By Morgan J. Manns
Naria sighed heavily and gathered her auburn hair into a ponytail. How had she been accepted into the most prestigious artistry battle-mage academy in the realm?
“Focus, recruits,” General Peters demanded as he stalked between rows of easels. His voice echoed through the grand chamber.
Naria flinched. Behind the middle-aged professor loomed a massive blackboard filled with half-legible instructions—impossible to read from the back row.
Naria glanced at her textbook.
Accomplished artists must visualize their subjects, items, and/or general images prior to sketching them. Life comes from the images we perceive.
Directions:
- Select tools (lead pencil or charcoal for beginners; pastels for advanced study. Please note: watercolors not recommended).
- Maintain accurate scale—misjudgment may result in significant distortion of the final image.
- Begin rough sketch with eyes closed. Open only to measure proportions.
She turned the page and cringed. The instructions went on for another two pages. This wasn’t art. It was a math test, and she hated math.
“If you don’t grasp these basic concepts, you’ll never advance to acolyte status,” Peters said as he prowled up and down the rows.
Helpful pep talk, Naria thought.
“Today, sketch something that”—his mouth curved—“surprises me. Accurate proportions only.”
He was a terrible teacher. All authority, no guidance.
Yet, around her, charcoal scratched and brushes dipped. Everyone was already working.
Naria sighed again and closed her eyes.
Darkness. Only darkness. That was all she ever saw. Others spoke of seeing images so detailed, they might step off the page—colors, motion, light. Her inspiration hid behind a veil, a half-formed picture just out of sight. She knew it was there, but the image slipped away the moment she reached for it. How would she ever measure that?
“Making progress?” a voice beside her asked.
She startled, nearly snapping her charcoal. The boy sat close enough that she could have reached out and grabbed the watercolors from his palette. Watercolors—directly against instructions. Interesting.
“No,” she breathed, staring at her blank canvas. “Not yet. I… It’s…”
“Overcomplicated?” the boy offered. A dark curl hung low over his brown eyes.
She nodded, heat rising to her cheeks. “It doesn’t feel right.”
He dipped his fine brush into the paint and closed his eyes. “What feels natural to you?”
Awed, she watched as his blue strokes flowed like waves across the page, though it was hard to imagine them becoming anything cohesive.
“Normally I…” She paused, searching for the words. “I trust the lines to do as they should. I don’t think. I just… draw.”
“Then ignore him.” He tipped his chin toward Peters, eyes still closed. “He’s an architect. Built the wall around Brina during the Winter Siege with nothing but pencil and paper.”
Naria’s breath caught.
The boy continued, still painting. “Textbooks help, but they aren’t the only way to learn. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know a thing or two about art.”
Naria grasped her ruler tightly. She had submitted a portfolio of charcoal sketches to the university back in the summer, and they’d accepted her—no interview, no explanation. This boy was right. She deserved to be here—she just needed to do it her way.
Naria poised her charcoal over the blank canvas, relaxed her shoulders, and tossed the ruler into her bag.
Eyes closed, she sketched a narrow arch, then another.
After a few minutes, she chanced a peek. Fine dust scattered as she worked, and the soft lines became something, like a sculptor revealing a figure within stone. She had no plan. She just drew and lost herself in the art.
And it felt right.
“Time’s up!” Peters announced.
She blinked. It felt like she had only just begun, yet a completed drawing lay before her.
“Bring your sketches to life using the spell on page 167. This is not a full summons—just an image.”
Naria flipped to the page and cleared her throat. Fortunately, reciting words was easy.
After speaking the incantation with the other students, hazy black smoke rose from her canvas as a flurry of other colors streamed about the room.
She broke into a wide grin.
A redhead’s brilliant green dragon flew through the rafters, eliciting gasps. Orange and black butterflies danced above another girl’s easel near the front. Someone had even managed a thunderstorm in the corner of the classroom, silver rain dissipating as it hit the floor.
However, Naria noted a few students who hadn’t brought anything to life and were frantically searching through their textbooks for answers.
“And what do we have here?”
Peters stopped at the boy’s easel beside her. Hovering above it was a prism reflecting rainbow light throughout the room. He eyed it, cocking his head. “It looks…”
Suddenly, the structure collapsed into a wave of light.
Peters grimaced. “Unstable.”
“Apologies, Professor.” The faintest smirk appeared on the boy’s face as he busied himself with his paintbrushes.
“Watercolors,” Peters mumbled. “And you?” He turned to Naria. His tone suggested he expected little.
She didn’t trust her voice, so she gestured instead.
A woman sat in the once-empty chair beside her, formed from the haze rising off Naria’s easel. Her wavy brown hair was pinned back, and she appeared middle-aged, crow’s feet softening her kind blue eyes. The image was flawless, except for the faint translucence that marked it as magic.
Naria gasped as the woman winked at her.
Peters stumbled back. “Jane? I—”
He whirled toward Naria. “How did you… That’s—that’s my wife!” He paused and whispered, “She died…”
Naria clapped a hand to her mouth. Of course. She’d seen the framed portrait on his desk. She hadn’t realized how deeply it had lodged in her memory.
Naria waved her hand and the image dissolved into smoke.
Peter’s gaze lingered on the empty chair. “Well done,” he whispered, then turned away.
Naria quickly wiped away a tear. Art wasn’t just lines and measurement—it was emotion, drawn from the very soul. No class could ever teach that.
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I wish I had an art class like this. Enjoyed this soulful, heartfelt tale.
Thank you! I think attending an art class where sketches and painting jumped off the canvas would be pretty awesome too!
Enjoyed the ending!
Thanks, Pamela!
Wow, I was not expecting that. What an interesting way to do magic!
Oh I really like this magic system! And what an unexpected, emotional ending. Loved it, Morgan.