Contents
Chapter One:
Chapter Two:
Chapter Three:
Chapter Four:
Chapter Five:
Chapter Six:
Chapter Seven:
Chapter Eight:
Chapter Nine:
Chapter Ten:
Chapter Eleven:
Chapter Twelve:
Chapter Thirteen:
Chapter Fourteen:
Chapter Fifteen:
Chapter Sixteen:
Chapter Seventeen:
Chapter Eighteen:
Chapter Nineteen:
Chapter Twenty:
Chapter Twenty-One:
Chapter Twenty-Two:
Chapter Twenty-Three:
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Chapter One:
“There are things on heaven and earth, Horatio, Man was not meant to know.”
-HAMLET
ONE of the few redeeming facets of instructors, I thought, is that occasionally they can be fooled. It was true when my mother taught me to read, it was true when my father tried to teach me to be a farmer, and it’s true now when I’m learning magik.
“You haven’t been practicing!” Garkin’s harsh admonishment interrupted my musings.
“I have too!” I protested. “It’s just a difficult exercise.”
As if in response, the feather I was levitating began to tremble and wobble in midair.
“You aren’t concentrating!” he accused.
“It’s the wind,” I argued. I wanted to add “from your loud mouth,” but didn’t dare. Early in our lessons Garkin had demonstrated his lack of appreciation for cheeky apprentices.
“The wind,” he sneered, mimicking my voice. “Like this, dolt!”
My mental contact with the object of my concentration was interrupted as the feather darted suddenly toward the ceiling. It jarred to a halt as if it had become imbedded in something, though it was still a foot from the wooden beams, then slowly rotated to a horizontal plane. Just as slowly it rotated on its axis, then swapped ends and began to glide around an invisible circle like a leaf caught in an eddy.