It is halfway through the third week, and I am still only on the second spell. To this day, I do not know if I ever cast the first spell properly, because the temperature of the rock never seemed to change. Perhaps Kenneth only let me move on out of empathy. I doubt he will continue to be so forgiving.
It is all the fault of my feeble, unreliable mana pool. I can only spend four hours reciting spells before the pain in my left calf forces me to abandon the spellbook for the rest of the day. There are still fifteen spells left, and only the lesser half of the month remains. I feel my chances of finishing the book and becoming Kenneth's true apprentice slipping away.
Sometimes, when I can no longer recite the spell, I sort Kenneth's papers or read fiction books. The rest of the time, I wander outside.
There was some good that came out of it. I found a giant spider which enjoys basking in a nearby forest clearing in the early afternoon. I am trying to befriend it. So far, I have tried giving it morsels of food left over from dinner, but it does not seem to respond. It does not mind when I pet it, though. Its prickly abdomen hairs always leave a strange, tingly feeling on my fingers. It is such a peaceful creature. It makes me wonder why humans and monsters cannot just live together peacefully.
I shake my head, forcing myself to return my concentration to the words in the spell. My eyes lock back at the letter I left off, and I begin parsing the words again. I come to the critical note in the spell:
"[After reading the following paragraph, focus your attention immediately upon the object you wish to levitate.]"
I read the final paragraph of the spell, and lock my eyes upon the sandstone rock at the center of the table. Something feels different this time. My will and desire feel heightened. A hole is forming within my mind, like an empty clay mold, into which a newfound power is pouring... forming... awakening. I feel a stream of consonants roll down my tongue and onto my lips:
Lift.
The sandstone rock obeys my command, elevating itself just centimeters above the table.
I feel as if my heart has flipped from beneath my chest. I cannot believe my own eyes! The rock is floating, after all those hours I spent reciting these spells in futility!
I can almost imagine the weight of the rock in my mind, as if I am holding the rock with a fifth limb. Can I lift it higher, I wonder?
The rock rises a tenth of a meter above the table. I cannot help but smile.
Can I spin it, too?
The rock begins to spin rapidly. Its motions are a blur. I fear that at the speed that the rock spins, either the rock will tear itself apart, or my mana pool will be completely drained.
Slow down, please!
The rock spins more slowly. I no longer feel the rock as simply a weight on an invisible limb. There is a leftness and a rightness to the rock, a back and front, a top and bottom. I can stop the rock in place and rotate it whichever way I please. I giggle with glee!
I hold out the palm of my hand. The rock drifts toward me and lays itself gently into my hand. I grasp the rock with my fingers.
This is just like the coin trick Kenneth showed me.
I set the rock down and look inquisitively at the spellbook laid open on the table. Could I lift it too?
The memory of levitating the rock remains strong. I doubt I even have to recite the spell again.
I focus my vision upon the binding of the spellbook.
Lift.
The spellbook rises a few centimeters.
Higher, I say!
The spellbook rises and tilts forward so I can see its pages. It feels heavier than the rock. Its weight is almost tangible.
I wonder if I can levitate the spellbook while reciting spells at the same time...
At my command, the pages flip back of their own accord as I scan for the start of the second spell. For the first time in several days, I feel a headache again. That must mean my mana pool is growing stronger again. I am unlocking my true potential!
After a brief lapse in concentration, I notice that the pages of the spellbook are flipping in the wrong direction. The disorder irks me. I stop the motion of the pages and make them move the other way again. The height of the book begins to falter. It is as if the book is rebelling against me!
Suddenly I feel a pain in my left calf. The pain shoots upward and begins to squeeze my chest. My neck goes limp. I watch the book bounce off the table. I fall out of my chair, and my side slams against the hardwood floor.
I am floating in a sea of grey. Without any cause, I feel an incredible, overwhelming guilt.
Is this my day of judgment?
Yet other emotions surface in this sea: anger and worry... perhaps even a hint of amusement. Perhaps they belong to the god who is about to judge me. Perhaps at this very moment, that god is sifting through my mortal past; observing, with cynicism, the manifestations of my mortal flaws.
I feel a faint pressure on my eyelids. Gravity returns, and a chair solidifies beneath me. The sea of grey begins to coalesce into a pair of silver, glowing irises. My entire body feels sore.
I feel a cool piece of glass push against my lips. Two fingers pinch my nose shut.
"Drink this," a voice commands.
The glass tilts against my lips. A liquid pours into my mouth, and I swallow it.
I gasp. The air is the purest I have ever breathed. The pain vanishes.
The formless fog around the glowing irises coalesces into the face of a middle-aged man. His nose and cheeks are bony. His dark, oily grey hair is pulled back tightly, revealing a receding hairline. Surrounding his face is the hood of a red robe with gold trim. His red robe is fastened across his shoulders with a light-grey cloth.
The man's fingers lift from my eyelids. The silver light in his irises fade, and I feel guilty no more.
Kenneth is leaning over him, a glass bottle filled with red liquid in his hand. There is a tired, angry look in Kenneth's eyes.
"How long have I been unconscious?" I ask Kenneth.
"A day," he responds.
My memories leading up to my unconsciousness are few. All I can remember is struggling to recite a boring spell.
Then a revelation springs to mind. I remember a single, tantalizing word:
Lift.
The bottle flies out of Kenneth's hand. Shattered glass echoes.
"Notch smite it, Iris!" Kenneth snaps. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
The meanings of his words twist in my mind, contradicting each other, stuffing my mind until they push painfully against the walls of my head... against the spine of my back... my arms... my legs... everywhere. I am completely and utterly paralyzed by the pain.
I feel fingers grasp onto my arms as the world starts to tilt.
"Bring me the spellbook and a mana potion," the red-hooded man commands, "and another healing potion, for Notch's sake."
"Yes, master," says Kenneth. He walks away.
The hooded man pats my cheek and holds my head upright. "Iris, I need you to stay awake." There is a reassuring calmness in his voice. "Do you understand what I am telling you? Nod if you understand."
I nod.
"Good. Now, listen to me carefully: Kenneth is going to bring you the spellbook that you just used to recite the levitation spell. You are to recite the spell, directly from the textbook, from the exact word that I specify, up until the end. Failure to do so properly could lead to your death."
"What did I do wrong?" I ask weakly. The pain is beginning to make me feel nauseous.
"You did not recite the spell directly from the spellbook like you were supposed to, which bypassed the limit on the amount of mana that could be drawn from the spell. Because you do not have sufficient control of your own mana pool, you cannot stop the spell on your own," he explains.
"Iris forgot the third rule? Again? You have got to be kidding me," says Kenneth.
"Enough peanut talk. Hand me the healing potion, quickly!" orders the hooded man.
The world is dark again. I feel a glass surface push against my lips again, and bitter liquid fills my mouth. I force my tongue against the back of my throat... and swallow.
The pain and nausea leave my body. They are replaced by a growing desire in my mind to recite that one, powerful word again; the one word that binds me to the world of magic, but I know will drive me unconscious again if I use it.
"Before you recite the spell," says the hooded man, "I need you to drink just one sip from this potion." He uncorks a bottle filled with purple liquid and hands it to me. "It should give you enough mana to recite the spell, but do not dilly-dally or all the energy will be wasted on your failed spell."
I nod in understanding and take a sip. My nose crinkles compulsively at the potion's terribly bitter and sour taste. I set the bottle down on the floor.
"Start here," the hooded man orders. He sets the book open upon my lap facing me, and rests his bony finger just above the start of a paragraph, "this paragraph after the sentence that ends with 'growth.' Do not recite the word 'growth,'" he insists.
I quickly lock my eyes upon the start of the paragraph and recite it as fast as my mind will let me. In the corner of my vision, I can see Kenneth and the red-hooded man staring intently at me.
Grueling minutes pass. I finally come to the critical note just before the end of the spell:
"[After reading the following paragraph, focus your attention immediately upon the object you wish to levitate.]"
I read the final paragraph. With no designated object to levitate, I focus on the spellbook itself.
Lift.
The book rises out of my hands. I do not want to expend all my energy again, so I let the book float gently back down.
The temptation to recite that powerful word fades from my mind.
I hear the two men sigh in relief.
"Notch..." Kenneth mutters.
"Do you feel anything, Iris?" asks the hooded man.
"Not any more," I say. "I felt a need to levitate things just a moment ago, but after I recited this spell, that feeling went away."
"I figured such," says the hooded man, "but are you sure you don't feel anything else? Something even the slightest unsettling or uncomfortable?"
"I do not think so," I say.
"Good," says the hooded man. "I supposed I'm obliged to introduce myself, then."
The man reaches for my hand and shakes it.
"I am Jacob Miner, an Arch-Mage of void magic and Forthright's master. Should you have any questions regarding magic or your apprenticeship, I am just as available to you as Forthright is."
This, of course, is not saying much, since Kenneth has made a habit of avoiding me whenever possible. Perhaps that is just how apprenticeships work around here.
Jacob Miner's eyes glare knowingly at Kenneth. "And I certainly hope that you bring this girl here on a regular basis from now on, so we can avoid any more... 'surprises.'"
"Master, I assure you, this was just an isolated event!" Kenneth pleads. "But I will do as you say, of course."
"Two times where an apprentice nearly dies in the same month can hardly be considered isolated events. We need to talk about this," says Miner. "Wait here, Iris."
The two magi disappear into a hallway trimmed with molding and filled with picture frames.