At Last, Mana
Chris asked,
"You wouldn't happen to be from another tower?"
"I am. The Lapunian Magic Tower. The finest in the kingdom."
Joe snorted.
"The finest is ours."
Tom gave a short laugh.
"Defending your own tower just because you came out of Mickclonia. And this after they locked you up."
"I'm stating a fact. My personal feelings have nothing to do with it."
Chris said,
"Then teach me the spell properly."
At the heat in his voice, Joe clicked his tongue.
"I knew it would come to this. You've got no talent, so quit wasting time and give up."
"If I could walk around freely outside, I probably would have. There's plenty else to do. But in here, time is all I have left. What does it matter if I waste a little?"
Tom smiled.
"Fair enough. I'll teach you, if only to pass the time. Listen carefully."
He recited the spell in a rich, resonant voice.
"Era Seultinsiabi."
"Era Ummorodisia."
Chris tilted his head. It's no different from what I already said. He spoke his mind plainly.
"I don't really follow."
"Your ear is dull. No wonder you can chant it for a hundred days and still get nowhere."
Tom recited it again, and Chris repeated after him. Tom clicked his tongue.
"Stress the eh. Not the ra. It's 'EH-ra,' not 'eh-RA!' And seul has to be drawn out. Say it short and it becomes a different word."
"What does the spell mean?"
"You didn't even know that?"
"I didn't."
"No wonder it won't take, when you chant without knowing what it means. Mickclonia Magic Tower really is crawling with ignorant fools."
When Tom started in on the tower, Joe cut in.
"I told you. They taught us badly on purpose, so they could sort out who had talent."
Chris said,
"Mister, stay out of this."
Tom unpacked the meaning for him.
"Mana is life. Mana, move."
"So era means mana."
"That's right."
"All right."
Tom corrected the pronunciation syllable by syllable as he taught. Chris drove the spell into his mouth and into his brain, until he was murmuring it even in his sleep.
A month passed, and Chris was disappointed.
"I learned it properly. So why isn't it working?"
Joe said,
"Kid! How many times do I have to say it? It doesn't work because you have no talent. A third of the people who learned from Mage William the same way you did reached Spirit Awakening. You think some bastard who couldn't feel it then is going to feel it just because he learns the words again later?"
Chris sank.
"Is he right?"
Tom shrugged.
"Not necessarily. Part of why you couldn't feel it back then was that your ear was bad, and you never chanted the spell correctly."
"But that isn't true now, is it? You correct my pronunciation every day."
"In exchange, the mana here is thin. A hundredth of what's outside, I'd say."
"What? That thin?"
"Don't take a magic-disruption formation lightly."
"I thought it only stopped a spell from activating."
"It interferes at every stage. So don't be too disappointed."
Chris gathered himself and chanted again. Time was the one thing he had to spare; even if he failed in the end, there would be nothing to regret. It would sting. That was all.
A year had passed since he was thrown into the prison. There was no calendar in the cell, so he hadn't known so much time was gone until Jake told him. The moment he understood, the strength drained out of him. He still could not feel mana.
"Tom, if the mana in this cell is one percent of what's outside, does that mean it takes a hundred times longer to sense it?"
"It might. It might not."
"Can't you give me a straight answer?"
Joe cut in.
"Of the apprentices I've seen, the fastest felt it in a day. The slowest took a year, like that friend of yours, Alice. If you were the first sort, it'd take you a hundred days. Oh — a year's already gone. So you aren't the first sort. If you're the second... oh! A hundred years. Figure in an ordinary man's lifespan, and for you to become a mage you'd have to die and be born again. Once wouldn't even do it. Twice, more like."
Chris said, aggrieved,
"Does my failure please you that much?"
"Yep. I love it. It's fun. I could die of excitement."
"Try keeping a kinder heart. A temper like that is why you're in here."
At the added jab, Joe bristled.
"Kid, I'm not a murdering bastard like you."
"Then why are you in here?"
"I was framed. I'm innocent."
"They say every last prisoner will tell you he's innocent."
"I really am."
"If you're telling the truth, then a frog is a bird."
"Some frogs fly."
"Say something that makes sense. How does a frog fly?"
"Want to bet?"
"Fine. Let's."
"If I catch a flying frog and bring it to you, how much will you give me?"
"A hundred gold coins. But if you can't catch one, you owe me a hundred."
"This bastard keeps talking nonsense."
"I haven't said anything nonsensical."
"There's no way a beggar brat like you has a hundred gold coins."
When Chris had told them his past, he had left out the part where he sold the Mana Helmet to the knight commander.
"And if I do? Want to bet?"
"Fine. We'll bet. Show me a hundred gold coins, and..."
The more he talked, the more it irritated him. Joe muttered, mocking himself.
"To think I'd nearly make a bet with an idiot like that. I've been locked up too long."
He turned his back and let out a sigh.
Another year passed. Not a single day had he skipped his meditation or his chanting, and still there was no answer. By then even Chris could not help sinking into gloom. He was lying there without the strength to chant when Joe spoke.
"Smart choice. You never had any talent to begin with."
"Why do you keep saying that? The tower picked me because I have talent."
"Back at the Wind Cauldron test, you said yourself you weren't sure you'd actually raised a ripple. The mages weren't sure either. They took you on the off chance. They need people like you."
"What do you mean, people like me?"
"Nobles, commoners, and slaves all lived together in the Lion Pavilion. Know why?"
"To throw different classes together and give everyone a fresh shock."
"No. They stuck the slaves and commoners in so the nobles would have somewhere to dump their stress."
"What kind of talk is that?"
"It's the truth, kid. Think about it from a noble's side. How do you figure they lived at home? They owned everything they wanted, and they did everything they felt like doing."
"A bastard son would have been slighted by the legitimate heirs. Even a legitimate second son would have had a second son's bitterness, and the eldest would have had troubles of his own."
"That pain, that bitterness, those troubles — they can work all of it out on their estates. Smash a table in a tavern down in the village, take a whip to the servants. You can't do that in a magic tower. Throw a tantrum at a mage and you burn to death, like Jack."
Little by little, Chris found himself persuaded.
"Is that so?"
"They come to the tower and taste frustration for the first time in their lives. Their peers sense mana, and they can't. What do you think happens then? Their pride hits the floor, and in the end they fall into despair and kill themselves. Whether a slave like you hangs himself is nobody's concern. High nobles and royalty are another matter. So they parked the lot of you beside the nobles, to let them blow off steam."
"You're saying we were their whipping boys. The ones who caught the arrows."
"That's right. Now you get it. That idiot Alex would have been fine if he'd only tormented slaves and commoners, the way the tower meant him to. Instead he went after a prince, and lost an arm for it."
Chris nodded. Just as Joe said, if Alex had only tormented slaves, there would have been no trouble.
Tom joined them.
"Speaking of Alex — which mage was backing him?"
Chris had wondered the same thing. When Harvey's magic had him at the edge of death, whose hand had reached out?
Joe said,
"An ancestor, most likely."
"An ancestor?"
"Someone from Alex's house entered the tower ages ago and managed to become a high mage. Word came that a descendant was about to die, so he saved him. Once."
"How long ago is ages ago?"
"Mages live a long time. Five hundred years. Seven hundred. Who knows."
An odd look crossed Tom's face.
"You really think so?"
The tone of it snagged at Chris, and he meant to press, but Joe changed the subject all at once and the chance slipped away.
"That's enough from you too, old man."
"Enough of what?"
"I'll grant you've been bored, locked up for a hundred and fifty years."
"I'm not bored."
"Don't lie when we both know better. Gramps, you're teaching that boy because you're bored out of your mind. That's torture by false hope. What's impossible is impossible."
"And if it turns out possible?"
"I'll give you a loaf of bread."
Joy is hard to come by in a prison. A meal is the only pleasure the place allows, and one loaf sitting in front of you is worth more than a hundred gold coins somewhere far away.
"Deal."
From that day Tom threw himself into it. He offered advice at every turn, kept Chris's spirits up, and in the end even taught him a new breathing method.
Joe clicked his tongue.
"That breathing method is something you learn after Spirit Awakening. It even looks like a secret art of the Lapunian Magic Tower. You're going that far for one loaf of bread?"
Tom snorted.
"Mind your own business."
"That's cheating."
"Any road will do, so long as it reaches the capital."
"Teach an advanced secret to someone who isn't qualified, and you harm the body. Do it wrong and he'll end up a cripple."
At secret art of the Lapunian Magic Tower, Chris's eyes flew open.
An advanced secret ordinary people aren't meant to learn!
From then on he clung to the breathing method, grudging even the hours he spent asleep.
Joe sneered.
"Kid, cultivation has stages. Skipping ahead isn't a virtue."
He could not have said how much time had passed. Judging by the way his hair and beard had grown into something like Joe's, five or six years had gone by at the least.
Then one morning he woke, and the world was different. Something was flowing through the air of the cell. He reached to catch it, and the unknown substance slipped aside as if a current had pushed it. He went still and quietly opened his hand. It settled onto his palm, fine as dust.
It was what he did every day, so he used the breathing method without a thought. At once the thing slipped into his palm. In that moment, he understood.
Chris shouted.
"It's mana!"
He bounded around the cell.
"I said it's mana!"
Then he dropped to the floor and sobbed. He cried, and cried again, and the defeat lodged deep in his guts came out mixed with the tears.
Joe said,
"This bastard's bluffing."
Chris lifted his head. His whole face was wet.
"I'm not bluffing."
"Then you've gone mad."
Tom laughed, deep and rolling.
"Joe. Bring me that loaf."
Joe's face changed at once.
"It's real?"
Chris answered, rubbing at his eyes.
"Of course it's real."
Between one day and the next, the world had changed. His sight had brightened, and strength surged through his arms and legs. Even the air tasted sweet.
"So this is the world the two of you have been living in."
Joe said,
"That's only the beginning. Climb higher, and this is nothing."
Chris folded his legs and began the Lapunian breathing method. Before long he had sunk into a world of his own and forgotten everything around him.