The Origin of Magic

Photo by Sheri Hooley on Unsplash

“You’ll never believe this.”

“Now I’m certain.”

The air is heavy, cumulative of dust of thousands of students entering and exiting the classroom, which settles at the end of each busy class day, only to be tossed in the air by the next. Two students whisper in the back of the classroom, one retelling the tale of his weekend escapades, while the other struggles to pay attention to the lecture. He’s unamused by the weekend story.

“It was the end of the night, and we’ve been talking the entire time. She’s in my Alchemy class, the chick with the red hair and the giant—”

“Yes, Shaina. You mention her all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, Shaina. Well, like I said, we were talking the whole time, and—”

Ralfe tunes Zadle out. He doesn’t care about the almost hook up he’s setting up for the story. He knows nothing happened, because he was back in the room before midnight. Ralfe happened to be studying at the time, so he doesn’t appreciate the sober version of what he told him then.

He tries to focus on the lecture, but it fades as quick as a sentence into the wonders of telekinesis. Around the room, students are mixed: those who are frantic in their note taking, and other, whose Ralfe fits in, struggles to pay attention. The seats are full and that’s where all the excess heat generating from. Ralfe’s robes are damp in a few places, but he’s thankful for the tunic he’s wearing underneath.

It doesn’t feel like Senior at all.

“Dude, I just realized something.” Zadle cuts his own story short. “Isn’t this the Courtyard Count?”

It’s a nickname that the professor has had for centuries. For a while, it had some alternate names to try to change it up, especially when students learned that teachers who went to the same school also referred to him as that. It varied for a bit, in a cycle that always returned to the classic label, Courtyard Court. It was freshmen question for a while, but it they kept the wonder to themselves; they would soon

realize that he stands in the middle of the courtyard in the beginning of his day, staring at the ground, not moving, not looking for anything in particular. Some say he’s cursed, while the rest say he’s crazy.

The board can’t do much with him because he’s tenured.

“Yeah. That is him, isn’t it?” Ralfe agrees. He wonders why it took so long to realize that, but a campus spectacle only remains a sight for so long. Soon it becomes just another part of the campus.  “Have you done telekinesis yet?”

“We did a little bit last semester. It was a part of the Adv. Evocation class I had.”

“So you know this already.”

“Mostly.”

#

This is his 1000^th lecture, or at least, it is since he’s started counting again. It ebbs in flows between the year, and the urge to maintain awareness of how many students, classes, curriculums he’s teaching helps him keep his mind active. On his last field outing, Girullian Ghostseer had way too many close calls. The mandrake’s nest they harvest every few years grew bigger than expected, and he almost lost his least favorite Teacher’s Assistant. It wouldn’t have usually bothered him as much (he hasn’t lost a TA in 150 years, and wants to keep it that way) but it forced the TA to reconsider his life. Now he has more tedious work until he can find a replacement.

He finds that his mind wanders more, in more crucial tasks, and wanted to combat that a bit more for things he normally wouldn’t pay any mind too. He’s slept through lectures, managing to maintain the coordination of one his illusions and an unseen servant. It was one of his biggest accomplishments as a teacher, and he saved him many sleepless nights. The students didn’t even know the difference, and since he perfected the formulas, no one will.

A TA did make a complaint, but she was nice enough to explain herself; though it turns out the President wanted more of an explanation.

“We can’t have you sleeping in your classes.” President Drakebane waited for a response.

“When was the last time you visited one of my classes?”

“I was enrolled in it.”

That answer took Professor Ghostseer aback. He usually keeps tabs on former students who return to the college, but his inventory seems to be outdated.

“Well, if you would stop by one of the more recent classes I think you would—"

“Stop.” President Drakebane looks away from the professor. “I don’t care how you teach your classes.”

The Professor doesn’t like how many surprises this visit already has, but when things like this typically unfold, it means more were coming.

“How are you, Girullian?”

“Too old.”

“No, seriously. Do you actually know the number?”

Third surprise in a row. Girullian told himself that it didn’t matter years ago, but had tasked a previously TA with coming up with a number that made sense. The semester got too busy and he never checked back in with it. There was an instinct to make the number up, but he didn’t want to risk it. Types of people like these could be very focused when they needed to be, especially when their attention is needed literally everywhere in the school.

“I had a feeling you didn’t know.” Drakebane waited before continuing, because he had to be delicate with his words. “You’re old. Really old. Really, really, really old.”

“Why thank you.” Girullian said as a reflex.

“I’ve been looking into people of your caliber. We rarely have had people who can manage a feat like. I’ve heard stories that this makes the most powerful of mages, which I’m sure you’ve heard too, but the stories always end in the same way. Even the liches, though some would argue they snapped way before they turned themselves into the undead.”

“Wait. Are you…firing me?”

“What? No. You’re the Count. We can’t lose an asset like you.”

“What are you saying?”

“Be mindful. Don’t let yourself wander too far. If you do, well…you might get lost.”

#

Girullian comes back. He continues his lecture.

“Class, be mindful of your concentration.” He takes out the deck of cards, and they float and then take flight, circling the Professor. “If it strays, nothing may happen, but if not—” The cards whip back into the case, he holds.

He waits for the collective gasp to pass, giving it time for dramatize. He pushes past the muted response he got.

He wonders if any of this requires his attention.

#

“That was kind of cool.”

“What was cool?” Zadle says. He snaps up from his resting position, looking around for something. “What did I miss?”

“He did something with the cards, which was really quick, but…” Ralfe trails off as Zadle drifts off in a sleep, head cocked back. Ralfe focuses back on the lecture, which…doesn’t have much going on.

Now the deck floats again with three cards floating, spinning to reveal the suit and denomination. Most of the class contains theories he doesn’t quite understand, meaning that he was going to have a lot of homework, trying to figure out all of what he’s saying. The pacing is that of someone who’s does this in his sleep. The professor’s eyes seem to be partially close, those his words are clear.

An hour passes and finally we’re dismissed. I nudge Zadle.

“Huh?” He wipes the drool off his face.

“Time to go.”

“Oh, thank god.”

They gather their books, and go to leave.

Ralfe looks back at the Professor as he packs up the cards. He watches the professor move slow, like an old man would, but something stopped him. Zadle continues to walk, stumbling a bit as he wakes up. He doesn’t notice he’s by himself yet. Ralfe waits to make sure he didn’t miss something, because it flashed, almost like it he’s eyes were out of focus. It happens again.

A quick flick of the professor’s wrist.

He looks like the card disappears for a second. He does it for each card he puts away, and the same illusions flashes before him. The quickness doesn’t make sense from the body it’s coming from, like he’s a normal guy wearing an old man disguise. He walks up to the teacher to inquire.

“Um…excuse me, Professor?”

“Office hours are Wednesday at this time, around 4:30.” Girullian says, as if automated to smile and continue to pack up.

“Yeah, thanks, but I actually had a question.”

“Office hours are Wednesday, at this time, around—”

“How did you do that card trick?”

Girullian snaps out of it.

“What? Oh…I mean, card trick. Do you mean the telekinesis? I did spend the last hour explaining the how and the theories on why this works the way it does, how this originally was discovered—”

“I meant with your hands.”

Girullian takes a look at the deck of cards. It all comes back. The countless nights in the streets, streets that don’t exist anymore. He’s a child and running around with his friends, the ones who didn’t make it out like he did, but they taught him how to survive. He survived those slums, conned the right people to learn how to do with magic. Illusions were his specialty. They always came easy to him, but he grew out of it.

There’s always more Illusion magic to study, but that didn’t hold his interest anymore. It’s what kept him alive; illusion was a necessity, but he didn’t need that anymore. He wanted to take another path, one that didn’t rely on deceive, though it would always be a part of him. He didn’t realize he held on to old tricks like this, or how he could forget this part of this life.

Drakebane was right.

“You know, I’m surprised you saw that”

“What do you mean?” Ralfe says. The Professor thinks about how many times he’s done this lecture.

“What brings you to the school?”

“Me? Well…I can’t think of anything else I wanted to be growing up. I come from a family of wizards. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“So you didn’t choose?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

“No.”

“Does magic interest you?”

“Not as much as keeping my parents happy.”

“Hmm…” this has been something he’s been hearing his colleagues mentioning through the years. The school has been changing its admissions to keep the doors over and help receive more…courteous donations to help improve the university’s resources. He’s paid it no mind, as long as he gets to pursue what he wants to pursue. He finds him drifting has the student looks at him for some sort of answer. He doesn’t know what to say to him, for it’s a long time before he’s even spoken to a student at this level. “What interests you?”

“The card trick was pretty cool.”

“Have you taken any illusion classes yet?”            

“Not really. My parents told me there wasn’t any real money in illusion.”

Girullian laughs.

“Boy, I’ve survived a cruel world solely on it.” The Professor things over the idea bubbling in his head. “Come to my office hours—don’t give me that look, just come. We have much to discuss.”

#

“Where have you been?”

Ralfe doesn’t look when Zadle questions him. He just walks past. Zadle follows, unsure of whatever happened.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just—” Ralfe focuses on how to tell Zadle of what happened with him blowing it out of proportion. “I’m working on some extra credit.”

“Extra credit? What are we…failing juniors?”

“I just want to finish this year out.”

“Yeah, but…” Zadle says as they continue to walk. “You’re fine. You’re on track to finish, right? You never mentioned failing before.”

“Have you taken an illusion class?”

“God no. You know there’s no money in illusion magic.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Wait…did the Count freak you out?”

“A little bit…” Rafle looks over to the center of the courtyard and seems the Professor standing there. He stops walking and looks at him. “This is going to kill me if I don’t do this.”

He walks to him.

“Wait. Ralfe…don’t! What if he…curses you or something?” Zadle looks out to Ralfe has he doesn’t slow to his warning. “Well…I’ll be in the café if, you know, you’re still alive.”

Ralfe looks at the Professor as he stares into the pond.

“Professor, what are you looking at?”

The Professor points ahead, highlighting the center of the pond. His fixation frightens Rafle, but he walks over to look what the Professor sees.

It’s a lively pond, with fish darting around inside of it. They swim and cut at different angles, with no indicator what was, or was previously there. Green algae floats through the ponds surface, which hides other algae growing on several rocks. All seem as it should, with nothing standing out.

“The center.” The Professor hints. “Look at the center. You can’t hope to understand illusions if you can’t see how things are.”

With that, he notices a rock. It’s no bigger or smaller than the others, but it’s stand out in a way he hadn’t noticed before. It’s still. All the rocks are still, but this one seems more prominent within its stillness. The thought conflicts Ralfe, pondering how something can be more still than something else.

“Odd, isn’t it?” The Professor says, reading Ralfe’s mind. “I haven’t seen that rock move in years.”

“How can you tell?”

“I check it every day.”

“Why?”

“I know it’s there for a reason. I can’t tell you what, but nature wills it to. If that rock ever moves, I know something changed in the world. People over look at the things that give us life, and hold fast the world we live it. People wonder how magic came to be, and when I’m asked that question, I think of this rock, then the pond that formed around it. It’s the center of this ecosystem. Nature builds around things, and that’s what gives order to the magic we use.”

“So…we’re druids?”

The Professor laughs. He looks over to the new protégé and wonders if he made the right choice or not. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s right or not.

He won’t know until his next set of office hours.