by S T G Hill
“What’s going on down there?”
It was Turnbull, he’d noticed when Ellie fell. The student’s eyebrows were back on his forehead, more or less straight.
Matilda shot a glare at Ellie.
“Everything’s fine,” Ellie said, surprised she could call back to him at the other end of the room already.
She searched and saw Sybil already most of the way to the other side of the cafeteria. That was too bad; she’d wanted to ask if maybe Sybil wanted to sit together.
They lived in the same hall, but had barely spoken. Actually, Ellie didn’t even know why Sybil had intervened there.
“Good ab,” Matilda said, earning smirks from the rest of her cohort.
Ellie rolled her eyes and turned to go. She wasn’t feeling so hungry anymore. Then she stopped.
On the other end of the hall she spotted Thorn. He sat with a few of the other upperclassmen. They all wore these light green robes that was a privilege granted to students in their final year.
He was looking right at Ellie.
He saw the whole thing, she knew. Saw and hadn’t lifted a finger to help. They didn’t speak if they crossed in one of the teaching halls. Didn’t speak down here in the cafeteria.
Nothing.
Nothing but those looks of admonishment. The ones that Ellie didn’t need to be a prognosticator to know meant Keep your head down and get out.
The irony of it was that Ellie didn’t really have the time or ability to do much else. The courses were so challenging. Especially when she was surrounded by students who’d been coming to Sourcewell for most of their lives and found all this stuff so easy and obvious.
Only her private lessons with Arabella kept her afloat academically.
In fact, part of her was glad she was an ab. She liked being at Sourcewell, and still found herself wondering if all this was even real or just a dream. Everything was just so magical, if she could still be allowed to use the word in that way.
But it was yet another thing she was no good at. And being an ab meant she would be away from Matilda and all the other students like her sooner rather than later.
“Hey, ab,” John Farthing said, “Don’t forget your book. Master Shaffir hates it when students forget their books.”
Ellie gave him a tight smile and bent down to pick up the channeling text. But then John smirked. He flicked one index finger out.
Her text shot across the floor, smacked against the bottom of the bench seat with a dull thud, and then flew up into the scrum of texts and paper airplanes above.
“You’re welcome,” John said.
Ellie sighed. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. Her channeling class was about to start.
Chapter 8
“Now,” Master Farazon Shaffir, Channeler Prime of Sourcewell Academy said, “If prognostication can be defined as the extension of the senses into the past, future, and present, and if kinesinomy is the extension of self through contact, then channeling is the projection of will into physical space.”
He always spoke with his hands clasped tightly at the small of his back while he paced back and forth in front of the massive chalkboard behind his lectern.
While he spoke, a white stick of chalk flowed smoothly across that board, writing in bullet point summary what he said.
For many of the students around, this was already familiar and their notebooks stayed empty. For others, their pens moved freely across their notebooks while their owners leaned back in their chairs.
Ellie leaned forward, pencil clutched in one tight first, tip of tongue held lightly between her teeth while she wrote the bullet points in her notebook.
“This we discussed back on our first day of class… Miss Ashwood, is your copy of Delrin’s Art of Projection missing?”
Everyone stopped and looked at her.
She swallowed and set her pencil down. The entire side of her right hand was covered in gray pencil dust from the cramped way that she wrote.
“Not exactly, Master Shaffir” she said.
She knew right where her channeling text was: still engaged in a dogfight with a rather ragged looking paper airplane made from a newspaper page, both of them circling, dipping, and weaving around each other near the ceiling of the cafeteria.
No matter how she reached out to it and willed it to come down, it hadn’t moved. She didn’t know whether that was simply because Farthing was more powerful than her, or if her own touch of magic was unequal to the task.
Somewhere someone sniggered. Ellie bet it was John Farthing.
The sniggering stopped when Master Shaffir turned hard eyes in the direction of the sound.
They quickly refocused on her. “Miss Ashwood, how do you expect to complete your assignments in class without your textbook?”
“I guess I can’t,” Ellie said, bracing for her punishment.
Two weeks back a shrimpy little guy named Maxwell had lost his textbook. When Master Shaffir noticed—and he always noticed—he made Maxwell responsible for the notes on the chalkboard.
His lecture had gone on for another hour, and when he finally stopped Ellie saw the way that Maxwell clutched at his wrist and his cramped fingers.
He hadn’t forgotten his text since.
“You will have it for the next lecture,” Master Shaffir said.
“Yes, Master Shaffir,” she replied. She tried to hide the way she trembled with relief. She didn’t think she could’ve handled feeling all the eyes of the students on her while she tried to write legibly on the chalkboard.
Several people in the room sighed at the lack of immediate punishment.
The sighs cut off when Shaffir glared about the lecture hall. “However, I believe we have our volunteer for the demonstration. Miss Ashwood, come down here and join me.”
Her back went stiff and her stomach turned cold. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know when, but John Farthing was going to pay for this.
The hall went silent. Her chair squeaked against the floor. Keeping her eyes forward, she got to the stairs and made her way down to the central area of the hall.
It was designed like an old amphitheatre, with semicircular rows of seating centered around the middle point where the professor stood.
Shaffir waved one hand and the main entrance to the classroom swung open.
Thorn walked in, still wearing his green robe. He frowned slightly when he saw her standing with Master Shaffir, but otherwise said nothing when he came over and joined them.
“Today,” Shaffir began, “I’ve invited Thorn in for this demonstration.”
Master Shaffir placed his hand on Thorn’s shoulder. Ellie knew from talk around school that Thorn was Shaffir’s most prized pupil, and he liked to show him off.
“Much as you fight fire with fire, a duel between channelers is a matching of wills,” Shaffir said, “Which is the subject of today’s practical lesson in spellbreaking.
“We know that Thorn overmatches Miss Ashwood, but raw power is only a portion of what makes a good channeler. Used correctly and deftly, even someone lacking in power can use their own will like a scalpel to precisely cut-short attacks.”
Shaffir stepped away, moving behind his lectern. Ellie prickled with goosebumps. She wanted to go back to her seat.
Although this was the closest she’d been to Thorn in a while.
“We need to talk,” Ellie said, quietly. Thorn ignored her.
“Restrain her, Thorn,” Shaffir said.
Thorn took in a breath. His robes ruffled around him in some strange breeze.
Then invisible bands of iron closed around Ellie, once more pinning her arms to her sides.
She lifted from the floor until her feet dangled.
Thorn watched her with an impassive expression, still not saying anything.
“Now, Miss Ashwood,” Shaffir said, “You must concentrate. Remember last week’s reading on shaping your will—if you had your textbook at that point—and use that to turn your will to a shar
p edge.”
Why won’t he talk to me? Ellie thought.
He still owed her so many explanations. Just thinking about it made her angry.
Good, she thought. She used that anger as a focus point and closed her eyes. She wished she could lift her arms a little; when she did do magic she found that gesturing helped.
She envisioned a large cutting edge in the air in front of her. In her mind’s eye, it was curved and gleaming. The edge so thin it almost disappeared.
Of course, it didn’t manifest so that others could see it. She knew she didn’t have the power for that kind of sorcery.
Her body thrummed with energy. It crawled over her skin like little arcs of electricity.
“Do you have it?” Shaffir said, “Then cut away your bonds.”
Eyes still shut, Ellie whispered, “Cut, cut…”
Spells, as she had learned, had no set incantation. There were no rhymes or bits of Latin to chant or intone.
Magic focused around intention. Words helped to drill down to that intention, giving the sorcerer something to focus on.
Not all sorcerers spoke or whispered. In fact, according to her introductory course on the history of magic, it was considered one of the marks of an accomplished sorcerer to not have to speak at all.
She urged that cutting edge forward. It met with her invisible bonds.
Ellie’s body went tense. A fine sweat appeared on her brow, and she felt it trickle in a tickling path down her cheek.
“What are you waiting for, Miss Ashwood? Thorn, can you feel her resisting you?” Shaffir said.
“No, Master,” he said.
Ellie opened her eyes and her spell dissipated. It shocked her. She’d been concentrating and focusing as hard as she could, and nothing? Nothing?
“Perhaps a different student, Master Shaffir?” Thorn said.
Shaffir nodded, “You there—“
“No! I can do it. Let me do it,” Ellie said.
“Try once more, then,” Shaffir said, looking at her. He wasn’t one to tolerate interruptions, but Ellie didn’t spare any thought as to why he allowed it this time.
“She’s too weak,” Thorn said.
Weak, ab, little potential. It all swirled around in Ellie’s mind. She thought about how smug Thorn looked standing there, holding her in place.
She thought about Matilda binding her in a similar way not even an hour earlier.
She thought of how Arabella couldn’t fix her finger like she’d fixed her shoes. And of how powerless she felt when Caspian held her under his sway.
She thought about it all and decided to be done with it all.
It burned inside of her, fed the flames of her will. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth. She imagined not a blade this time, but a massive set of bolt cutters.
The energy she directed at that image exploded from her chest and flowed out from her body.
Cut, she thought.
The invisible bands holding her in place snapped.
Someone, Thorn, she thought, took a shuddering breath and staggered backwards.
Then she fell down, landing on her hands and knees. As quickly as that energy came, it left. Her body trembled. She felt so hot she was surprised that steam didn’t rise from her.
“Thorn?” Shaffir said.
Thorn had staggered back against the wall, and he braced himself against it one-handed.
He stared hard at Ellie when she rose to her feet. She felt puffed up with defiance. She relished the way that he looked at her.
It was much the same expression he’d regarded her with back in the alley, months ago, after she’d defeated Caspian and saved them both.
“I’m sorry, Master,” Thorn said, “I have an examination coming up and I allowed my concentration to slip.”
“You see,” Shaffir said, “Even a single misstep can spell defeat in a battle of wills.”
He came over and helped Ellie to her feet, barely sparing her a glance before clasping his hands against his back once more.
She turned and looked at Thorn. This time he wasn’t ignoring her. This time he caught her eye.
He shook his head at her. He moved only a little, but she noticed. And she knew what he meant.
Keep your head down and get out.
But she didn’t want to, not today. Because it hurt her how quickly Master Shaffir and the rest of the class accepted Thorn’s excuse about his concentration slipping.
“I could take you again if you want,” Ellie said, “Unless you’re planning on another slip in concentration.”
A bunch of the other students made an Ooooh noise and looked to Thorn to see how he’d respond to the challenge.
Thorn, however, was more interested in Master Shaffir’s reaction. The Channeler Prime bore a curious look on his face when he considered Ellie.
Ellie’s elation slipped a little when she thought that Thorn actually looked a little scared. But what does he have to be afraid of?
“Forgive me, Master, but I really do need to return to my studies,” Thorn said.
For just a second, Ellie thought Shaffir might actually order him to do it again. Her heart surged. If she beat him a second time it would prove it wasn’t a fluke. It would prove that the entrance examination had been wrong about it.
It would prove that she wasn’t an ab.
“Go, then. Miss Ashwood, return to your seat,” Shaffir said.
“Thank you, Master,” Thorn said. His green robed flowed around his feet when he spun quickly and left the classroom.
Retreated, more like it.
“Miss Ashwood, is there a problem with your feet?” Shaffir said.
Ellie stood in place and watched the door close behind Thorn. What is his problem?
“Sorry, Master,” she said and returned to her seat.
Chapter 9
Ellie had never really been a bookworm back in Brooklyn. Not that the teachers back at PS117 really trusted the students in the school library.
Most people just went there to use the school computers.
But at Sourcewell she found herself in the campus library more and more. The building looked like a fortress from outside, with gargoyles topping its two turrets and a portico leading to the front entrance across a small bridge.
And if it looked huge on the outside, it was positively labyrinthine within.
It had the same strange teleporting staircases and doorways as her dorm, but students could also wander without the aid of magic if they so chose.
Ellie chose that rather often. She wandered among the stacks that smelled of dust and old paper. Sometimes she took an old tome down and read about sorcerers from long ago, or long and rambling treatises on one of the schools of magic.
Mostly she wandered.
It was nice. The library was obviously used, but she rarely ran into more than one or two other students at once.
And the more she wandered, the more she found. It seemed every turn in the stacks led to a hitherto unseen wing.
Occasionally, an unmanned book cart would pass by, books flying off it to their respective spots on the shelves like birds to their perches.
So it was exploring one Friday afternoon with all classes done that she came across Sybil once again.
She started to round the corner of one set of stacks, meaning to follow yet another hallway to who knew where, when she saw Sybil.
The dark-haired girl was stretched up on her tip-toes, slowly levering a large, leather-bound monstrosity off the shelf.
Ellie ducked back behind the bookcase and then peered around more cautiously.
She watched for a little bit longer before realizing how silly it was. I want to talk to her, not stare at her.
Her first instinct was to simply turn around and leave. Because if you don’t engage with people, they can’t do anything to mock or hurt you.
But then she reminded herself of how Sybil had helped her, and had so far been nothing but nice.
The more suspicious parts of Ellie st
ill hadn’t reached a verdict, but she decided that enough was enough.
She tugged her shirt down to get rid of any wrinkles or bunches, then ran her hands over her hair to make certain there weren’t any random strands poking up.
Then she rounded the corner for real, pretending that she hadn’t stopped the first time.
“Hey,” Ellie said.
“Hi,” Sybil replied, sparing her a glance.
“Why don’t you just use magic to get that down?” Ellie said.
“I tried. It doesn’t want to come down that way,” Sybil replied.
“Oh,” Ellie said.
The librarian had warned one of her classes about that. Magic had a mind of its own, and objects imbued with magic shared that quality.
It made Ellie think of how the magic had refused Arabella when she had tried to restore Ellie’s finger.
“Here, let me help,” Ellie said.
She went over and joined Sybil, reaching up to grasp the large spine of the book. It took both of them gritting their teeth and hauling on it before it finally tumbled down from the shelf.
They both jumped out of the way before it could land on them, and the large old tome hit the floor with a solid thunk and the whisper of paper across the hard surface.
Both girls looked at each other. Then they laughed.
Yes, Ellie decided that she definitely did like Sybil.
“Close one,” Sybil said.
“Yeah…” Ellie replied, still smiling.
Then it trailed off.
Ellie became more and more self-conscious. How are you supposed to talk to other people?
“Well, uh, I guess I should get going,” Ellie said, “Thanks again for getting Matilda off my back.”
She turned to go and got a few steps down the hall.
“Wait,” Sybil said.
Ellie turned back around.
“I could use some company, if you’re not up to anything,” Sybil said.
“Sure!” Ellie replied quickly. Don’t sound so eager!
They took the big old book over to a long study table with short tiffany lamps along the center.
“I’ve wanted to say hi to you for a while,” Ellie said, “But it never seemed like a good time.”