The next two weeks passed in a blur. Not so much because every day was exciting, just the opposite. Every day I woke, cleaned, studied with Ahn’Khareen, and slept. That isn’t to say exciting moments never happened, one notable event was when I accidentally triggered one of the traps Ahn’Khareen had assured me was deactivated and was nearly killed when it turned out that it was most definitely active. Ahn’Khareen has simply gazed at the poisoned darts that were scattered across the floor and commended me on my dexterity and ability to escape traps. The next day she provided me with a set of instructions on how to reset the traps.

Despite the newfound danger in cleaning the lair, my studies into learning how to read and write were going quite well. Somarisian wasn’t the most complicated language, and the fact that I could already speak it made the process easier, although setbacks did occur. Ahn’Khareen informed me that was mostly because I was still thinking in English, and my thoughts were being translated into Somarisian before speaking. Even with the odd problem now and again I was told that I could expect to be fully literate again in several months. Ahn’Khareen even indicated that she would start teaching me some Elvish, which as I quickly learned, was not the same Elvish that Tolkien had come up with for his books. As well, the wounds given to me by the goblins healed quickly, sped along by Ahn’Khareen’s magic, but I was left with several scars that still ached sometimes, especially when it was about to rain.

During our studies, she would sometimes ask me about where I came from, about Earth. At first, I was hesitant to tell her, but over time I started opening up more. To my surprise, although she was fascinated by the technology and history I could remember, she didn’t seem impressed with everything. When I asked her why, she simply shrugged and gave a simple answer.

“Your people have no magic. You have done great things without it, but with it I have conquered death itself. Your countries fight holy wars over gods that you cannot prove exist. We fight holy wars as well, but we commune with our gods, and have killed them before. Compared to that, what can your world offer us in return?”

But most of all, I kept busy in those two weeks. If I stopped, I would begin to think, and if I started thinking my thoughts would inevitably go to my home. It hurt in ways I couldn’t even describe, knowing that my mom thought I was dead. It had been over two weeks, and there was no way anybody back on Earth could possibly know what had happened to me. To them, I had just disappeared.

And yet I couldn’t say I was entirely unhappy, which made the whole situation even worse. I had enjoyed learning about history back home in school and had enjoyed fantasy books even more. And now I was living in one of those fantasy books, complete with skeletons and goblins and dungeons. The fact that I had to clean the dungeon was a minor stain on the fantasy, but it wasn’t that bad all things considered. I even came to grow comfortable around Ahn’Khareen, and after the first week I barely even noticed that she was a skeleton. The food was good, the pantry was stocked, and I was learning so much and more about the world I was living in. It would have been a decent life, albeit with an annoying cleaning job, except for the fact that back home everybody probably thought I was dead.

It was on the two-week anniversary of waking up in Ahn’Khareen’s lair when I finally finished my long job of cleaning. I didn’t even realize I was finished when I swept the last pile of dirt out of the mouth of the entrance tunnel, I was so focused on the contradiction of my current life. I had been outside several times during those two weeks, Ahn’Khareen never stopped me, and it was a good place to empty the dirty buckets of water from mopping, but the memory of the goblins hunting me down was still fresh. I woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, heart racing and feeling the need to run, to escape the yipping war cries that still echoed in my mind. So, when I did go outside, I never went much beyond a few dozen feet of the entrance to Ahn’Khareen’s lair, and always returned as soon as was humanly possible.

Still thinking on my mother, I paused at the mouth of the tunnel, and idly re-rolled my sleeves up. My old clothes that I had arrived in this world with were long gone, burned shortly after I woke up. They were simply too damaged and soaked with sweat and blood to still be usable, so instead Ahn’Khareen had given me a couple of basic brown robes. With a rope belt to cinch them close at my waist, I felt like an old Catholic monk instead of a jedi or a wizard. Still, they were relatively comfy, even though they could get a little scratchy from time to time. My sneakers were still good however, and it was a little funny to see the dirty white Converse sticking out from beneath the robes.

A hard clacking noise echoed from down the tunnel behind me, and I swirled around to see Ahn’Khareen slowly clapping her boney hands together.

“Congratulations William Amsel.”

“Thank you? What exactly am I being congratulated for?”

“Your first task is finished. My home is clean.”

Blinking at her, I slowly looked around. The tunnel floor had been swept and mopped, the cobwebs had been pulled down, and even the walls had been scrubbed clean. “I’m… done?”

“Indeed you are. You will continue your cleaning duties, to ‘touch up’ as you say, but for now my home is cleaner than it has been for the past two hundred years.”

“Wow.” It was a stupid thing to say, but the wave of exhaustion that washed over me as I realized that my job was done swept away anything more meaningful.

“As well, it is time for your afternoon repast. Put away your tools and meet me in the dining hall. We have much to discuss.”

With a swirl of her black dress, Ahn’Khareen disappeared back down the tunnel, leaving me standing confused and not a little bit scared behind her. We had never discussed what would happen to me after I had finished cleaning, and I had been so concerned over the life I left behind that I hadn’t ever really thought about it. I was desperately wishing now that I had.

Still, when Ahn’Khareen gave an order, I couldn’t do much else except to follow it. Trudging down the hallway I worked my way around the traps I had reset and through the Great Hall, which was looking much better now the tapestries had the dust beaten out and the carved stone pillars polished and put my cleaning supplies back into the storeroom. I quickly washed my hands in the small room that passed for a bathroom, then entered the dining room of Ahn’Khareen’s lair.

The fact that a skeleton had a dining hall, or a kitchen even, still amused me despite having already cleaned it. Ahn’Khareen didn’t eat, she physically couldn’t, and so it was only meant for any guests she might have. I wasn’t sure what kind of guests those would be, but it was nice for me to have a place for me to eat at least. It was a coin toss if Ahn’Khareen would show up while I had my meals, and the times when she did usually involved awkward conversations while she stared at me while I ate. I much preferred when she let me eat in peace.

The dining hall was decently large, with a long stone stable and eight chairs arrayed around it. Two candelabra on the table lit the room, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that Ahn’Khareen had set a meal out for me. It was nothing special, my usual fare consisting of a chunk of bread, some cheese, and dried fruit that was still good thanks to the magical runes of preservation. It wasn’t particularly enjoyable to eat the same food every day for two weeks and I was a little concerned about scurvy with the lack of fresh fruit, but I had to admit that the simpler meals and constant exercise of cleaning had burned off a lot of the fat that I had gained at school. Instead of the usual mug of water on the table however, a wine bottle was opened next to my meal, with some of the dark red liquid already poured into a beautifully carved crystal glass. A confused look was directed at Ahn’Khareen, who was sitting at the far end of the table, but she merely gestured for me to sit down. Slowly I pulled the chair out and sat down.

“A celebratory glass of wine, in recognition of your completed work.” She said, and I cautiously took a sip of the wine.

It was magnificent. I had never been big into wine, but I had drunk some boxed varieties at some parties in college, and this glass blew them all away. It was incredibly rich and complex, with fleeting tastes of fruit that practically danced on my tongue.

“The tribe of elves that I was born into were not famous for much.” Ahn’Khareen said, diverting my attention away from the wine. “But they made beautiful wine. We didn’t live in the forests like the Silvestri elves, nor along the coasts like the Ahumandi. Instead, we made our homes on the hills, where we could grow our grapes and orchards in peace. That particular vintage you are drinking is almost three hundred years old, if my estimates on the date are correct.”

I nearly spat out the wine in surprise, which would have been a horrific waste. Three hundred years! That was older than, well the United States! Certainly older than anything manmade I had ever seen before, besides maybe the mountains back home. I almost didn’t want to drink the wine anymore and started to put it back on the table when Ahn’Khareen waved at me.

“Do not worry, drink. What is the point of wine if it cannot be enjoyed after all? I am unable in this form of partaking with you, but I must admit I cherish the pleasure on your face.”

Tentatively I swallowed another delicious sip, and Ahn’Khareen nodded in… what? Pride?

We spent the next several minutes in silence as I ate the meal laid out before me, feeling awkward the entire time as Ahn’Khareen stared at me. When I was full of the basic food, I gently pushed the plate away, and the skeleton across from me nodded again in satisfaction.

“I must decide what to do with you now, young William Amsel.” She started, and I felt a jolt of anxiety like cold water trickling down my back. “You have cleaned my home quite well, and I am satisfied. Is it enough to pay off your debt when you woke me? That I am not sure, but with your strength returned to you after healing from your injuries I am left with a conundrum. Thus, I offer unto you two options.”

She held up on hand, palm up, and a ghostly image of a key appeared above her hand. “The first option is that you go free. You may spend the rest of the night here, and in the morning, I shall supply you with sufficient provisions to make your way to the nearest town that I remember. It is a long walk, and not entirely without peril as you yourself discovered, but you will be gone from this locale. I will, of course, lay a spell upon you that makes it impossible to speak of your time here, and I may contact you in the future to carry out tasks to finish paying the debt you have incurred to me. Besides those conditions however, you will be free.”

I gulped, thinking of the goblins in the woods. “And the second option?”

She held up her other hand, and a small ball of flame burst into light, dancing above her open palm. “You stay here and dedicate your mind and body to me. I have been studying you these past weeks, and I have recognized the potential for greatness in you. Become my apprentice and learn the intricacies of magic. It will not be easy, and it will be dangerous. You might very well die, but the rewards will be commensurate with the risk.”

I sat back in my chair, staring at the lich across from me as green fire blazed in its eyes, and considered the key and flame in her hands. My own hand trembling, I reached out and grabbed the goblet of wine, and took a drink.

--##--

My training began the next day. I had been given the night off from my studies the day before, and had spent the hours in my room, wrestling with the decision I had made. It should have been difficult, and I should have more thoughtfully considered my options before I told Ahn’Khareen my choice. But I hadn’t. It wasn’t until after I had retired to my room, which was much improved after I cleaned it, that I started thinking about the opportunities that I had squandered.

I could have used my freedom to go out into the world, find whomever or whatever had brought me to this place, and forced them to send me back. It was an unlikely option, and it probably could never have happened, but the chance was tantalizing. But the thought of being able to do magic…

It was a heady opportunity, and I practically buzzed with excitement when I thought about it. Magic. I had loved fantasy stories, and the best ones always featured cunning wizards who could alter the shape of the world to suit their needs. A little needle of guilt stabbed my heart whenever I thought about what I had done, that I had put off finding my way back home and alleviating the pain of my mother for my own selfishness. But at the same time, magic. The tug-of-war with my heart didn’t disappear during the night and yet somehow, I slipped into unconsciousness, only to wake up the next morning feeling like I hadn’t gotten any rest, with the images of marauding goblins still dancing in my mind’s eye.

Ahn’Khareen met me after breakfast and took me to one of the few rooms she had forbidden me from entering while cleaning.

“Behold the library of Ahn’Khareen, nowhere else will you find one of it’s like.” She proclaimed, ushering me into the most beautiful room I had ever seen.

It wasn’t beautiful for its construction, with basic stone walls and plain wooden bookshelves. It wasn’t even beautiful in its size; my high school’s library was probably twice the size of Ahn’Khareen’s collection. The books themselves gave the room its beauty, however. Maybe five hundred books lined the shelves, but consisted of an amazing array of colors, sizes, and shapes. Some books were as small as a small notebook, while others had to be almost two feet long and six inches think. Most were bound in various kinds and colors of leather, while some were wrapped in cloth, and others in just plain wood. I was pretty sure one was even bound in human flesh, considering the color, but even that horrific image couldn’t distract me from the entire experience. It smelled wonderful in here. I had always enjoyed opening old books and smelling their pages, and this was like I had died and been sent to book heaven.

“This is amazing.” I breathed, slowly spinning as I took in the entire room.

It wasn’t lit by candles like the rest of the lair, instead small glowing balls of light hovered above metal poles.

“Mage light.” Ahn’Khareen explained as she saw me staring at one. “One of the first spells any mage learns. In fact, it is the first spell I expect you to learn.”

I turned to face her, trying not to let my excitement show too much. “I’m going to learn how to do that?”

She let out a dry, breathy laugh. “My young William Amsel, you are going to learn to do so much more than that. Yet first we must begin with the fundamentals of magic. Sit.”

It took me a minute to realize that several small tables filled the center of the room, so enamored had I been with the books. Each was covered with quills and ink and a wooden stand on which a book could be held open. Eagerly I sat, and from a small pouch at her waist Ahn’Khareen pulled out two books. They were far too big to fit into such a tiny leather pouch, and my mouth dropped as I recognized a bag of holding, where the inside was far larger than the actual bag would imply.

“I created these for you last night, after you made your decision.” She said and set the two books down in front of me.

They were both wrapped in black leather, and my hands trembled as I held them. One was much larger than the other, about the size of a standard college notebook, while the other was roughly the same dimensions as a paperback book. Flipping them open I blinked as the pages were not only thicker and a little rougher than I was used to, but they were also blank.

"The larger book is used for notes.” Ahn’Khareen explained. “As I describe unto you the secrets of magic, that is the book you will use to copy the theory and laws I present. The smaller book is your spellbook, your grimoire. When you have understood a spell matrix, either from designing one yourself or from copying the work of another mage, you will write it in your grimoire, so you can reference it at will later. Most mages come up with their own language, a personal code that other mages cannot understand to keep their discoveries secret. Some of these codes succeed more than others, but for your own writings, I would recommend you use your natural tongue. You seem to have no problems with writing or reading English, only speaking it, and thus it is ideal for you to have a secret language of your own.”

“Isn’t there spells to understand other languages? How else would we be able to understand each other?”

“Ah, if only it were so easy, I doubt there would be nearly as many conflicts as there are. While magical knowledge of a language can be imparted into the mind of a person, it is extraordinarily dangerous and disruptive. Consider your own situation; it takes you considerable effort to speak a short sentence of your native language. Instead, the spell laid upon your mind has replaced Somarisian for English.”

“So why can’t I read Somarisian?’

“An interesting question. While I am not as proficient in mind magic as some of my former peers, I can at least theorize a reason. I believe it is merely a case of limited information to prevent damage onto your brain. Mind magic is infamously intrusive and dangerous, and even imparting information on a language has the potential to end in disaster. I know of two mages who essentially performed a magical lobotomy onto themselves by attempting to do so. The designers of this spell must have decided only to impart the understanding of spoken language to reduce the risk. No, the simplest and easiest way to learn a language is by reading, writing, listening, and speaking it. Now, prepare your quill and ink, and we shall begin with the lesson.”

I hurriedly pulled the larger notebook to me and opened to the first page, marveling at the workmanship of the book. I was much more confident of my ability with a quill now at least, Ahn’Khareen had insisted that I be able to write clearly while she had been teaching me Somarisian.

"In all things exists the potential for change.” Ahn’Khareen began. “We mages use the energy of the universe to enforce our will and implement the changes we desire. This energy we call ‘mana,’ and while every living thing has their own personal supply of mana, only a mage can tap into the greater reserve of the universe. I do not see you writing.”

Jumping slightly, I dipped my quill into the ink and quickly began writing. When I had caught up, Ahn’Khareen nodded and continued talking, pacing in front of me as she did.

“Mana cannot be created, nor destroyed. Mages use this mana to create change by funneling its energy through their body shaping it in accordance with their will, then releasing it back into the world, where it can then have an effect. What is the formation used by mages to shape it?”

I blanked for a second, the question catching me completely off guard. As Ahn’Khareen continued to stare at me, I quickly ran through my memories, trying to think of something she had said before.

“The spell matrix?” I eventually asked, remembering the few times when she had used the term before.

“Exactly. Every mage will tell you what a spell matrix is, and every answer will be different. To some, a matrix is a mathematical formula, to others it is a work of art. The most capable mages will realize that it is both, and neither at the same time. But we will get into the specifics later in the lesson, as for now we must discuss the risks inherent in using magic. First – although every living thing has its own supply of mana, if a mage uses the entirety of their mana they will die. Mana is not the soul, although they are related, but if any creatures body is rendered devoid of mana, their body and soul cannot sustain themselves, and will perish. A mage can, in the direst of circumstances, use the mana in their bodies to cast a spell, but woe to those who do not know their bodies limits for death awaits them.”

“Second – thus instead of using the mana of the mage’s body to cast magic, one uses the ambient mana of the universe around you. In all but the most extreme cases there is enough mana where a mage will never lose the capability to cast spells, and still have an unthinkable amount around them. Yet if a mage draws too much magic into their body too quickly, then they can suffer a fate almost worse than death and the ability to channel mana will be burned out of them by over-exposure.”

I held up my hand as I finished writing, and Ahn’Khareen stopped for my question.

“Does each mage have their own personal limit in terms of how much mana they can draw upon, or is it the same for everybody? And can you change that amount?”

“Very astute questions. Each mage, like each living thing, is unique, and thus has their own limits to how much mana they can use. Some mages have small limits and will never be able to cast the more powerful spells that require larger amounts of mana. However, with practice involving drawing in mana to just the edge of burning out, a mage can increase over time how much mana they can channel.”

“Like lifting heaver objects to make your muscles stronger?”

“Exactly like that. This is dangerous however, as channeling mana is exhausting. It takes a physical toll on the body to draw, transform, and release mana, and even if one does not burn themselves out, it is possible to seriously wound oneself by casting too many spells. As with everything, knowing one’s limits is the most important skill a mage can have.”

“Are there any other ways to make it easier to cast more spells then?”

“Indeed there is. If a mage does not want to risk their body by casting larger and more dangerous spells, they can instead attempt to improve the spells they can cast. One of the constant efforts of every mage is the search of efficiency in their magic. Figuring out how to use as little mana as possible to get the same result is the main goals in magical theory, and at least when I was alive every year mages would demonstrate how they had made spellcasting easier.”

I was enthralled as Ahn’Khareen kept speaking. This was singlehandedly one of the best moments of my life, and once I had to stop writing to wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. Ahn’Khareen caught the gesture and stopped her own speech.

“Is everything okay, William Amsel?”

Coughing slightly, I tried to clear the lump that had formed into my throat. “Yeah, it’s just… magic doesn’t exist in my world. It’s just a story, but whenever I would need an escape, I always read stories of magic and wizards to focus on other things, things that wouldn’t hurt me. And now to be able to learn how to do it myself, despite being away from my home…”

I closed my eyes, trying to will the tears to stop. A bony hand rested on my shoulder, and for once I didn’t jump or feel disturbed at the touch.

“I understand completely.” I opened blurry eyes to find Ahn’Khareen sitting beside me, almost hugging me with her hand on my shoulder. “Magic has the potential for a great many things, to hurt or to heal, to instill despair or to inspire hope. When I was in your position, as a young apprentice, I felt the same breadth of emotions as you do now.”

“This is one of the happiest moments of my life.” I sobbed. “And all I can do is miss my home and my mom!”

Ahn’Khareen hesitated as I began to cry, then pulled my head into her shoulder. I don’t know how long I wept in her arms, but she held me the entire time. At one point she began to sing in Elvish, and although I didn’t know the words, I could recognize it as a lullaby. Eventually I pulled away, wiping at my eyes and nose with the sleeves of my robe.

"I’m sorry, I just- “

“Do not be ashamed.” She said, cutting me off while keeping a hand on my back. “There is honor in expressing emotion, especially the feelings held deepest in the heart. Even though she is not here to see it, you make your mother proud by showing how much you care.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Though she may be an unfathomable distance away, though she may think you dead, I am sure your mother is proud of the man she raised.”

“I… thank you.” My last words were a whisper, and although I wasn’t even sure than she had heard me, something in my heart felt a little lighter.