Do I understand my magic? Because if I don’t understand it, the reader won’t either.
The Many Colors of Magic
Fictional magic takes many forms, from shape-shifting to fortune-telling, teleportation to casting fireballs. Writers like Sanderson compulsively create rule-based systems, explained at length to readers who either lap it up of don’t care. These writers then spend volumes bending, breaking and ret-conning the system to accommodate plot.
Sanderson does it to create clever twists. Rowling does it to serve the next plot point.
Tolkien explains nothing. His magic system is mysterious, wonderous, magical. His magic is never the central focus of the story, it’s the characters. And yet his setting never feels poorer for it.
Don’t RTFM
Spoiler alert, my stories contain magic. Do I understand said magic? Can I explain the rules? Where does it come from, how do you get it? How often can you use it? What does it cost the user?
Honestly, I don’t know all the answers. More than that, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about them. I have one question every time I use magic in a given story: does it evoke wonder?
I can outline a few principles of the magic in my stories.
Magic is rare.
Only a few talented individuals are born with the capacity for magic. No character of mine starts as a ‘muggle’ and becomes a wizard. That makes it genetic or a gift from the universe.
Magic is limited
There’s no General Purpose magic. Individuals have a talent, such as future sight, compulsion, telekinesis, fire, invisibility or healing. Except the shaman, Danaan. His earth magic allows him to manipulate matter; heal wounds, create fog, and maybe even summon lightning. I’ll leave a question mark over that one.
There are no multi-disciplinary wizards as in Harry Potter or Wheel of Time in my world.
Magic costs
My pyro-mage needs a flame to cast. Fire spreads all too easily once it starts and given fuel and air. A little fire goes a long way. The ability to manipulate fire doesn’t make you fire-proof. That’s an unpleasant discovery. Fire walking is a separate talent.
My priestess with telekinesis has a limited amount of Motion to apply to objects, but if she’s creative and precise, it can do a lot. Try to move do many objects, too often, with too much mass, and she’s exhausted.
The Arch-Deacon thinks he’s the most powerful psychic in the world. Until he tries to compel a child with more power; the mental effort triggers a debilitating stroke and permanent disability. That’s a surprise to everyone. The child finds it really deeply unpleasant having access to people’s minds and tries to shut them out.
Immortality brings knowledge and experience, but not necessarily wisdom or kindness. And a fatal wound is still fatal.
Magic is sanctioned
Unnatural magical abilities are regarded with suspicion and fear. Magic is strictly controlled or kept secret. The Apothegems Guild don’t advertise their magical healing so much as potions and remedies. The Brotherhood of the Book collects and indoctrinates psychics with mind-reading or compelling powers.
Other orders within the Church seek out and remove magic users from society. Church and state both fear magical individuals as dangerous and destabilizing to society. It doesn’t stop the Church and the Emperor recruiting magical individuals to serve state purposes. Ordinary citizens are likely to shun, exile or attack magical beings, or else hand them over to the authorities.
People fear the unknown, the other, the different. Think of the prejudice in our world against disability, other ethnicities, other faiths. Now multiply that by fear and jealousy of magical powers. Especially when the established Church preaches against demons.
Magic is never the Deus Ex solution
My magic is breakable, fallible, often a liability. Jovanka believes all her visions of the future are true, until she acts to change one of them. She imposes her free will, but her visions begin to fracture. Which visions are true? Which futures are genuine? The future branches and diverges the further she pushes her Sight. You tamper with destiny at your peril.
Yari Tamm can sense a lie, but the downside is her inability to tell an outright lie herself. Between blurting out painful truths, she has to learn the delicate skill of omissions and the half-truth. She might reveal a liar but dealing with lies and their consequences is a whole other skill.
The Brotherhood’s compulsion has limits. The compulsion to obey might last minutes, hours, days, weeks. It might have no effect at all on certain individuals, like a seer, a truth-sayer, or a downright stubborn resistance fighter.
There is no instance in my world where somebody waves a wand and makes the problem go away. Sister Aeryn has no resistance to the priest’s compulsion, so her telekinesis is useless. Jovanka’s future Sight keeps her alive against another Seer, but her opponent is a better fighter, and Jovanka is distracted by other visions.
There are no magic shields, energy bolts, time-travel or teleportation in my stories. Imlach Mawle may be able to stop your heart with one touch, but he has to get close enough to use the Hand of Death. He’s not immune to the priest’s compulsion or to Sister Aeryn’s telekinesis. How often can he use it? We never find out.
Magic breaks the world
In my stories, I have to consider how magic impacts the world and how it impacts the story. My magic is close and personal, confined and limited. Magical individuals can move the levers of power, but can’t hold Empires together. There are too many competing forces for any one person to dominate. There is no Voldemort, no Sauron, no Darkling. Even the Arch Deacon suffers at the limit to his powers, and that terrifies his protege to a humiliating retreat.
So do I understand my magic? Enough to tell the stories I want to tell.