No Quinn. No. You have to listen to me,” Babbit was saying. “I’m going to toss three. You’re going to Telephage two, and Pilferwing one. Got it?”
We were standing in the shade of the maintenance shed, the only spot where the cracked, reddish earth wasn’t baking in the afternoon sun. There was even a puddle of mud left from the rains.
Babbit stood before me, one hand on his hip, the other holding up an oblong brown rock as if it was the most important treasure he’d ever shown anyone. His green jumpsuit was zipped down and tied around the waist, giving the old mage a look like an unripe banana, peeled, save for his dark, sinewy arms that flowed out either side of a yellowed tank top.
“Got it?” he repeated.
“I guess,” I replied. “But if you’re trying get rid of rocks, why not use something more practical? Teach me Malcore or Seismonic!”
Babbit’s lips drew grim, and he sighed as he pulled back the long gray strands of his hair. “Because I’m not trying to get rid of rocks. I’m trying to teach you a lesson.”
I sighed. Of course. “Okay, okay. Telephage and Pilferwing. I’m all over it.”
Babbit combined the rocks in his left hand with the cherished one he held in his right. The stones clacked and scraped in his calloused palms.
“Ready?”
“Pull!” I mocked.
Babbit obliged, launching the three stones into the air.
Sure enough, one soared higher than the other two. That was Babbit taking it easy on me. Giving me my targets instead of making me choose. That was Pavlov’s problem when he first perfected his infamous spell on his dog.
Unlike Pavlov’s dog, I knew exactly which bowl of food to pick or which rocks to Telephage. It hardly took any focus at all to snatch the stones from the clear blue sky. The two jagged silhouettes didn’t just wink out of existence, however. Instead they turned into a mist and dissipated into nothing. Not even a millisecond later, that same mist reformed near Babbit’s feet and the two rocks thudded to the ground near Babbit’s work boots. I smirked, hoping that was a close enough drop zone for the old man.
Okay, now for the hard part. Pilferwing. If only it were as easy as saying it.
Like Pavlov in his early days, I struggled with controlling animals. That was being generous because it was nearly impossible for me most of the time. On a good day, I could maybe guide ants or coax a toad, but anything bigger and, well, I needed a chair and a day off.
“Come on, Quinn,” Babbit taunted, finding time to rest comfortably on that old rake of his. “The stone’s falling.”
“I know, I know!” My lips twitched as I uttered the incantation under my breath—a string of gibberish meant to focus my intent. I know Babbit could see my lips moving—not exactly a sign of a great mage, that’s for sure.
My heart was sinking as fast as the stone. I was reaching out at metaphysikal strands left and right but I just couldn’t catch a grip. The rock was dive-bombing. No way was I going to summon a—
A silence-splitting shriek filled the sky. For a quick second, a shadow passed over the blaze of the sun and a massive cluster of feathers and talons tore my falling stone out of the air, carrying it off with another siren’s peel.
My fingers trembled with leftover exhilaration. I was frozen in place, my sneakers became one with the cracked earth as I watched the large bird until it was nothing more than a dot. I just stood staring at the spot it had disappeared.
“That … that was—”
“A hawk,” Babbit finished, beaming. “Nice catch.”
“I … I …” I sputtered. “That was me?”
Babbit swept away the Telephaged stones at his feet with the blunt end of his rake. “That it was, my boy.”
I was speechless. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I was going to make Pilferwing work. Summoning a bird alone is a stretch, but actually making it catch a falling stone for you? Not bloody likely.
A hawk? A ’chanting hawk?!
By the time Babbit got around to clutching my shoulder proudly, he had to become a load-bearing post just to keep me on my feet.
“Easy, Quinn. Easy,” he laughed, that crooked-toothed grin splitting his face again. “Well done.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I barely did anything.”
Babbit grew stern, nodding. “And there’s the lesson.”
My surprise was replaced by confusion. “What do you mean?”
Babbit propped one arm up onto the shelf created by the rake’s head, careful not to catch the string of beads around his wrist in its corroded metal teeth. “When was the last time you successfully performed Pilferwing?”
“Successfully?” I repeated. “Never.”
“And yet today you summoned one of the most powerful birds on the Shore, the mighty hawk. And persuaded it to do your bidding,” he went on grandly. “All in an instant! All by, as you said, barely doing anything.”
“Yeah. How?”
Babbit sniffed. “Because you needed to.”
“We’re not on the same page here, Babbit,” I said with a scowl.
Babbit waved me off with his free hand. “Clearly. Do you know what a mage’s best trick is?”
“No?”
“It’s restraint.”
“I don’t think I know that one,” I mumbled. “Is that like a Binding?”
Babbit shook his head a little, stifling a laugh. “Restraint, Quinn. As in holding back.”
“Ah.”
“A mage,” he continued, “uses metaphysikal energy just like a magus and just like an alchemist. The only difference is the source of that meta.”
“The Aetherios is a wild bucking river of meta, Quinn. And only a mage can tap into it.”
Aetherios. Now that was a word I had heard thrown around in the lecture halls at State. Usually at the end of sentence. One of those big spooky ominous words meant to hang over students’ heads just as the bell rang for lunch.
“I’ve heard of that,” I said, nodding.
Babbit choked on a chuckle. “I should hope so! Cro-a-to-an! Do your professors even talk during their lectures?”
I laughed in return. “Well, come on then, Babbit, enlighten me.”
Babbit harrumphed, shaking his head. “That topic’s a bit bigger than my lunch break, son. Look, meta has to come from somewhere, right? The Aetherios is the source—for a mage anyway. It’s not like air, or water, or a handful of minerals. It’s a cascade of boundless energy!
“It’s … it’s … where the hell was I going with this?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Restraint.”
“Restraint,” Babbit echoed proudly, wagging a finger in the air. “The Aetherios is like a meta reservoir. It holds, but it doesn’t like to. It’s a reservoir that wants to be tapped, Quinn. To be used, do you understand?
“It’s up to the mage to tap the meta in the Aetherios and sample it, take only what’s necessary. That’s the whole purpose of a spell. To slow down the mage and give him focus and intent while he channels the meta.”
I nodded along to his words. “And without restraint, you’re just like a hose, I guess? Without a nozzle. Just gushing meta.”
Babbit clapped his hands once sharply. “Exactly! Metaphysikal energy will flow through you like a pipeline, wildly and dangerously. Unless you restrain it.”
I finished my bout of nodding. “Okay, but I still have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“How’d I snag that hawk?”
Babbit snorted. “Right, right. Well, it’s like I say. Necessity is the mother of all incantation.”
I knew I heard that somewhere.
“When a mage lets instinct take over completely,” Babbit said, “he’s just reacting to the situation. And usually it’s just harmless things like you with your hawk, not letting the rock fall. A Cloudwhorl when the sun gets too bright on a hot day.
“The point is, Quinn, our brand of meta wants to be used. And giving us what we need, when we need it, is the quickest way out. You must always be weary of your intent.”
What we need. “Can I ask another question?”
“Of course, my boy.”
“What’s that thing, the spell, called when you follow the pull of meta? The dowsing one?”
“Mmm,” Babbit let go. “You remember that one, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Still using it?”
I thought back to basilisk tracking. “Once in a while.”
“It’s called Primseek, Quinn,” Babbit answered. “Very simple. Very potent.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” he said. “Primseek at its core relies on letting the meta flow into your subconscious and giving it the lead. By definition—”
“It’s exactly what you’re warning me about.”
Babbit smiled warmly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of pride or just plain being tickled. “So you are listening.”
“Every word, old friend,” I said, feeding him a heartfelt smile. “How ’bout another question?”
“You have a lot of questions.”
“You have a lot of answers.”
“Go on.”
I let my snicker die. “Well, it’s … if every mage has the potential to do anything out of instinct and, and desire. Why do we even have different spells? I mean, like, specific ones?”
“A mage has the potential to do anything, but not without the proper skill set. One must at least know what general area one is dabbling in. Summoning, Binding, and Cloaking. Again, spells help focus that intent,” Babbit answered me. “And I thank Father Solstice everyday that we remain limited by that rule.”
“Babbit, I think you’re the only mage on earth who likes the idea of having limits,” I said.
Babbit cocked me a weary look. “Don’t scare me, kid.”
I picked up one of the Telephaged rocks, thumbing its surface. “Okay, but—whoa.” The stone was smooth and cold, like a marble. “What the?”
Babbit sniffed. “That rock’s been through the Aetherios and back.”
“It’s so smooth. Like it’s been polished or something.”
“Like I said, the Aetherios is a river,” Babbit said. “And you know what rivers do to stones, right?”
“So it’s transfiguration?” I whispered.
“It’s erosion,” Babbit fired back. “Don’t go gettin’ all alchemical on me now, Quinn.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I told him. A ping sounded in the back of my brain. “Hey, speaking of stones. Did you find anything on solistones?”
Babbit groaned in the negative, shaking his head. “Break’s almost over. Walk me up?”
“Of course,” I said, a little disheartened by his brush off. Babbit started up the hill without me, the rounded tip of the worn-out rake scraped against the ground as it pulled the old man along. Had I offended him in some way? Maybe he hadn’t had much luck in the answers department and I’d bruised his ego. Or maybe he was annoyed because at the climax of his deep mage lesson, I’d asked him something about alchemy.
Either way, he was really cruising up that hill. I put a spring in my step and chased after him.
“Hey,” I called, “thanks for the lesson, by the way.”
Babbit nodded. “You should check out the library.”
That caught me off-guard. “In Willow Bay? What for?”
“They might have something,” he replied. “On alchemy.”
“Ah.”
That was the ultimate brush-off. Willow Bay was some twenty miles north of Alkamee Heights, nearly an impossible quest for someone without a car. It was more likely I’d wake up with a solistone under my pillow than find a ride to Willow Bay. Wheels weren’t exactly a staple just then.
We continued up the hill in silence. I had another question—one about dragons—but I kept it to myself. I’d pushed my luck with Babbit enough for one day.