The Power to Remake: Prologue

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Prologue

         Garrold held the spor in his open palm. Excitement surged through every fiber of his being. His senses heightened and time slowed. The spor became the center of his universe. The moment had come.

         “Young jennah,” Temmolin said, “close your hand around the spor.”

         Emotion lumped in Garrold’s throat and swirled in his stomach. It should have been easy. How could he be so sure and yet somehow unsure? Logic said, do it, close your fist, it has to be this way, but his fingers wouldn’t listen. Something held him back. A deep-seated fear. What if he didn’t make it?

         He couldn’t fathom not being chosen. But would he? That one defiant doubt gnawed at him, shook him, and grew into other doubts and questions. What if the spor rejected him? How badly did it really burn those it rejected? Would he scream? Would the pain of the spor come close to the pain of rejection?

         What if magnhemistry didn’t want him? Despite the gnawing doubt, he beheld the spor in his open palm with wonder. His brow furrowed as he glared at his unmoving fingers.

         What am I doing? Why can’t I close my fist? Why is this so hard? This is utterly ridiculous. He drew a long breath. I am a magnhemist. I have the spor in my hand. I must close my fist around it and show everyone here that I have been chosen. It’s just the way it is.

         He snapped his hand into a tight fist. He felt nothing. No sting, no pain, nothing. No rejection. No remorse. Was this it, then? Was it that simple?

         Elation coursed through his veins like a throbbing tickle from head to toe. He wanted to shout for joy, but he couldn’t let loose, not here, not in the middle of a solemn Occasion, and especially not in front of Temmolin. He held himself.

         The Grand Holder Temmolin, maintaining his grave demeanor, motioned with a slow nod, “Open your hand, young jennah Garrold, it is my solemn duty to reccc– ” Gasps of shock swept through the gathering. The spor was dark and lifeless.

         No. It couldn’t be. It was supposed to be abuzz and glowing with a rich green light, the color of Rudivia. Never before had the spor remained dark and lifeless after not stinging someone. His heart deflated as he looked into Temmolin's puzzled eyes. The moment froze around him as a thick fog of heaviness fell, lingering there. The pitiful moans of friends and family brought the whole world down around his head.

         No. This is a lie. Hot indignation flowed through his veins. It was a treacherous moment that magnhemistry would betray him, but not this dawn. Out of his indignation came vehemence, and out of his vehemence, fury, and out of fury, a passion he’d never felt before and had not known since. That passion burnt the fog off. He cleared his mind. Something went wrong and he was going to fix it.

         With relentless determination he focused on his palm. I am a magnhemist. I have not been rejected. The spor has not stung me. I am different, unique, chosen for a special purpose. The spor is testing me. Yes, that’s it, a test. I will succeed.

         He closed his fist around the spor, turned it over, and squeezed with all his might. A troubled look gripped Temmolin's face as Garrold took control of his own Occasion. The Circums, magnhemists of the outer circle, murmured, surprised at his disaffected display of self will. Who was this child to be playing with the spor? He didn’t care. He was about to show them that not only was he chosen, he was specially chosen.

         A deep thrum reverberated in his body as a clear vision evolved in his mind. He was transported to a grassy knoll. There, atop the next hillock, sat a multicolored orb. He knew he had to get it. He raced to it only to find that as he approached the summit it now rested atop the next hillock.

         Several times he raced for it and each time it evaded him. Then he saw a way to cut it off. He feinted toward it, sidestepped the knoll, and rolled into the little gully between hillocks. He didn’t know how he knew it would work, but he did. He intercepted the orb before it could slide up the next grassy knoll.

         Colors exploded in his mind and the vision shattered into shards of brilliant white light. Folks drew back and even the Circums gasped at the phenomenon they witnessed. The light shone forth from every crack between Garrold’s fingers and out the sides of his fist, as if he were holding the sun.

         The light changed into a deep crimson, then brightened into a vibrant red, then orange, yellow, and through every other color of the prizmhata, to a deep purple. After another bright flash of white, the light became a brilliant green. Veor, the color of Rudivia.

         He turned his fist back over, palm up, and presented a glowing green spor to the Grand Holder, brighter green than anyone ever remembered seeing it. He looked up into the Grand Holder’s penetrating silver eyes, now squinted and filled with fury. The lines on Temmolin's ashen face deepened. No doubt he was livid that Garrold had taken matters into his own hands. Yet Temmolin restrained himself and finished the Occasion with all the dignity he could muster.

         “Young jennah Garrold, it is my solemn duty to recognize that you have been chosen by the spor of at Bar Veoria, in the Province of Rudivia, to the Art of Magnhemistry. Do you accept this solemn charge and the grave and immense responsibilities of service to the people of your province to which the spor has called you?”

         Another voice sounded out, “Truly the spor has chosen you for a mighty purpose.”

         Temmolin looked around at the group of Circums, not sure where the voice came from. The Circums also stirred, looking at one another. Who had spoken?

         “I accept,” Garrold said.

         Temmolin snatched the spor from Garrold’s hand. It went dark even as he slipped it into the folds of his robe.

         “The Occasion of Choosing for the young jennah, Garrold, has ended," he said, "Let it be known and published throughout the Province of Rudivia that Garrold, son of Dinnis the Helper, has been called to the Art of Magnhemistry and has accepted this solemn charge. He is allowed five dawns to set his affairs in order after which time he will report to the Bower as a Learner to study under Magnhem Grygoor, master of magnhemistry. It is as it is.”

 Next  "Chapter 1: The Dispatch"