The Thaumaturge
Professor Claudius was on top of the tallest tower of the Wizard School of Kakhard-Toon for the first time this year, wrapped in a dense white whirlwind. His snow-white mantle fluttered gracefully under a strong northern wind, as did his white goatee. He leaned on his healthy left leg and contemplated the wonderful torrents of information breaking in from beyond the immense blue sky. The torrents were gradually increasing in size, turning into a glow that filled the whole space between the sky and the earth. Wizards called it an informational storm and thought that it came from the sun, together with the waves of light.
But Claudius knew otherwise. Being a thaumaturge, he could see the non-linear part of the storms, along with their artificial nature. The thaumaturges ascribed their creation to the so-called Supremes. Nobody knew who these Supremes were – gods, humans or some sort of aliens. Some said they had come to Terram before the Great Migration, others believed they were here even before the arrival of the first true Kakhard. The informational waves of Supremes were very different to those of mere mortals. The shape was more elegant and sophisticated, with an incomparably large spectral range. They shimmered with a multitude of colors, which invoked a harmony of audio and tactile feelings among mortals throughout the vast territories of the planet. The waves changed the external patterns and inner structure of everything they touched. On the surfaces of the earth, stones, and trees, they left scarcely visible lines, ridges and furrows. Light and sound reflected in a very special way at such surfaces, causing the creatures they reached to experience unusual emotions and intentions. Today, as the professor could see, it was excessive curiosity.
A weak perturbation reached Claudius from the courtyard below. He peered down suspiciously, detecting three gray mantles with pitch black ravens depicted on their backs – the symbol of the Special League. Forgetting about the informational storm, Claudius turned away from the sky and hobbled down to meet the guests.
As he came closer, he recognized O’Dreeaen among them – a young brown-haired chief of the Special League and a natural sorcerer. At his right strode the local pathfinder Grey-Hawk, who had a deep, fresh scar across his face. The third agent was unknown to Claudius.
‘Welcome to Kakhard-Toon!’ he greeted them from afar. ’My name is Claudius, and I am the headmaster of the school. Though, you should know who I am. How can I help you?’
’We know who you are, Professor,’ O’Dreeaen said, pulling a scroll of parchment from his inner pocket. ’We have an urgent edict from the king,’ he said, looking around. ’The four stelas of Svalen are to be unsealed. One of your disciples must come with us and help fulfil the task.’
The professor slowed his pace, peering perplexedly at the agents. He knew this was the fourth order the king had made in the last twenty-four hours and the most senseless among them. ‘There must be some misunderstanding, gentlemen. The stelas are nothing but mean pieces of rock where some old things of the first true Kakhard were bricked up. They don’t even have historical interest. Someone must have misled the king. I am sure I can persuade him to withdraw the edict, if only I could have some time,’ he said, smiling.
‘There is no time, Claudius,’ O’Dreeaen said dismissively. ’The order is urgent. It must be implemented straight away. Now, lead us to the sorcerers who can help us with the task.’
Claudius glanced at the expressionless Grey-Hawk and back at O’Dreeaen, who shook the roll of parchment idly in his hand. There was definitely something very wrong going on in the castle. ‘Could you please hand me the order, honorable O’Dreeaen?’ he spoke at last, reaching out his hand.
O’Dreeaen shrugged and transferred the scroll to Claudius. While the professor read, the agent took a chance to study a small element earring the old sorcerer had on his right ear. It was made of white gold, though the most important detail was lodged at its bottom – a miniature white hurricane that spun clockwise on a small golden stand, bouncing in place from time to time. The wild element. O’Dreeaen knew all sorcerers of Kakhard-Toon wore such earrings. He could also have had one if he’d become a disciple of Kakhard-Toon. He’d rejected it to become an agent of the Special League and serve his young King Friedmund during the most dramatic period in Svalen’s history.
‘Yes,’ the professor said at last, still looking over the parchment. ’So unexpected that the king released the edict without even consulting his thaumaturge adviser. Me.’
He rolled up the parchment and turned back to the agents. ‘Will be pleased to help you, gentlemen. Unfortunately, there are not so many sorcerers at the school today, and what is even worse, only thaumaturges can unseal the stelas. At the moment we have only one. Please follow me,’ he said, motioning for the agents to follow his lead.
Stormy weather reigned over Kakhard-Toon with a strong wind tearing through the leaves. The Wizard School was the oldest structure in Svalen, made of artificial-looking white basalt, except for its four towers, which were built of the miraculous element stone that had a very special reaction to the changes in nature. The red fire tower flared each time a natural fire broke out nearby. In the rain, the azure water tower transformed into a huge gurgling fountain, shooting torrents of water hundreds of feet upwards. During strong, impetuous wind, the air tower would become a dense whirlwind like it had today. When earthquakes or sandstorms occurred in Svalen, the surface of the earth tower cracked into a thousand pieces, turning into a great glowing mosaic.
All over the ground, trees and even inside the arbitrarily scattered cauldrons were phosphorescing splashes of every color, a decaying product of the parasite fairies – tiny mold-like creatures that nourished upon the remnants of sorcery. The flowers of the elements grew right on top of such smears. Some flowers had forks of flames for petals, others drops of dew, dripping in trickles and gurgling pleasantly under the burning sun, or half-transparent spheres of air filled with particles of yellow pollen, tree bark and floundering insects. They blossomed when a native element was raging nearby. Today it was the flowers of air.
They soon reached a great green meadow, sprawled on the side of the school. Scattered across it were huge battle polygons. Each polygon was rimmed with a locked chain of hillocks, overgrown with lichen and moss. In one was a small quivering hurricane, shooting pillars of ice and water in every direction. Two sorcerers danced at its foundation, struggling to keep the conjured element stable. They coughed and sneezed, and their mantles glowed with a dazzling blue light.
‘Disciples,’ Claudius explained, pointing at the sorcerers. ‘They might graduate in a few years, if they are not expelled. Marina and Anaximan have always been daydreamers. Wishing to become thaumaturges, though they were born as wizards. They missed lectures. They chased non-patterned waves of sorcery they couldn’t fully comprehend. It did them no good in the end, for they neither became thaumaturges, nor did they succeed in wizardry.’
‘And why they are so few thaumaturges in Svalen?’ O’Dreeaen asked. ‘It is only you and the Defender of the Castle who are known to the kingdom.’
‘Because both wizard schools of Svalen release only one thaumaturge every three to four years, in contrast to the hundreds of wizards that graduate from Kakhard-Toon every year, honorable O’Dreeaen,’ Claudius said, inclining his head.
‘But why do we need them at all?’ the agent asked again, rather puzzled. ’I have heard the majority of thaumaturges are not even strong enough to compete with an average-skilled human wizard.’
‘Oh, that is true,’ the sorcerer agreed. ’But the reason for that is in our educational system, which was designed for wizards and is not quite suitable for thaumaturges. You must understand that the connection to nature is not the same for these two kinds of event formers. Or sorcerers, as you call them. And what’s even worse, very often thaumaturges need decades, maybe even centuries to explore their very basic capabilities. Some never manage to do so.’
’Which means they are useless. Why do we waste so much time and money on them?’
A pause hung in the air. ’Thaumaturges feel, think and form events in an un-patterned, nonlinear way. Their simple thoughts invoke a whole spectrum of ideas they can’t fully comprehend. Their most basic feelings have so many shades and colors that even their own bodies cannot process them. Whereas wizards think, feel and form events in a narrow spectrum line, which is a lot easier to tame and study. The life of a thaumaturge is chaos, especially for younglings, whose thoughts and spontaneous waves jump from one side of an enormous spectrum to the other, unable to settle down and focus. That’s why an average wizard is usually much more powerful than a thaumaturge and that’s why every young thaumaturge needs an experienced thaumaturge master who will help him exploit his basic skills.’
Claudius finished his lecture, but he could see the agents didn’t understand it. Instead, they were staring at the air and water wizards who had finished their training and were now sneezing and coughing in their blue-green glowing polygon.
’Every environment, where a strong trace of sorcery was preserved, will very soon be populated by parasite fairies. This is why the mantles of these disciples glow lunar-white-blue, and this is why they are sneezing – the parasite fairies might break into your lungs, if there is enough trace of sorcery.
‘The sorcerer we are looking for is right behind this chain of rocks, gentlemen,’ Claudius said, pointing at one of the numerous polygons with his finger.
When they got there, the first thing that caught their eye was a red fire element mantle lying on the opposite side of the toroidal chain of rocks. A carpet of molten lava was sprawled at the bottom of the polygon, burnt not more than a few minutes ago. Curtains of dense white smoke were shooting up from below, obscuring the opposite side of the polygon.
Suddenly, a human head appeared from beneath the bubbling lava, followed immediately by a naked torso. The flakes of a dazzling red fire shot into the air, obscuring the slender body of a sorcerer until the element mantle zipped from the opposite side of the polygon and wrapped itself around his waist. The molten rocks drifted, creating a narrow passage, and the still-glowing adept strode forward, right to the bewildered agents of the Special League.
They could see his face much better now. He was a young adept of fire, of average height, with alabaster-white skin. His eyes were black, and he had similarly black shoulder-length hair. His mantle was glowing crimson red, and a tiny animated flame was dancing at the bottom of his element earring.
‘What the hell was that?!’ O’Dreeaen snapped, nodding toward the bubbling lava the young sorcerer had resurfaced from.
The adept closed the remaining distance silently, placing himself right between the agent and his thaumaturge master. He didn’t like the tone of O’Dreeaen or the interruption from his training. ‘Meditation,’ he said, looking at the agent with his deep-set eyes.
The head of the adept was shaking from side to side, as if he were insane or had just used some psychedelic. O’Dreeaen also noted his light Meerilandish accent.
’Aneralt is our first thaumaturge magister in four years. He will assist you in your quest,’ the professor said and turned to the adept. ‘I’ve never let you leave the school before, but today I am going to make an exception. The gentlemen have an urgent edict from the king, and there is no one but you who can fulfill it.’
O’Dreeaen passed him the order, and Aneralt read it repeatedly, spreading his hands in disbelief. The kings had rarely ordered anything of Kakhard-Toon, least of all to touch the stelas of Svalen.
‘Yes. I think I can do that. If the king says so,’ he murmured at last, his eyes still roaming over the edict.
A bundle of informational waves blew from the western slope of the polygon, where two young adepts resurfaced from behind the chains of rocks. Still coughing, they stared shyly at the agents and professor.
‘Marina and Anaximan…’ Aneralt said, raising his eyes from the parchment. ‘You begged me so much over the last year to show you non-patterned sorcery. Asked me to teach you thaumaturgy or show how to weave a real nonlinear wave. Would you like to see it today?’ he asked in earnest.
Dumbfounded, the students looked at each other and then back at Aneralt with smug smiles on their childish faces.
