaves a long sigh and hits me with a look that feels all out of sorts in his slate grey eyes, a pain that no words could ever convey, because it ain’t a pain in his body or mind, but rather his heart which aches to see me like I am. “I won’t lie to you son,” he begins, acknowledging my unspoken worries with a steely gaze of determination. “This goal you’ve set might not be possible. You know it, I know it, so there’s no dancing around the fact. Chances of success are slim to none, and downright impossible if you’re hoping for results within the year. Just know that I won’t give up, and I know you’ve got no quit in you.”

We share a smile before he continues, “It’s not all hopeless though. Going back to my earlier question, I need you to know that being a Magus is about more than just slinging Third Order Spells. Even the best and smartest Spellslingers in the world have to start with Cantrips and work their way up. That’s because in using magic, the magic changes you, allowing you to adapt and improve your ability and capacity for casting Spells among other things.”

“And what? Some people just naturally got higher limits than others?” Not liking where this is going at all, I frown and ask, “You saying that you gotta be born lucky to sling higher Order Spells?”

“Not all son.” Shaking his head, Uncle Teddy explains, “I’m not saying anything you don’t already know. What I’m getting at is that not everyone adapts at the same rate, or even changes in the same way, but the fact that the magic changes you is undeniable. Transmuters are the most evident, as they tend to become more physically adept over time, growing stronger, faster, and tougher as their Spellcasting progresses, like how Cowie is so much larger than his non-magical counterparts. Enchanters tend to become more attractive over time, not merely in terms of physical beauty, but also charm and appeal in general social interactions, while Illusionists typically develop sharper memories which enable them to better replicate what they’ve seen, heard, or even smelled.”

Maybe that’s why I’m all hung up over Aunty Ray and Tina, though I doubt that’s the only reason. “And Diviners?” I ask, eager to hear what I got to look forward to, because so far, everything he says makes sense.

Giving me a smile that says he knows what I’m thinking, Uncle Teddy says, “The changes are more subtle with Diviners, as the School of Magic affects your natural intellect and intuition like with your Portent, while there are arguments to say it could also improve the Spellcaster’s dexterity and reaction time, though it’s difficult to prove or disprove those claims.”

“So Magi are actually physically better than regular people?” Cocking my head in curiosity, I ask, “How come I ain’t ever heard about this before?”

“Two reasons really.” Smiling to see my spirits bolstered, if even for a bit, Uncle Teddy explains, “First off, we’re not entirely sure if it’s true. Though the improvements are undeniably there, they’re all within the realm of reason, meaning it’s possible for non-Spellcasters to achieve similar results with physical or mental training that has nothing to do with magic. What’s more, there is no actual physical difference that can be attributed to magic and magic alone. Transmuters could be more physically adept because of their choice of Spells, or it could be because their skillsets lend themselves to physical activities which keep them fit and strong. Perhaps it’s Magic that gives Illusionists better memories, or it could be because they often create their complex, multifaceted illusions from memory which hones it naturally with use. What I’m getting at is there’s no extra part in your brain that enables you to use your Portent ability, no new organ that Evokers use to shape their Spells, no discernable brainwave pattern which allows Conjurors to create simple objects and effects out of Ectoplasm with little more than a thought, so it’s impossible to say for certain that it’s the magic that changes a Magi, or if it’s simply a natural development of skills over time.”

Leaning forward to meet my eyes, Uncle Teddy captures my attention to make sure I’m picking up what he’s putting down. “What this means,” he says, in slow and clear tones while studying my expression as if he can read my thoughts, “Is that Spells aside, Magi are no different from common folk. Yes, we can develop certain skills that can only be attributed to magic. It’s undeniable that this happens, but not every Spellcaster develops an ability as such, with no scientific reasoning to explain why. Nor is it limited to Spellcasters at all, as there are documented cases of men and women without so much as a Cantrip to their name developing wonderous abilities that can only be described as magic. Musicians who can enthrall a crowd with a song, thieves capable of breaking wards with a touch, craftsmen who can perceptibly improve an Artifact’s performance with a simple ritual of maintenance, one does not need to be a Magus to develop these wondrous and magical abilities. Take your friend Errol, who awakened his abilities as a Warrior of Faith and is now eligible to become a Paladin of the Knight’s Templar. Even though he himself is capable of casting Spells, most Paladins come from humble backgrounds and were unable to cast Spells at the time of their awakening, and the science has yet to explain how or why it happens. There are thousands upon thousands of unique documented cases of abilities just like that, both in the old world and here on the Frontier, with no rhyme or reason as to how they’re attained. Many believe it has something to do with blood or genetics, but there’s more proof against that perspective than supporting it, though you wouldn’t know it looking back on history.”

“Okay.” Giving myself a moment to chew on his words, I figure out where he’s going with it and why he’s emphasizing how it ain’t got nothing to do with being a Magus. “Which brings you to the second reason why it ain’t talked about so much. Because it’s a hot button topic.”

“Exactly.” Heaving a sigh as he leans back in his chair, Uncle Teddy deflates just a bit, no doubt thinking over all the atrocities which have been carried out in the name of Magus Supremacy. The Nazi’s and the Holocaust. The Bharthi caste conflict. Generic racial divides. Innate and Magus breeding programs the world over, most of which were horrifically inhumane to all parties involved. Then there’s the various bloodlines of Immortal Monarchs who’ve claimed their right to rule stems from the fact that they have an Immortal Monarch in the family tree, which supposedly makes them superior specimens of the human race. Ridiculous is what that is. We all human and all equal, and even if science or magic should one day say different, I don’t see why we can’t rise above it. Regardless of our strengths and weaknesses, we all got our parts to play. Much as I personally loathe the townie life, I acknowledge their value and appreciate the hard work they put in making sure we got food, shelter, hot water, and munitions enough to make Abby think twice about trying to take what’s ours.

I can tell there’s more Uncle Teddy wants to say on the issue, but I give him a look that tells him he’s preaching to the choir. He smiles to see it and switches topics to bring us back on track. “Fact is, I suspect you yourself have one such ability that may help you succeed in creating the Spell you envision.”

Don’t take a genius to figure it out after our long conversation on the subject in question. “You talkin’ about my familiarity with the Spell Formulas?”

“Indeed I am,” Uncle Teddy replies, nodding and smiling all proud as can be. “You know it’s estimated that 1 in 10 people are born with aphantasia? The complete and utter lack of ability to picture an image in their minds. Keeps them from embedding even the most rudimentary Cantrips into memory and in turn renders them wholly unable to cast Spells in an orthodox manner. It does not, however, stop them from becoming Innates or Intuitives, because their minds will adapt to grasp the flows of Aether in a different manner.”

“Mm,” I say, having heard some of this before. “The Brits discovered as much during the Second World War, when they was running their whole ‘Innate Super Soldier’ experiments. Rejected a candidate because he was diagnosed with aphantasia, and he couldn’t accept it. Went home and considered eating a Bolt because that was his last chance to serve, seeing how he’d already been rejected by the army for a health condition. Ended up eating his gun’s Bolt Spell Core instead, which let him enlist as a Spellslinger as opposed to standard infantry.” Shrugging, I add, “Far as I know, nothin’ really came of it. Man served and died in the war, and no one really thought about it until afterwards when all the big brains got to trading stories.”

“That might be true, but the implications of this discovery go further than you think.”

Rather than give me the answer outright, Uncle Teddy leaves me to puzzle it out myself, and I do after a spot of thinking. “It shows there’s more than one way to perceive Spell Structures, which means there could still be other methods we don’t know about, and you think I’ve got one.”

“Right again.” Reaching across the table to pat my hand, Uncle Teddy says, “I don’t mean to belittle your hard work, nor do I want you to get your hopes up too high, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got no chance at all. I said it before Howie. You’re one of the most talented orthodox Spellcasters I’ve ever met, so if anyone can succeed at this task you’ve set for yourself before becoming an Archmagus, it’s you. Just remember though,” he continues, gently gesturing towards my missing right hand, which painfully curls up into a fist soon as it’s brought to my attention even though it ain’t actually there. “The battle you’re fighting isn’t here.” Tapping me on the chest and then the head, he adds, “It’s in your heart and in your mind, a battle against yourself that only you can fight, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight it alone. Understand?”

“Yea.” Wrapping him in a hug, I squeeze him tight and smile when he squeezes back that much harder. “Thanks Uncle Teddy.”

“Anytime, son. Anytime.”

“So…” I drawl, as our hug goes on for much too long, but he don’t seem ready to end it. “…‘Bout that five dollars you owe me…”

Earns me a roll of the eyes it does, a rare and exasperated look from the Marshal himself, and he breaks the hug to reach his wallet. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t forget,” he says in a good-natured grumble while pulling out a crisp five for me to take. “You’d think with all the money you’ve earned in recent days, you’d be happy to let an old man’s debt slide.”

“You saw the big numbers on the check,” I say, stuffing the bill into my breast pocket because it’s a whole ordeal getting money into my wallet now. “But me? All I saw was how much I paid in taxes. Ridiculous is what that is. You know I got taxed on the estimated value of the guns I brung back?”

“Spoils of battle fall under taxable income,” Uncle Teddy replies. “And you still came out on top. A Nanfoodle is an expensive piece of hardware, and a pair of Ranger Naga’s only slightly less so. As for Marcus’ twin Judges, even though they were a gift, that doesn’t exempt them from an inheritance tax, so best you remember that this time next year.” We both fall silent at the mention of the big man’s name, and the air grows thick with regret. Not just mine for having failed him, but Uncle Teddy’s too, because there was a time when they was thick as thieves, and that there is a broken fence they can now never mend.

After a long pause, Uncle Teddy pats me on the back and says, “Best you get going now. Rachel will have my head if you’re late to lunch. Thinks I work you too hard as it is, when you ought to be resting and recuperating instead.”

“If Aunty Ray had her way, I’d be asleep eighteen hours and stuffing my face the other six.” Grinning, I ask, “You sure you don’t want to come for lunch? Will most certainly be more than enough to go around, and everyone will be happy to see you.”

“No, I’ve got other plans.” A sandwich at his desk while he works, most like, but it wouldn’t be polite to point it out. Instead, I give him a look to say he ain’t fooling no one, and he doesn’t bat an eye, because he makes no apologies for working hard as he does. It’s who he is, a Ranger to the core, and here on the Frontier, the work never ends. “While we’re on the topic of rest and recuperation,” he says, segueing into a point I know he been itching to make all day, “How are you feeling? You sure you’re good to work so soon? I know I sentenced you to 480 hours of hard labour, but you have a whole year to work it off.”

“Sure as shootin’.” Might still be a little stiff and sore in the mornings, and lightheaded come night-time, but I’m going stir-crazy sitting around at home with nothing to do. Aunty Ray has a conniption every time I so much look like I’m about to lift a finger, even though Uncle Art gave me a clean bill of health and says I’m good to go. Hard labour won’t be pleasant, but I got a lot of hours to get through, and I’d rather get it done sooner rather than later. “Can’t run no marathon or hump a sixty-kilo pack twenty klicks through rough terrain, but diggin’ ditches and layin’ pipe shouldn’t be too hard on me.”

“If it is, let the Deputy know and head home early,” Uncle Teddy says, even though he knows I’d sooner pass out on my feet than call it quits. “It’s only been a few weeks, and that sort of damage doesn’t heal quick.”

He ain’t talking about the beating I copped, or the hand I lost either, but it’s easier to pretend he is and ignore what he’s going on about. “Well, you know what they say about idle hand,” I reply, waggling my eyebrows at the intentional use of the singular noun, but Uncle Teddy ain’t as easily amused as Uncle Art. “Devil’s workshop and all that.” Changing the subject, I ask, “You got plans for dinner? Having a couple folks over for a barbeque later, one last hurrah before I get to work.”

“You kids just enjoy yourself,” he says, waving the invitation off with the intention to work long into the night, same as he does every other day of the week. “Last thing you need is for the Marshal to show up and spoil your fun.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you’ve finally made friends your own age though. Cherish these times son. You only get to be young once.”

The gleam in his eye has got me wondering what he was like in his youth, but he don’t give me any chance to ask before shooing me out the door. Wasn’t kidding about Aunty Ray chewing him out if I’m late, and I won’t be spared her ire neither, so I hurry on back with as much haste as I can manage without running through the streets. Wouldn’t go so far as to say I got a skip in my step, but I’m feeling livelier than I have in weeks now that the end of my convalescence is finally in sight. No more early nights and afternoon naps, no more tiptoeing about to get my steps in and extra showers to wash away the sweat before Aunty Ray sees it. It’ll be good to have something to do again, and once I get through all my hours, I’ll be free to figure out what I’m gonna do with the rest of my life, a puzzle I ain’t made any headway on since I started.

Figuring out how Magic works? That’s simple enough, though I wouldn’t call it easy. Life though? That’s complicated. Got no earthly idea what to do with mine now that my dream has died a second time. Can’t be a Ranger, and can’t be a freelance merc, so what else is there left to dream of? Nothing that gets my blood pumping, I’ll say that much, but I suppose I’ll learn to love whatever it is I end up doing.

I mean, what’s the alternative? Far as I’m concerned, there ain’t one, so might as well keep on carrying on until things work out. For better or for worse, but that’s how it is out here on the Frontier, no two ways about it.