coat rack for jackets. There, I was asked to change into the ritual costume (it looked like a black pajamas), and from thereon I continued barefoot, pretending to be a seasoned mage, because a dark magician arriving at the ritual in socks with holes didn't strike me as comical.
With great effort, the instructor swung open a door made of cast iron (like a vault), but there was no temple behind it—just a small room without sharp corners. Bluish-white lights glared on the walls of polished silver. If there were any magic wards present there, they did not stick out. One of the assistants went ahead of me, the other breathed down my neck from behind, and the instructor showed the way, occasionally tugging me by the sleeve and annoying me greatly.
I hated to be grabbed or pulled!
The door locked behind us with a dull clanking sound that caused my heart to skip a beat anxiously. Why did the door need to be locked?
"This important-for-every-dark-magician day..." the instructor monotonously droned.
He managed to maneuver so masterfully that I noticed our destination at the last moment: it was a short iron table with four leather bracelets.
"Perhaps..."
As though by accident, he took my hand and started pushing me down onto the polished surface. All my instincts howled at once. I rushed to the door but was adroitly intercepted by the second assistant and laid on the damned altar. That it was an altar was as clear as day.
"I have changed my mind! I do not want to go through the ritual!"
"Too late," the instructor replied after catching his breath, "You'll leave this room as a dark magician or won't leave at all."
"A-ah!"
Damn! The walls were thick there; furthermore, it was the basement. I tried to pull myself together (figuratively speaking, because my hands were fastened behind my head). Today two other students had taken the ritual before me and both were alive and intact; I even saw one of them. Though the color of his face was..."
"What will happen next?"
The assistants tinkered with something in the corner, while the instructor examined me with the look of a professional surgeon.
"You will acquire Power."
I tried to discern what they were doing, but failed. It drove me crazy.
"There won't be anything cruel, right? Nothing special?"
The instructor's eyes met mine, and he declared solemnly: "There will be!"
"You have no right!" I tried to speak decisively, but my voice trembled and broke.
He leaned closer to me and winked conspiratorially: "We do."
My dear mother! I had fallen into the hands of maniacs. The police persuaded them, and they would kill me right here and now and blame the ritual. What could I do? SOS!
The assistants mounted a few black candles along the altar and lit them, murmuring indistinctly. I started feeling an uncomfortable tingling in my hands and feet.
"The spell is called 'Odo Aurum', " the instructor told me amiably. "It will help you to call your Source as soon as possible. We'll wait until the spell starts operating."
I instantly recalled where I had heard that name. The spell was used by inquisitors to increase the sensitivity of their victims to pain, making obtaining any confession trivial. I broke out in cold sweat at the discovery.
Please understand me correctly: I did not hesitate to jump into a fight, and I never worried about skinning my knees. But being tied to the table, helpless...
Wait. Helpless? I was practicing all summer!
"Hey, freak, let off me now, or I'll slam you with a curse!"
"Try it!" the instructor smirked.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling a disgusting tingling that climbed along my spine, remembering pictures of the injured from the police collection, and fighting with a feeling of mercy and humanism, awakened at the wrong time. Should I try to contain my temper further? No, damn it! With familiar effort, I mentally squeezed my Source and drove the Power outward, trying to crush any
With great effort, the instructor swung open a door made of cast iron (like a vault), but there was no temple behind it—just a small room without sharp corners. Bluish-white lights glared on the walls of polished silver. If there were any magic wards present there, they did not stick out. One of the assistants went ahead of me, the other breathed down my neck from behind, and the instructor showed the way, occasionally tugging me by the sleeve and annoying me greatly.
I hated to be grabbed or pulled!
The door locked behind us with a dull clanking sound that caused my heart to skip a beat anxiously. Why did the door need to be locked?
"This important-for-every-dark-magician day..." the instructor monotonously droned.
He managed to maneuver so masterfully that I noticed our destination at the last moment: it was a short iron table with four leather bracelets.
"Perhaps..."
As though by accident, he took my hand and started pushing me down onto the polished surface. All my instincts howled at once. I rushed to the door but was adroitly intercepted by the second assistant and laid on the damned altar. That it was an altar was as clear as day.
"I have changed my mind! I do not want to go through the ritual!"
"Too late," the instructor replied after catching his breath, "You'll leave this room as a dark magician or won't leave at all."
"A-ah!"
Damn! The walls were thick there; furthermore, it was the basement. I tried to pull myself together (figuratively speaking, because my hands were fastened behind my head). Today two other students had taken the ritual before me and both were alive and intact; I even saw one of them. Though the color of his face was..."
"What will happen next?"
The assistants tinkered with something in the corner, while the instructor examined me with the look of a professional surgeon.
"You will acquire Power."
I tried to discern what they were doing, but failed. It drove me crazy.
"There won't be anything cruel, right? Nothing special?"
The instructor's eyes met mine, and he declared solemnly: "There will be!"
"You have no right!" I tried to speak decisively, but my voice trembled and broke.
He leaned closer to me and winked conspiratorially: "We do."
My dear mother! I had fallen into the hands of maniacs. The police persuaded them, and they would kill me right here and now and blame the ritual. What could I do? SOS!
The assistants mounted a few black candles along the altar and lit them, murmuring indistinctly. I started feeling an uncomfortable tingling in my hands and feet.
"The spell is called 'Odo Aurum', " the instructor told me amiably. "It will help you to call your Source as soon as possible. We'll wait until the spell starts operating."
I instantly recalled where I had heard that name. The spell was used by inquisitors to increase the sensitivity of their victims to pain, making obtaining any confession trivial. I broke out in cold sweat at the discovery.
Please understand me correctly: I did not hesitate to jump into a fight, and I never worried about skinning my knees. But being tied to the table, helpless...
Wait. Helpless? I was practicing all summer!
"Hey, freak, let off me now, or I'll slam you with a curse!"
"Try it!" the instructor smirked.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling a disgusting tingling that climbed along my spine, remembering pictures of the injured from the police collection, and fighting with a feeling of mercy and humanism, awakened at the wrong time. Should I try to contain my temper further? No, damn it! With familiar effort, I mentally squeezed my Source and drove the Power outward, trying to crush any
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