As the sun drops behind the mountains the wind picks up and the sorcerer picks up his pace.

Draken scowles as he matches the older man’s speed. How can anyone of his age walk so fast?

“Hurry up, boy. We have to make it to the mountain before the pyrocats come out. The property is warded but not all of the trails are. Best to move it before the moonlight can wake them.”

As Draken and Morro reach the foothills dusk’s deep shadow enshrouds the trees.

In the distance he hears a bone chilling screech.

“Early risers,” Morro says. “We’d best hurry before the cats catch our scent. I’d rather not have to defend myself here, the results could be unfortunate.”

Dry leaves crunch under Draken’s feet and unseen creatures skitter in the underbrush as he passes.

“This way.” Morro indicates a narrow, rocky path leading up the mountain side.

It’s a hard, dizzying climb. Small pebbles slip and slide beneath his feet, making him stumble again and again. His hands are raw from breaking his fall on hard, often jagged rocks.

Flickering lights some ways down the trail catch the boy’s attention.

“That would be a pack of pyrocats, seems they’ve caught our scent.” He waves Draken to hurry.

“We’d best not dally, they’re faster than they look.”

Huffing and puffing, Draken tumbles past the trail to a wide, rocky hillside with a pod shaped house at the center.

“My humble home,” Morro announces. “It’s the ideal place for sorcery, Beneath us is a mountain load of magicyte, the energies of which are strong enough to transform wildlife into monsters like those pyrocats. That’s why six generations of sorcerers and one very mad polygamous goatherd have made their home in this well-aged cottage.” He clears his throat. “The last was a bit of a snafu.”

The pod quivers and spreads it’s slimy orifice.

“Follow me,” Morro says. “It’s getting late and we’ll want to begin your initiation first thing.”

Draken hesitates at the strong, musty stench. A pyrocat screeches in the distance.

The hole quivers as he steps through.

A bare round room with doors on all sides.

“I have one rule of gravest importance. You must never enter any of these rooms without my permission. You may sleep on the floor until i’ve readied a space for you. If you must relieve yourself, do it outside.”

***

Draken lays on the hardwood floor and watches the pulsing membranes on the ceiling.

Unable to sleep, he sighs and pulls the octagon from his bag. Better than staring at the ceiling all night at least. He grips the simulator in his hand.

***

The vast yet somehow familiar table is spread before him. The old sorcerer sits at the head and the pretty girl sits at Draken’s side. He cuts the steak with his knife and eats it with his fork.

As he flirts with the girl he stops short of making a proposition upon spotting her grandfather’s deadly stare. Something in his gut tells him not to piss the old man off.

Instead he pats the girl’s delicate hand and looks her in the eyes.

“It’s a wonderful night for a stroll.”

She giggles, slapping his hand away.

“So,” somebody asks. “What kind of background do you come from?”

Draken shrugs.

“My ma was a whore, uncle’s the Top Boy what runs the south side crews.”

The conversation suddenly stops, everyone stares at him.

He finds himself sitting on the hardwood floor of Morro’s cottage.

“What do you know, I passed it. Didn’t get killed once.”

***

Draken’s sleep is cut short as an unseen force pulls him to his feet.

“Rise and shine, apprentice.”

The boy stumbles around in a moment of confusion until the squishing sound of the building’s front orifice opening grabs his attention.

He drags his feet after Morro, shivering in the cold mountain air.

“We’ll start with something basic.” The sorcerer says. “There is magic all around us, welling up from the magicyte. See if you can draw it into yourself.”

Draken closes his eyes, probing with his mind. He feels it, strong and pulsing energy both mindless and wild. As he pulls it in he feels the wildness in himself.

His eyes open, he feels a need to smash, to destroy.

Just as he prepares to lash out, his body goes rigid and an unseen force smacks him in the face.

“You had to be one of those.” Morro mutters. “As if your situation isn’t complicated enough.”

“One of what?” Draken asks, rubbing his face.

“A berserker sorcerer, it basically means that you are so attuned to the magical energies that they can affect your emotions and cloud your judgement. It was not uncommon in the past for masters to encourage and cultivate this power but it’s a double edged sword that often leads to madness. You’ll need to learn control, firstly. Try to feel the power but not draw on it.”

Draken feels the unfamiliar wild power swirling all around him but is careful not to touch it.

“Now, concentrate on dominating the power but issue it no commands.”

Draken pictures his hands closing on the energy.

“Draw it in.”

The power seeps into the boy, filling him up. He feels the madness of the energy, is tempted to be swept away in it but holds his grip.

Morro nods his approval.

“Now that you have the basics of control we can move on.” The sorcerer points at a big boulder. “Lift that.”

Draken shakes his head. “It’s too big, I can’t.”

“Nonsense,” the sorcerer says. “You’re lacking proper motivation.”

The boulder lifts into the air.

“Oh, shit!”

As the huge rock plummets toward him Draken reaches out desperately.

With a quake of air and an ear ringing crack the rock explodes into a shower of tiny shards.

“It’s a a start,” Morro lifts another rock. “But I expect more from you.”

Draken mentally slaps the boulder and it deflects, landing with a boom that echoes through the mountains.

“Good, good,” Morro says. “Now catch this one.”

Morro pulls an even bigger rock from the cliff tossing it. Picturing a giant hand, Draken closes it around the boulder as it flies. It stops inches from his face.

Morro claps.

“A spirited start, now the time has come for you to dive into the other aspect of sorcery.”

“Other aspect?” Draken asks.

“As you know sorcerers manipulate ambient magical energy radiated from underground magicyte deposits. One way of doing this is to draw the magic into ourselves, heightening powers of the mind. The other way is to exert our will directly on the magical energy, issuing commands to it. There are many dangers in this approach but through it we can accomplish unparalleled wonders, behold I command the stone boulder to surrender it’s hardness and become water.”

Draken is suddenly drenched as the large rock to his left bursts in an explosion of water.

The magician laughs.

“Do you see the possibilities?”

Draken sneezes.

“Possibilities for pneumonia, I’m changing my clothes before I catch my death.”

“No need,” Morro explains. “I command the clothes upon your body to surrender all unwanted wetness to the earth from which it came.”

With a trickling sound a jet of water squirts from Draken’s clothes.

“Care to give it a try?” Morro asks.

Draken nods.

“Good, we’ll keep it simple though. Command the energies to make a flower spout from that boulder.”

Draken feels the wild energy and exerts his will upon it as he stares intently at the hunk of granite.

“Rock, grow flowers!” He shouts. The rocks suddenly expands to the size of a carriage, cracking and morphing until it’s shape resembles a flower.

“What the?”

The sorcerer’s laugh’s make Draken’s cheeks flush crimson.

“Now you understand the unpredictability of our calling. You must take the nature of energy into account, have a clear picture of what you want in your head and articulate your commands specifically and in a way that resonates with the nature of the energy. A wild energy requires forcefulness, a hard and rigid energy requires respectfulness, a hot emotional energy needs to be seduced , you get the idea? ”

Draken nods.

“So, try again. Be forceful, clear and specific.”

Draken stares at the rock, picturing a lily growing out of it and commands.

“I command one lily to grow from this friggin rock!”

A small flower blooms.

Morro smiles. “Welcome to the order of sorcery.”