The Wizards' Tower

—Don’t trust the birds. Their song echoes through the darkness.

These are the only words I retain from last night’s dream. The same words I hear every day before I wake up.

You’re probably thinking I’m worrying over nothing, that birds are magnificent and that since the dawn of time they’ve sung to wake humans each morning and not for some shadowy purpose. But if you were in my place, right here on my bed, watching it circle the ceiling with that smug look, you’d curse the gods too for giving birth to these creatures of evil.

—Wake up, wake up, wake up.

If only I could shut it up once and for all.

—Wake up.

But unfortunately, I can’t help hearing it.

—Wake up, wake up.

You can’t even imagine how difficult it is to possess my gift. Among the infinity of powers that exist in this world, I had to inherit the most useless one. As if communicating telepathically with birds could be good for anything.

—Wake up.

And there it is, landing on my bed, staring at me with its black eyes and dazzling me with its red and gold plumage that shines brighter and brighter the longer I look at it.

—I FORBID YOU TO DO THAT, YOU FILTHY BIRD!

And as if to confirm my misery, that filthy thing explodes in a torrent of flames that burns part of my bed, nearly burning me if I hadn’t thrown myself to the floor. And as if to keep annoying me, the flames spread, burning other objects in my room before gathering together to form a fireball and bring that damn bird back to life.

In case you don’t know, phoenixes are immortal. Well, almost. Each time it burns itself, it gets smaller, though it starts growing again over time. But according to the writings of High Mage Baldur Brakar, if a phoenix burns itself too often without giving its body time to grow again, it ends up as dust. Though this has never been seen. I hope that filthy beast ends up as dust from doing it in my room so often. But there, like all the other times, it’s staring at me with that smug look while screeching with joy. And on top of that, it flew off with my magic wand—a thirty-centimeter stick fitted with a golden solar jewel that Grandma gave me when I was ten, when I turned out to be a mage like her and...

—Give me back my wand, you... I need it to put out the fire!

—Fire, fire, fire, fire.

—Damn it, give it back, my whole room is going to burn!

—Burn, burn, burn.

—You psychopath, I need to stop these flames!

Here I am jumping from furniture to furniture trying to catch that bastard who not only set my room on fire but is trying to prevent me from putting it out.

—If you give me the wand, I promise not to pluck you bald, I tell it.

As an answer, it landed on my curtain rod and tilted its neck to stare at me, and exploded again before reconstituting itself, lighting new fires in my room.

But in my misfortune, that asshole dropped my wand, which I immediately seized. And with all the power of my voice, all my anger toward birds and the help of the magic boiling inside me, I screamed:

—AQUAS!

There was an explosion of water in my room that propelled me through the window, making me fall from the second floor of the house to land in the flowers in front of my grandmother and one of her customers.

—Ow, I said, coughing up water from my throat.

—Dalia, are you alright? asked the woman who was buying aromatic herbs from Grandma.

—Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Fore, I just have a bird to cook for lunch.

—A bird? she asked, surprised.

—Yes, the little phoenix flying above us right there.

And yes, there it is, after the carnage it caused, circling, singing, and flying above me.

—It’s always this lively at your place, Agatha, even first thing in the morning.

—Unfortunately yes, Grandma grumbled, shooting me her imperious look.

—Try not to flood the District again, Mrs. Fore told me with a rather stern look.

I could tell you that story at length, describing Mrs. Fore’s screams and shouts, but it won’t do you any good. Let’s just say that water is another one of my enemies.

—And now I suppose it’s the house you want to flood? Grandma grumbled.

—It’s not my fault! I protested, getting up in my soaked pajamas. It’s Angel’s, who torched my room and won’t stop provoking me.

Yes, yes, and yes. You didn’t mishear. That thing, or rather that demon, was christened Angel by my grandmother.

—Was that a reason to flood my house? Grandma asked, still with her laser eyes on me.

—That, I didn’t do on purpose. I got carried away.

—Do you also plan to destroy the tower by getting carried away? she said calmly. Mastery is the foundation of all magic, young lady.

—Yes ma’am, I told her while threatening Angel with a look.

—Congratulations. It’s this afternoon, the welcome for novices at the tower—I’d forgotten you’d been accepted. It’s prodigious. But nothing surprising, you’re Agatha’s granddaughter and the daughter of...

Mrs. Fore stopped. The subject of my parents is very sensitive and talking about it makes me furious or makes me cry, depending on the day.

—I... I’m sorry, I didn’t... mean to.

—Don’t worry, Flore, it’s not a problem. Come, I’ll accompany you to help your husband. And you, Dalia, fix the house and take care of the shop while I’m gone.

—I’ve only got one body.

—I beg your pardon?

—I said alright, but on the condition that you take the bird with you.

With a gesture of her hand, she called “Angel” who went to perch on her shoulder before launching:

—Moron! Imbecile! Idiot! Swimming pool!

After exhausting my repertoire of insults, I rushed into the house before my dear grandmother came back to yell at me. Hoping that Mr. Fore’s back problems would take her some time.

—Oh shit.

Given the flow of water that propelled me, I expected there to be water that had overflowed from my room. But now, we couldn’t simply talk about overflow.

I need to explain this well for you to understand. Our house has three floors. It has a slightly luxurious appearance but that’s not the most important thing right now. On the ground floor, there’s the pharmacy and my grandmother’s practice. Then on the first floor, there’s the living room, then the second where the bedrooms are, and since the third isn’t affected by the disaster, we can forget it for now. Normally at this point, you’re picturing the house. Now imagine water damage that would transform the ground-floor clinic into a swimming pool, or rather an aquarium. Because from what I can see through the glass door of the clinic, the water nearly reaches the ceiling.

I could open the door and let the water follow its destiny. But given the flow that keeps increasing, I suppose the spell is still active and that by opening the door, I’d flood the district again.

—Bast! What am I going to do? At this rate, the water will have filled the house and overflow anyway. All because of that cursed phoenix. And on top of that, I’m joining the tower today—if they find out... No, no, no, no, no. I’ll find a solution, I always do.

There I was pacing back and forth like an idiot in front of the house when an idea came to me. Last time, when I’d flooded the district—no point looking, I won’t tell that story—Grandma had used a drying spell to make all the water disappear.

I took a breath to focus on what needed to be done. Then I closed my eyes to erase any distraction from my field of vision. I let myself be carried by magic, the natural energy swirling around me. I then visualized the different lights, each representing a state of nature or some element, while focusing on the dark blue lights that represented water. I then set about removing each dark blue glimmer one by one while avoiding them touching the other glimmers. Then I finally said:

—Aqua katharsis.

And the earth began to rumble.

I didn’t even need to open my eyes to know I’d succeeded. The water had completely disappeared, the spell had worked perfectly.

—Bast! I groaned.

I see you coming, you’re probably thinking: “She must have erased the existence of rain from the world.” But that’s not it. The only problem is that Grandma won’t be happy at all because all the garden flowers are dead. Same for the hedge, the lawn, and a tiny patch of flowers she’s been doting on every day since the world began. I could try to fix things but I’m only fifteen, you can’t expect a miracle. And she’s the one who told me to take care of the house. Granted, I’m the one who flooded it, so technically it’s Angel’s fault. Anyway, everything is always his fault.

—Bast! FILTHY BIRD! I screamed at a seagull that had just done its business on me.

I opened the glass door of the clinic to discover unparalleled chaos among the shelves.

—But what happened here? asked a cheerful voice behind me.

I spun around pointing my wand at the person standing behind me.

—Calm down, deluge, I’m here to pick up herbs my mother ordered.

—Please don’t call me that, Lok, I said to the boy with jet-black hair and storm-gray eyes standing there.

—From what I see, you still know how to trigger floods? Deluge. Refice, he said, also pointing a wand at the mess.

And in a whirlwind of objects, everything returned to its place.

Lok is in his third and final year at the tower. So he’s a few months away from having the title of mage and being assigned to some function, so it won’t surprise you that I call him:

—Show-off. I could have done just as well.

—Without blowing things up? he asked, eyebrow raised with a smile that revealed his white teeth.

—I could have done it alone. And besides, how do you know the location of each object to put everything back...

—Talent, talent, and my incredible photographic memory. It’s something we have in common, he told me with a wink.

—I could gouge your eyes out for that, don’t.

—Straight to threats. And also, it’s easy, your grandmother arranges everything in a very easy-to-remember logic.

—All that to say you spy on us.

—More big words.

—Take what you came for, I have other things to do. What you’re looking for is probably in the back with your mother’s name on it.

—Thanks.

Ignoring his new smile, I closed my eyes again to visualize the rest of the house, also in disarray because of the torrent triggered because of Angel. Then I said:

—Refice.

Sounds of objects swirling were heard and without going upstairs, I knew everything was in its place.

—Not bad at all, deluge, you’re talented but a bit slow though. Look what I had time to do.

Turning around to see him—because he was now behind me—I noticed he’d restored the garden.

—So, what do you say?

—Show-off, I told him to avoid saying thank you.

—I’m still taking some of these flowers as payment.

—You know she uses them for remedies and they’re expensive to sell and produce?

—I can’t hear you, I’m already gone, he said before leaving with his mother’s package and the flowers he’d cut.

I smiled seeing the state of the garden even though it seemed a bit different. Then I went to get ready for this afternoon before my grandmother and the bird came back.