The morok was about two centuries old. Einar was the one who had put its head into a formaldehyde jar in the college museum, so he knew that for sure. Just like most mages, Einar Sharlou usually considered the ambasiaths’ way a waste of magical potential. But sometimes, their deeds made him doubt himself. Kosta’s famous victory over the moroks was certainly one of those. And all when he, Sharlou, must finally decide what to do with Pai!
Pai Prior was a talented boy; even more: a boy living and breathing his dream of becoming a mage. He studied so hard, he shone so brightly! He was everything Einar dreamed of being and was never going to be, but instead of getting jealous, the junior magister wanted to help. After these months, the very thought of letting such talent go to waste became unbearable to Einar Sharlou.
But accepting Pai to the college was easier said than done. Mages and ambasiaths had an unspoken treaty that forbade either side from recruiting children from the other. Overcoming that was no laughing matter, especially for someone standing so low in the mage hierarchy as Einar did…
A scream interrupted Sharlou’s thoughts… a painfully familiar scream.
A Transvolo done properly looks like a ripple in the air for an outside observer, a slight blur similar to the one you see when hot air “dances” above a frying pan or a Firaskian street on a summer day. That ripple plays tricks with the observer’s vision, making it impossible to spot the exact moment when the Transvolo’s caster appears.
The Transvolo witnessed by Einar Sharlou above the college was wrong, horribly wrong. There was no peaceful ripple in the air, no gentle blurring of vision. No, the fabric of reality itself had twisted in a tight knot that burst with a sickening gurgling sound when the caster of that abomination appeared. Pai Prior.
If it wasn’t for Einar Sharlou who had happened to be there by pure chance, that fall would have killed the boy. Yes, Pai knew levitation spells: both his own and the classic one, but lifting yourself with a levitation spell is no easier than lifting yourself by your own bootstraps. Einar caught him with a hastily cast levitation loop just in time.
The magister lifted Pai to the balcony and released him there. The child mage was ghastly pale, his teeth chattered, he trembled like a leaf in the wind, clearly shaken by the experience. His saviour looked no better.
“Let’s go to my study and drink some coffee,” said Einar Sharlou. Pai nodded, a blank expression on his bloodless face.
A cup of steaming coffee and a chocolate cupcake restored Pai in no time – he even started laughing at his mistake – but did little to calm down his young mentor. Einar wanted details – how exactly Pai had cast that horrible Transvolo – and wanted them now.
“You are lucky, lucky kid!” he said, covering his face with his hands. “The basic principles… you don’t understand them at all. I can’t blame you – they take years to learn and comprehend – but attempting Transvolo without them is pure madness…”
“But master Sharlou! I noticed some similarities, patterns, and…” Pai tried to chime in.
“I know,” Einar stopped him and added softly. “I know. You are a very talented lad, Pai, and it shows. But, please, next time, take me with you. I haven’t built my bridge to casting Transvolo yet but I know the theory well. And another thing: don’t experiment with height yet, work on the ground level. Next time, no one may be there to catch you.”
