The Phoenix Unchained by James Mallory

Lake of Fire, and a—a woman. It was horrible. And I can’t stop seeing them. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
    There was a long silence.
    “Your mother said you’d been sick after you set your room on fire,” Harrier finally said.
    “Yes, because, well, you see, I think I cast a Fire Spell, because the books on the High Magick say that—”
    “Stop. Tyr. Come on. Good joke, but I’m busy. You didn’t cast a spell. You’re not a Wildmage.”
    “You aren’t listening. I said I used the High Magick, and—”
    “And you also told me that the High Magick was over and done with about a million years ago. So why would it work now? And even if it did, how could you use it? No. You fell asleep, you had a bad dream. End of story.”
    “But I’m still seeing her!”
    “So you’re still having bad dreams,” Harrier said patiently. He shrugged, the gesture saying more clearly than words that while he was sorry about the problem, he was certain it was going to go away and he really didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
    “Har, you know that doesn’t make sense. If the High Magick used to work, then it still works. And I did something. I know I did!”
    “Damned right you did, you set your house on fire. Tyr, if you were a Wildmage, you’d have the Three Books. Everyone knows that.”
    “And I keep telling you, it’s not the Wild Magic, it’s the High Magick. Something anyone can learn if they want to.” He knew he was dangerously close to arguing with Harrier, and from the look on Harrier’s face, Harrier would be happy to make this into an argument. Harrier didn’t want to hear what he was saying. It was just too unbelievable. And when you tried to push Harrier in a direction he didn’t want to go, he got angry. That wouldn’t solve anything at all.
    “Okay,” Tiercel said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry I bothered you here. I guess I really was still worried about the Marukate . And maybe the dreams will stop.”
    “Sure they will,” Harrier said, relaxing. “You’ve just spent too much time on Uncle Alfrin’s book—and I have to say, I’m not all that sorry to see it go. And everyone comes down with odd fevers when the seasons change. Look, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you soon, though, right?”
    “Right,” Tiercel said.
    But he didn’t see Harrier soon.
    He knew that if he did, all that would happen would be that they’d just have that argument they’d barely managed to avoid, and the very last thing he wanted to do was argue with Harrier. Harrier couldn’t see things his way and he, well, he couldn’t manage to see them any other way. He’d have to solve this problem himself.
    But by a moonturn later, Tiercel was at his wits’ end.
    The dream hadn’t gone away, and he’d done everything he could think of to make it stop.
    First he spoke to his tutor at school about his strange dreams—leaving out the part about casting a spell of the High Magick, of course, but including every other detail. His tutor simply thought he was working too hard preparing to enter University this fall, and assured him confidentially that there was absolutely no doubt at all that he would get in, even if he didn’t attend another class from here until the end of term. His marks were excellent and always had been. He had nothing to worry about, and now that he’d chosen Ancient History as his field of study, all he really had to do was show up at University at the beginning of term and start his classes.
    No help there. Tiercel knew perfectly well that he wasn’t having these dreams because he was worried about University.
    Next, he went to his spiritual Preceptor at the Temple of the Light and told him everything, absolutely everything—includingthat he’d cast a spell of the High Magick and that all of his troubles had started after that. He’d been sure everything would be fixed then, but to his horror, his Preceptor also dismissed his dreams as “the sort of dreams a boy your