Jackson sat with his legs crossed, his arms resting relaxed on top of his knees as he floated a few meters above the floor of his bedroom. Eyes closed, mind focused. He could sense the energy coursing through his body, visualizing it as it passed through his veins and nervous system, circulating in a loop around his body. He was getting better with his Ego magic—his flight. The mechanics of how exactly it worked were starting to make sense to him now. When he used his flight, it was actually just a result of his energy—his Tincture, as the boy from his dream called it—pushing against the world around him. It wasn't like a bird flapping its wings to push air downward and generate lift. Instead, his Tincture exerted force on the world around him, and when the world pushed back, it sent him where he wanted to go. Hovering in one spot, then, as he had been training to do, was very strenuous. It meant he had to constantly be exerting the exact same force on the exact same point for an extended period of time. It required discipline and control—things he had only just started to truly develop. After a few minutes of mid-air meditation, Jackson reduced the force of his Tincture, falling with an initial jolt before a more gentle descent, his feet landing lightly on the floor. He opened his eyes, sweat droplets beginning to form on his brow as he checked the simple wooden clock on his bedside table.
12:17, it read.
14 minutes, Jackson thought to himself, new record.
Jackson wiped his face with a damp cloth before heading over to the barrel of rainwater Ulric kept in the bathroom for bathing. He popped off the lid of the barrel, gazing at the liquid inside, watching as tiny ripples spread across its surface. Deep breath, in and out, he reminded himself.
He'd made less progress when it came to manipulating water, but with the Board of Appraisal examination only a few days away, he didn't have time to waste. He extended his right hand toward the barrel—an unnecessary gesture since Shapers could manipulate the four elements without so much as lifting a finger, but it helped him visualize. Something, as he was becoming increasingly aware, that was very important with magic. Once again, he felt the energy coursing through and around him, his Tincture becoming visible to him as he circulated the energy faster around his body. Despite having been awakened not even two full weeks, his—as Dara called it—Tincture Vision seemed to activate instinctively whenever he was casting magic. Jackson didn’t complain. It just made visualization easier.
Focusing on the water, his Tincture seemed to stretch away from his body, engulfing part of the water as if it were an empty bottle. Jackson lifted his arms, the water trapped inside his Tincture lifting from the barrel. A few droplets fell down, but not nearly as many as the first time he had attempted manipulating water last week. With the easy part out of the way, Jackson tried to channel the water within his Tincture, stretching it into a long, wavy cylinder, then a cube, then into two smaller circles. Good, he thought, at least I’m getting better with the basics.
Feeling somewhat accomplished, Jackson attempted a more complex shape—a flower, one of the ones his mother used to bring home. The stalk came along nicely, but once he tried to construct the petals and centre, he lost the shape of everything else, the construct collapsing in a puddle on the floor. Damn, I thought I had it this time. He sighed, slightly resigned but not completely unsatisfied with the progress he had made. That, however, was just water. If he had any chance of passing the examination, he needed to get at least a basic handle on the other three Shaper elements. Rialu, his Shaper teacher, hadn't gotten to those yet. After all, the mages in her class had all been regular mages, awakened in the first five or so years of their lives. They already had the basics down and had the intuition on how to use their magic to boot. Jackson, as succinctly put by Rialu, was a child by comparison.
All the more reason he needed to learn the other three before his exam. If he could get even half as competent as his Shaper classmates within two weeks of awakening, then surely the Board would accept his plea.
Jackson walked down the stairs, a familiar floorboard creaking as he was halfway down.
"Jack, my lad!" came a bellow from the kitchen as Ulric shouted into the hallway. "Is 'at you?"
"Who else would it be, Dad?" Jackson replied.
"Can never be too careful, lad. What if someone 'ad broken in?"
"That's even less reason to shout," Jackson said, a slight smile spreading across his face.
"Nonsense! I woulda scared 'em off with my intimidatin’ vocals."
Jackson's smile widened. It had been too long since he saw his dad this happy—this able to joke around. There was stress in his voice, there always was, but it seemed more managed—more at peace. Ulric was just as invested in making sure Jackson passed the Board examination as he himself was, but Ulric had confidence in him to do well—at least, that's what Jackson believed. It wasn't an ungrounded belief either. To Ulric, it seemed Jackson was never really motivated to do anything, especially after his mother had passed. He would get up late, skip classes, not pay attention. It’s not that he didn’t try—Ulric knew that—it was just... difficult. Seeing him willingly wake up before noon on a weekend, doing something productive, something he cared about... To Jackson, it seemed to make Ulric happier. That made him happier too.
"I'm headed outside to practice some more," Jackson stated. "Call me inside if you need anything."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"I wouldn't wanna disturb you, lad. Just give it your best. I'll bring you out some o' 'at nice water you liked—the kind with the lemon in it."
"Lemon?" Jackson inquired. "Where’d we find the money for stuff like that?"
"Got a small raise at the lumbar yard. Nothin' much—definitely still not enough for 'at fancy magic school of yours—but it's somethin'. Turns out I'm at the one yard in the constituency that actually cares about its workers."
Despite the good news, there was a slight bitterness to Ulric’s tone. Before Jackson had been born, his parents lived in another constituency. That one had been far harsher for the ordinary man. As far as constituencies went, Baypost was very accommodating, but even then, the gap between the common man and the nobles was visible.
A smile cracked across Ulric’s face as his mood brightened, seemingly in response to Jackson picking up on his prior tone.
"Don't worry yourself with all 'at stuff, lad. You won’t have to worry 'bout things like 'at for years. Now, get to your practicin’."
With Ulric practically shoving him out the home, Jackson slipped on his boots and jacket before heading out into the winter afternoon. It didn’t tend to snow much down in Baypost, but Gods, did it get cold. Jackson was just thankful there wasn’t any rain. The wind felt nice against his face as he strolled to the field just a few streets from the coast, about half an hour from the house.
Upon arriving, the field was completely empty. That wasn’t uncommon—even at the peak of summer, people didn’t really come here anymore. That had been one of the main reasons he liked it as a kid. But it also made an ideal place to practice magic without distractions—his Shaper magic, at least, given that the last time he tried to fly here, the coastal breeze had made him look rather foolish. Grabbing a few sticks and larger pieces of lumber he had left the last time he was there, Jackson established a small collection of wood, transforming it into a campfire with a rudimentary fire-starting technique his mother had shown him. It brought back memories from his younger years, when he and his parents would stargaze in that very field. He shook the thought, regaining his concentration. He needed to get this right.
The fire flared to life after a few moments, growing in size until its flames reached as tall as Jackson’s knees. He cracked open a book he had borrowed from the library—a thin book that described the very basics and core functionality of Shaper magic. It described manipulating water in much the same way Rialu had, but it made no mention of Tincture or any such equivalent. Instead, it simply tasked a mage with reaching out with their being to grasp hold of the liquid. It was close, but it wasn’t exact. Jackson simply chalked it up to the book’s target audience being literal children and so paid it no mind. Fire worked in functionally the same way, with a slight difference.
Jackson once again felt his energy circulate and expand toward the roaring flame, desperately trying to cup the flames in a coating of Tincture. His first attempt was unsuccessful, only managing to lift a few embers, which he quickly smothered. The second was slightly more successful, managing to pull a ball of fire into the air before it petered out a few seconds later. The difference between fire and water was that fire needed fuel. Tinctures weren’t physical—at least, that was the best Jackson could assume. That is to say, they let the world around them interact with whatever was being held inside the Tincture. In fire’s case, that meant it had access to all the oxygen it needed to burn, but if the fire was to continue burning, it needed to have access to fuel, which meant putting it near something that could burn. Although Jackson had initially resigned himself, the book provided a solution. It claimed that magic, as far as anyone could guess, was energy like everything else—an extremely efficient one at that. That meant it could be burned up, transformed into heat energy. Not all mages could do such a thing, but Shapers were one of the exceptions. Jackson tried one last time, pouring his magic into the cupped flame, trying his damnedest to keep it alive. A few seconds passed, and the flame began to fade before Jackson poured a higher output of energy into the flames, causing it to sustain itself. After a few minutes, Jackson deemed it a success and withdrew his Tincture. Two down.
Despite his tiredness, Jackson kept pushing. Let’s try earth again. Jackson found earth a lot easier than fire—the only problem was mass. Fire was practically weightless, but Jackson could only manipulate about as much earth as he himself weighed. Any more, and he would be sent back, the earth moving him instead of him moving it. His Tincture dug into the ground, bringing up a boulder of rock around three feet in diameter. To him, earth was the easiest of all. It didn’t ebb and flow like water, it didn’t need constant fuel and attention like fire—he simply had to weigh more than what he had to manipulate, and he’d be golden. He dropped the boulder, dusting his hands as if he had carried it himself, a habit he’d picked up from Ulric when he helped him at the yard.
Finally, Jackson attempted air. Now that was difficult. It required a lot more focus and a lot more attention to detail than any of the others. When manipulating the other elements, it didn’t matter if air could pass through the Tincture, since that was how it naturally was. Hell, fire even required air to pass through the Tincture. Jackson was already used to subliminally allowing air to pass right through, so when he needed to purposefully section off and manipulate a specific amount of air, that was challenging. Challenging, yet possible. Jackson moved his arms slowly and deliberately, positioning them to the sky before closing his eyes. He felt the wind brush up against his skin, gently tracing its wispy fingers across his body. His hair began to lift from his head, waving as if unaffected by gravity, swaying gently in the air. He began moving his arms in a small circle like he was winding thread on a spool before suddenly throwing his arms out wide to his sides—a massive gust of wind expelling itself outward with him at the centre, pushing the grass around him in a widening arc. That was the first success he’d had with manipulating air. Yet, it felt so familiar.
Everything about magic was like a childhood friend he’d been forced to leave behind as he moved to another place.
It just felt right.
A bell sounded from the clock tower at the centre of town, marking the time. It was the second Jackson had heard since leaving the house. Three o’clock already? he thought. I should get home.
Jackson walked for a few steps before deciding to hover for a spot, given that it was quicker and all. Only a few minutes passed before he was nearing the edge of the field, where it met with the forest that bordered Baypost.
He paused, holding his breath. It was barely visible. If it weren’t for his automatic Vision, he wouldn’t have seen it—a flicker of color that immediately extinguished itself.
And something else.
Was it a pair? No, it was three pairs, piercing through the dark. Gleaming white spots, twelve or so feet high in the darkness of the woods.
Three pairs of mortifying white eyes.