Irina Syromyatnikova - My Path to Magic

I am still young; I don’t want to meet the King just yet!

“Uncle, perhaps we should get out…”

“Practice your power, kiddo!” he proclaimed sternly. “You might need it very soon.”

I was “overjoyed”, as they say.

We agreed to get up early, before breakfast, to start the training that I needed so badly and that had gotten me in this deep shit.

“Not too early?” I clarified.

“No, otherwise it will be too late.”

Now I recalled how annoyed I was as a child at the way Uncle Gordon “comforted” me: he used to say, “Torn pants aren’t a big deal,” adding, “you’ll get flogged once or twice for the sake of propriety, so what?” I wondered if he realized that his nephew had grown a bit.

Breakfast was set at eight, and we went down to the shore at seven in the morning; we grabbed our towels and pretended to be going for a swim. Why not? The bay’s water was warm in summer, and its cleanliness around the island was almost assured. Yesterday’s fog had left no traces, the day promised to be sunny and warm, and shoals of fry flashed in the waves, immune to the dark curses.

“Climb!” Uncle requested, pointing to a lonely rock protruding from the water.

“Maybe I’d better practice on the beach?”

“Well, only if you wish to summon all the neighboring undead…”

I sighed, undressed, and jumped into the water. By the way, the water was really warm. Climbing on a slippery boulder wasn’t an easy task; teetering on the top, I called out, “Now what?” Immediately after, I felt a pebble hit my back. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Invoke your Power!” Uncle ordered.

“How?”

“As you did the first time.”

The next pebble struck me on the buttocks.

“Invoke your Power.”

“Give me at least a minute!”

I tried to recall the circumstances that surrounded my Empowerment. Should I get angry or scared? Another pebble!

“Stop it! Are you crazy?”

“Do what I said.”

“I’m doing it!”

“You are not. Emotions facilitate the call, but they are not part of it. You need neither anger, nor wrath, but Power! Let me see it!”

“Wait a minute!” I frantically tried to figure out what to do. Go down there and try to kick his ass? He was older and still stronger than me.

“Better. Go on!”

What exactly had I done? Again a pebble!

“Don’t relax.”

I strained myself so heavily that almost fainted and then began projecting something outward, so hard that my brains felt like they were leaking out.

“Go on, more confidence!”

Preserving some degree of pressure, I ventured to open my eyes: a black mirage floated in front of me—the same black flame that blinded me during the Empowerment. And then I lost my breath, saw circles swirling in front my eyes, and fell off the rock. Uncle pulled me out of the water.

“Enough for the first time,” he concluded, “rest now. And remember, if you try to suppress the dark Source, you’ll cease feeling a difference between the presence and absence of Power, and thus you’ll lose control over it. An attempt to forget your essence always ends in madness for a dark magician. Empowerment is a one-way road only. You don’t have a choice; you ought to call your Power again and again until it is no longer associated with any particular emotion, and until it reveals itself fully. You must learn to treat it like your arm or leg. This can only be accomplished through continuous training and repetition. Got it?”

“Yes, Master!” I tried to catch my breath, lying on the rocky shore. Colored circles floated before my eyes.

“You spend too much energy on the call, but that’s for lack of habit; you’ll get used to it.”

I very much hoped so! My nausea had subsided, being replaced with weakness and trembling of the muscles. And it was only seven o’clock in the morning; we still had to work all day!

“Get up!” Uncle kicked me in the ribs. “Break stereotypes. You’re not tired physically; it’s a mental illusion.”

Screw that, an illusion!

We left the shore to get breakfast. I was wet and angry; Uncle was also wet, but filled with a sense of accomplishment. Damned tutor! If I had a choice, would I have allowed him to treat me so?

At breakfast our life became more interesting: Alex sat down next to us. The dark power still paced in me, and I barely restrained myself from insulting him.

“What’s the matter?”

Alex hesitated for a while, eventually uttering, “May I move in with you?”

His question surprised me so much that I even forgot to get angry: “What the hell?”

“I… okay, forget it!” He attempted to leave.

Without any explanation? No way! I immediately changed my tune, letting in a note of confidence and irony: the whites are almost all empaths, which means they subconsciously perceive the moods of people close to them. They also tend to mirror other people’s emotions and the younger the magician, the worse he controls it.

“Don’t be rash now. We do not mind.” I glanced at Uncle who merely shrugged, “It’s just a little unexpected.”

Alex, not sensing that he was caught in a trap of the master manipulator, relaxed a little, but didn’t open up immediately. He looked a bit crumpled, and for empaths, their health depends heavily on the overall emotional ambiance…

“Are your friends scaring you?” I guessed.

He nodded quietly.

What did I say before? Ordinary people could be worse than any of the dark magicians. They could have picked a better place to screw with their friend’s nerves! Odds were, if I left him alone, he would eventually go nuts, lose his temper, and pay for their jokes with his blood. Indignation dilated my nostrils and awakened my urge to beat someone up.

“Uncle?”

He shrugged again: “Let him move in! Just one thing: give him the ‘safety instructions’ to avoid surprises.”

For the remainder of the leisure time after breakfast, we moved Alex’s belongings over under the pensive gaze of Mr. Smith. I instructed my new friend: “Don’t fear! You can feel that something strange is going on around. But I know some simple rules, and if you follow them, you will minimize your risk. Believe me! I grew up in Krauhard.”

“Do you think there are the otherworldly here?” the white mage asked with an unhealthy interest, packing into his bag the sundries that he had unloaded before.

“I guarantee! It’s the King’s Island, after all. Remember, you cannot go to a place that lacks light, even if you carry a lantern. The places where sunlight does not reach are especially dangerous—caves, cellars, and such. Don’t let your curiosity trap you, especially if you are alone. If you notice any strange sounds, rustles, movement—skidoo and run to Mr. Smith. And do not hesitate; he is a dark mage, he will understand. If it gets worse, remember the sea is your ​​salvation; no otherworldly creature can sneak up on you over the salty water. Another rule: if you see any humans, ask them to name themselves, and if you do not get a response, run. The mute do not live in Krauhard. Here they are killed in infancy as unholy spawns. And surely, do not open cursed doors, do not break protective signs; if you mess anything up, just call Mr. Smith immediately. He is paid to provide our protection, so let him do his job. Got it?”

“Yeah.” He put his bag in the corner of our room and looked around with interest.

“The main thing is to follow the rules all the time, regardless of circumstances. Imagine that they are the laws of nature, and you cannot break them physically, no matter who asked you to.”

“And run away to Mr. Smith at once,” he smiled.

“Well done, chap!”

On that day we worked long hours. The job, from my point of view, was moronic: we hand-sorted rocks at the dump. When clearing the site and erecting the prison’s wall, ancient builders had produced a mountain of debris, which they piled up right there, on the beach, without thinking twice. Before making a raid to the core of the island, Mrs. Clements wanted to know whether there was anything interesting that had been dug up earlier and discarded as useless. To assess the treasures in the dump, we chose a few sites to go through stone by stone to the solid rock beneath, carefully recording our findings. Alex was paired with me. Two other students dug together, and Uncle and the guards continued to unload the ship. Guess which of us worked longer?