by Edun, Terah
Surprised, Vedaris continued his thought: “But doesn’t the creation of the residual products actually take more effort—more magic? It’d be one extra step for the firebomb makers, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” admitted the Initiate, “but the return on investment makes it worth the extra effort. Sometimes the benefits of mass production outweigh the drawbacks. In these cases, the orbs are wonderful advances for the streets of Sandrin; the steady light makes the city safer at night. Whereas the firebombs allowed the Likan to more effectively target their enemies and reduce their own losses.”
She turned to address the class as a whole: “As Vedaris stated, there are drawbacks. Could anyone think of more specific ones?”
A girl, otherwise identical to Leonidas, raised her hand diffidently. Initiate Warame nodded at her to indicate that she should answer. “A good example, ma’am, would be the signing quill that you mentioned earlier. It would take a lot more skill to create it. Not only would the quill need to move through the air, requiring an Air Initiate’s assistance, but it would also need to respond to the thoughts of the Chancellor, which would require an Initiate of the Unknown to order it to respond without fail. That’s the time and talent of two master-level individuals for just one object, which can by definition benefit only one person.”
“You are indeed correct, in the physical sense at least,” replied Warame. “Often Residual Magic does not benefit the entire population, but merely one person or a select group of individuals. It has become a lucrative market to hire mages for personal touches in daily life, and people like the Chancellor can afford such expenses.” She cocked her head. “However, the truth is that the Chancellor’s quill does impact many people; his signature has enriched many a merchant, saved the Schools a great deal of money, and otherwise benefitted thousands.”
She picked up the book from where she’d laid it on the table next to her. “Please turn your attention to the third page of Chapter 5. Practical Magic is presumably what you came to the Madrassa to learn. It is the magic that can be harnessed with skill and training. I’m sure you all did some strange things a child. Perhaps you boiled water with a touch? Spoke to an animal in the garden? Turned stone into dirt? All of that was a product of your magical core releasing spikes of energy because you were not using it. Practical Magic acts as an outlet for your magical core, so that it doesn’t overfill and do harm inadvertently.”
With a smile she said, “All of this and more you would have learned as a student of any of the eight Schools of the Madrassa. As a student of the Unknown, it is our job to help you harness not only your Practical Magic, but the Innate Magic that twines around your magical core.”
Leonidas asked quickly, “Are we Unknown students because we all have Innate Magic?”
“No, Leonidas,” replied Warame softly, “You are all students of the Unknown because Innate Magic has you.” At their confused looks, she said, “There is so much to discuss in regard to this branch of magic. Suffice it to say that it is a wonderful and unique field for each person in its grip.” Initiate Warame turned back to the book and quickly scanned the pages. “Now: please read Chapter 6 for tomorrow’s lesson. I’d like you to be prepared for a serious discussion of Innate Magic.”
They all gathered their books and left as the fifth bell, signaling the end of practicum classes, rang across the school grounds. Vedaris walked out and ended up behind the twins, Leonidas and his sister. They were speaking softly to each other, but he overheard snippets. When they noticed him just behind them, they stopped and turned to him. “We were just discussing today’s lesson,” Leonidas said brightly.
When Vedaris turned his brown eyes on him, he said, “Let me introduce you to my sister, Sosara.”
“Good to meet both of you,” replied Vedaris uneasily. It was somewhat unnerving to stand between them. They looked almost exactly alike, from their dark skin down to their bright blue eyes, and as yet there were barely any gender distinctions visible. If they switched clothes, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell which was which.
“What do you think your Innate power is?” asked Sosara excitedly.
“I don’t know,” replied Vedaris. “Is it something that manifests like practicum magic?”
“Not according to the books I’ve read,” replied Leonidas.
“It’s usually something you’re not expecting,” Sosara said.
Vedaris tilted his head, “Yeah, a friend of mine said something similar the other day.” With that, Vedaris gave them a wave and walked back to the gatehouse.
He had a lot to think about.
Chapter 16
Sidimo was feeling ambivalent about his last class of the day. The subject was enigmatic, and he still needed to work on the text from the first class and process his thoughts on the conversation/discussion/argument he’d had in the last class.
For a change of pace, Empathic Healing was held off-campus on the edge of the Ameles Forest. His map pointed him to a tree on its northern border. He set off across the School Green and through the grass, walking past Marsea Gatehouse on the way. Then he followed the edge of the forest, walking with his back towards the waning sun, until he came to the spot indicated on the map. He looked around in confusion; all he saw was landscaped grass to his left and giant oak trees to his right. There was nothing here; no sign of a class.
And then he heard a voice above him.
He looked up, and then looked up some more. A woman stood on a balcony wrapped around the side of the giant tree. Actually, the balcony was part of the tree. She stood there, her flowing brown skirt and hair whipping in the wind as she leaned against the edge. If she’s not careful she’ll fall, he thought, concerned.
He took a few steps back from the tree in order to lean back and call up to her, “Hello! I’m looking for my class, Empathic Healing.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she called down. “Come on up!”
And how am I supposed to do that? he wondered, then jumped back as the ladder unfurled before him, barely touching the ground. It was rather generous to call it a ladder, actually, it was no more than two ropes with small tree branches threaded between them. “Don’t worry,” the lady called down, “It’ll hold your weight! I’m an Earth Warden—natural bonds are my talent.”
Wonderful, thought Sidimo. So why are you teaching my class, then? Ignoring his doubts, he proceeded to climb the ladder. It took him ten minutes and some fairly tense moments to reach the top; heights weren’t among his strengths. After helping him over the balcony rail, the woman gleefully reached out and wrung his hand. “Welcome to my home. I’m Marvis, an Earth Initiate. I live here with my partner Margerette. She’ll be teaching your class today.”
Ah. Sidimo shook her hand and looked around, “Thanks for the welcome. I confess, I was surprised when I came out here.” What he didn’t admit was his thoughts about people living in the forest. Her treehouse seemed much better equipped than normal forest homes, though, from what he could tell. Not that he had much experience with many.
Marvis gestured towards an opening in the trunk. “Go on in; Margerette is waiting. I’ll make sure the other guests make it up.”
He was a little wary of entering a dark hole in the side of a tree, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. The opening led straight to a small foyer; as far as he could tell, it was a very small space where Marvis and Margerette kept their shoes and a few tools. He walked two paces forward to the steps carved into the trunk. At the base, he noticed an inscription: “Leave your shoes below.”
He stepped back to take his boots off. He hadn’t worn any socks, just his toe rings. He’d have to remember that for the next time. As he ascended the steps, he heard birds chirping. When his head poked above the landing—the steps literally led up through a hole in the ceiling—he noticed the raised lid of a trapdoor behind him.
This floor was much larger: a single round room the size of the living room at the gatehouse. He noted circular
windows covered with billowing cloth. Branches gave the domed roof support, and furniture of a similar wood completed the look. There was a large doorway to his left. He heard voices coming from that direction.
He ventured forth around the spiral staircase in the middle of the room and on out the door, where he found himself on a balcony easily three times larger than the one he’d climbed the ladder to. This one faced towards the forest, offering the sweeping vines and leafy green vista of the Ameles. “Welcome to Empathic Healing,” a soft voice called from his right.
He turned to see another woman—this time garbed in tunic and breeches—sitting cross-legged with other students arrayed around her in a circle. Remembering his manners he quickly said, “Thank you. You have a beautiful home.” As he sat before her, she passed him a piece of yarn. He looked around and noticed that each of the other students had a piece of brightly colored yarn in their hands. Not knowing what was going on, he accepted his and held his peace.
“This thread,” said Initiate Margerette a moment later, “Represents your life force. It is the beat of your magic core, and the thrum of your heart.” She held a piece of yarn between her fingers and pulled on it sharply. It snapped in two. “Alone, it can fray and break when placed under sudden stress.” Then she pulled more threads from her lap. She quickly braided three together and tied the ends in a knot. She pulled on each end of the braid sharply, and this time it did not break. “Joined with others, the strength of a thread or the strength of a heart is much harder to break.” She put her threads down and took a sip of tea from a mug beside her.
“Often, people become ill,” she continued after a thoughtful moment, “but an illness is not always physical. Sometimes they cannot function mentally or they start to see things that are not there. If a person feels alone and afraid, and begins to spiral into the darkness of despair, an empathic healer can often cure those ails.” She smiled gently. “We are more than just healers of the physical form, we are healers of the mind.”
She turned and looked at the boy directly to her right. “Tell me—what brought you to this class, sadiqi?” she inquired.
The boy was clearly shy, but looked up and around when the question was asked of him. He bit his lip and then answered quietly, “My grandmother, Initiate. She was healthy for a long time. But after she reached her 63rd birthday she…changed.” He shifted and continued, “It was little things at first. She forgot to churn the butter one morning, and it went sour. Then she and my mother got in a fight over who had paid the milk boy; g’ma insisted she had, but we all knew she hadn’t. Then she began to forget who we were.” His eyes glistened. “We weren’t her family anymore. We were strangers,” he said, as he turned his head to look off into the forest.
Initiate Margerette reached over to clasp his hand in silence. When he turned to look at her, she gave him a small smile, which he returned. The girl to his right was next. When Margerette focused her gentle smile on her, she began: “My name is Lara. There was a raid on my village several weeks ago while I was away from the Madrassa.” She faltered, took a deep breath, and continued, “Bandits came in to steal our food and any money we had. We thought they’d leave after that. But then they grabbed a friend of mine and…ripped at her bodice.” Her voice was shaking by now. “Just when…just when three men had grabbed her and held her down, the men of the village returned. They carried nothing but scythes but some had small magic. They fought the raiders, killing all six. There was so much blood. My father was one of the village fighters. Before he came to live there, he was known in the gladiator pits as a skilled warrior. That day it showed.”
Lara was practically hyperventilating by now. Margerette reached over, grabbed both of her hands, and said “Calm, deep, breaths. We do not have to do this now.”
“No, no,” Lara cried, “I want to finish.” She wiped a tear from her eyes and continued shakily, “When the fight was over, it…wasn’t, for my father. He had a crazed look in his eyes. He turned on the village men and killed two of them before the others could do anything. He had protected us, but it didn’t end after the fight. It’s like he took leave of his senses, and there was nothing but the battle.”
By the end, the other three students were looking at Lara with saddened eyes. Sidimo felt almost ashamed that he himself had nothing of significance to share. When Margarette had calmed Lara down, she turned calm eyes on Sidimo. He said, “I’ve been interested in the mind for a while now. Seeing the mental pain of someone in distress calls to me. I want to help. I need to help. I feel this is a good way to learn.”
He shifted uncomfortably at the end of his speech. Margarette nodded and said, “We need people like you, all of you. There are far too many patients who need an empathic healer’s touch—not only for their ailments, but for comfort.”
The last student of the class was a pale-skinned boy with brown hair flopping in his face. He told the story of his people, of a great mind-healer who had come to them as a war prize. He wanted to learn more about her techniques, and had heard of the Madrassa, and that Initiate Margarette was the foremost practitioner of the art.
The students then discussed their prior history with mental illness a little longer before they were dismissed. By the time class was over, Sidimo’s head was crowded with disturbing thoughts and ideas.
He headed back across the field towards Marsea Gatehouse, catching up to Sitara as they crossed paths in the grass. “Where are you headed?” he asked.
“Gymnasium,” she replied sourly. “We have to pick out our student worker duties.”
“No, not today,” he corrected her quickly, “On Monday. Tara told us we pick the classes in the second week, and start during the second month. Don’t you remember?”
Sitara blinked. “Oh, right…I guess I just forgot. Busy day. Well then,” she said as she swung back around, “I guess I’m headed back to the gatehouse. You?”
“Same,” he replied. After a long moment, he asked, “Sitara, what are your thoughts on mental illness?”
Sitara started and almost stumbled; the only reason she didn’t fall was because he grabbed her by the elbow. “Um, why do you ask?” she said shakily.
Sidimo looked at her askance and decided not to comment on her clumsiness. “Just a class I’m taking. Empathic Healing.”
“What’s that?”
“Precisely what I’m trying to find the answer to,” he sighed. He rubbed his shoulder. “It seems to be a technique to help patients whose wounds aren’t physical. Wounds that are an illness of the mind.”
Sitara had ducked her head, and was studying the soil and grass intently as they walked. She finally looked back up at him. “My sister…she’s ill like that. She doesn’t always see me or anyone else. She works. She eats. She functions. But she’s not who she was. If I had someone like an empathic healer to help her…”
This was obviously a tough subject for her. “Has she been to a healer at all?” he asked quietly.
Sitara laughed bitterly, and turned to smile at him sadly as they walked through the gatehouse door. “And where would we get the funds to pay for that?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked through the kitchen and upstairs to her room.
Sidimo stood where she had left him, his knapsack on the table.
In that moment he vowed to do everything in his power to help those like Sitara’s sister—those who were marginalized by the system, who couldn’t pay or didn’t come from the “right” community—even if he had to become an empathic healer himself. It would take the next three years as a student and Probate, and then two more after he turned 18 as an apprentice, but he knew he could do it. He would do it.
As Allorna prepared for her fourth class, she wondered how well her cohorts were doing in their classes. For that was what they were, a cohort; they lived together, had entered the Madrassa together, and now lunched together. She was fairly sure Maride was in Penmanship, his required practicum course for this fourth be
ll slot. The rest she was unsure of.
She had decided to take Firecraft as her final course of the day. Then she would go home and soak in a nice, long, hot bath. Firecraft was held in the School of Fire proper; the Fire tower was on the opposite side of the half-ring from the Research tower. Appropriate, she thought wryly, Wouldn’t want all those books to burn up.
What she assumed was the School of Water stood next to Fire on the left. Waterfalls cascaded down the front, with what looked like rivers looping in around the School towers. These miniature towers of Water sprang from one formation shaped almost like a flat pincushion. The towers surrounded a central dip, which was obscured by a curtain wall. She tilted her head, wondering what was in the dip.
The Healing School sat to the left of Water, and Air stood just beyond that. She turned her focus on the Tower of Fire. It certainly was different from those of the other Schools, much more…depressing. There were actually three towers comprising the Fire Tower, one each standing at the points of a triangular courtyard. They were made of a dark gray material that seemed to eat light, presumably to mask soot and scorch marks.
She stared at the tower on the right for a long moment before she realized what was wrong with it. It looked as if the top had melted right off. Molten stone, frozen in time now, flowed like old candle wax down the tower walls—although from the number of students gathered at its base it seemed the tower was still active. She looked once more at her class list. “Oh, great,” she groaned internally. It looked like she’d found the tower where her fourth class would be taking place. At least the class would be held several floors below where the melt stopped. She didn’t have to worry about the walls crumbling.
She was startled to hear hearty laughter erupt to her right. A girl stood there, clearly laughing at her, doubled over in mirth. When Allorna glared in return and stalked over to demand an explanation, the girl stood up. She was tall with wavy red hair, a petite face, and three gold earrings arrayed along each of her upper ear lobes.