Ch 9: Routine

The next several weeks followed the same formula. They would wake up, dress, be inspected, get punished if they messed up, walk to the alchemist to receive the next injection, breakfast, magic, language, then lunch, Stent Military norms, bushcraft, and finally combat. As their bodies grew, the combat and physical training began to gain more intensity, though the focus remained on form rather than force. After almost a month of that, he was nearing, he guessed, a physical age of five or six. His uniform was starting to get a bit snug, but he didn’t have it as bad as Davi who seemed to be near bursting out of his every time he put it on. Michael’s clique stayed the same, as did the other groups. They didn’t antagonize one another, or give anyone trouble, but in such an unfamiliar place they all wanted to cling to what was familiar.

Spellcraft was difficult for Michael, but he enjoyed it. Feeling the cool channels of magicka in his body, and focusing them to do even simple spellwork had a thrill to it.

“Spells are, on the surface, a very simple thing. Almost everyone can produce a small flame to light a fire, or cleanse a bit of water. More powerful spells can be done with a focus, usually something physical that allows someone to better channel their magicka. With minor spells like what you’ll learn from me, you will be using words as your focus. Stent recruits are taught specific phrases for each spell, but we’ve found that takers have a lot of difficulty with that, so instead you will be using words or phrases that you personally associate with the basest component of each spell. A language from your world known as Latin is popular for this.”

He reached into his coat and pulled a small candle from his pocket that he placed gently on the table in front of himself. He held a single finger to the wick, and whispered something. A small flame appeared at his fingertip and the wick was lit with ease. He raised his finger to his lips and blew, ceasing the spell.

“This is the first spell you’ll learn. A simple flame. You will, in some ways, be developing it yourself, but it’s important to keep yourself limited. The first thing you’ll do is reach for those channels of magicka within you. Then you’ll picture a small flame, no bigger than the one on this candle. When it feels clear in your mind, push your magicka a little past your fingertips, and say whatever word it is you want to be your focus.” He gestured to the young soldiers watching the doors. Each of them went to small crates and began pulling out candles, placing one in front of each of them.

Michael looked at his candle, thinking first about what his focus word should be. He knew a bit of Latin, but he had taken more Spanish classes than Latin ones. He supposed he could use English for it, but that felt… lame, for lack of a better word. What was a word that he innately associated with flame, that was also fun to say?

He felt for the magicka channels inside himself, and pushed the coldness within them toward his fingertip, picturing a small, perfect flame at the tip of his finger.

“Fuego,” he muttered to himself. He felt the magicka surge a bit, and a single spark burned his pointer fingertip.

“Ow,” he muttered, placing his finger in his mouth for a moment.

Teft, who’d been walking through the rows inspecting everyone, nodded. “A good first attempt, but remember to push the magicka out past our fingertip. Otherwise you’ll get burned.” He turned to look at Ollie who was sitting next to him.

Ollie was sleeping with his head on the desk, his candle lit and burning.

Teft looked at the flame with an eyebrow raised. He reached forward and snuffed it between his thumb and forefinger, then slapped Ollie on the back of his head.

Ollie shot up, “Cunt,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Light it again,” said Teft.

Ollie shook his head and waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of the candle. “Barbi,” he said through a yawn. The wick was immediately lit.