Children of Ice

By Tristan Colt Cartwright

 A dark, twisting fantasy story told in captivating detail.

In the mountains of Erania of the Inner Planes, Izzax, an ice sorcerer, teaches his little sister magic. Izzablyx, she is called.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tristan C. Cartwright
• Release date: Feb 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637951217

Book preview

Tristan C. Cartwright

Children of Ice

Copyright © 2021 by Tristan C. Cartwright

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-63795-121-7

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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To Kareem.

It takes a real friend to be honest.

And to my wife Leo,

for encouraging me, always.

Contents

1. One

2. Two

3. Three

4. Four

5. Five

6. Six

7. Seven

8. Eight

9. Nine

10. Ten

11. Eleven

12. Twelve

13. Thirteen

14. Fourteen

15. Fifteen

16. Sixteen

17. Seventeen

18. Eighteen

19. Nineteen

20. Twenty

21. Twenty-One

22. Twenty-Two

23. Twenty-Three

24. Twenty-Four

25. Twenty-Five

26. Twenty-Six

27. Twenty-Seven

28. Twenty-Eight

29. Twenty-Nine

30. Thirty

31. Thirty-One

32. Thirty-Two

33. Thirty-Three

34. Thirty-Four

35. Thirty-Five

36. Thirty-Six

37. Thirty-Seven

38. Thirty-Eight

39. Thirty-Nine

40. Forty

41. Forty-One

42. Forty-Two

43. Forty-Three

44. Forty-Four

45. Forty-Five

46. Forty-Six

47. Forty-Seven

48. Forty-Eight

49. Forty-Nine

50. Fifty

51. Fifty-One

52. Fifty-Two

53. Fifty-Three

Epilogue

About the Author

1

One

Deep in the Ice Hells, a fortress lay sprawled across the blasted wastes. Its walls were higher than those of mortal men, and the dark, obelisk-like towers had watched over these plains long before the first villages of the mortal realm had ever been built.

The fortress bragged of keeps, with walls as white as quartz, and segmented palaces, like skeletons of strange, glistening stone amid the towers and pits. Battlements bared their inverted teeth. Pillars of luminous smog billowed from underground forges, refineries, and the magical batteries which renewed the fortress’s many defensive enchantments.

Yet for all this, the fortress itself was not special. It was not unlike many fortresses throughout the Ice Hells. Some were more impressive, larger, and much more powerful than this one. However, this fortress hid secrets most did not.

One of these secrets was a young girl; half demon, and half human.

* * *

Christine, her mother called with a patient but weary tone.

I’m not ready yet, Christine said. Her face was lined with concentration, as she poured tea into a teacup. The teacup sat in front of her favorite stuffed animal: Boris the polar bear.

Her mother, whom Christine could see from the corner of her eye, rubbed her forehead, smiling with tired amusement as she observed her daughter.

Christine finished pouring the tea, making sure not to spill any.

The truth was, she didn’t want to get ready. Getting ready meant going away.

Christine’s world was small. She and her mother had more or less lived in the four-room complex since she was born.

There was the curtained bed, with the silk curtains mostly torn apart by Nicwyre’s claws. A few shreds of the curtain still floated across the white, tiled floor in the subtle drafts that drifted about the room. There were the wardrobes of dark, lustrous wood, with carvings of serpents, claws, and teeth. They still scared her in the night sometimes. There was the dining table in the other room, made of silver bright enough for Christine to see her distorted reflection in. There was the green fire in the fireplace, which never went cold, always emitting a slow, stale heat. These things and more were so familiar to her that she had felt as if they would always be part of her life.

But they won’t, will they? part of her mind thought.

No, she thought to herself, and shuddered.

At that moment, Nicwyre, Christine’s snow leopard cub, padded over with a curious expression. Christine suspected what he was thinking, and tried to shield the cup of tea meant for Boris.

No, she said. It’s for him, not you. He doesn’t get to come with me so I need to make sure he has something to drink.

Nicwyre looked at her, blinked, then looked back. Suddenly, he struck out under her hand with his paw, knocking over Boris’s tea.

Nicwyre! Christine exclaimed. Nicwyre sniffed the tea running along the cracks in the tiles, and then moved away with disinterest.

Christine sighed, not much surprised.

Alright Christine, get up, it’s time to get ready, Mother called. I’ll make sure Boris gets his tea afterward. We need to go. She glanced at the door which led out of their suite.

Okay, Christine said, and arose without enthusiasm.

Christine walked over to her mother, and allowed her to change her clothes. Mother replaced the dress she was wearing with a blue robe, slipped shoes on her feet, then combed her hair. Christine was silent while she did these things.

What if I’m not good at magic? she asked.

Mother put the brush aside and smiled.

You will be, she said. She took Christine’s face in her hands, and gazed into her crystal blue eyes.

They were the eyes of her father.

Her daughter’s skin was pure white, as opposed to her own olive-color. Christine’s hair was slate blue, and two small horns curved around it. Yet another mark of her father’s blood.

You will do things that I could never even dream of, she said.

Christine watched her mother’s face solemnly. Her mother’s smile hadn’t faded, but it had grown sadder, somehow.

I think you will be great at magic, and that will only be the start, she said.

Christine smiled, but then she felt a pang of fear.

But why do I have to go now? Father said boy mages start at thirteen, so why can’t I wait until I’m thirteen?

I don’t know, but we have to do what Father says, her mother replied.

Just then, the sound of footsteps could be heard from outside, approaching the door.

He’s here, her mother said, glancing at the door. Hurry, go get Nicwyre.

Christine obeyed, hurrying over to pick up the snow leopard cub from where he sat on the ground.

The door opened.

Christine looked up at her father, framed in the doorway.

Zaxaphrax was an archdemon. He stood eight feet tall, with skin as white as bone, bulging in scarred knots of corded muscle. His eyes were slits as blue as glacial ice.

He held out one huge, clawed hand. In his other, he held a white staff of twisted wood, that glowed with a faint light.

Izzablyx, come, he said.

Christine blinked. She was confused for a moment, then remembered that this name belonged to her. It was alien, and it discomforted her, but her father’s voice compelled her to obey.

She walked slowly toward him. She looked back at her mother, who smiled in encouragement.

Be brave, that smile said.

She tried to make herself feel brave.

As the distance between herself and her father narrowed to a few feet, she put one of her small, delicate hands into his.

You have nothing but your robes, your shoes, and your leopard, correct? he asked.

Yes, she replied.

Good. Say farewell to your mother. We leave immediately.

Panic suddenly took hold of her chest.

Already? she asked, her eyes wide.

Indeed.

But… no, I still need to do something… she began, and tried to pull her hand away. Zaxaphrax tightened his grasp, and her hand remained in his.

No, Izzablyx. You must leave with me now. I will not keep your brother waiting.

Christine felt tears begin to brim in her eyes. She sniffed, and rubbed them.

It’s alright, dear, Mother said. She was behind her now. Christine felt Mother’s hand on her shoulder, and that made her feel better.

She turned around, and this time Zaxaphrax let her go. She sank into her mother’s arms. The tears were gone, but the fear lingered.

For a moment they stayed as they were, silent.

Then Zaxaphrax shifted. Christine could sense his impatience. He would say something soon, or take her away from her mother, she thought. That mental picture filled her with panic again, and for an instant she clung tighter to her mother.

But that mental picture also filled her with… something else….

Shame.

The tears would come back, she thought. She would be dragged into the Inner Plane crying and terrified. Her brother, who waited for her there, and whom the prospect of meeting was the only thing that came close to exciting her about leaving, would see her like that. That thought, more than anything, made her decide to do what she did next.

Be brave, she thought to herself.

Goodbye, Mother, she said.

Goodbye, Christine, Mother said.

Then, before she could think twice about it, Christine let go, turned, wiped the lingering tears away, and took her father’s hand again.

I’m ready.

2

Two

When Izzablyx first came through the portal, she felt a moment of utter confusion. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there, and she had a nasty, throbbing pain in her skull. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fog cleared. She had said goodbye to her mother, she remembered, and grasped her father’s hand. Then the portal had opened before them, and Zaxaphrax had led her through.

Now here she was.

Izzablyx stood in a large, circular room. Beams of blue-green ice curved at the edges to meet above her at a single point. In between the arches stood scalloped walls, also ice. The floor was scuffed and scratched, as if many battles had been fought here.

Yes, she thought, suspecting that was exactly why the floor was scratched. Many battles had indeed been fought here. Because this was a room for practicing magic, and magic could be used to kill.

As these thoughts passed through her mind, she caught sight of a figure at the edge of her vision.

She turned to look.

The figure was a sorcerer. He wore white robes, and one hand held a small crystal cylinder. His eyes were bright green, and seemed familiar, although, at that moment, she couldn’t place why.

His hair was long and straight, and slate blue like her own, falling about his shoulders in a shimmering curtain. He had sharp, angular features. He looked as if he had been chipped from marble by a skilled craftsman, Izzablyx thought.

He’s my brother, she told herself, filled with wonder. She had never seen him before, but she knew it was him. His eyes were familiar, because they were shaped like her father’s.

Here, I leave you, my child, Zaxaphrax said. He let go of her hand, and gave her the white staff.

This staff is made of wood from the Tree of Life, he said, locking eyes with her. "It will heal and revitalize you as long as you hold it. Do not lose it. It is more valuable than a third of my kingdom."

Perplexed but grateful, Izzablyx took the staff.

Zaxaphrax turned to look at her brother, and her brother nodded, as if he understood some unspoken command. His eyes strayed back to the staff, and he stared at it with his lips slightly parted, and his eyes wide.

A black portal opened before Zaxaphrax.

I leave her in your care, Izzax, Zaxaphrax said, and stepped through.

Izzablyx looked back at her brother expectantly.

He appraised her for a moment.

How do you feel? he asked.

I’m alright, Izzablyx replied. Her head still hurt, but she thought she was fine.

Nicwyre squirmed in her arm, and she put him down.

Good, Izzax said. What is your name?

Christine, she replied.

He frowned. Who gave you that name?

My mother, Izzablyx said.

Your mother is human, weak, worthless. That name is the same.

I like it, she protested. Her voice was quiet, but she felt a hot bubble of anger rise in her throat.

What is the name our father gave you? Izzax prodded.

I don’t remember, she answered, looking down at her feet. Her cheeks burned.

Do not lie to me, her brother warned.

Izzablyx shut her eyes.

My mother isn’t worthless, she thought. Maybe it’s a stupid name, and maybe she’s just a human, but she isn’t worthless.

Answer, Izzax demanded.

Izzablyx, she said. She opened her eyes to look into his.

There was a moment of silence.

Izzablyx, Izzax repeated, watching her. Beautiful, powerful, the name of a sorceress. When have you last heard of a sorceress named Christine? That is a name for a common girl.

It’s my name, and I like it, she said. The other one doesn’t feel right for me.

You simply aren’t used to it. You will grow to like it, trust me.

What if I don’t?

You will, he insisted. Your name is Izzablyx Daekshaer. Do you understand?

Izzablyx looked off to the side, trying to think of a way to make her brother happy and keep her name.

She had an idea.

What if… she began, …what if Christine were my middle name?

Izzax tapped the crystal cylinder against his chin, considering.

Very well, he consented. Izzablyx Christine Daekshaer.

Izzablyx looked up at him again and smiled.

Now, I am to be your instructor in the magical arts, Izzax said. Every day, I will train you from breakfast until lunch. After that, you will study until dinner. The day of Sanctum is the only exception. We rest then.

At the word dinner, Izzablyx started thinking about food. She hadn’t been allowed to eat anything that day. She suspected it had something to do with traveling dimensions.

I am hungry, she stated.

Her brother nodded.

Come, he said, and swept from the room, pushing open the double doors on one side. Izzablyx picked up Nicwyre again and followed Izzax.

Past the double doors was a hallway, and at the end of the hall, Izzax pushed aside another set of double doors, and stepped into the room on the other side. He held the door open for Izzablyx.

She walked past him and entered a large dining chamber. Stalactites and stalagmites of ice rose and fell from the floor and ceiling, and many joined together to form natural pillars. Magnificent stained ice windows looked out over the mountainside: a landscape of frost, howling wind, and airy peaks. The stained ice itself was fashioned in colorful geometric patterns, and the light which streamed through splintered into a dazzling array of colors.

In the middle of the room a silver table stood, laden with breakfast foods; smoked venison ham, eggs, trout, and berries with cream. Nearby, a goblin stood with his hands behind his back, watching them with dark eyes.

Izzablyx had seen ice goblins before. She waved at the creature, who nodded back.

Izzax pulled out a chair on the other end of the table and sat down. He motioned for Izzablyx to do the same.

She obliged, and helped herself to the food. Nicwyre jumped in her lap, and poked his head up over the side, his nose twitching. She put him on the table, and forked a piece of trout and laid it in front of him.

Izzax watched her and Nicwyre in silence for a while.

What is that for? he asked at length.

What? Izzablyx asked, looking up at him.

Izzax pointed with his fork. The cat.

Oh. She regarded the cub. He’s a snow leopard. His name is Nicwyre.

Izzax watched for another moment.

What does he do? he asked, swallowing.

Usual cat things, she said. He eats, and he plays, and sleeps, and meows.

Does he do anything useful?

She giggled.

Not yet. He’s very naughty, but he makes good company, and once he gets older he can hunt things.

Izzax’s brow furrowed, which made Izzablyx think he looked funny. She wanted to laugh more.

He has no magical ability, I assume? he asked.

I don’t think so, she answered, giggling again.

I see, Izzax said. He took a mouthful of smoked ham.

Do you have any pets? Izzablyx asked.

No, Izzax answered. Unless you count the goblins, and demons I summon. He paused, and grinned. Although, he added, the demons I summon are very powerful.

Oh, Izzablyx said.

Izzax turned back to his food.

Summoning is my specialty, he remarked.

Will I have a specialty? she asked.

That depends. Once you become adept at magic, you can choose to specialize in a certain domain, assuming you have the skill and patience, but I wouldn’t worry about that anytime soon. You need to learn the basics first.

Oh, okay. Izzablyx looked back at her food then continued to eat.

They finished the meal in silence. Once they were done, Izzax arose and motioned to the goblin to clear the table. He then turned to his sister.

We shall begin your training now, he said. Bring your staff.

Okay, Izzablyx said, pushing back her chair and getting up.

3

Three

Once they were back in the training room, Izzax spun around to face her. He now held a staff in his hand, where the wand had been before. It was made of the same crystalline material.

Izzablyx wasn’t sure how he had got the staff, and began to wonder about it, when Izzax interrupted her thoughts.

Show me what you can do.

Anything?

Yes, I need to determine how advanced you are currently.

She paused, thinking. She had stumbled upon a few rudimentary magic abilities while playing, but none of them seemed very impressive to her.

Tentatively, she knelt, and began tracing her finger along the ground. In its wake frost crystals formed, and once she was done, she lifted her finger from her work.

It was a flower, although not a very good one, she thought.

She looked up.

Pretty, Izzax remarked, but nothing I wouldn’t expect from a sorcerer half your age. He then tapped his own staff in the middle of the flower drawing, and withdrew. From the point where his staff touched the floor, a shoot of ice emerged, expanding upwards. Delicate leaves and petals of ice spiraled outward from the stem, sparkling in the falling light. It was finished in no more than a few seconds—a flower of ice, petals streaked with sky blue veins.

Izzablyx gasped. It’s beautiful!

Izzax smirked.

Now, he said, show me something better than child’s play.

But Izzablyx didn’t hear him. She was captivated. Eyes wide, she gently ran her hand over one crystalline petal.

All at once, her brother brought his staff down and smashed the artwork into a thousand shards.

Izzablyx jumped, and then looked up at him in shock.

Pay attention when I speak to you, he said.

You broke it! she stated in disbelief.

Izzax snorted. Obviously, I broke it. We are not here to look at flowers, Izzablyx.

You need to fix it! she said, her voice cracking.

Izzax leaned over, looking into her eyes. You will not demand of me.

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying to fight off the tears.

I am your master, Izzax said. You will not question my authority. Is that understood?

Will you fix it, please? she asked.

Izzax straightened.

I’m sorry for not paying attention, she added, trying to meet his eyes.

His expression was firm, then thoughtful.

Very well, he said at length.

Thank you, she said, brightening.

"After—" he continued, you have completed today’s lesson.

Okay. That was fair enough, she thought.

Now, I will repeat what I said earlier, Izzax said. Show me something better than child’s play.

Izzablyx took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She lifted her hands with palms facing each other, letting the staff rest against her shoulder. Snowflakes began to form in the space between her fingers, and as they multiplied, they started to spin. Within a few seconds, there was a tiny blizzard between the space of her palms.

Good, Izzax said. Can you make it bigger?

Izzablyx widened the gap between her palms. It grew to five inches across, then eight, then ten.

Suddenly she lost control, and the ball exploded, blasting snow in their faces.

Izzax rocked back on his heels in surprise. Izzablyx wiped a hand over her face.

Well done, her brother said, regaining his balance.

Izzablyx looked at him, and laughed. His hair was swept back, and there was snow on his eyebrows.

He frowned.

What is so funny?

Your hair is messed up, she giggled.

You shouldn’t be talking, he said. He flipped his hair over his shoulders again, and dusted off his face. Izzablyx shook her head, sending snow flying in little drifts.

Izzax cleared his throat, and Izzablyx looked at him.

What you just did was natural magic, he said. In other words, you cast what might be called a spell by pure intuition and will….

As he spoke, the image of his surprised face appeared in her head again, and she giggled.

"….magic like that can be useful at times, but— why are you still laughing?"

I don’t know, she squeaked, biting her lip.

Izzax sighed and rolled his eyes.

Wait here, he said, and made his way to a staircase at the back of the room. She watched him descend.

Izzablyx waited, trying to calm herself down. She knew she was supposed to be taking this seriously, but she couldn’t help it if funny things popped up in her head uninvited. She would just have to make up for it when he came back, she decided.

After half a minute he returned, holding two books under one arm.

Do you know the story of how our world was created? he asked.

She nodded. My mother taught me, I think.

Well, I shall tell it to you again. It is very important if you are to understand who you are and how magic works. Izzax sat down cross legged, and Izzablyx followed his example.

Izzax opened one of the books. In the beginning, he started, there was the Korax, floating in the void. The Korax is the most powerful, intelligent, and mysterious entity in existence. It is not clear if the Korax is really alive in the sense that we are comfortable with. It is constantly moving, adding, organizing, and creating, but if these functions serve any motive, we do not as of yet know what these motives are.

What is a function? she asked.

In this context, it means the things that the Korax tends to do habitually, he answered.

Oh, Izzablyx said.

Izzax cleared his throat, and continued.

"Where the Korax came from is not clear either. Many argue that it was created by an old god, maybe The God, but it is difficult to prove definitively. One thing is clear, however. Without the Korax, our world would not exist. It is responsible for what we call life, and the framework, for the reality in which we live.

"Over the eons, the Korax attracted the attention of other beings. These beings we call the Eoth, which means Elders in Charzan. The Eoth learned to tap into the Korax’s power. They built huge libraries of spells—most of which are now lost to the common knowledge—and wondrous worlds that are now long passed away. The Korax learned from these beings and their creations, and began mimicking them. It created worlds so vast it made the Eoth’s worlds seem like pebbles on the mountainside. Strange, magical creatures walked these realms, in harmony with the creation.

"At some point, the Eoth started a war among themselves. To summarize the effects of this war, they used the power of the Korax to cause immense destruction upon each other and their worlds. Somewhere along the way, they harmed the Korax’s world, and the Korax retaliated.

"The first shattering, as it is called these days, was the most intense burst of magical energy ever seen in all the planes of known existence. The Korax shattered the Eoth’s worlds and its own worlds alike, and most of the Eoth themselves were destroyed. Great swaths of worlds remain completely vacant, even today. These are called the Dim Planes. Others are still inhabited by descendants of the original creation, but they are a shadow of those that came before them. We call them demons, and the old shattered worlds in which they dwell we call the Hells, or the Outer Planes.

The Korax itself was not damaged in any significant way. It created a new world—our world, then called the Inner Plane. The Korax didn’t slow down, but all accounts seem to suggest that it became much more wary, so to speak. It developed systems to limit the amount of magical power that any particular being could access, and created rules which would prohibit beings from traveling to the Inner Plane unless they were specifically invited by the denizens of the Inner Plane. Moreover, it created guardians, the angels, to protect the Inner Plane from aggressive outsiders. The angels dwell in the Core Plane, which is the world beyond ours, where it is said the Korax itself resides, although this, too, has never been proven.

Izzax put the book down, and looked at her.

There are a few things you should take away from these passages, he said. I want to know your thoughts.

It’s sad, she said. Why would the Korax destroy its own world?

I do not know, Izzax replied. Perhaps it did not have the capability to target the causes of the problem, so rather than suffer the effects of the war, it destroyed everything. Or perhaps the Korax was simply mimicking the behavior of the Eoth, as it had done before when creating its worlds. It is hard to say why, exactly, the Korax does anything, as the first passage implied. He paused. Anything else?

I guess not, Izzablyx said, putting her chin in her hands. I don’t see what this has to do with learning magic.

It has everything to do with learning magic, Izzax said. "There is one thing that you need to understand, and perhaps the book did not make quite clear enough. For all intents and purposes, the Korax is magic, and magic is the foundation of our reality. Everything in the known planes of existence is built upon symbols of true meaning. It’s like a code."

Izzablyx eyes widened. What?

A small smile curved upward from the corner of Izzax’s lip.

Indeed, he said. This is what I was trying to impress upon you earlier. Natural, or intuitive magic, is not how real mages cast spells. The reason for this is because natural magic is difficult to control, and extremely inefficient. Real mages use incantations. To cast an incantation, you must invoke symbols of true meaning. For the most part, we do this through runes. Runes were created by the Eoth as tools for calling sequences of true symbols, which we refer to as spells. We can manifest these runes by speaking their verbal components, or by envisioning them in our minds.

Izzablyx furrowed her brow. That doesn’t make sense. If magic is just invoking the runes, why can’t humans do it?

"Manifesting, Izzax corrected, not invoking. You can invoke a true symbol, but not a rune."

Izzablyx put her head to one side, puzzled.

Izzax smirked. Don’t worry about it too much right now. We’re getting into magic theory, which is an advanced subject. Just remember, symbols are invoked, and runes are manifested. You cast spells with runes, not symbols.

Okay, Izzablyx said, feeling small and stupid.

Izzax’s smirk persisted.

Now, to answer your original question, humans cannot cast spells because they are descendants of the second creation. Their incanters are dormant.

He produced an odd object from his pocket.

The object was circular, made of polished, black, reflective material, ringed with silver. He held it in both hands just below his eyes. Izzablyx could see a dim, shadowy reflection of herself in the inky surface.

What is that? she asked in wonder.

Imagine this mirror represents a doorway into another world, called the Darkspace, Izzax began. The Darkspace spans all worlds that exist within the Korax, and is more or less a reflection of said worlds, with a few differences. Firstly, everything is represented by symbols of true meaning, not material forms as you understand them. The reflection of yourself that you see within the mirror is made of symbols, all interconnected, and interacting. Secondly, in this world, anything is possible. All you need is the right knowledge.

Izzablyx frowned. You just said we can’t cast spells with symbols.

We cast spells by manifesting runes, which in turn invoke a sequence of symbols, Izzax explained. His voice was patient. "The point of runes is to reduce the amount of work we have to do in order to make something happen in the Darkspace, and subsequently, in our world, as we perceive it. If we were to invoke the symbols manually, casting spells would be tedious indeed.

Now, as I was saying, The Korax allows us to access the Darkspace, in a very limited way, through incanters. The mirror represents your incanter, Izzablyx. Our father is a powerful archdemon, descended from the beings of the first creation. The Korax designed these beings with active incanters. Humans have incanters too, but they are dormant. This is why you can use magic, and humans cannot.

Izzablyx tried to wrap her head around what her brother was saying.

So… humans are like clouds without lightning? she asked, thinking of the storms which sometimes passed over her father’s palace, and trembled the stones with their power.

Yes, I suppose that’s a fitting analogy, Izzax agreed. He placed the black mirror back into his pocket. Then he steepled his fingers, and stared at Izzablyx with strange intensity.

There’s one more concept I would like you to take away from this lesson before we continue, he said. After the first shattering, the Korax made it so that all runes require great amounts of energy to manifest. This energy is inherit in every living thing, to varying degrees, but to be effective, it must be focused. We can learn to focus it through intensive study and discipline, or, we can cheat. Most mages cheat. I cheat, and you will too.

Izzablyx blinked. I will?

Yes. He smiled. That’s what your staff is for.

Izzablyx glanced at her staff, then at Izzax, trying to understand. The staff makes it easier?

Indeed, but how, Izzablyx? Izzax asked. His finger ran steadily down the length of his staff, but his eyes were not on the staff. His eyes were locked on hers.

This is another test, Izzablyx realized nervously. She had already disappointed Izzax with the flower drawing. She didn’t want to fail again. For a moment, she completely forgot what her brother had even been talking about.

Izzax raised one eyebrow as the silence drew on.

Are you stupid? his eyes seemed to say.

Stop looking at me like that! she cried, putting her head in her hands.

He laughed. Relax, Izzablyx. The answer is simpler than you think.

Izzablyx stared at the floor through her fingers. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she remembered.

The staff focuses the energy for me, she said, almost to herself. Then she looked at Izzax, and brightened when she saw his smile.

Exactly, Izzax said.

Izzablyx’s chest swelled.

Staffs and wands serve as magic conduits, Izzax said, because they are made of conductive material, or because they are enchanted with this property. Do you know the difference between a staff and a wand?

Um, a staff is bigger, she offered.

Very observant, Izzax said, smirking again. Staffs are better at focusing large amounts of energy. They are more powerful because they are quicker to cast spells with, but they exhaust your energy quicker as well. Wands are more efficient, and favor long excursions, with the added bonus of being convenient. Some wizards prefer staffs, others wands, and many carry both. I carry a wandstaff, which has the special property of being able to transform into either a wand or staff, whichever I prefer in the moment.

He lifted the staff and twirled it above his head. It shrunk into a ten-inch long cylinder.

So that’s where