The Stuff of Dreams
an excerpt

"Today," Eron said, "you will begin to learn to control magic. Don't protest. Just listen and watch."

Geoff sat on the stool closest to the door. If Eron started acting too crazy, Geoff figured he could get out fast. He'd seen no sign of a lock on the outside--not that anyone would dare lock Eron anywhere--nor was there a bar on the inside to slow him down. Eron moved the table against the wall and sat facing Geoff, close enough that their knees almost touched.

"I'm going to put you under the same hold spell I used before. I want you to break it," he said.

That was all the warning Geoff got. The rush lights flared and he couldn't move. He tried to stand up, but couldn't even tense the muscles in his legs. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. All Eron had done was touch his knee. He hadn't said anything Geoff could hear or made any arcane gestures. Geoff took a deep breath and tried to close his eyes. Even that was beyond him. His heart raced.

"Control your fear, Zhef. You broke this before. You can do it again."

"I don't know what I did before." He couldn't deny that Eron had done something to him. Whether it was magic, Geoff didn't know, but he couldn't see what else it might be. He concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the swish of blood in his ears. "It wasn't this bad, before."

"It is the same spell. The only difference is that there are no drafts in this room."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"When you broke the spell downstairs, you did so by tapping the energy of the drafts sweeping the room, just as you tapped the wind to run your [t]."

What the hell did that mean? Tapping the energy of a draft? A turbine might do something like that, but Geoff wasn't a turbine. He focused his attention on his left hand, willing his fore-finger to move. Nothing. He took another deep breath, let it hiss between his teeth and tried again. And then again. Seconds dragged past, became minutes.

"I can't do this," he said.

"You can." Eron's calm infuriated Geoff.

"I can't, I tell you," he shouted, clenching his fist. The rush lights flared bright gold and faded, leaving Eron's silhouette as an after image on Geoff's retinas. He stared down at his hand, flexing his fingers. He could move.

"See, Zhef? You can," Eron said again.

Geoff bent double and shook with the release of tension. A trickle of sweat slid down his temple. "Okay, that was seriously scary. What did you do to me?"

"I told you what I did to you. How can you still deny it?" For the first time, Eron sounded angry. "There is magic here. I am a magician. You are another, albeit untrained. Watch--"

The light flared again as Geoff looked up. Eron swept his stool up by one leg and smashed it against the wall. Splinters flew. The stone seemed to melt away as the seat sank into it. Then all was quiet again, except that the stool now hung half in and half out of the wall. Geoff stared. He tried to convince himself it was a trick, that Eron had prepared both wall and stool in advance. He just couldn't do it. He leaned forward and tugged on a leg. The stool didn't budge. The wood was warm, almost hot. He felt the stone around it. The wall was cold enough to numb the tips of his fingers.

"I don't get it. If you can do things like this, what do you need me for?" Geoff said. "Take Mabula out yourself and let me go home."

"I can't." Eron pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. The admission seemed wrenched from him. "I am not strong enough to go up against Mabula. I wasn't strong enough even before he discovered the stones and created the daethan. Did you not hear Anekiram that first night? Maybe once magicians were omnipotent, but those days are long over. Every generation there are fewer of us, and we can do less. The sources of power haven't changed--water, light and wind are as freely available as they ever were. But a magician's ability is in-born. I am the strongest magician of my generation, and I am not strong enough for this."