[2] Meeting Magic (2)
"I'll try again."
Shirone stood still for a long time after Vincent stepped back, watching the notch in the tree.
A faint thrill ran through him.
Putting a trick into your head is knowledge. Making it a part of your body is a sense.
Hit the same spot, but twist it just a little.
That simple piece of know-how, passed down through countless mouths, sank into Shirone as a far deeper realization than Vincent had expected.
"Dad."
"Yeah?"
"Should I try to break it in one swing?"
"Hahaha! You haven't even cut halfway through. Do you think it'll snap?"
"If I'm lucky, maybe."
Luck alone won't split a tree. A seasoned woodcutter finds the grain's weak point and hammers at it until a few axe blows do the job, but Shirone couldn't do that.
"All right! Let's trust our son's luck!"
Vincent played along gladly. He was just glad his son showed interest in woodcutting.
"If you break it, grant me one favor."
"Huh? A favor?"
A sudden worry flitted through Vincent's mind. Would he ask to learn to read? To be sent to school like other rich children?
"Take me with you the next time you go into town to sell things."
Vincent felt as if he'd aged ten years in a moment, but he hid it and laughed loudly.
"Hoho, that's fine. I'll take you!"
Having gotten his way, Shirone slung the axe over his shoulder and looked at the tree. The smile he'd been wearing faded, and Vincent felt a chill. His son stared at the wood without blinking, as if seeking something invisible.
Shirone suddenly swung the axe. It appeared to hit the notch cleanly, but there was an extremely subtle twist—so slight it was beyond ordinary perception.
KRRRASH!
At the thunderous crack, Vincent's eyes went wide. The place the axe struck split with a quake-like fissure, and the tree, unable to bear the strain, snapped with a crashing shudder.
"Yahoo! I did it!"
Vincent couldn't believe his eyes. It was the legendary Thunder Strike of the woodcutters. Neither he nor any woodcutter he knew had ever seen it—only heard it spoken of as a myth.
That rarity came from woodcutters' focus on making a living. In some professions, the Thunder Strike phenomenon shows up more often—among swordsmen, for example.
Swordsmen who swing their blades for their lives cultivate skills far more systematic and profound than a woodcutter's. Among those techniques was the Thunder Strike. Even so, it wasn't something even swordsmen could perform easily.
"Yahoo! I did it!"
True to his promise, Shirone would get to go into town. He bounded around with his arms raised.
Vincent watched, torn. He couldn't decide whether to raise this child as a woodcutter—or not.
* * *
Vincent took the reins of the two-horse cart and passed through the gates of Creas. Shirone sat in the cargo hold, eyes shining as he looked around.
The hides went to the weapons shop, the meat to the grocer, the offal to the apothecary or the magic goods store. They had to visit several shops and haggle; it would take at least four hours.
When they reached the market, Shirone hopped down from the cart. Vincent slung a bag of meat over his shoulder and said, "Be back before sunset."
"Don't worry. I know the way by heart."
"Don't go into dark alleys—stick to the main roads. If someone asks why you're alone, point to the nearest shop and say you're waiting for your father."
"All right. Nothing happened last time I came, anyway."
Vincent's chest ached at the thought of leaving his son, but the family's livelihood depended on how well he bargained, so he had no choice.
Shirone reassured his anxious father and walked off from the market. Vincent had expected he'd head for a puppet show or a toyshop kids liked, but Shirone had no interest in such things.
He went to the city's largest library. Looking up at the vast, dignified building, his heart thumped.
Could every scrap of knowledge really be inside that place?
There was no way to check. The library, a top-tier cultural institution, was off-limits to anyone who wasn't nobility.
Two female students came out of the library clutching books, and Shirone hurriedly stepped aside.
Vincent was a kind father, but when it came to nobles he always put on a fierce warning.
Never talk back. Their word is law. If you make eye contact, bow your head.
Shirone didn't care how great the nobles were. He just wanted to read.
'Why can't I go in?'
He decided to follow the students. Besides, there wasn't much else in town he wanted to see—he was curious how nobles differed from commoners.
After about twenty minutes, the scenery changed abruptly.
He forgot his original purpose and was overwhelmed by the massive structures rising all around. The most striking was a school that boasted huge grounds even seen through its iron gates.
The name on the arch of the main gate read:
Alpheas School of Magic.
If there was one thing Shirone still couldn't grasp, it was magic.
It appeared in countless tales, yet he'd never seen a book that explained how it worked. It felt like a kind of contempt—a presumption that those who weren't mages had no need to know.
A guard spotted Shirone and shouted, "What are you doing here, you brat?"
With a wave of his hand as if shooing a fly, he emphasized Shirone's shabby clothes.
"Get lost! This place isn't for scum like you."
"Ah—sorry."
Shirone ran off in fright. The burly guard bared his teeth and the boy's legs trembled.
But he stopped not long after he was out of sight. To his surprise, he was still under the wall of the School of Magic.
How large was this school, anyway?
As he wondered, voices floated from beyond the wall.
"Now, let us talk about what magic is."
"Noooo! Show us magic! One more, please!"
"No! Show us something that shoots fire, headmaster!"
Shirone looked up at a broad tree inside the grounds. The headmaster of the School of Magic seemed to be holding a class outdoors in its shade.
The children's voices were younger than Shirone's. Nobles were educated from birth, so it wasn't strange for small children to attend the school.
"Heh heh heh, you'd be scolded if the school started fires. But answer my riddle and I'll show you a fun spell."
"Yay! What's the riddle? Give it to us!"
Shirone pressed his ear to the wall.
"What is the most necessary talent for learning magic?"
Silence followed.
The kids had been struck dumb. It was a pretty subjective question.
Still, these were prodigies admitted early for their talent. Rather than give up, each offered an answer.
"Effort. Magic takes a lifetime to learn, so effort matters."
"I think knowledge. I've read over a hundred magic tomes already."
Other reasonable answers—concentration, memory—followed.
After listening to all the answers, the headmaster finally spoke.
"The most necessary talent for learning magic is insight."
Another silence fell.
"What's insight?"
The headmaster made a slight, puzzled sound, then continued in a kindly voice.
"Insight is more exact than knowledge and faster than effort."
"Wow! Then it's totally magic!"
"Hoho! It can be. In fact, that's right. All magic stems from insight. Let me give you an example. Do you know what one plus one equals?"
"Of course—two."
They answered in unison, as if shocked someone could ask such a thing.
"Very well. Then can you explain why one plus one equals two?"
"Uh? Well, of course—"
The confident children fell silent. They didn't know where to begin or how to explain it.
There was a smile in Alpheas' voice.
"That odd feeling you had just now—that is insight. Long ago, people didn't know that one plus one was two. Scholars proved it through knowledge and effort. But you understand perfectly that one plus one is two without going through that process, don't you?
"Magic is a phenomenon that exists by itself. Just as the answer was two even before people knew it, some truths are always there. Some reveal them through study, but insight lets you grasp those rules at once."
"So we don't need to study or work hard?"
"Does it come down to that? But, to be honest… that is the truth."
Common sense is what most people accept as knowledge. Sometimes something becomes common sense because it's easy to accept. Shirone could imagine the headmaster's heart, compelled to tell a harsh reality.
"So we don't need to attend school?"
"Hohoho! Insight isn't easily obtained. One plus one equals two because scholars proved it over many years. Of course, some perceive the answer without verification; we call such people geniuses."
"My mother said I'm a genius."
"That may not be untrue. Everyone is born with talent, and if you hone that talent, anyone can become a genius."
Anyone can become a genius. The words lodged in Shirone's chest.
But could that really be true? Would he ever get a chance to scale these walls?
"Yes—child standing behind that wall. I'd like to hear your thoughts."
Shirone stepped back from the wall in a panic.
Should he run? Or answer? Did a commoner even have the right to reply?
"Come over here. I want to see your face."
Heart pounding, Shirone climbed the wall. He might be young and naive about the world, but one thing was clear: if he didn't get over this wall now, he would regret it forever.
He crawled up and swung himself over. Alpheas, the headmaster of the Alpheas School of Magic, smiled at him.
At first glance he was a kindly, white-haired old man. In truth he was an esteemed fourth-rank mage recognized by the kingdom, a figure whose reputation reached other lands.
Alpheas sat on a flat stone and waved.
"Come now. Have you come to keep this old man company?"
Buoyed by the headmaster's kindness, Shirone jumped down. As expected, children about his age or younger sat in a circle.