"Don’t blink." Rorschach spread his hand, showing everyone it was empty. Everyone held their breath, and for a mont, the clearing grew so quiet you could hear the birds chirping in the forest.
Then, with a flick of his right wrist, a packet suddenly appeared.
"Go on, open it. You can eat it," he said, handing it to the child who had wriggled closest. Then he announced to everyone, "There’s one for all of you. A little gift."
"Wow, it’s so sweet!" The child opened the bag to find translucent chunks of sugar. He popped one into his mouth, his face a picture of pure bliss.
It wasn’t anything flashy. The Trick was just Rorschach pulling the Brown Sugar he’d prepared for the Sub-plane out of his Storage Ring. He had conveniently packed it into dozens of bags, each weighing about half a pound. He had a bit of fun with the kids as he handed them out, using Magic to pass himself off as a Master magician.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" The villagers applauded as they all crowded around to get theirs.
As Rorschach handed out the sugar, he paid close attention to the color of the paper packets in his hands. ’Can’t let them eat the Vibration Crystal powder!’
So people took out a piece and began to lick it slowly, while others started chewing right away. The true connoisseurs, however, would crush the sugar with a mug and stir it into half a cup of light beer, instantly transforming it into a prized sweet brew. In an age where wine wasn’t made dry but had sugar and honey added, there was never enough sweetness to go around.
The village was nestled against the Black Forest, so they had access to honey. Settlents a little farther south even possessed the art of dosticating a species of fuzzy bee. But scarce honey was used as dicine or given to the Lord to offset taxes. Even if they kept so for themselves, they would only add it to grain gruel, diluting it until it was nearly tasteless.
With a packet of sugar for every person, Rorschach was like a magnanimous lord. The mont he returned, everyone was enjoying a luxury.
’In the future, it’ll be the other way around,’ Rorschach thought. ’Brown Sugar might fare a bit better, especially if it’s packaged as sothing like "artisanal" or "traditionally handmade." Glucose syrup and white sugar will be at the bottom of the pecking order, while the wild honey they eat now will beco the most sought-after source of sweetness.’
A Magic show began in the small village for the Winter Festival. Simply using an invisible Mage’s Hand to make things float—and even lift up a child—had the audience roaring with delight. He also cleverly used the Resuscitation Skill to turn dried fruit back into fresh fruit. During one attempt, he accidentally lost control of the power and made a seed burst into a tiny sprout, which earned him even greater cheers.
Rorschach had a wicked thought. ’If Casters beco commonplace soday, and so have to perform for a living, I wonder if the "magic debunker" types in the audience would just say: "Oh, I know this one. It’s Silent Illusion, a First-level Spell. Nothing special..."’
"Everyone, look, the cup is empty." Standing on a table, Rorschach tipped the cup over, then turned it upside down to show the audience it was bare. Then, GURGLE GURGLE, the cup filled itself with water. The villagers passed it around reverently, as if it contained not plain water, but Holy Water.
When the cup returned to Rorschach’s hand, he tossed its contents into the air. Everyone gasped at the splash, only to see the water hang suspended in mid-air instead of falling. Rorschach froze it with Ice Hand, then supported the shards of ice. ’Activation... Mapping...’
Shaping the Water Elent was easier than shaping the more complex Earth Elent. The crowd watched as the icicles in the air morphed from a random shape into an exquisite Great Sword, which descended steadily into Rorschach’s grasp. At that mont, his violet-black Magic Robe billowed in an unseen wind, making him look like a legendary Hero and earning him wave after wave of applause and cheers from the villagers.
Finally, to prevent any children from getting hurt playing with the temporary, ice-forged "Village Sword," Rorschach Mage injected it with an excess of Magic Power, causing it to shatter into a fine mist of tiny, glittering ice crystals. The move earned him high praise from the adults and sighs of deep regret from the kids.
And so, the Winter Festival Magic show ca to a perfect end. Rorschach, a Middle Level Caster of the Empire, had made an outstanding contribution to the spiritual and cultural enrichnt of his hotown’s rural populace.
"Rorschach Mage is really amazing! How co we’ve never seen our own Town Mage do anything like that?"
"He probably can’t. He just struts around in gold and silver, carrying that cane everywhere. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s a fraud, all for show..."
"Shh, quiet down! You shouldn’t say things like that, even if they’re true..."
Back in town, the unsuspecting Town Mage shivered. He paused his work signing docunts and poked the firewood in the hearth, coaxing the flas to burn a little brighter.
He recalled a piece of news he’d received over dinner. "Rorschach Mage is back in his village?"
"Yes. Shall I fetch his file?" his apprentice-and-assistant had replied.
"No, don’t bother. That file is just useless paper for the Council’s benefit. You can’t learn anything of substance from it."
Of course, unlike the Town Mage, no one in the small mountain village was still working late into the night.
After extinguishing the bonfires and taking their pots and pans back ho, everyone was ready for bed. Staying up late required more fuel and more food to sustain oneself—a privilege reserved for the non-manual laborers of the towns.
So, regardless of his own sleep schedule, Rorschach had to go to bed. It wasn’t for lack of a light source, but because the rustling of book pages would disturb the others—village houses didn’t have guest rooms!
Though the house was partitioned into several areas, these were mainly to separate the kitchen, a storeroom, and even a semi-enclosed stall for their prized cow to winter in. To save fuel, the entire family slept in a single room, sotis even a single bed. The sa went for guests.
Rorschach’s younger brother and sister... In his mory, his brother was just a little tyke, and he had never even t his sister. He only knew from letters that his sister’s na was Angela, and he thought his brother’s was Franz. To make room for Rorschach, the two of them had given up their spots in the bed and were relegated to the attic.
"It’s full of dried wheat straw. It’s plenty warm, they won’t freeze."
"I can sleep in the attic."
"Absolutely not!"
"The cold doesn’t bother a Mage! But Angela is so little, and the attic must still be a bit chilly." Franz was thirteen. He had been just a little kid when Rorschach left ho to study, but now he was old enough to help his parents with plenty of farm work, counting as half an adult. His sister, if Rorschach’s calculations were correct, should be six.
Old rcer didn’t insist. Like most heads of households in the village, he was a stubborn man, but when it ca to the returned Rorschach Mage, whatever he said went. He simply brought out a coarse cloth sack stuffed with wheat straw and a sheepskin pelt.
"Rorschach, can you tell a story about Mages?" his sister’s voice drifted out of the darkness.
Angela’s parents didn’t stop her. Perhaps they wanted to listen, too.
Rorschach’s voice drifted down from the attic. "In the Kingdom Capital to the south, there’s a very tall tower, built by Mages and Dwarves to celebrate the King’s birthday. From the top, you can see the entire Royal Capital. On the night of the King’s birth, they light the world’s largest torch, which scatters countless stars across the sky and over the city..."
"I want to see it, too. Can you pick up the stars when they fall?"
"Maybe you’ll get the chance soday..."
Rorschach also described the scenery of the Sub-plane, carefully avoiding any ntion of the dangers he had faced. If he told them about that, Mr. and Mrs. rcer would likely let their imaginations run wild and worry themselves sick whenever he was away.
...
8:04.
That was the ti Rorschach woke up the next day.
"You’re awake?" Madam rcer said with a smile. "Hurry and eat your wheat porridge. I mixed in so milk and last night’s broth. It’s been keeping warm on the stove."
Old rcer had taken Little Franz out early in the morning to feed the cow and gather firewood. They had to take advantage of the snowless days to gather whatever they could; fuel was extrely precious, especially in the countryside during winter.
"You should have woken ." In the Holy Kingdom, Rorschach was used to waking up at seven-thirty. Without things like cell phones, keeping a regular schedule of sleeping early and rising early had beco an easy habit. So even though no one had woken him and the village bell wouldn’t ring until noon, Rorschach hadn’t slept in too late.
"You must have traveled such a long, long way. You deserved to sleep in a little," the woman said. She had never been farther than the nearby town, and for a long ti, she had been separated from Rorschach by a distance she couldn’t even begin to imagine.
"Is our Great Mage awake?" Old rcer’s hearty shout ca from outside. He and Franz had returned, carrying armfuls of kindling.
Rorschach went out to find him. There was sothing very important the young man needed to confirm.
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