The Cost of Magick

Reginald waved his hands in the complex gesture and used his will to force the universe to make the impossible possible.  The stone split down the middle and fresh water trickled out.

“That’s it?”  The young man had a bowl haircut, and that was the least awkward thing about him.

Reginald took out his handkerchief, and after wetting it in the trickle, dabbed his forehead.  “You make water come out of the stone and then you can judge.”

“But Simeon Galbrath made a new tributary for the White River out of a grassy knoll.  You said he was a hack.”

Reginald folded back up his handkerchief and put it away.  “He is a hack.  I out-dueled him like fifty-three moons ago.”

The young man gestured at the trickle as a rebuttal.

“I told you.  The time of magick is passing.  The costs are so great that it almost isn’t worth it.”

“That’s not what Lucinda said.  She said you’re getting old and senile.”

Reginald was about to say something, but the young man cut him off.  “I’m wondering if she’s right and I’m wasting my time.  I’m not getting younger you know.”

Reginald took in a breath to speak, but again the young man continued.  “I mean look at that.”  He gestured at the trickle.  “I think your magick is just shriveled like your manhood.”

“You think so?  Let me show you my magick.”  Reginald began to wave his hands around.

The young man shifted his weight to his back foot and folded his arms in front of him.  “Try to impress me old man.”

Reginald grabbed as much of the universe as he dared and forced his will upon it once more.  This time the universe protested, sending Reginald to his knees, leaving him gasping for breath as his heart threatened to burst from his chest.  Finally the spots began to clear and Reginald slowly got up.

In front of him the young man was nowhere to be seen, but a small adolescent goat with the most horrendous bowl shaped hair on his head brayed mournfully.

Reginald smiled evilly at the goat.  “That was worth it.”


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