Blake paused at the entrance to the barn, his face somber as he looked at Syrus. His coat and neck still had traces of the blood that had leaked from his nose, and his face was still a little swollen, his hair ruffled, but he looked fine elsewise. “Thanks for saving me back there” he said, face molding into an embarrassed, awkward smile. “That was amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that! And you didn’t seem scared at all when the big one pulled my knife.” Syrus found himself grinning back sheepishly “I didn’t feel scared at all honestly, I never really stopped to think about it long enough to be afraid.” Blake shook his head in disbelief. “I had no idea you had knives like that either, you had them out so fast I thought that kid might piss himself!” They both laughed at this, and after a quick visit to a nearby water trough they had Blake cleaned up as well as they could, mostly presentable, his face had largely returned to normal by that evening when James and Davus returned.

Davus walked into the inn with a huge smile plastered on his face, seemingly unable to contain himself from shouting “twelve buyers just today! There’s going to be a bidding war for it tomorrow!” every man in the room, and the boys besides, cheered at this. A festive atmosphere filled the room as everyone realized that their hard work and long journey really would pay off. Davus bought everyone in the caravan an excellent dinner that night, and they all enjoyed it heartily, laughing and drinking boisterously. Syrus had caught James frowning at him, right after Daniel, one of the guards, had nudged Konnor, leaning his head in and pointing at Syrus. He saw Konnors eyebrows rise up as he turned his eyes towards him, but Syrus pretended not to notice, trying to avoid any more suspicion, and returned to eating and talking with Blake.

The next morning, Syrus and Blake made sure to drag Markus back to the shop with a feather hanging over the door, the auction wasn’t until noon, and they had hours yet until they had to start preparing. They were the first customers in the shop, arriving just after the owner had unlocked the front door. Their first view of the mages shop was row upon row of books, books of every size and length, dusty old ones, and brightly illustrated new ones. There were more books in this one shop, on these three bookshelves, than Syrus had ever seen in his life. One bookshelf was attached to each wall, with the third shelf, holding what would presumably be the most expensive and rare books, stationed directly behind the proprietor's countertop, the owner standing behind it. He was an ordinary looking man, somewhat pale looking, with wispy brown hairs poking up haphazardly, tinged with a shade of grey. He wore a brown cloak, the rest of his clothes underneath were black, but what made this man truly out of the ordinary was the emblem on his chest. It dangled from a chain around his neck, gleaming in the light of the lanterns placed around the shop. That emblem was the first of its kind that Syrus had ever seen, having only heard stories about the men and women who wore it. The golden feather emblem, only bestowed on those who successfully complete their studies at the Great Fellis University, or from the separate Renner University. It was obvious that the stories about the emblem itself were true, as he stared at it in momentary fascination. It was made of the finest gold in the kingdom, crafted with magic so carefully and with such detail, it would be nigh impossible to forge a fake.

Syrus finally looked up from the emblem, which he had been rudely staring at, to the man’s face, which was slightly pinched, thin, and smiling at him. “Never seen it before, I take it?” Syrus shook his head, suddenly nervous. This was a man who, if the stories could be believed, could single handedly wipe out half of Baron Jeims guardsmen. “No sir, I haven’t.” The man chuckled waving them into the shop, “come in come in, I have many things here that you might find interesting.” They did as he instructed, and soon all three of them were gawking at the books, which appeared to be filled with things such as instructions on how to make magic wands correctly, using the wood and feathers of a feathertree, as well as the making of other such items, a book filled solely with drawings and the studious the findings of many scholars on the subject of the guardians, the creatures said to guard feathertrees, who would emerge from the ground around the tree the second the tree toppled after being cut. Another book, titled The Yggis Foretelling seemed to be much shorter, and based solely on the prophecies and other assorted riddles that were said to foretell the next time the Blighted One would attempt to gain control over Yggdrasil, and the interpretations of the scholars that studied them throughout the centuries.

Syrus could feel himself being drawn to such books, though there was no chance he could ever afford them with the little money he obtained from James, when his attention was pulled away by Blake, who grabbed his arm excitedly saying “Syrus! Look! There are wands here!” Pointing to a large, velvet lined box behind the counter, where indeed there were wands. The box had hinges with a glass face, appearing quite sturdily built, with a latch meant to allow a padlock to keep it shut. It was now open for display, and inside it were four wands, long, straight, and narrow, they each had slightly different defining features, such as the finish used to coat them or the decorations of the handle. They seemed to shine with a moderately bright glow inside the box, and all three of them stopped to stare once again.

“I offer services here as well, a single bronze dram per person to see if you have an aptitude for magic, for example.” The man said this with a knowing glance at the boys. He had likely seen the same stunned looks on the faces of many others before them, and knew exactly where he could earn his living when those of means weren’t calling. He had no more than finished his sentence when all three of them dug into the pouches at their waist. Syrus grabbed the last dram he owned, and all three of them passed the man his payment. He smiled again, explaining “very well, the process is simple, but you must remember not to be afraid, I will have to touch you with some magic, my magical affinity is for air, and you might feel currents of air flowing around your body. I assure you it will be no stronger than a gentle breeze, and of the many I have tested or seen tested, none have ever felt uncomfortable or been injured.” He spoke these words with practiced ease, the man was in his element here, and Syrus felt his caution ease at the thought of someone using magic on him.

“Well then, you sir, shall we start?” Markus nodded his head and stepped forward, looking almost as eager as Blake, who was impatiently waiting his turn. Syrus fought to keep calm, wanting to learn as much from this as he could, and watched as the man extracted a much more ordinary, used looking wand from the inside of his cloak, which must have been his own. Syrus’s focus intensified, as the man pointed the wand at Markus, now looking rather nervous, and then gently, slowly, moved the wand in a spiraling motion, from above Markus’s head, down to his waist, as if he was wrapping him in rope from a few steps away. “What I’m doing here is called a cantrip, you see.” The mage explained, “a known pattern of magic that is the same for all practitioners regardless of magical affinity.”

Syrus felt a momentary excitement in his stomach, as something strangely gold seemed to flicker in the air around Markus, like the haze that left the ground on a hot summer day, it floated there for a few seconds, spiraling around Markus, whose travel cloak was billowing slightly, when suddenly, it was gone. “I’m sorry to tell you this sir, but I’m afraid you have no affinity for magic.” The man said this quietly, looking Markus full in the eye and seeming quite sure of himself, Markus had no choice but to drop his head dejectedly and step back to allow the others a turn. Syrus gave Blake a gentle push, hoping to watch the man again in order to cement what he’d seen more firmly in his memory, not even knowing what he would do with this information after. Blake eagerly obliged him, and the man performed the same spiraling motion around Blake. Once again Syrus saw the golden haze forming around Blake, yet somehow it seemed as if this time it was ever so slightly thicker, and Syrus could almost make out more of it trailing back towards the wand in the man’s hand. The haze settled around Blake just as it had with Markus, but a few seconds later it billowed away from him, and they were each hit with a gentle burst of air that felt warm, as if they had opened the grate in front of a fire, allowing its heat to escape. Blake gasped, suddenly flushed from the heat, and looked up at the man’s face excitedly, which was now filled with a gentle smile. “Well done my boy! Well done indeed! You are one of the lucky few who possess an affinity for magic, and it seems you’ve got a decent reserve too!” Blake nearly jumped with excitement, before calming himself with a great deal of effort. “Sir, why did it suddenly get so hot?” He asked, the man chuckled at this, seeming younger now that he was so happy. “It’s your affinity son, fire if I’m not mistaken, you could make excellent money as a mage in King Fellis’s army with that one, would you like to see for yourself?”

Blake couldn’t hold himself back this time, and his jaw dropped, he had never guessed that he would get to see any magic, let alone do it himself. He nodded, hurriedly adding a “yes please sir, what do I do?” The man turned, grabbing a candle from a shelf and lighting it from one of his lanterns, which he then placed on his desk. Next, he handed Blake his wand with a warning; “be warned young man, try to run off with this and the next magic I use will be much less gentle.” Blake swallowed nervously before taking the wand gingerly, as if it might burn him, and giving him a simple “yes sir” in response. The man nodded, “now, point the wand at the candle, and hold the image of the candle in your mind, have you got it?” Blake nodded once more, focused intently on the candle. “Now imagine the flame of the candle getting slightly bigger, and give the wand a slight upwards flick, be careful not to throw or drop the wand” he added the last with an exasperated expression, as though he had not given that instruction before and regretted it. Blake did as he was instructed, flicking the wand upwards, and the flame followed, leaping upwards a full twelve inches before returning to its original height. The flame itself had not left the candle, it had only seemed to…stretch. It didn’t change in width at all, but it did seem to grow brighter as it rose.

Blake let out a great shout of excitement, but he was careful not to move the wand at all, as if holding in his palm a dangerous snake, unsure of what it might do in his inexperienced hands. The man gave a bright smile once more, “yes, that was quite good indeed, shall we test your friend now?” Blake carefully handed the man back his wand, and Syrus stepped forward. “Sir, might I ask you a question?” he asked, before the man could begin. “What is that golden haze that comes out of your wand when you use it?” Syrus almost regretted asking, as the man stopped dead, wand half raised, and stared at him with his mouth half open, as if he was frozen in the act of answering. “You see a gold haze?” he nearly stuttered, suddenly bending forward with widened eyes, as if to get a closer look at Syrus. The man scrutinized him closely, muttering to himself as he did so. Syrus caught small bits of it, “He’s Simerian yes…that could be it, and I’d never forget a…but no, gold flecks in his eyes, what does it mean?”

The man stood up abruptly, as if remembering where he was and that Syrus was a person and not a strange new creature, he shook his head and apologized. “Sorry about that, lad, that question certainly took me by surprise.” Syrus noticed that both Markus and Blake were staring at him questioningly, as if they had no idea what he was talking about, had they not seen it? “Yes well, in answer to your question, that is what is known as enervought. It’s the magical substance produced by the leaves of the Great Tree Yggdrasil, the feathers and wood of the feathertree enable us to use magic by tapping into this enervought. If you want to learn more, however, you’ll have to go to the University.” The way the man said this last sentence was as if he was confident Syruswould do so, like his trip to the University was a sure thing. “Now, let us see what gifts Yggis might have given you, young man.”

He raised his wand once more, performing the same actions, followed by the same swirl of golden haze, and Syrus felt the air around him stirring gently. It remained so for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, and then dispersed with a loud crack! All four of them jumped at the noise, and the man looked shocked. Clearly, he had either never seen this before and was shocked, or he didn’t know what it meant, which was just as shocking. “Right…well… you most definitely can use magic young man, quite rare indeed…and two of you at once! This is…most unusual…well,” he looked nervous now, “would you like to try it?” The man seemed just as nervous and excited as Syrus felt, but Syrus could not leave this shop, possibly the last time he would get to experience such a thing for many years to come, without giving it a shot, and he hurriedly agreed.

With the wand safely passed into his hands, Syrus pointed it at the candle, before being stopped by the man once more “oh no, no need for that young sir, you do not possess an affinity for fire.” Syrus lowered the wand, “what should I do then, sir?” the man thought for a moment before responding, “Best we try a few things to be sure. How about pointing it at the open door there, and imagining it moving in the breeze? Fix that in your mind, and flick the wand gently to the left. That should be the…” he paused, “yes, that would be the most prudent course of action, go ahead when you’re ready.” Syrus focused his attention on the door to the shop, fixing the image of it opening in his mind. With a sense of extreme focus, he flicked the wand to his left, the direction the door would move if the wind was to catch it. The effect was immediate, with a loud wrenching, metallic noise, the door shot open into the fortunately empty morning street, followed by a ting of metal hitting the cobblestone road across the road. The shop went silent, Markus, Blake and Syrus hardly daring to breathe, as they turned to the mage beside them. Syrus was so shocked that he dropped his hand down to his waist, which brought the wand down with it, and the door slammed shut as a gust of air flowed into the shop. He didn’t know how to react to this, his young brain could not yet process the consequences of what he had just done. I just destroyed this man’s door. This DANGEROUS man’s door. That was all he could think, and he turned and stared at the owner, the man’s jaw still dropped in shock.

Markus was the first one to react, with both hands raised in a gesture of surrender, he faced the mage “we can pay for the damage-“ he got no further, as the man suddenly let out a great yell, all three of them cowered back in fear, until they realized what they had first thought of as rage was actually excitement. The man leapt in the air and danced a few steps, then seized Syrus, stunned into confusion, by the shoulders. “Did you see that!” he yelled. “The door nearly flew off its hinges! And then you used air! You there!” he had released Syrus with one hand which was now pointing at Markus, “Go get the dead bolt, it should be across the street somewhere.” With another man he might have argued, but when the mage spoke Markus did not hesitate, leaping to obey his orders. He left the room, giving Syrus a look of worry over his shoulder as he did so. When he returned, he was clutching a large, elongated shard of metal, it looked like a metal spike, but it was flattened in the center, almost giving it the appearance of having wings. This object was most certainly not a deadbolt. “Only metal in the street, sir.” The mage, who had stuffed away his newly returned wand, took it without hesitation. “Look at this! Incredible! This must be an affinity for metal, which I don’t think has ever existed before in the history of man! And you can use air!” The man seemed ready to dance again, until Syrus interrupted him. “What does this mean, sir?” The mage looked at him, incredulous, like he had just asked a very stupid question. “It means you’re the first person ever known to have two affinities! And one of them is metal! An affinity that no man has ever had! You’re the greatest find in all of magical history! When I write to the college about this, they shall call me a liar and a fool, and I will do it anyways!”

Syrus looked at the door again, now leaning somewhat haphazardly against it’s frame. The deadbolt was indeed missing from its slide, and there was a deep gash in the wooden door, which was bent, followed by a hole which let in the early morning sunlight. “You’ll be famous in no time once you arrive at the college. Every mage in all of Tardis will know who you are by the time you graduate!” Once more the man spoke as if this was a sure thing, but Syrus had never entertained the thought that he might be a mage before. The only goal he had had throughout his life was to follow in the disciplined and honorable footsteps of his adopted father, James. It’s true, he was a nine year old boy, and of course he had many times entertained the thoughts of fighting grand magical battles, himself emerging the hero, of course. However, the thought hit him again, he was only nine. He had years yet to decide on his future, and until the day came to make the choice, it seemed only prudent to continue on with the course he was on. But still he thought… I could be a famous mage. And what better way to fight? Those mundane people who could not do magic nearly powerless against him, those who could would face him with only one affinity, while he apparently had two, with a new affinity at that. Now that I think about it…it seems rather...unsporting. He was not naïve enough to think that he should fight all his enemies fairly, no, he had demonstrated this very fact against the three boys in the alley. Still, he had trained all his life in order to be an elite in the field of hand to hand combat, only to learn that, should he wish it, no one would even be able to approach him?

It was a heady feeling, one a boy such as he had never felt before. One thing was certain, however.

It was a feeling he found he quite enjoyed.