Acclayne Book 1: The Game Begins
Chapter 1

Time, in Acclayne, is a thick substance. It gloops,honey-like, never really getting anywhere. Time there doesn’tdiffer too much from other places; it is still pretty much endless,it just goes about it’s business rather more slowly. In Acclayneyou can replace yourself waking up of a morning, doing the chores thatwould usually take you all day, and still be in time for elevenses.On Earth, time is of great consequence and is measured to themillisecond. There is never enough. It is constantly running out.Thus records of history are fairly exact- down to the day. This isnot so in Glakyrie. History is quite vague- full of ums and ahs andthereabouts.

It was on one suchmeandering day that Methyn; Deputy Headmaster of the CorthusInstitution for the study of Magic and Wonderment, found himselfteaching History to some rather uninterested students. As DeputyHeadmaster he didn’t teach many classes as a rule, which he washighly grateful for. It was not so much the subject matter, but thestudents. They showed about as much magical tenacity as Grandma’s“good” china. History, as a subject, wasn’t too bad. There wasno practical involved- which meant there was less likelihood ofMethyn being blown up. This was always a plus in his books. Insteadthere was a different problem. Unbound by the restrictions of time asthey were it was difficult to make clear the key events of Glakyrianpast. It was also difficult to make clear the deadline for homework;but the children failed to see the problem with that.

This particular day,soon to be lost in time with every other, Methyn was covering thebasics; the history of Magic:

“At someunspecified point in time, a Glakyrian by the name of Corthar; theliteral translation here being “Thinker”,was pondering the potential of an Acorn while out in his garden. Hewondered: if the potential of an Acorn was so great and yet it was sosmall whether this meant that the potential energy within the Acornmay be harnessed by something bigger than itself. Yes, you?” Methynstopped and pointed to a small boy at the front of the class. He hadhis hand in the air, waving it eagerly.

“Sir, what do youmean by potential energy?” He sighed, relieved to have asked hisquestion. Methyn sighed for another reason entirely.

“The potential energyof something is the stored energy that it has within itself. Thispotential energy can manifest itself in different ways…”

“Yeah like thepotential energy of my fist to punch your face Malcolm.” Came asnigger from the back of the class.

“I’ll see you in myoffice at lunchtime Kaylaer. The potential energy of the Acorn meansthat it is able to grow into a huge Oak tree. Does that clear that upfor you Malcolm?“ The little boy nodded his head beatifically- hisenthusiasm gone; replaced by the realisation that his chances ofbeing beaten up after class had just sky rocketed. Methyn continued,“After much thought on the matter- trying to harness the excessenergy with his mind and failing. Corthar gave up and decided todevelop the use of magic instead. He had inadvertently discoveredmagic while deep in thought about his Acorn. While looking insidehimself- visualising what his mental energy may look like, hehappened upon a different kind of energy. A fast moving substance,similar to an electrical current, pulsing through his body. He hadignored it at first and continued on with the matter at hand but thedraw of the unknown was too great and thus the beginnings of magicwere discovered.” Methyn looked up at his students to see Malcolm’shand once again in the air. “Malcolm?”

“Sir, is that energythe same thing we learn about in our channelling class?”

“YesMalcolm. That energy is raw Magic, the potential Magic energy of ahuman being is far greater than the potential of anything else. Thereis so much that we can do. Channelling class teaches you to harnessthat energy and put it to use.” Methyn had to wonder what theirteachers were actually teaching them; if anything at all. “ It isnot quite clear on when the harnessing and use of magic came to be assophisticated as it is currently in Glakyrie, it is only known thatit has been a fair while. According to legend Corthar had twochildren; Cortharen the “Great one” andCorthus the “Thoughtful”.Cortharen was the eldest and became a great hunter, her skill withmagic was even greater than her father’s. The youngest, Corthus,was somewhat less impressive. Theoretically he was as smart as hisfather and sister, he just did not have the drive nor the inclinationto do anything with his thoughts. He lacked the motivation to achievegreatness and so settled for a sort of thoughtful mediocrity.”Methyn paused briefly when he saw Malcolm’s hand in the air. “Itis from these two children that the two largest cities in Glakyrieare named.” Malcolm’s hand came back down. “Cortharen, thelarger of the two cities boasts the latest in modern convenience, hasa low crime rate and has some of the greatest practitioners of magicthat Glakyrie’s long and meandering history has ever known.Corthus, on the other hand, is somewhat less high-flying.” Therewas a cough from the back of the class. What Methyn was trying to saywas that compared with it’s sister city, Corthus was distinctlyaverage in every way. It ticked over slowly, meandering like timeitself and was quite happy to do so, thank you very much. When itdid decide to finally participate in the magic lark, it produced themost mediocre of sorcerers. But they did the job, and that was allCorthus ever asked of its occupants. Malcolm’s hand shot up again,but before Methyn could address him the bell sounded and the seats atthe back of the classroom began shuffling.

“Sir, Sir!”

“Malcolm, class isover. I have a meeting with the Headmaster.” What Methyn meant bythis was that he first had a meeting in his office with a ratherlarge mug of sweet milky Tea, then a meeting with the Headmastershortly afterward. Malcolm looked crestfallen as he shuffled out ofthe room.

Methyn breathed a sighof relief as Malcolm shut the door behind himself. He felt sorry forhim, he really did. He had a drive that was lacking in Corthus. Astudent like him would be much more easily accepted in Cortharen.That was if he had the ability to match his enthusiasm. Gathering hispaperwork he left the classroom and headed for his office. Historyclasses were held in one of the old buildings. They had stood thetest of elongated time and had become almost part of the naturallandscape. The old stony faces were covered in moss and wereperpetually damp which meant the classrooms always had that heavy,wet concrete smell- like a city in the rain. He was glad to be out ofthere for now. The Headmaster’s rooms were in one of the less soggyold buildings, his own office was in the new building at his request.

The new building wasnew in the sense that it was built sometime after the old buildings.A little before Methyn was born he believed. It was an angularbuilding and unlike the older constructions, stuck out like a sorethumb. It was cream cubism against the landscape. The colour onlybroken up by the masses of large windows. Methyn’s office was atthe very heart of the building. It comforted him to be surrounded bysuch modernity. When he was required to teach he usually requestedclasses that were near his office so he was able to make a quickescape. This often meant that he ended up teaching one of thepractical classes. There wasn’t enough milky tea in the world tocompensate for that as far as Methyn was concerned. Today he optedfor smell rather than irritation, a choice he was glad of when he sawthat the outside wall of the Kinetic Magic for beginners class hadbeen obliterated. Again. He sidled past unnoticed, hopefully theteacher wouldn’t come looking for him while he was in his office.He’d helped Magically rebuild that wall at least thirty times sincehe’d become Deputy Headmaster. At first he’d questioned MrsStokes teaching ability, but there was only so much you could do witha classroom full of Magically inept thirteen year olds who reallycannot be bothered.

Relief flushed throughhim as he reached his office door, it was a sturdy barrier betweenhim and the rest of the school. It protected his sanctuary, and mostimportantly of all; his stash of Cortharen tea bags. The officeitself was painted the same cream as the rest of the building, thoughmost of the walls were obstructed by imposing bookshelves, stackedfull and organised first by subject and then by author. Methyn wasnothing if not organised. The whole room was testament to that fact.There was not one speck of dust on any of the many shelves, no knickknacks and no photos. There were; however, two deep blue nauticalpaintings on the wall behind his desk, and a Terracotta colouredfuton in the corner.

The Institution hadbeen Methyn’s home for as long as he could remember. With no homeoutside of the school to speak of, he fell into a teaching jobstraight away- his magical ability setting him apart from any othercandidates. He had barely left the place since. It was only recentlythat he had began venturing out on his annual holidays. Not that heever really spoke about it with anyone, and he never took any photos,so the destinations remained a mystery. In fact Methyn’s peers knewvery little about him, which was partially due to his beingsubstantially younger than most of them because of his fast trackinto teaching. On Earth Methyn would have been bordering onmiddle-aged. The softer handsome features of his youth had sharpenedwith age and disappointment so that his face held a permanent look ofdistaste. It was not that he was no longer handsome but rather thatthe warmth that had once been so attractive was now missing- snuffedby his lack of enthusiasm for his own life. True to Corthean naturehe was of average height; a mere seven foot two. This may seem quitetall to you and I but as a rule the average height in Corthus wasactually much shorter than the average height in Cortharen. His onceslim physique was starting to show the beginnings of a spare tyreafter too many mugs of milky tea with biscuits. It was the one thingthat kept him going during the long mornings that he often spentteaching the younger children- the promise of sweet milky tea and adigestive; a chocolate digestive if he was feeling particularly down.This vice was probably the only solid fact anyone had about Methyn.Apart from Master Cartaisey of course.

Master Cartaisey,Headmaster of the Corthus institution for the study of Magic andWonderment, had known Methyn since he was a new pupil at his school.It was a very long time ago but Cartaisey could remember it well. Itwas possibly one of the very few things that he could remember wellanymore. By Corthean standards Cartaisey was the greatest of allmagic practitioners. With somewhere over five hundred and thirty fouryears of experience he was also the oldest of all magicpractitioners. How he was still going no one really knew, but it waspretty impressive by anyone’s standards. As one would expect ofsomeone so old, he no longer had a completely solid grip on all ofhis faculties- which made for some interesting lessons. Severalstudents had been turned into rabbits in an attempt to demonstratebasic illusory methods 101. They had not yet been turned back. Thiswas simply one of the risks amateur sorcerers were willing to take inorder to study under the great Master Cartaisey. Well, at least itwas one of the conditions under the terms of agreement that they’dsigned when joining the institute. Whether they’d read it or notwas another matter entirely.

Cartaiseyhad once been Methyn’s hero. He had idolisedhim as a child and he had become almost a father figure to him. Butwith time the veneer had worn away as had the majority of Cartaisey’srationality, so it seemed that only Methyn could really see andunderstand the deterioration of the once great Headmaster. Methyn hadworked under Cartaisey as the Deputy Headmaster for the past twentyor so years. Before that he had studied under him for at least ten.To Methyn the whole thing seemed a lot longer. He was in a positionthat most, if not all sorcerers wanted to be in. His colleaguescouldn’t understand his complete lack of enthusiasm for his job.Methyn wondered if they ever opened their eyes to the reality thatthey were living in. Teaching students that clearly didn’t give atoss either way had seemingly affected him more than others. Needlessto say he did not choose this position himself, but rather was handpicked by Cartaisey, an even greater honour in the eyes of his fellowprofessors. Methyn hadn’t wanted the extra responsibility, it wasenough trying to get through the day without having any of yourstudents spontaneously combust- which had happened a few times. Whatwith Cartaisey’s constantly deteriorating state Methyn often foundhimself doing the day to day running of the Institution. It wasenough to drive anyone mad, so it was unsurprising that after so longin the job Cartaisey was losing the plot. For years they had beenchurning out below average sorcerers. If you could even call themthat. Most of them still had trouble with basic alchemy. Methyndespaired of them. If these children were going to be the future ofCorthus’ magical community then there wouldn’t be much of acommunity at the end of it, and if there was, the chances of itblowing itself up were pretty high.

Methyn sighedcontentedly as he drank the last of his tea. He had his tea bagsspecially imported from Cortharen. He may not have been able tobenefit from the modernity that the inhabitants of Cortharen did, buthe could still enjoy their superior tea. Having had his fix heprepared himself for his meeting with Cartaisey. Apparently it wasover a matter of some urgency; something regarding the Royal family.He gathered a few papers, not really knowing what he might need, andheaded toward Cartaisey’s rooms. He wasn’t sure if he was goingto replace the rational thinking Headmaster today or if he was going toreplace the loon that had replaced him on so many occasions. More thanonce he had found him lying on the floor of his office, legs pointingtowards the ceiling: he claimed the pixies in his shoes were tryingto pull him up into outer space. When Methyn was younger he may havebelieved this. Now that he was older, magic; the harnessing of thebodies natural energy, was not anything remotely supernatural. It wasa science, or even an art. Pixies, Gnomes, Fairies… they justdidn’t exist. Add to this the fact that Cartaisey spent most of histime in adult nappies and it was understandable that Methyn felt morethan a little dejected.

While Methyn was makinghis way toward Cartaisey’s office, the messenger from the Palacehad already arrived and was pacing outside the imposing wooden door.The chief messenger was a very nervy man. He did not mix well withpeople, in fact speaking to people that he didn’t know put him evenmore on edge than he was usually. Occasionally his friends would jokethat he was so on edge that one day he was going to fall off. Despitehis fear of meeting new people the chief messenger did not hate hisjob. Usually he was only required to deliver letters, summonses,documents and the like, but today the message he carried wasextremely urgent. So urgent in fact that the King had not had time towrite it down. He would have to deliver it verbally. So it was withextreme trepidation that he approached the Headmaster’s officedoor.