Author's Note: thanks to Candice, as always. Tried to tame the language a bit. :)
Chapter Three
Some weeks later, I found myself in my room, lounging among carelessly strewn books and papers, chatting to my friends Meryl and Kerry by means of a wine-red ball of light on my left palm. Dark had fallen, and several hours' worth of study clamored for attention. But as usual, I had forsaken academic obligations in favor of social, at least until my conscience got the better of me and I settled down to work. I was keeping my voice low, lest my parents become suspicious and discipline me accordingly.
We were busy raking a clique of boys in our class over the coals when the communication spell in my hand disappeared. Simply vanished - snuffed out. I gasped with outrage - how dare some other mage think to disturb my working? Lunging to my feet to investigate, I came face to face with my father, leaning in the doorway with arms crossed. From the admonishing look on his face, the demise of my spell had been his administration.
"Shari," he said heavily, and guilt flushed my insides. My father didn't need to raise his voice to express disappointment in my conduct. Not that I could argue - I knew perfectly well that my study habits were less than virtuous, and it was fully my shortcoming.
Nevertheless, pride rose and I became defensive. Almost against my will, and certainly against my reason, I retorted that he and Ma didn't need to always tell me how to live my life, I was old enough to manage it myself, especially in such matters as academic organization and performance.
"Shari, we've been through this before," he continued patiently. "Success in magecraft will demand effort along the way, like any other trade. Yes, you're good at many areas, but you lack the discipline of study, which is necessary for progression in an academic institution such as the University - which is your path to a mage's title. You must work hard in your classes, as they dictate. The curriculum of the courses is not yours to choose."
We had been through it before, time and again. He was right, and I knew it. But it stung.
The words whipped out before passing my brain's inspection: "Who says I have to be a mage?"
It was ridiculous: this had been established very, very early in life. Even before, you might say: one of my powers had really only one path to pursue. I had never questioned it, never considered another trade.
My father raised his eyebrows. "And what else might you be, pray?"
Forest-green eyes and a heart-shaped face flashed across my mind. A girl's never trapped into a future others decide….
Suddenly overwhelming horror drove out any trace of annoyance or foolish defensiveness. What would I do, walk the streets - like her? What had I been doing? I risked failing at all I had ever worked for, all I had ever aspired to - I was squandering my abilities, my resources, every minute that I fiddled around instead of studying. Why wasn't I making more of myself, as I should be? How could I have been so careless, so stupid?
With infinitely more fervor than I had delivered the weakly backed assertion scant moments before, I babbled an apology to my father. Of course I wanted to be a mage, I'd never think of anything else, I should have been working harder in school and I would from now on, I'm sorry…. My throat was tight.
When he had left the room, I resolutely seated myself among my texts and assignments. Even as I prepared to take on the night's workload, taunting phantoms of thought whirled around my head. I tried to push them away.
Of course I want to be a mage. It's what I've always wanted. The beauty of it, the glory - what could be more rewarding, or more right for me? This is why my parents gave me so much all my life, supported me, helped me, taught me. Of course I want to be a mage.
But….
You can always make choices for yourself….
What if I didn't?