The Mistaken Incantation
High in the lofts of the tower to the east of a village named Gloriam, I attempted to cast a conjuration spell as my mentor, Mage Falstaff, watched. The objective was to summon a scarlet feather- the likes one would find on the plumage of an imperial phoenix from the southlands a millennia ago. It required just the right movements from my wand, and an immaculate recitative of words in Classical Latin. My movements were swift, but my Latin was atrocious.
“Careful, Jonathan. Poor enunciation will negate the spell, or worse.”
I set my wand down on the podium. “Pray demonstrate the spell once more?”
“Behold,” Falstaff said, brandishing his wand. “Pay close attention.” He began to move his wand arm to create three graceful arcs flowing back and forth. He then began to chant quickly.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit in colore coccineo, et bysso retorta
Ab ortu enim solis usque ad occasum lunae
A septentrione in austrum terrae stellarum
Pluma de pulchra Caesarea phoenīx
Circulus venias veni.”
Falstaff waved his wand creating a final majestic arc, and from the tip fell a scarlet feather. I caught the feather in my palm, before it reached the floor, and offered it to Falstaff. Falstaff took the feather, and touched it with the tip of his wand. The scarlet feather burst into brilliant flames that lingered for only seconds.
“Do you understand?”
“Master, some of the words do not fall easily from my tongue. This language is-“
“Archaic?” Falstaff raised an eyebrow at my implication. “True, this is archaic magic. These are archaic spells. The imperial phoenix has not been seen in over millennia! However, words still possess magic, unlike the modern tongue of the world we live in now.”
I sighed. I had heard this lecture many times before, yet I still struggled with my diction. Truthfully, I doubted whether I was at all suited to become a wizard, but Gloriam’s elders decreed that I should follow this destiny, and not the destiny I desired- that of a pirate.
“I understand that you wonder whether you are suited for wizardry, Jonathan. Perhaps you are not, and perhaps the elders are fools. I always felt it was my destiny to be a noble knight, and not some spell caster exiled to a tower in a small town such as Gloriam.” Falstaff smiled at me kindly.
“But Master,” I countered, “You are rather proficient as a wizard. Everyone in the realm knows that! Besides, aren’t you a tad portly for the role of knight?”
Falstaff shrugged. “Even Lancelot grew in girth when times were good in Camelot, my dear pupil.”
“Really, Sir?” I said, trying to suppress a smile.
Falstaff winked at me. “Back to the lesson at hand. The rule of thumb is this, Jonathan. In classical Latin, a ‘C’ following the vowel ‘I’ is pronounced like a ‘K,’ not a ‘CH’ as it is today. Before you scoff at the diction, remember, this archaic Latin is the language of great rulers and mages long past. Just as Classical Latin has vanished from the mouths of men, our contemporary words shall one day be relegated to the archives as well. That is why the preservation of these spells are important.”
“Yes, Master. Let me try again.”
Falstaff stepped back to watch his protégé try the spell again.
“Et summone per hunc CHirculum-“ I began.
“Kirculum, Jonathan. K-ihr-koo-loom.”
“My mistake. Kihr-koo-loom. Kihrkooloom. Keerkooooloom!”
“No, no, no. Not ‘keer’ either. Kihr, like ‘ihr’ in the German tongue, but with a K in front of it.”
“I was exaggerating to be funny.”
“There is no humor in magic!” Falstaff took a deep breath, then he smiled. “Okay, try again.”
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit hic venit -“
“Ahh, the ‘V’ has a ‘W’ sound. It’s ‘Hic weh-neet.”
“Right. ‘Weh-neet.’ Hic weh-neet, hic weh-neet, hic waah-neet-neet-neet!”
Falstaff narrowed his eyes. “Attempting humor again?”
I smiled sheepishly.
The incantation practice went on for hours that evening. I could not grasp the Latin for the life of me. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to run away to join a band of pirates. They don’t have to study archaic Latin. My mentor tried his best to be patient with me, but even as twilight came, I spied him stifling a yawn or two.
Finally as the sun kissed the horizon goodnight, Falstaff suggested that we break for supper, and perhaps resume spell casting on the morrow. We retired to the lower chambers and ate a supper of broth and bread.
I sopped up the broth with my crust, and ate quickly. Hours of this laborious study always left me famished. The broth was cold, for we were tardy to our meal, and it made our ‘dinner-of-champions’ seem more like a ‘dinner for disgruntled the fledgling wizard apprentice’ that it was. I felt exhausted and discouraged, and did not hesitate to say so to my mentor once more.
“Ahh, but you are merely a novice, Jonathan,” Falstaff replied, “With study and practice, you will learn. You must be both patient and diligent. Do not slack in your studies, and your rewards shall be richer for it.”
“Do you enjoy wizardry, Master Falstaff?”
He nodded. “I could do worse. ‘Tis a steady stipend with a sturdy roof over my head. Yet it is somewhat lonely being tucked away in this tower with books, and wands and such. Still, it is not a bad vocation.” Falstaff rose to pour wine for the both of us.
“But do you ever feel like running away from this to pursue your dreams as a knight?”
“When I was an apprentice like yourself, I did. Words and wand lore did not come easily to me either. I felt I would do better with a sword and a steed, but I became a proficient mage. Perhaps when my duties at Gloriam are finished, I shall seek out adventure. That is if I don’t grow old first.”
“Here you go,” he said, proffering a goblet of wine, “Drink this, and then you should return to your dormitory. We will practice more tomorrow.”
I took the goblet and drank the wine. It was warm and sweet to the taste. I began to relax a bit. After finishing my fill, I felt sleepy. So, I bade Falstaff a good night, and retired to the dormitory to sleep.
That night, I dreamed vividly of words and worlds of the like I had never seen. I dreamed of life on a sailing ship, chasing a large creature that flew through the sky. As it flew, phrases in Latin swirled about the creature’s head. Such a lovely creature, covered from head to toe with scales like a serpent. Large majestic black wings extended from his back like that of a bird of prey. “Veni,” I called to it, and the creature glared at me with golden eyes. “I answer to no one, not even my creator,” the creature answered, as it set my ship ablaze. The fire burned, and I jumped into the sea calling, “Veni, Veni! Venit, mortem!”
The sun’s rays barely peeked over the horizon when I woke with a start. My dreams of words upon words and the gloriously winged serpent gave me a sense of confidence to conjure the phoenix feather today. I felt sure that I would triumph over the battle of the consonants and vowels.
Eager to spell cast, I dressed quickly, and arrived at the tower just as Falstaff was getting out of bed. A little weary from too much wine, Falstaff waved at me as I made my way to the loft. I would practice on my own, as my mentor readied himself for morning practice.
“No breakfast then?” Falstaff asked weakly.
“After a little practice first, Master. I am ready to cast now.”
Falstaff grunted, and I continued my ascent into the tower loft.
Alone in the tower, I quickly set to work. Brandishing my wand, I stepped up to the podium where my spell scroll sat from yesterday’s practice.
“I don’t need this text,” I said, and with a touch of my wand, it was engulfed in flames. “Real wizards don’t require spells written on scrolls!”
I felt like I was ready to burst with this newfound sense of confidence. Raising my wand, I smiled, at the thought of successfully conjuring a phoenix feather. I waved my wand in the majestic arc pattern, and began to chant.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit, et bysso mortem
Ab ortu enim solis usque ad occasum lunae
A septentrione in austrum terrae stellarum
Pluma de pulchra Caesarea phoenīx
Circulum Facite hic!”
As I waved my wand to create another arc completing the spell, a terrible cry erupted from the floor of the chamber. The tower shook, the floor cracked, and the walls began to crumble. The room quickly filled with smoke, and the thunderous sound of beating wings. The air felt hot, and my chest felt as if it might explode. I didn’t remember the spell being so intense as it was now. Falstaff ran into the chamber to see what the excitement was about, and nearly fainted at the sight.
“Heavens, Jonathan! What have you done?”
The smoke cleared to reveal the giant winged serpent from my dreams. It shrieked, and flew toward the roof of the tower loft.
“You brought me here in this cage?” The serpent bellowed. “How DARE you do so!”
Startled, I nearly fell through the widened crack in the floor. Falstaff caught me and pulled me back as the serpent stomped at the floor, shrieking.
“I shall say it again. May the Lord protect me! What have you summoned?”
“I don’t know, Master. I thought I said the words correctly.” I began to recite the incantation quickly.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit et bysso mortem-“
“Speak no more! Mortem? Nononononono!” Falstaff had the look of sheer panic. “It’s ‘Hic vent in colore coccineo, et bysso retorta,’ in hues of scarlet and crimson! You have just summoned a lovely death! Mortem is death!”
My eyes widened. “Uh oh.”
The serpent shrieked, thrashed its head about, belching fire at the roof of the tower. We had to dodge flaming wooden beams and thatch that fell from the ceiling.
In between dodges, Falstaff huffed, “Jonathan, you have summoned a monster!”
“I’m sorry, Master! It was not my intent.”
The serpent broke through the roof of the tower, and flew into the sky. Once more, the creature shrieked, then it belched fire in the direction of whence it came.
“I understand, but intentions aside, this is all very bad.” Falstaff said, surveying the wreckage of the tower. “Now, quickly! Run down the stairs of the tower before there are no stairs left!”
Seconds later, we stood outside of the ruined tower, wands in hand.
“Do you remember how to banish?” Falstaff asked me.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then let us hasten to send this creature home before it spies Gloriam.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We raised our wands, waved them in a zigzag motion followed by a circle. Then we incanted together:
“Ite, unde profecti estis;
Ab occidente in oriente, a terra ad siderea,
Ad altitudinem ortus!
Ite. Ite. Numquam in unquam.
Ite. Ite. Et non est reversa.”
‘Go away, go away, and never ever ever ever return,’ I thought, feeling guilty for banishing such a beautiful creature back to my dreams. Perhaps the serpent sensed my guilt, for the banishing spell did not take effect. The serpent turned toward us and spoke plainly, “You cannot banish me, for I am born from the pupil. Foolish parents you are! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have thatched roofed cottages to burn.”
The serpent flew away, setting fire to part of Gloriam as it departed.
“Dear Lord in heaven, what have I created?” I cried.
“Trouble,” Falstaff answered. “Trouble you are on your own to clean up. The elders were indeed fools! I quit! I am leaving to become a noble knight where I don’t have to clean up magical disasters. Good luck, Jonathan.” With that, he waved his wand, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Great,” I thought aloud, “Now I have to figure out how to clean up this mess in Gloriam alone.”
*******
Author notes:
1. Classical Latin pronunciations differ from Ecclesiastical Latin somewhat. The Cs, Gs are hard following vowels like E and I. Vs sound like Ws.
2. Falstaff's dreams of knighthood reference the life of the Shakespearean character of the same name.
3. The phrase, "Good luck, Jonathan," sounds like Goodluck Jonathan, but the two Jonathans are very different people.
Poetic translation of the incantations are in the comments below.
Thank you for reading.
“Careful, Jonathan. Poor enunciation will negate the spell, or worse.”
I set my wand down on the podium. “Pray demonstrate the spell once more?”
“Behold,” Falstaff said, brandishing his wand. “Pay close attention.” He began to move his wand arm to create three graceful arcs flowing back and forth. He then began to chant quickly.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit in colore coccineo, et bysso retorta
Ab ortu enim solis usque ad occasum lunae
A septentrione in austrum terrae stellarum
Pluma de pulchra Caesarea phoenīx
Circulus venias veni.”
Falstaff waved his wand creating a final majestic arc, and from the tip fell a scarlet feather. I caught the feather in my palm, before it reached the floor, and offered it to Falstaff. Falstaff took the feather, and touched it with the tip of his wand. The scarlet feather burst into brilliant flames that lingered for only seconds.
“Do you understand?”
“Master, some of the words do not fall easily from my tongue. This language is-“
“Archaic?” Falstaff raised an eyebrow at my implication. “True, this is archaic magic. These are archaic spells. The imperial phoenix has not been seen in over millennia! However, words still possess magic, unlike the modern tongue of the world we live in now.”
I sighed. I had heard this lecture many times before, yet I still struggled with my diction. Truthfully, I doubted whether I was at all suited to become a wizard, but Gloriam’s elders decreed that I should follow this destiny, and not the destiny I desired- that of a pirate.
“I understand that you wonder whether you are suited for wizardry, Jonathan. Perhaps you are not, and perhaps the elders are fools. I always felt it was my destiny to be a noble knight, and not some spell caster exiled to a tower in a small town such as Gloriam.” Falstaff smiled at me kindly.
“But Master,” I countered, “You are rather proficient as a wizard. Everyone in the realm knows that! Besides, aren’t you a tad portly for the role of knight?”
Falstaff shrugged. “Even Lancelot grew in girth when times were good in Camelot, my dear pupil.”
“Really, Sir?” I said, trying to suppress a smile.
Falstaff winked at me. “Back to the lesson at hand. The rule of thumb is this, Jonathan. In classical Latin, a ‘C’ following the vowel ‘I’ is pronounced like a ‘K,’ not a ‘CH’ as it is today. Before you scoff at the diction, remember, this archaic Latin is the language of great rulers and mages long past. Just as Classical Latin has vanished from the mouths of men, our contemporary words shall one day be relegated to the archives as well. That is why the preservation of these spells are important.”
“Yes, Master. Let me try again.”
Falstaff stepped back to watch his protégé try the spell again.
“Et summone per hunc CHirculum-“ I began.
“Kirculum, Jonathan. K-ihr-koo-loom.”
“My mistake. Kihr-koo-loom. Kihrkooloom. Keerkooooloom!”
“No, no, no. Not ‘keer’ either. Kihr, like ‘ihr’ in the German tongue, but with a K in front of it.”
“I was exaggerating to be funny.”
“There is no humor in magic!” Falstaff took a deep breath, then he smiled. “Okay, try again.”
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit hic venit -“
“Ahh, the ‘V’ has a ‘W’ sound. It’s ‘Hic weh-neet.”
“Right. ‘Weh-neet.’ Hic weh-neet, hic weh-neet, hic waah-neet-neet-neet!”
Falstaff narrowed his eyes. “Attempting humor again?”
I smiled sheepishly.
The incantation practice went on for hours that evening. I could not grasp the Latin for the life of me. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to run away to join a band of pirates. They don’t have to study archaic Latin. My mentor tried his best to be patient with me, but even as twilight came, I spied him stifling a yawn or two.
Finally as the sun kissed the horizon goodnight, Falstaff suggested that we break for supper, and perhaps resume spell casting on the morrow. We retired to the lower chambers and ate a supper of broth and bread.
I sopped up the broth with my crust, and ate quickly. Hours of this laborious study always left me famished. The broth was cold, for we were tardy to our meal, and it made our ‘dinner-of-champions’ seem more like a ‘dinner for disgruntled the fledgling wizard apprentice’ that it was. I felt exhausted and discouraged, and did not hesitate to say so to my mentor once more.
“Ahh, but you are merely a novice, Jonathan,” Falstaff replied, “With study and practice, you will learn. You must be both patient and diligent. Do not slack in your studies, and your rewards shall be richer for it.”
“Do you enjoy wizardry, Master Falstaff?”
He nodded. “I could do worse. ‘Tis a steady stipend with a sturdy roof over my head. Yet it is somewhat lonely being tucked away in this tower with books, and wands and such. Still, it is not a bad vocation.” Falstaff rose to pour wine for the both of us.
“But do you ever feel like running away from this to pursue your dreams as a knight?”
“When I was an apprentice like yourself, I did. Words and wand lore did not come easily to me either. I felt I would do better with a sword and a steed, but I became a proficient mage. Perhaps when my duties at Gloriam are finished, I shall seek out adventure. That is if I don’t grow old first.”
“Here you go,” he said, proffering a goblet of wine, “Drink this, and then you should return to your dormitory. We will practice more tomorrow.”
I took the goblet and drank the wine. It was warm and sweet to the taste. I began to relax a bit. After finishing my fill, I felt sleepy. So, I bade Falstaff a good night, and retired to the dormitory to sleep.
That night, I dreamed vividly of words and worlds of the like I had never seen. I dreamed of life on a sailing ship, chasing a large creature that flew through the sky. As it flew, phrases in Latin swirled about the creature’s head. Such a lovely creature, covered from head to toe with scales like a serpent. Large majestic black wings extended from his back like that of a bird of prey. “Veni,” I called to it, and the creature glared at me with golden eyes. “I answer to no one, not even my creator,” the creature answered, as it set my ship ablaze. The fire burned, and I jumped into the sea calling, “Veni, Veni! Venit, mortem!”
The sun’s rays barely peeked over the horizon when I woke with a start. My dreams of words upon words and the gloriously winged serpent gave me a sense of confidence to conjure the phoenix feather today. I felt sure that I would triumph over the battle of the consonants and vowels.
Eager to spell cast, I dressed quickly, and arrived at the tower just as Falstaff was getting out of bed. A little weary from too much wine, Falstaff waved at me as I made my way to the loft. I would practice on my own, as my mentor readied himself for morning practice.
“No breakfast then?” Falstaff asked weakly.
“After a little practice first, Master. I am ready to cast now.”
Falstaff grunted, and I continued my ascent into the tower loft.
Alone in the tower, I quickly set to work. Brandishing my wand, I stepped up to the podium where my spell scroll sat from yesterday’s practice.
“I don’t need this text,” I said, and with a touch of my wand, it was engulfed in flames. “Real wizards don’t require spells written on scrolls!”
I felt like I was ready to burst with this newfound sense of confidence. Raising my wand, I smiled, at the thought of successfully conjuring a phoenix feather. I waved my wand in the majestic arc pattern, and began to chant.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit, et bysso mortem
Ab ortu enim solis usque ad occasum lunae
A septentrione in austrum terrae stellarum
Pluma de pulchra Caesarea phoenīx
Circulum Facite hic!”
As I waved my wand to create another arc completing the spell, a terrible cry erupted from the floor of the chamber. The tower shook, the floor cracked, and the walls began to crumble. The room quickly filled with smoke, and the thunderous sound of beating wings. The air felt hot, and my chest felt as if it might explode. I didn’t remember the spell being so intense as it was now. Falstaff ran into the chamber to see what the excitement was about, and nearly fainted at the sight.
“Heavens, Jonathan! What have you done?”
The smoke cleared to reveal the giant winged serpent from my dreams. It shrieked, and flew toward the roof of the tower loft.
“You brought me here in this cage?” The serpent bellowed. “How DARE you do so!”
Startled, I nearly fell through the widened crack in the floor. Falstaff caught me and pulled me back as the serpent stomped at the floor, shrieking.
“I shall say it again. May the Lord protect me! What have you summoned?”
“I don’t know, Master. I thought I said the words correctly.” I began to recite the incantation quickly.
“Et summone per hunc circulum facit
Hic venit et bysso mortem-“
“Speak no more! Mortem? Nononononono!” Falstaff had the look of sheer panic. “It’s ‘Hic vent in colore coccineo, et bysso retorta,’ in hues of scarlet and crimson! You have just summoned a lovely death! Mortem is death!”
My eyes widened. “Uh oh.”
The serpent shrieked, thrashed its head about, belching fire at the roof of the tower. We had to dodge flaming wooden beams and thatch that fell from the ceiling.
In between dodges, Falstaff huffed, “Jonathan, you have summoned a monster!”
“I’m sorry, Master! It was not my intent.”
The serpent broke through the roof of the tower, and flew into the sky. Once more, the creature shrieked, then it belched fire in the direction of whence it came.
“I understand, but intentions aside, this is all very bad.” Falstaff said, surveying the wreckage of the tower. “Now, quickly! Run down the stairs of the tower before there are no stairs left!”
Seconds later, we stood outside of the ruined tower, wands in hand.
“Do you remember how to banish?” Falstaff asked me.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then let us hasten to send this creature home before it spies Gloriam.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We raised our wands, waved them in a zigzag motion followed by a circle. Then we incanted together:
“Ite, unde profecti estis;
Ab occidente in oriente, a terra ad siderea,
Ad altitudinem ortus!
Ite. Ite. Numquam in unquam.
Ite. Ite. Et non est reversa.”
‘Go away, go away, and never ever ever ever return,’ I thought, feeling guilty for banishing such a beautiful creature back to my dreams. Perhaps the serpent sensed my guilt, for the banishing spell did not take effect. The serpent turned toward us and spoke plainly, “You cannot banish me, for I am born from the pupil. Foolish parents you are! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have thatched roofed cottages to burn.”
The serpent flew away, setting fire to part of Gloriam as it departed.
“Dear Lord in heaven, what have I created?” I cried.
“Trouble,” Falstaff answered. “Trouble you are on your own to clean up. The elders were indeed fools! I quit! I am leaving to become a noble knight where I don’t have to clean up magical disasters. Good luck, Jonathan.” With that, he waved his wand, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Great,” I thought aloud, “Now I have to figure out how to clean up this mess in Gloriam alone.”
*******
Author notes:
1. Classical Latin pronunciations differ from Ecclesiastical Latin somewhat. The Cs, Gs are hard following vowels like E and I. Vs sound like Ws.
2. Falstaff's dreams of knighthood reference the life of the Shakespearean character of the same name.
3. The phrase, "Good luck, Jonathan," sounds like Goodluck Jonathan, but the two Jonathans are very different people.
Poetic translation of the incantations are in the comments below.
Thank you for reading.