Meredith only hesitated for a few seconds before curling her legs underneath her and opening the book again. I have to know who'd write a story like some sort of instruction booklet. Hoping there might be more of an explanation toward the beginning, she started skimming backwards.
Still in the same straightforward, technical manner, the book presented her with all sorts of topics, each more bewildering than the last. Timeslide Protocols, ran the title of one dazzlingly complex chapter entirely written in that odd flowing language. Contemporary Temporospatial Modalities, Beginner's Oneiropathy, Cross-Species Formal Logic flew by in quick succession. The last of those chapters caught her eye, and she started reading a little more closely.
Though communication between a practitioner and their cousins is made easier by the universal nature of the Speech in which wizardry is conducted, a common language by itself is not enough to guarantee perfect understanding. Many practitioners will be familiar with the vast differences in culture and outlook caused just by the distance across a continent, or perhaps an entire planet. Imagine, then, the difficulties of speaking to a being from another arm of your local galaxy. While it by no means covers all possibilities, what follows is a guide to determining the basic logical framework a given species may be using, as wizardry is best practiced with as thorough and detailed an understanding of the problem as the wizard in question can gather...
Once, about a year ago, Meredith had read a book about a man who traveled around the universe. One of the things that had kept him alive was a book full of friendly advice about the places he'd traveled to and the aliens he'd met, but while this chapter sounded like it could have been taken from that book, she somehow knew it wasn't meant as a joke.
Someone wrote this whole chapter as serious advice for wizards talking to aliens? She glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to leap out and laugh at her, but the house was still as empty as it had been when she'd walked in. It'd be a lot of work to do all this as a prank, anyway. That left two possibilities. The author could just be seriously deluded, which was the more believable explanation. People like that didn't write books very often, though, and certainly not ones as detailed and methodical as what Meredith was starting to think of as a magical textbook. She didn't dare put the second possibility into words, anxious not to think about it directly in case it would shatter and pull her back down to the miserable day she'd been having. Instead, she eagerly skimmed through more of the book until one section jumped out at her. Unlike the complicated titles she'd seen everywhere else, this one was simply called Purpose.
Upon discovering the Art, many novices find themselves, after the initial stages of curiosity and excitement, wondering precisely what wizardry is intended for, apart from solving day-to-day problems. In a sense, those problems are exactly what wizardry is meant to solve. The lost object, the sick child, the shrinking forest – all these are perfectly noble uses of the energy gifted to a wizard, but they are also only symptoms of the larger cause.
A sliver of light poking around the edge of the curtains hit her in the eye. Confused, she blinked spots away before realizing she'd spent quite a while poring over the book. She reluctantly set it down and stood up, traipsing over to the kitchen. As much as she wanted to keep digging into the book – for all the reading she'd done, she'd only scratched the surface – she did have to make dinner at some point before her father came home from work. I wonder if wizardry can fix an empty stomach too?
There wasn't much in the cabinet that wasn't canned, but Meredith didn't much feel like heating up beans on the stove again, so she took down a partially empty bag of rice and set a pot on the stove. The little bit of chicken broth left over from one of the week's earlier dinners wasn't quite enough for the rice to cook in, but even thinned out by water it would make the meal a little less boring. As soon as the pot started boiling, she set the lid on it and went to go collect the book. Perching herself on a stool by the stove, she dove back into her reading.
Virtually all cultures will tell some story of how death came to exist, and though they differ in as many ways as there are beings that tell them, all follow the same general pattern. In the beginning, the Universe was created, and along with it the Powers that Be, who took it upon themselves to encourage the newly formed reality along various paths. One of these Powers, loved and held in highest esteem, declined to create alongside its fellows, wishing to be sure that what it made was a marvel that would be forever remembered. It succeeded beyond what any of the Powers could have imagined, and created entropy. Though the others were quick to react, casting the Lone Power out, the damage was done. Entropy, and its companion, death, were now an inextricable part of the Universe.
The most common misconception about wizards is one that even the most experienced practitioners must remind themselves of now and again: Wizardry does not exist to eradicate or to stop entropy, it exists to work around it. Gifted though the wizard may be, he or she cannot singlehandedly undo what the Lone Power has done. However, the fact that entropy cannot be stopped is by no means equivalent to saying that entropy cannot be handled. A wizard's very existence is enough to thwart countless of the Lone Power's plans, even should they never meet It face to face.
As daunting as all of this may seem, candidates should be reassured that wizardry is a choice, not an obligation. No one will blame a candidate for turning down the offer, or a wizard for choosing to give the Art up. However, careful consideration should be given before deciding either way. The Universe needs all the help it can get, and wizards are in short supply. Anyone to whom the offer is extended should take encouragement from the fact that even should they decline, they have aptitude, potential, and most importantly, heart enough to do great things. For some, this is enough, and they need never explore any more of wizardry. For others, the next step is the Oath.
The screen door protested again as it swung open to let her father into the house. He was a tall man with a sort of broad, old-fashioned handsomeness. Despite his stubble, the long, wavy hair just past his ears, and the faint shadows under his eyes, he looked much happier than she had seen him lately, and his smile widened at the sight of her. "Inventory ended early – oof!" He cut off as she leapt from her stool and tackled him, pretending to stumble back even though she had a better chance of knocking a telephone pole over.
Meredith grinned into his ribs, squeezing him in a tight hug. "Hey, dad."
"Hey yourself, Mer. Got dinner started already, huh? Something smells – " He sniffed the air and coughed. "Burnt, actually?"
Meredith looked up in time to see the pot boiling over, a small cloud of steam already spilling over into the living room. Panicking slightly, she ran to the stove and shut the burner off before poking at the rice with a spoon. Her heart sank as she found that the bottom of the pot was coated in a hard, black crust.
"I must have forgotten to turn the heat down," she said despairingly, already kicking herself for ruining her father's mood.
Her father opened the window, grunting faintly with effort as the warped wood stuck in its frame before popping open and letting a warm breeze blow in. "That stove's always a little hotter than it says it is. Besides, if the house burns down, we'll just go live in the bowling alley and have more leg room."
He winked at her. She tried to force a smile, but apparently she wasn't good at convincing people she was feeling alright today, because his own cheerful expression quickly melted. "Wait, Mer, don't fret, okay? Rice is pretty durable, the bits that aren't burned should still be good to eat. Everyone burns food now and then. You remember my college roommate and the cheesesteak stories?"
It was hard to stay glum around her father's clad-iron cheer, and the small smile that eventually came was genuine this time. "Tell me again? About the time he got in a fight with someone for setting off the fire alarm?" she asked, feeling a bit better already.
He laughed, a genuine, room-filling laugh, and launched into the story while carefully dissecting the rice and scooping the unburnt bits into two bowls. Meredith listened raptly despite having heard the story before, clearing her school things out of the living room so they'd have a place to eat. She stuffed the handbook back into her bag for the moment, grimacing as she spotted the giant stack of papers waiting patiently for her. After dinner, she thought, zipping the bag up so they'd be out of sight while she ate. At least he didn't have a hard day.
They sat on the couch to eat, her father still talking animatedly about his old roommate around mouthfuls of rice. For her part, Meredith was content to sit and soak in the cozy atmosphere. With her father's work schedule, they had separate dinners more often than not, and even then he'd sometimes be too tired to do more than eat. It wasn't enough to make her forget about all the big aches and little hurts that kept sneaking into her life, but it was enough to make her okay with them for the time being.
Her father's spoon clattered into his empty bowl. Meredith wasn't eager to cloud the mood, but there wasn't any point putting the discussion off. "Dad?" she said, tentatively.
"What is it, Mer?" he answered, already carrying the dishes over to the sink and starting the water.
Her mind blanked, and for a few seconds she just stood mutely, unsure where to begin. Her father carried on cleaning the rice bowls, waiting patiently for her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she got up from the couch and took the papers out of her bag, carrying them over to hold them where he could see without having to take them in wet hands. Several excruciating seconds dragged by as he read, his face a mask.
"Mr. Rash saw...well, he didn't see anything, but he thought we might be having trouble with money, and he told me that he and the other teachers would be able to help," she said, his continued silence starting to unnerve her. "And he asked me if – I mean, whether I would..." Her mouth was growing dry, but she pressed on in a rush of words. "I said yes, and he gave me these to have you sign, and I don't know exactly what he wants to do but I knew it couldn't hurt, and you're always so busy and tired but I don't want to make you...make you upset," she finished weakly. The stack of papers dropped from her hand to land in a crooked pile, threatening to fall into the dishwater.
The next thing she knew, her father had set the bowl down and pulled her into a tight hug. His chest was shaking with...laughter?
"Mer, honey, I'm so sorry, but you looked like you were telling me you'd burned down the school!" Confused, Meredith dared to pull away and look her father in the eyes. He shook his head, still chuckling. "You thought I'd be upset?"
"Well...no, you never get mad," she admitted, starting to feel a little sheepish but half-smiling all the same. "I thought you might be offended, maybe."
"You can't eat pride," he said, shrugging with a lopsided, wry smile. "I'm not so proud I'd let it get in the way of making sure my daughter can afford to eat lunch. I don't like it much, but I don't think that's a box I have to tick on one of those forms, is it now?"
She shook her head, and he set both hands on her shoulders, looking slightly more serious. "You don't have to be afraid to tell me about these things, you know. I'm not the only one in this house who has to go through a lot every single day, and I don't want to make you upset either. You just tell me next time something important happens, okay? I promise I won't get angry."
Meredith had lost count of how many times that day she'd been unable to trust her voice, but this time it was relief flooding her body as she nodded. Her father smiled warmly, then pulled a face. "Ah...you also probably want to go find a clean shirt. I forgot to dry my hands first there."
She giggled uncontrollably at the sight of the two massive wet handprints on her shoulders. He picked up the dishtowel and dried his hands before rescuing the forms she'd brought over. "I'll take care of these tonight. I've still got a few hours before I should be in bed for the morning shift anyway. You go on, go have fun with your models. Shoo!"
Dodging a gentle swat, Meredith scooped up her bag and headed for her bedroom. Smallish though it was, it was still the larger of the house's two rooms at her father's insistence. "I don't need all that room," he told her every time she protested. "If I have money to spend on toys, I'll spend it on a better place to put them first." Spots of the hideous bright-green paint peeked out from behind all the posters, magazine cutouts, and postcards taped to the walls, every one of them some famous landmark. One corner of the room was entirely occupied by her half-finished scale model of the city. Two tiny plasticine people stood outside the miniature copy of their house. She wouldn't have admitted it under torture, but the house was the only flaw in the design, being just a tiny bit larger than it should have been.
It's not that far-fetched after everything in that book, she thought, delightedly remembering what she had been doing before her father coming home had brought her back to reality. Collapsing onto her bed, she dug the strange volume out of her bag. She didn't open it right away, turning it over and over in her hands before flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling.
Back in the living room, next to all the family she had left in the world, it had been easy to block out all the hardships that kept tearing at her, but when she was alone, half-formed worries started to leak back into her thoughts. The book, somehow, felt like a talisman against all that. Chin up, it seemed to say, and she could practically hear how it would speak: Honestly, even when the truth cut deep, but never cruel. It's not easy, what you do, but you still do it. That's not nothing.
Meredith sat up again and set the book in her lap, heart thumping very fast. It didn't feel silly, what she was about to do. She had nothing to lose. If she'd just gotten worked up over a story, no one had to know. But if there was even the smallest truth to it, she knew she couldn't back down again, not if there was something she could do for once in her life.
Nameless fear set her teeth on edge, but a white-hot star burned excitedly in her stomach, and the fire shut out the nerves she had left. A small corner of her mind marveled at how steady her hands were as she let the book fall open. She shivered excitedly at the sight, for the book had opened to the exact page she needed by sheer luck. The Oath looked small, sitting by itself on an otherwise blank page, but at the same time there seemed to be more to that single paragraph than the rest of the book put together.
Wanting to get it right the first time, she read it through quickly to make sure there weren't any words she didn't know, then paused. If this was going to be important, she wanted to be sure why she was doing it. Something was spurring her on, urging her to take the plunge, but it needed to be named. That felt like the right thing to do...
Pick a motivation for taking the Oath. (Choose one.)
[ ] You're taking it for the Art. Mr. Rash might not have known you had the potential to be a wizard, but he wanted to make sure you got the chance to use your talents, and here's that opportunity on a silver platter. What good would wasting it do?
[ ] You're taking it because you're afraid for your father. The thought that something might happen to the people you know, something that would change things forever...you refuse to think about it. You couldn't live with yourself if you turned this down, not if it meant you could help.
[ ] You're taking it to start giving back. Mr. Rash means well, but your family can't keep leaning on outsiders forever, and you have a responsibility to start solving problems on your own.
[ ] You're taking it so things will be fair again. Your father works two jobs and lives afraid that you'll be taken away, and there's nothing you can do to fix that – but if you were a wizard? You could make the universe right that wrong.
