A Travelling Mage’s Almanac

Excerpt from Yenna Bookbinder’s ‘The Travelling Mage’s Almanac.’

“The witch Lumale makes for a singularly frustrating tutor, and reminds me of an instructor I had while I was still a student of the Arcane. Master Sivhur was a fine kesh, and I don’t mind admitting that I signed up for her class due to a forming crush. However, she was as beautiful as she was dismissive of her students and it gave one cause to wonder why she was even teaching if she seemed to loathe it so much. Not one effort of mine seemed to impress her and ideas I had thought rather inspired at the time were discarded as worthless. Though her attitude rather soured my opinion of her personally, she was a mage deserving of the title Master. I only hope I can survive Lumale’s tutelage all the same.”

When Lumale had made the rather dramatic announcement that Yenna would begin a descent into witchcraft, she had begun with an expectation that they would immediately delve into dark secrets and forbidden techniques. In hindsight, Yenna thought, I should have anticipated that we would start with the basics.

“You cannot appreciate the full array of the powers of magic until you can at least split it into the six colours.” Lumale had pulled a book from somewhere, and was using it to rapidly sketch complicated magical circles. “So, your first step is to split magic.”

“Just split magic, of course…” Yenna mumbled under her breath. She couldn’t parse the dense, complex circles before her through the unclear fog of the illusory double, but they didn’t seem related to this initial task. The mage began by conjuring up a small ball of magic into her hand, opting to cast the spell from scratch instead of relying on one of her rings. Now that she had the ball, Yenna was at something of a loss. The very idea of splitting magic into some smaller component was antithetical to her entire concept of magic being the smallest part—she had never experienced a spell that would split such a vital component.

Instead of giving up, Yenna had the thought to try a particular technique. Usually used to dispel an enchantment by tearing apart the fundamental parts that held it together, the mage had a mind to instead turn it on the singular mote of magic. Holding the ball in one hand and casting the dispelling technique with the other was tricky, but she managed to work her way through it—only to dissipate the magical ball. Yenna was annoyed, but she knew if it had been that straightforward it wouldn’t be a secret known only to witchcraft. Frustrated but not dissuaded from trying, Yenna conjured another mote of magic and turned to Lumale.

“If this ‘colours’ theory is so fundamental, why haven’t I ever heard of it? Surely some mage would have tried this by now, right?” Yenna pondered the white wisp of magic in her hands.¹

Lumale laughed. “It is simple. You mages are always looking up to new heights, ignorant to what’s at your toes. Even the cowardly wizards of eld were too busy putting the potential of magic up on a pedestal, rather than being willing to play with its most fundamental parts.”

“Your feelings about mages aside, I don’t feel like that’s true. Mages are thorough, and are constantly trying new things.”

“If I told you there had always been a whole number between three and four that you had simply overlooked, what would you tell me?” Lumale impatiently drummed her fingertips on the book in front of her.

Yenna frowned. “I’d tell you it’s impossible. Numbers don’t work like that—no matter how many times you count it, you would never stumble across this between-number.”

“And so you would never try to look, would you? Such a fundamental truth, from which all stems—if it turned out to be true, it would throw everything else into chaos. You are so certain it cannot be, so you never dare to look. That’s what witchcraft is all about—questioning the fundamental laws of reality, and asking if they truly are so absolute.”

Without an adequate response, Yenna fell silent. How could she know that there were no smaller component parts within magic itself if she never looked? Lumale was obnoxiously biased against mages despite evidently having not paid any attention to them in quite some time, but she still managed to cut to the heart of things. Still, it didn’t actually supply any answer to the ‘how’ of the matter.

Yenna decided to try again. Blessing the smoothness of the ride that the silupker Chime provided, she conjured another ball of magic and wove a simple spell to force it to float in the air. Pressing her mind into overdrive so soon after collapsing from over-exertion was not an option, so Yenna had to ponder this the old-fashioned way. She tried another magic-dispelling option—one that gently loosened the bonds that tied a spell together, but instead aiming for smaller fetters than she could see. This approach had the same problem—if they could be affected this way, it’s hard to imagine such bonds could have escaped the notice of decades of Arcane research.

Yenna tried to cut it with a spell, crush it, turn it this way and that, pull it apart—she felt like a child, handed a complicated puzzle-box and told merely to open it. Lumale, for her part, seemed more than content to watch Yenna try and fail to puzzle this out. The mage assumed that her would-be mentor—who had yet to do much mentoring beyond cryptic assertions and grumbling about mages—genuinely had far more patience, given her venerable age.

“I hope you haven’t anything important to do today, Master Lumale. I’m rapidly running out of ideas.” Yenna grumbled away as she began to twist and tear at the mote of magic.

Lumale chuckled. “No, it is quite amusing to watch you try and solve this like some kind of puzzle. Even if it were, you’ve already said the answer aloud.”

Yenna stopped. She didn’t really have any way of viewing the world that wasn’t thinking of things like a puzzle to be solved, nor did she understand what Lumale meant about having said the answer. Thinking back to earlier discussions, Yenna worked backwards through what she had said. It couldn’t be related to their discussion on the impossibility of this very technique, she thought, given that it had been more questions than answers. Could it be…?

“Just split magic, of course...”

Her own grumbled complaint sprung to mind—could that be it? A puzzle to be solved implied steps, challenges, logical inference. The opposite of that was no logic, no steps to be taken, only to simply do. Yenna knew that magic responded to intent—it was the basis of manipulating it in the first place, though her knowledge insisted that intent had to be couched in an exact explanation provided by gestures and symbols. If this really was so fundamental, it did begin to stand to reason that knowing it was possible was likely the only requirement beyond doing it.

Taking up the orb in her hand, Yenna tried something she hadn’t thought to do since she was first taught to manipulate magic—she simply waved her hands and hoped for the best. Her first attempt did little more than drop the orb of magic, to raucous jangling laughter from Lumale. Yenna immediately realised her problem—she had mentally categorised it as an attempt. She was trying to do something, not just doing it. Closing her eyes and taking a moment to focus, Yenna pushed the doubt out of her mind. It would work, it had to work—

There was an unusual sound, like the chiming of a bell in reverse. Yenna opened her eyes and beheld an amazing sight—where there had been a pure white ball of shimmering magic before her, six tiny motes of different colours orbited her hand. Each of them slowly began to move towards each other, and Yenna realised that it was the natural state of magic to want to return to that equalised mixture. By focusing, she could keep them from coming together. Yenna gave a slightly goofy smile at the accomplishment.

“The daft look on your face aside, it seems you figured it out. What you have just done is the core of witchcraft, and the antithesis of arcane magecraft—not thinking, just doing.” Lumale seemed pleased, though it was impossible to tell by her face. A tiny note of satisfaction shone through that Yenna recognised as the joy an instructor feels when their student makes progress. She suspected that the witch was the sort of person who would find it amusing for Yenna to fail, yet be happy to share in her successes—teaching the mage was always going to end in a winning situation.

“Well, now that I’ve done this,” Yenna admired the six coloured motes as they danced around her hand, “What exactly do I do with these?”

“Were I a more vindictive old crone, I might just leave you to your devices and see what you come up with. However, I am cursed with the knowledge that I just might be able to teach you the basics and bring one more witch into the world. Thus, I am obliged to give you at least a nudge in the right direction, some scraps of wisdom and—strike me down should it come to this—words of encouragement.”

Lumale placed a hand over one of the complex magical circles she had drawn in front of her, and even through the illusion it seemed to glow. The glow itself seemed to hang in the air before coalescing into a hexagonal hoop. In a show of extremely potent conjuration magic, the form solidified into steel. It was just big enough to be worn around one’s wrist like a bangle, and Yenna felt drawn to put her hand through it. Without warning, the metal shrunk, fitting to her arm—it could no longer be removed without destroying it.

“Wh-what is this?” Yenna tugged at it fruitlessly.

“Your next test. You have the ability to condense magic crystals, yes? Conjure six—one for each of the six colours—of the utmost purity, and attach them to your new bracelet. To do so, you will need to understand the nature of each. Beyond the visible colour, and the elemental inclination, lies emotion and physicality. Discern the characteristics of these six pure colours, and distill them thus. Until then, I will leave you with one final piece of advice.” Lumale straightened up, and looked like she was about to deactivate the illusion.

“Wait, one final piece of advice? You’re not going to teach me anything else–”

“Start with Joy, the essence of soaring wind. I don’t suppose you’ll want for wind on your travels. And don’t embarrass yourself by saying something ridiculous, like ‘Wait, please, I need more information’. So long!”

“Wait, please, I–” Before Yenna could protest, the illusion vanished. Her one lifeline vanished, the mage gave a great sigh. Yenna allowed the magic in her hand to reform back into its natural state before dissipating it—she needed a moment to wrap her head around everything. All in all, speaking to Lumale had barely taken any time at all, her fiddling with the mote of magic taking up nearly all of the hour Yenna spent with the illusion active.

Six colours: Stasis, Flow, Pride, Wroth, Certainty, and Joy. Each held an attachment to an element, but were characterised by an emotion. If Joy was to be her starting point, then she would have to delve into its meaning, and learn about its properties. Simply poking at it didn’t feel like it was going to be useful—perhaps some of the other expedition members would be able to help?

¹ - It is a strangely universal concept that creatures everywhere overlook the simplest ideas on the assumption that some other, more enlightened beast had not only thought of it, but discarded it as fruitless. No one is better at ignoring the most straightforward answer than those who believe themselves smart. It is also a strangely Yenna-like method to explain a simple event in several paragraphs of unnecessary details and unrelated anecdotes—a thing that I most assuredly would never do.