The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,15

come in?” asked Will. It wasn’t that he was particularly keen on seeing the inside, but even a dirty shack would be better than sleeping outdoors.

“I don’t want you fouling up my home,” said the hermit bluntly. Then he went in and shut the door.

Will stared at the door, angry and confused. Fouling up his home? Is he serious? He was near certain he was cleaner and better smelling than the old man had been at any point in the last ten years.

The door opened again, and the hermit stepped back out, a small glass vial in his hand. He held it out to Will. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” asked Will suspiciously.

“Something to make you feel better, unless you’d rather be a wet rag for the next few days. You’re of no use to me like this.”

As soon as he took the vial in hand he felt something, and when he unstopped it he could see a strange though faint light stirring in the dark fluid. It reminded him of one of his mother’s herb infusions, except that the energy within didn’t remind him of any plant. It reminded him instead of the old man who had just handed it to him.

“Is this blood?” he asked in alarm.

The hermit began to laugh again. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it feels like you,” said Will, unsure how to communicate his feeling.

The old man’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re a little more perceptive than is good for you.” Then he chuckled. “Blood—that’s a good idea. No one’s done that in a long time. It might be easier to make that way, though I doubt it would keep as long. Drink it.”

Will clenched his teeth. “No.”

“Suit yourself,” said the hermit. “You can sleep out here tonight. We’ll call that your second lesson.” He turned away and started to go back inside.

“Wait,” exclaimed Will. “I don’t want to sleep out here.”

The old man looked back at him. “Then drink it. Those are your choices. Drink it and come inside, or don’t and sleep on the ground.”

“What is it?” asked Will sullenly.

“Elixir of turynal,” answered the old man.

“I don’t know what that is.”

The hermit sighed. “Turyn is what the old wizards called the energy that fueled their magic. Think of it as mana, spirit energy, or just as magic, if that helps you understand. Drinking it will help restore what you’ve lost.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “This is magic?”

The old man nodded, his face serious.

Tilting his head back, Will drank the contents in a single gulp, ignoring the bitter taste. It burned as it went down his throat, and he felt a warm glow begin to radiate from his belly. A moment later, a wave of nausea passed through him.

The old man stepped close and grabbed his head then, gripping his skull with one hand and holding his mouth shut with the other. Will struggled in his grasp, but the man’s hands seemed impossibly strong.

His stomach rebelled, sending their contents upward, but the old man wouldn’t release him. “Hold it, boy. Just a few seconds, that’s all it takes,” said the hermit. Then he began to count backwards from five. When he reached ‘one,’ he released Will and leapt back with surprising speed.

Choking and coughing, Will began to vomit, emptying his stomach onto the weeds at his feet. Even after his belly was empty, he continued to heave for several minutes, retching and spitting. His abdomen was sore and tender even once the heaving had stopped, and the nausea was far from gone. “You poisoned me,” he gasped at last.

“That’s a valid observation,” said the hermit, grinning down at him. “From your limited perspective, at least. I prefer to think of it as teaching through experience. The sickness you feel is called ‘spirit poisoning,’ but my intent wasn’t as malicious as you might think. Once your body recovers from the shock, you’ll find that you feel much better.”

Will’s stomach contracted once again. It relaxed a moment later, and he drew a deep breath. “I think I’m dying.”

The old man arched one brow, then replied, “I highly doubt that, but given your lack of ability, I suspect you’ll feel ill for half an hour or longer.”

“Why?” asked Will, spitting to clear his mouth of the taste. “Why would you do that to me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Besides being born?” stated the old man, answering his question with a question. “Nothing. I don’t hate you, boy, though I’ll admit to disliking you. But that isn’t the