The Respectable and Entirely Theoretical Spell for Rearranging Reality

Adam opened the book, a bored look on his face as he flicked through the yellowed pages. He sneezed violently as the cloud of dust hovering around his table grew with each page turn. He scanned through several treatises on the practical uses of first-level magical research. A few enchantments related to metallurgical elemental escalation. And a rather graphic series of drawings on the harvesting of organs from magical beasts. But in the end, none of them held his interest.

“Another bone-dry magical academic”, Adam sighed. “All theory and no fun.” His voice echoed off the stone walls and haphazard stacks of books in the empty reading room of the library, lit with the harsh orange glow of a nearby torch. His hair was tousled blond in stringy locks that flowed to his shoulders and framed a hawklike nose and a pair of thin lips. There was a mustard stain on the hem of his black robe. Adam leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out beneath the table and closed his eyes as the vanilla-like aroma of decomposing lignin tickled his nostrils again.

Adam wished he was back in his dormitory sound asleep, but he forced himself to open his eyes and keep searching. Master Helbrand would never pass him to the next semester if he failed to perform a spell of sufficient ambition and creativity, found from the university’s treasure trove of magical texts, at the final exam.

He skipped to the end of the book, the crinkled leather cover groaned from years of neglect, when the last chapter caught his eye.

Printed in bold, black letters was the title, “The Respectable and Entirely Theoretical Spell for Rearranging Reality”. The entry was covered in red ink from a classification stamp reading, “Use Restricted to Mage’s Level 4 and Above”. Below it someone had scratched in hasty pencil, four small words: “Do Not Attempt Twice”.

Adam raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. His shadow bobbed excitedly like a sandpiper across the rows of book-lined shelves behind him. He jumped ahead and began reading aloud to no one in particular.

“If my initial results are correct, this spell can tap into the provenance of an object’s existence, thus intrinsically allowing changes to its make up at the mysto-molecular level and reintroducing the object into this plane of reality as if it were the original. Potential uses could include the reversal of major bodily injuries, reconjuration of previously spent summonings, or even preternatural enhancements to the known properties of elements.”

Again, someone had scratched in the margins of the page, “Side effects may include weight gain, permanent memory loss, and sudden unintended localized alterations to the fabric of reality.”

Adam’s eyes glittered in the torch light. He threw back the sleeves of his robe and began scribbling furiously, copying down the incantation and list of necessary supplies from the author.

The sun was just rising from behind the Headmistress’ tower when Adam finally emerged from the library, arms loaded full of scrolls and palms stained in blue quill ink. He rushed across the cobblestone courtyard where a few early riser students milled about waiting for the dining hall to open for breakfast. He ignored their curious glances at the deep circles under his eyes and slipped into an alleyway leading to the back of a building squatting on the north side of the courtyard: the Magical Supply Depot. He smiled as he rounded the narrow corner between the depot and the brick wall that wrapped around the university. The back door was propped open as usual.

Just inside the door, an older boy with a mop of curly brown hair sat stooped on a stool carefully organizing various dried herbs, crushed crystals, and (what can only be described as slimey parts) with a pair of bronze scales and tweezers into glass jars of odd shapes and sizes. The boy hardly glanced as Adam slid inside the door. Adam tossed his armful of papers onto a nearby counter and unrolled his handwritten grocery list.

“You got coin?”, the boy stopped him before he could begin reading out the list. His voice was surprisingly gravelly for his spindly body. “And none of that alchemical gold you tried to pawn off on me last time.”

“Evertis, I already told you it was a simple mistake,” Adam replied with a sheepish grin.

The boy, Evertis, scooped up a fine brown powder into a vial and sealed it with a cork before finally looking up from his tools. “You really thought you could fool me? I may be just an apprentice, but it is quite literally my job to know how to spot magical items.”

Adam grinned wider and pulled out a drawstring bag of coins from his robes. The sound of metal jingled inside.

Evertis shook his head but grinned back ruefully, snatching the pouch from Adam’s hand. “Fine, but this is your last chance before I tell Master Albert just where all those missing ingredients of his have been going. Understand?”

Adam nodded and held out the list.

Evertis snatched it from his hand and scanned it. His eyebrows rose higher with each read line until they seemed to hover above his forehead. “Ground horn of an elder troll? Three and a half pounds of grease and lye? Merlin’s beard, Adam. Just what are you up to this time?” he asked eyes narrowing.

“Just some supplies for my final exam”, Adam shrugged. “And you know I can’t share what I’m working on. If Master Helbrand hears what I’m planning for my exam demonstration he’ll lower my final score for not holding to the university’s policy on sorcery secrecy.”

Evertis stared at him for a moment while his eyebrows like wandering albatross decided whether to land back on his brow. Adam felt his palms grow slick with sweat. He wiped them on the side of his legs, smearing the leftover ink still on his fingertips on his grubby robes.

After a moment, Evertis seemed satisfied with this response and Adam’s self-conscious fidgeting. That and the gold pouch the apprentice supply keeper bounced in his hand seemed to rectify his foul temper. He tied on a fresh apron from a hook by the door then set about pulling items from the glass jars that lined the walls. He measured out and wrapped the dry ingredients from Adam’s list carefully in waxed paper like a butcher at his block tying them with twine. There were another several minutes of filling and sealing ampoules full of liquids in an array of exotic colors from a rack of corked flasks. Evertis left briefly and came back with a large leather satchel, then packaged the whole slew of ingredients inside taking care not to crush the more delicate supplies.

Last, he took the pouch of gold coins and dumped out its contents on to the bronze scales. He took two coins back off, dropping one into a slotted box on the counter, and handed the other back to Adam, before sliding the satchel across the countertop.

“Now, we’re even,” he said to Adam with a smirk. “We were having a sale on wolfsbane, so I threw in a few sprigs for you. Enjoy.”

Adam frowned but pocketed the lonely coin. Being overcharged today was a small price to pay for what he needed for the exam and for Evertis’ continued discretion. He threw the weighted-down satchel over his shoulder, gathered up his heap of papers, and flew as fast he could back to his dormitory, leaving a trail of looseleaf papers behind him like the down of a molting goose.

The dormitory attic was perfect for clandestine spellcraft. Filled with cobwebbed furniture, and mildewed tapestries, the room was located on the far corner of the building where the dorm roof met the parapets of the university wall. It was isolated from the few students still sleeping on the levels below and forgotten by the university administrators. In fact, its existence was known only to a few mischievous students who had passed the knowledge down through the years from aspiring delinquent to aspiring delinquent. Adam himself had learned of the place from a boy named Bruno who, only hours later, was promptly expelled for hexing the headmistress’ cat with a particularly distasteful spell that caused it to meow obscenities at all hours of the night.

Adam laid out his supplies in a large circle on the dusty attic floor. Rays of light poked through holes in the shingles overhead and a group of bats chittered angrily at him from a crumbled hole in a nearby chimney flue.

Once everything was set, Adam drew out the swirling pattern copied from his notes with a neon blue powder. He struck a match at one end of the spooling pattern, and the powder began to spark like the wick of a flintlock, traveling in a winding way towards the center. He placed a bar of soap whittled into the shape of a dove at the center and began reciting the incantation.

No sooner than the words had escaped his lips, the flaming powder pattern imploded in a blinding flash of light sucking in the arranged circle of magical ingredients. The soap figurine dissolved into a heaving mass of feathers and beaks. A horrible writhing ball of avian fury. Suddenly, a flock of doves exploded out from it. Adam ducked behind an abandoned wardrobe as the birds whistled around the low attic room, weaving around the thick wooden rafters, before flying out a larger hole in the ceiling to freedom.

The spell had worked. Adam smiled.

The sun had nearly set by the time Adam was called into the Great Hall to present his exam demonstration before the university’s governing council. They towered over him seated in a semi-circle of matching mahogany thrones set upon on a dais, behind a curving table carved from a single block of green stone. Master Helbrand was their glowering at him as usual with his icy blue eyes and gaunt face. Master Albert didn’t even look up from his inventory charts when Adam stepped up to the mark. The massive oak doors slammed shut behind him sealing him in.

“Adam Horatio Crumbwell, Mage Level One”, the Headmistress called, her booming voice echoing off the bare stone chamber. She was a sturdy woman who looked the part of a presiding judge with a braid of fully white hair like a powder wig meticulously arranged atop her stately face and pristine black robes. “I need not remind you, the attempted use of psionic blasts to influence this council’s grading decision is strictly forbidden.”

Adam turned beetroot red under her knowing gaze. “Good. Now, please proceed with your final exam preparations. You may begin your demonstration when ready.” She folded her hands delicately in front of her on the stone table.

Adam’s hand shook as he opened his leather satchel and began laying out the herbs, the ampules, and other supplies. The Masters, besides Helbrand and the Headmistress who had been watching steadily if not intently, perked up from their thrones when Adam started drawing out the mysterious swirling pattern in blue ground powder. A mumble of curiosity ran over the assembly.

Once everything was set in its proper place, Adam reached into his bag and pulled out another soap carving. This time it featured a crude but recognizable likeness of an enormous eagle, its wings frozen outstretched in midflight. The Masters’ curiosity had peaked now. The portly potion master, a man named Ingor, was hanging halfway over the stone half-moon with a lorgnette like he was in a high box at the opera.

Adam, full of confidence now, placed the bird firmly in the center of the swirl, struck his match, and lit the powder. He cleared his throat and began reciting the transcription.

Like before the soap figurine, sucked in the carefully placed ingredients and burnt powder, and burst into a terrible roiling ball of energy and feathers. Only this time the thing seemed to stretch and tear at itself, beaks and talons emerging at random and tearing themselves apart, again and again. The Masters looked on in stupefied horror. The potion master tumbled over the stone, landing in a heap of upturned robes, and cracking the handle off his spectacles.

The orb spun faster, growing in speed and eye-piercing light. An eagle, the size of an elephant, erupted, its wing tips grazing the stone walls of the chamber. It let out a shriek that tore at Adam’s eardrums. It tried to take flight sending out a wave of air that knocked the master’s back into their seats. But in places its feathers appeared to melt from its wings and fell, splattering the headmistress, who was screaming rather ungracefully, in great globs of steaming fat and lye.

Somehow, Master Helbrand found his way to his feet and stormed to the mortified Adam in a rage. He grabbed him in a vise grip by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Damn it, Adam. Where did you get this spell from you blithering idiot. This is the last semester you will ever step foot in my—”.

There was a blinding flash of light as the eagle exploded into a fiery starburst. The room warped and there was an ear-splitting roar like water released from a dam. The air quivered and the Masters and their thrones faded in the light. Then, everything went silent. And dark. And still.

Eve woke up face down in a puddle of drool at a table in the university library. She winced blinking in the harsh fluorescent light and the acrid smell of the library custodian spraying glass cleaner on a nearby window. She wiped her face with the ketchup-stained arm of her long sleeve shirt. With a resigned look on her freckled face, she opened the ornithology textbook lying next to her and began flicking through the pages.