by Nandi Taylor
“The theory of . . .”
“The theory of otherspace. Objects exist in, and can be sent to, another plane of existence. And then there’s the principle of—” He scratched his head. “Watcher, what is it? Inversion! Yes, just as we pull things from otherspace, we can send things there as well. So the instant my clothes touch dragon flesh they disappear to otherspace, and when I switch to human they return.”
“I see,” she said, but he could tell she didn’t. He didn’t understand it all that well himself, to be honest. No one did; that was why it was only a theory. “Go on, ask me another. Something from the test.”
“Very well. What is the Law of Self-Preservation?”
“Easy, I learned that in first school. It’s what keeps us from destroying ourselves when we use magic. Why you don’t incinerate your own hands when casting a fire spell, for example.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Yes. That’s also why we can’t use healing spells on ourselves.”
“So that would be the negative effect,” she mused.
Weysh pointed to a dainty wrought-iron bench nestled among the trees at the entrance to the Rearwood. “Why don’t we sit over there, and today can be your first session. You ask, I’ll answer.”
She looked up at his classmates, intently scouring the trees from above. “Are you not occupied?”
“Hmm, wait right here.” Weysh changed and pushed off. The wind whistled in his ears as he made a quick, gliding circle over the forest. He let out a sharp screech: Carry on without me.
He touched down before her, his dragon nostrils getting a good dose of her irresistible scent before he changed back. “There, I’m all yours.”
The war within her showed plain on her face. At last she touched a hand to her stomach through the thin material of her wrap shirt and nodded. “You have told me some useful information so far. Should I agree to this, I do not want to hear anything about us being Given. Is that clear, Dragon? You are my tutor only.”
He hesitated. How was he to convince her if he couldn’t even bring up their union?
“I see. Well, if you cannot agree, I must be going.” She turned.
“No! Yes. Agreed,” said Weysh.
Without another word, she strode past him toward the bench, and once they were seated under the cool shadows of the trees, he began.
“What else would you like to know? Go on.”
“Why is it that dragons like Harth Duval and Zui Duval are colorful in their human form, but you are normal, even though as a dragon you are that deep shade of violet?”
“Well, first of all, it’s perfectly normal for dragons to be all sorts of colors. It’s how Byen marks us. Second, I am violet. See?” He made a fist in front of her face, showing her his knuckles, where the purple tinge was most prominent.
“Ah!” she said. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
He nodded. “It’s a bit difficult to see because of my Island ancestry, but the color is there.”
Yenni’s eyes went wide. “You’re an Islander?”
“My grandfather was, on my mother’s side, but he died when I was ten.”
He frowned. Ah Movay, he didn’t like to think about it. He missed the man. When he was a child, Weysh’s mother would send him off to the Sunrise Isles every winter, where he would spend time with his grandfather, uncle, and cousins. His grandfather had been a stark contrast to Montpierre, always warm and kind. Then again, he’d been the type of person who could make anyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. Weysh always thought that was where he got his charm with women—well, most women. He’d visited the Sunrise Isles a few more times after his grandfather passed, but it wasn’t the same. His memories of the Islands brought him more sorrow than comfort, and so he stopped going.
“Ah,” Yenni mused, invading his thoughts. “The Songs of the Sha say this as well, that the dragons of old had skin of multiple colors. Dragon people were the descendants of true dragons, beasts as tall as mountains that protected the divine realm of the Sha from the shadows at the edges of the world.”
Weysh nodded. “Exactly! We may call ourselves dragons now, but really we’re dragonkind. True dragons are as tall as mountains and have no human form, just as you say.”
“Have you met a true dragon?” Yenni asked, her pretty eyes wide.
“No, praise Byen. That would mean Movay’s demons had returned.”
“Who?”
“Movay. In the beginning, Byen, the Kindly Watcher, was at war with Movay, Mistress of Demons. She sent her hell minions to destroy the world but was defeated by Byen and his true dragons. After that, Byen gave ten percent of humanity the ability to transform into a lesser version of his sacred warriors, to defend the world should Movay’s demons return.”
She cocked her head. “Do you really believe you are a divine warrior in the service of your god?”
“Huh. Maybe, maybe not, but if Movay’s demons return in my lifetime I’ll cross that bridge then, I suppose.”
“I see. Well then, how is this ten percent maintained?”
“Dragons can have only one child. And what I mean by that is literally every dragon rears one child, so a pair of mated dragons could have two children, but a couple like you and me will have only one.”
“We are not . . . hmph.” She closed her eyes, huffed out a breath, and opened them again. “What is to stop you from having more children?”
“The will of Byen.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Your history sounds similar to the Songs of the Sha.”
“Who is the Sha?”
“Who are the Sha. They are the creators of all. They made this world together, and sprang from Mother-Father Ool, the creator of all other Sha, who is both male and female.”
Weysh laughed incredulously. “What? Both male and—that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! How can someone be both male and female?”
Yenni jerked back like he’d slapped her, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, how can you be a sacred warrior? That is the silliest thing I have ever heard.” She jumped up from the bench and began to march away.
“Lovely, no! Wait!” He instinctively reached for her arm, but on second thought pulled back. The last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of another of her attacks, and Harth’s comment about him manhandling women bothered him more than he cared to admit.
“Yenni Ajani, I’m sorry!” he said, throwing up his hands helplessly. “That was rude of me.”
Through Byen’s mercy she stopped and turned back to him, her arms crossed. “Yes, it was.”
“Forgive me?”
“I have to be going. I must sort out my accommodation for the year.”
“Well, then let’s meet again,” Weysh said quickly. “How about at the library tomorrow evening? Six o’clock?”
“Perhaps,” she said, then suddenly the markings on her legs glowed a brilliant blue-white and she took off, darting away with all the speed of a startled fawn. Weysh hung his head and sighed; things had been going so well! But not all was lost. She didn’t say she wouldn’t meet him tomorrow.
He grunted in irritation. Why was he doing this? He was a dragon; there was no shortage of women vying for his attention. And what of Carmenna? He loved her well enough, and she didn’t put him through these humiliating paces. She was sweet and kind, and didn’t deserve the pain he was causing her. Besides, it was clear Yenni Ajani was thoroughly unimpressed by him, so he should have some dignity and leave her be, Given or no.
But he knew he wouldn’t, not with the scent of her still clinging to the bench, making his head swim. He let out a bitter chuckle. Byen knew him well. He’d always had a soft spot for the darker-skinned women of the Islands. The ones who had given him his first kiss and more.
So he knew he would find himself at the library tomorrow evening,
waiting until the lanterns ran low.
9
Yenni made a slow circle, assessing herself in her long looking glass. She was dressed in the academy’s special school clothes, a uniform it was called. Mothers and Fathers but these Creshens like to drown themselves in clothing. On her legs she wore tight, uncomfortable gray leggings, and over that a long white shirt that went almost to her knees called a tunic, and over that a thick green shirt with no arms called a vest, and then tall shoes like fisherwomen wore, though admittedly much nicer. The Creshens called them boots, and hers were made of some kind of animal hide and dyed a forest green to match the vest. Finally, over everything else, she wore a long green contraption the Creshens called a mage’s coat. It had a big, loose hood and a belt at the waist. Her braids had gone fuzzy so she freed her hair from them and it made a halo around her head.
She glanced around her suite, her home for the next year. After a cramped and noisy night in the academy’s guest lodging, she’d firmly decided it was worth the money to have the best rooms she could get, so along with her tuition she had paid for accommodation at a women’s residence called Riverbank Chambers.
It was all very Creshen. She couldn’t rightfully call the suite small, but the way it was sealed, with no gap between the wall and ceiling, made it feel stifling. Thankfully, it had a little balcony, so she could open the doors. She also had a big Creshen bed, which was soft and fluffy and fun to bounce on, but made for a hot and fitful sleep. Off the bed chamber was another small room—a nook, really—with a big window; a dark, sturdy desk; and a padded chair.
Yenni looked in the mirror and smoothed her vest one last time. No more dallying. This morning she would attend her first class: Foundations of Magical Theory. She didn’t want to be late, especially since the class was taught by that irritating Professor Mainard. As she exited her suite Yenni took one last look at the desk, where she’d left her runepaint and brushes. She was no longer as concerned about the dragon: not once had the Masters’ protection rune reacted to him. And she needed to conserve her runepaint, so today she sported just a few small, quick speed and strength runes.
And, of course, the runes on her hands. She ran her thumb along the swirling white rune on her left palm, offered up a prayer to Father Ri for guidance and wisdom, and set out for her first class at Prevan Academy.
The other students’ excited chatter echoed all the way up to the schoolroom’s high ceilings, but as soon as the big double doors at the front creaked open and Professor Mainard strode in, their voices faded like a wave leaving the shore.
“Good morning, class.”
“Good morning, Professor,” a few voices said back.
Professor Mainard slammed a hand down on his podium. “I said good morning, class!”
“Good morning, Professor Mainard!” the class replied, much louder this time.
“Very good,” he said. “Welcome to Foundations of Magical Theory. Here you will refine and in some cases relearn the theories, principles, and best practices of spellcasting. Strong magic requires a strong foundation, and it is my intention that every student of this academy have such a thorough understanding of magical theory that they can recite Uhad’s sixty-seven laws of casting”—he snapped his fingers—“on command. Now, now, I know this must all sound intimidating, but remember that only the best and brightest are permitted entry to Prevan Academy. Though I expect excellence, that should be no trouble for the likes of . . .” He paused, and his eyes landed on Yenni. “The majority of you.”
Yenni stiffened and glared at him. Just what did this man have against her? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She had come to the academy at the instruction of the Sha and it was their judgment alone that concerned her.
“Since this is our first lesson together, let us start with something I fear most of you will find insultingly simple. Nevertheless.” He pointed at Yenni. “Explain the Law of Self-Preservation.” He crossed his arms and smiled a smug smile, waiting.
Ah! The dragon had explained that one. “The Law of Self-Preservation means that magic cannot affect the person who casts it,” Yenni said.
Mainard squinted at her. “Correct,” he said. “Therefore, what is the law’s negative?”
“One cannot heal themselves,” Yenni answered without missing a beat. Now the smile took hold of her face. This was more like it. She was used to having all the answers back home.
“Also correct,” Mainard said, his voice flat.
He went around the room, his shoes making muffled thuds on the deep green carpet of the rows separating the desks. He pointed out students, demanding they answer his questions.
“What is the principle of spatial maneuvering?”
“Objects can be physically moved through space with source energy,” replied one young woman.
“What is the principle of stasis?”
“Through source an object, or with advanced casting a living being, may be commanded to remain still,” a serious young man intoned.
On and on Mainard went, and Yenni did her best to keep up with her charcoal stick—a pencil, she now knew. She scribbled awkwardly with the strange writing tool, noting what she could.
“The principle of energy to light?” she heard Mainard demand.
“Source energy may be transformed into illumination,” a high female voice replied.
“Very good. Well then, perhaps a practical demonstration. Mam’selle Kayerba!”
Yenni glanced up, surprised to find Mainard right in front of her desk.
“Give us your best magic lantern,” he said.
Yenni stared at him. “I-I am unfamiliar with this magic,” she said, the admission burning like bile in her chest.
Mainard let out one sharp bark of incredulous laughter. “Queyor’s Magic Lantern? But this is elementary, Mam’selle Kayerba. Come, class, what is the incantation for Queyor’s Magic Lantern?”
“Source to light and here remain,” her classmates chorused.
Mainard nodded and held out a hand. “Source to light and here remain,” he said. Yenni felt a spike of ach’e and a gentle, white-blue light, like runelight, glowed in the professor’s hand.
“Please stand, Mam’selle Kayerba.”
Yenni stood warily.
“There now. You have the incantation. Show us your lantern.”
Yenni held out her hand and carefully pulled ach’e, feeling the energy tickle and tingle down her spine and to her palm. “Source to light and here remain,” she said softly. A hint of light glimmered across her palm.
Mainard chuckled. “Oh yes, that lantern would come in quite handy. On a pleasant stroll on the surface of the sun, perhaps.”
The entire class laughed. At her. Hot humiliation and rage zoomed up the back of Yenni’s skull, and her breathing quickened. How dare they? She was a princess of the Yirba, and she refused to accept such disrespect. Yenni pulled ach’e hard, like a child first learning her runes.
“Source to light and here remain!” she shouted angrily. Ach’e rushed through her, making her shiver, and brilliant light burst from her palm, so bright she had to turn her head. She heard Professor Mainard and the students around her cry out.
“Enough!” Professor Mainard yelled. “Are you trying to blind us all?”
Yenni closed her palm but the light continued to leak out between her fingers.
“Source’s light by source undone,” Mainard said, irritation plain in his voice. Foreign ach’e smothered her hand, wet and clammy, and the light in Yenni’s palm went out.
“Oh, by all that is holy,” Mainard grumbled. “Do sit down, Mam’selle Kayerba.”
Yenni sat, seething.
Mainard shook his head. “I’d expect nothing less,” he said. “Give up, Mam’selle Kayerba, you’re in over your head.”
He walked off to terrorize some other student and left Yenni clenching the edges of her desk.<
br />
“Never,” she growled through her teeth. She would not give up. She was Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba. She was the equal of any one of these Creshens, and she would master their strange magic, learn a way to save her father, and return to her tribe triumphant. Giving up was simply not an option.
By the grace of the Sha, the rest of the day’s classes were far less traumatizing. Neither of her professors in Basics of Offensive Spellcasting or Basics of Defensive Spellcasting had required demonstrations. She was free to simply listen, make notes, and absorb their lessons.
Her best class was her last: An Introduction to Dragon Psychology. Perhaps the most interesting thing about it was Professor Rosé. She was dragonkind, and had skin that was pale pink, like the wild daisies that grew in the fields back home. Waves of thick, deep-pink hair spilled from her head down to the middle of her back, and her eyes were a disconcerting almost red. Still, she was friendly and enthusiastic, the opposite of Professor Mainard. And it was amusing to watch the silly, lovestruck expressions on most of the men in the room.
“In conclusion,” she said as she sat at the edge of one of the tables and flipped her long hair over her shoulder, “we dragonkind are still people. Now, yes, I know today’s lesson has been an examination of differences in personality when we’re in human and when we’re in dragon forms, but you’ll find that even in dragon we’re not so different from you. To that end, you have some homework.”
A few people groaned.
“Oh, boo, hoo, hoo,” said Professor Rosé as she jumped up from the table. “Trust me, you’ll be thanking me later,” she said and winked. “Your task is to find someone dragonkind, ask them to switch to dragon, and observe the dragon personality. I want a page, just one measly page, of notes by next week. And if anyone gives you trouble, tell them Professor Rosé sent you. That’s it! Class dismissed.”
The bell tower tolled in the distance over the scraping and the din of her classmates’ chatter. One, two, three, four, five, six. Creshens marked time by hours. Six peals of the bell meant it was six in the evening.