Threa, I've already gone through college. Somehow I de-aged on
the way here.”
Annala caught the
ball on the rebound. “I should have expected that. That's what happened to the
other otherwor-”
“There are
others!?”
Annala ran past
him to the other end of the court. Eric ran after her, but she refused to
elaborate until she took a shot of her own. He blocked it. Revas caught it and
threw from half-court. Annala jumped for an alley-oop. “They drop in from time
to time because of the Mischievous Sage.”
“Just like me!
Where are they? Can I—”
“They're dead.”
Seeing Eric's shock, she added, “From old age; the last one was two hundred
years ago.” She turned her back on all three of them. “Of course, my father
remembers it like it was yesterday . . . What does the passage of time mean to
the immortal elves?” She spun back, smiling brightly. “We made great advances
in Manaology because of them.”
“Here it comes .
. .” Revas droned.
“Pure life energy
flows in the veins of Noitaerc, The Great Tree That Supports the Worlds, and it
is this energy that preserves youth and life in all things. Since you were
pulled through those veins, your body became so saturated with it that you
regressed physically but not psychologically.”
“I drank cosmic
tree sap and it worked like a fountain of youth?”
“That's oversimplified,
but . . .yeah.”
Revas recovered
the ball. “Weren't we talking about his new job?”
“Oh, yeah . . .it's
The Dragon's Lair. I'm going to be a mercenary.”
Oito hissed
amusement. “I've heard of that plassse. It'ss full of nutjobsss and weridosss.”
“Yeah, especially
the captains,” Revas added. “Think that'll happen to you, Eric?”
The human shook
his head. “No, I'm going to keep my sanity.”
There was little
schoolwork for him to do, but plenty of guild work. Basilard assigned him a
large tome called The Spirit and Its Power by Dengel Tymh. It described
the spiritual abilities available to everyone with a soul, even Otherworlders
like him.
The most basic
was drawing mana from within and controlling it. Step one was to sit down,
breathe deeply, and think of nothing other than mana. The first time he created
a visible ball of light, the world changed. He saw others do magic and studied
with supernatural creatures, but his skeptical side still insisted it was some
kind of elaborate hoax. Staring at the little ball of magical power he created
himself, Eric could no longer refuse to see the truth.
He really was in
another world: magic was real, elves and demons went to school, gods made house
calls. That little ball of light made everything real. He was even starting to
believe that tale about Chaos, Order, and Noitaerc. He went to bed with a smile
on his face.
After a month,
the lessons were no longer a chore. He'd lost weight and gained muscle.
Basilard said he was starting to look like a mercenary. He meant it as a
compliment, but Eric still wasn't sure. What if I have to kill someone? What
if I get killed? Basilard has that scar . . .
“'The guild shall
be our home and everyone in it shall be family.' That's a quote from our founder—The
Mother Dragon,” Basilard said after his most recent lesson. “I'll tell you the
story behind that quote someday. Now show me how much mana you can generate.”
Eric cupped his
hands, took a deep breath, and focused on directing his mana flow to the space
between his hands. A light appeared; it flickered, but was big enough to fill
his hands.
“Not bad. I think
you're ready for the next step.”
“What's the next
step?”
“Mana bolts.”
Basilard led him
to an isolated area of the park far from park benches and sport courts. The
only things around were trees and archery targets.
“The simplest
form of magecraft is projectile mana. Observe.” Basilard held his open palm up
and fired a ball of light. It punched a baseball-sized hole in the target. “To
do that I gathered mana in my hand, forced it
the way here.”
Annala caught the
ball on the rebound. “I should have expected that. That's what happened to the
other otherwor-”
“There are
others!?”
Annala ran past
him to the other end of the court. Eric ran after her, but she refused to
elaborate until she took a shot of her own. He blocked it. Revas caught it and
threw from half-court. Annala jumped for an alley-oop. “They drop in from time
to time because of the Mischievous Sage.”
“Just like me!
Where are they? Can I—”
“They're dead.”
Seeing Eric's shock, she added, “From old age; the last one was two hundred
years ago.” She turned her back on all three of them. “Of course, my father
remembers it like it was yesterday . . . What does the passage of time mean to
the immortal elves?” She spun back, smiling brightly. “We made great advances
in Manaology because of them.”
“Here it comes .
. .” Revas droned.
“Pure life energy
flows in the veins of Noitaerc, The Great Tree That Supports the Worlds, and it
is this energy that preserves youth and life in all things. Since you were
pulled through those veins, your body became so saturated with it that you
regressed physically but not psychologically.”
“I drank cosmic
tree sap and it worked like a fountain of youth?”
“That's oversimplified,
but . . .yeah.”
Revas recovered
the ball. “Weren't we talking about his new job?”
“Oh, yeah . . .it's
The Dragon's Lair. I'm going to be a mercenary.”
Oito hissed
amusement. “I've heard of that plassse. It'ss full of nutjobsss and weridosss.”
“Yeah, especially
the captains,” Revas added. “Think that'll happen to you, Eric?”
The human shook
his head. “No, I'm going to keep my sanity.”
There was little
schoolwork for him to do, but plenty of guild work. Basilard assigned him a
large tome called The Spirit and Its Power by Dengel Tymh. It described
the spiritual abilities available to everyone with a soul, even Otherworlders
like him.
The most basic
was drawing mana from within and controlling it. Step one was to sit down,
breathe deeply, and think of nothing other than mana. The first time he created
a visible ball of light, the world changed. He saw others do magic and studied
with supernatural creatures, but his skeptical side still insisted it was some
kind of elaborate hoax. Staring at the little ball of magical power he created
himself, Eric could no longer refuse to see the truth.
He really was in
another world: magic was real, elves and demons went to school, gods made house
calls. That little ball of light made everything real. He was even starting to
believe that tale about Chaos, Order, and Noitaerc. He went to bed with a smile
on his face.
After a month,
the lessons were no longer a chore. He'd lost weight and gained muscle.
Basilard said he was starting to look like a mercenary. He meant it as a
compliment, but Eric still wasn't sure. What if I have to kill someone? What
if I get killed? Basilard has that scar . . .
“'The guild shall
be our home and everyone in it shall be family.' That's a quote from our founder—The
Mother Dragon,” Basilard said after his most recent lesson. “I'll tell you the
story behind that quote someday. Now show me how much mana you can generate.”
Eric cupped his
hands, took a deep breath, and focused on directing his mana flow to the space
between his hands. A light appeared; it flickered, but was big enough to fill
his hands.
“Not bad. I think
you're ready for the next step.”
“What's the next
step?”
“Mana bolts.”
Basilard led him
to an isolated area of the park far from park benches and sport courts. The
only things around were trees and archery targets.
“The simplest
form of magecraft is projectile mana. Observe.” Basilard held his open palm up
and fired a ball of light. It punched a baseball-sized hole in the target. “To
do that I gathered mana in my hand, forced it
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