A Precious Stone

Arriving at the apothecary for his morning chore, Martel found that Nora had laid out his work for him, as she often did. He set to it quietly, letting his mind wander while his hand went through the motions of drying, cutting, grinding, and what else was needed.

Soon after, Mistress Rana appeared with a scrap of parchment. "For tomorrow's recipe." She handed it over and disappeared again.

Martel mumbled his thanks and glanced at the list of ingredients. He recognised several from the other new elixirs he had learned over the last month or two, which suggested this was another cure for a particular disease.

"Things are going well?" Nora asked with a light voice, her eyes still fixed on her work. "You are learning new recipes at a quick pace."

"I guess so, yes. I can do a cure for every malady known to man pretty soon."

She responded with polite laughter. While matters were cordial between them, they had never really found a way back to the easy rapport that existed in the early days before she learned that he was fire-touched. And earlier than that, the whole affair with Jasper extorting them both had also caused a rift, even if the misunderstanding was eventually cleared up.

"You're making a lot of salves?" Martel asked, mostly just to say something. "Judging by the kind of work you have me doing this fiveday."

She nodded. "Need to stock up for the solstice. So many travellers, so many people getting drunk – it's an endless stream of people in need of aid. Be glad you're not one of the sisters working in the infirmary."

"One month was more than enough, thanks. It was interesting enough to learn a bit about treating wounds and small injuries, but after the tenth mageknight needing salve on their back where they can't reach, I had my fill."

She laughed again, perhaps more genuinely this time.

"Any solstice plans?" he asked.

"Spending it at the faire with my family, most likely. You?"

"Probably getting into trouble with Maximilian."

Her laughter came for the third time. Suddenly weary of making conversation, Martel fell quiet, returning his attention to his work.

***

Martel stared at the gem atop the staff he held in his hand. He could get the first step done; cast a spell using the ruby as the focus point, adding its power to his magic. That had been surprisingly easy, in fact. As if to make up for that, the second step continued to elude him, lesson after lesson. He could not manifest the spell anywhere else than around the gem. Moira's condescension did not help either.

Doing his best to ignore her, Martel took a few deep breaths. He had gone through this struggle with most of what he had learned. Many lessons of frustration, inching towards progress, before finally breaking through. It would happen with this as well, as long as he kept at it.

He stared at the wall in front of him with its slit that served as his target. He needed the spell to manifest from the ruby and hit the wall, rather than just awkwardly hover around his staff.

Usually, when flinging a fire bolt at an opponent, Martel did not think about it at all. He cast the spell, and it flew in the direction he wanted. But every time he tried to use the staff, he could only create the fire around the ruby. It required a second thought, a second act of magic, for him to move the summoned flame towards his target. Which, if nothing else, required too much time and effort to be worthwhile.

He could keep practising the same methods over and over, and it might eventually succeed for him. But perhaps he could make a shortcut by applying what he had learned by studying different kinds of magic. It struck him that maybe this was not so different from how Tyrian runes worked. He had figured that out by understanding that magic was not simply something that originated from himself, but rather something present around him, which he could connect to.

He looked at the opening in the wall again. Instead of trying to summon a fire bolt to cross the distance, he imagined that a connection already existed between him and the bricks with the thin opening. More than that, he allowed his magic to sense the small area. The air between him and his destination, flowing through the slit from the outside. Empty to the naked eye, but filled with magical potential.

Martel began casting his spell. He imagined and felt how his power snaked from his hand up the staff until it reached the ruby nestled at the top. Still, he kept it under control, bound rather than releasing it just yet. He let his magic bridge the distance to the wall, almost as if it floated on the air that whistled through. Once he felt it established, he released the spell.

A burst of fire appeared, clinging against the bricks. Martel smiled to himself. Not exactly the same as casting a fire bolt and striking his target, but it was a step forward. He had used the staff to release magic in a physically separate place. He realised how this mirrored his first experiences with learning magic. Summoning a flame around his hand had come naturally to him since childhood; creating one away from his body had been more difficult at first, but now he did it without any extra effort.

"You can wipe that smile away, boy," came Moira's voice. "If you want to be worthy of the staff, I expect to see you throwing spells as easily as you can without. Summoning a flame here and there won't suffice."

Martel did not reply. He figured this was her twisted way of teaching; constant belittlements, meant to always push them to improve. Or making others suffer was the only way her shrivelled heart felt joy. It was one or the other. Regardless, she was right, for once. If he were to use the ruby to augment his spells, he needed more practice. More control. Taking slow breaths, Martel prepared himself to try again.