Emily shuddered. A single mistake would have had the joker carried out as though he were dead–and he would be dead. She didn’t blame the tutors in the slightest.
“But enough of such pleasant thoughts,” Aurelius said. “I called you here to learn something that is rarely taught to anyone outside Sixth Year Healers on the cusp of apprenticeships. I think you will find it interesting.”
Emily nodded, fighting down a yawn.
“You will understand,” Aurelius continued, dropping into a lecturing mode, “that there is a shifting scale of magic. There are simple spells, which are very understandable, then there are subtle magics, which are tricky and difficult to control or predict. You can sometimes muster a general idea of what to expect, but the more magic you use, the less predictable the results become.”
He paused, then smiled mischievously. “Let me pose a question for you,” he added. “Why can we swear oaths while mundanes can’t?”
Emily considered it, tiredly. King Randor’s noblemen had sworn loyalty to him and his lineage, which hadn’t stopped them from plotting to overthrow their King and place his daughter in a gilded cage, warping and twisting her mind until she was their slave. The oaths hadn’t killed them for daring to contemplate treason and no amount of legalistic hair-splitting could hide the fact that they had done rather more than just contemplate treason. If Emily hadn’t been there, they would have won.
“We have magic,” she said. “Our magic binds our words.”
“Precisely,” Aurelius said. “A mundane could swear oaths all he wanted, but nothing would enforce the oaths.”
Emily frowned. “I thought there were spells to enforce such oaths...”
“Oh, there are,” Aurelius said. “Spells of obedience, spells of enforced servitude... there are hundreds of them. But they all have one great weakness. Even when accepted willingly, they are not held firmly in place without an enchanted object. And the spells can sometimes be broken, even by mundanes.”
Emily’s fingers touched her shirt where it covered the rune. She’d had to carve it herself she’d been told, to make it a part of her. It couldn’t be removed, whatever happened. The same, she reasoned, must be true of oaths. Something imposed on someone could be removed if the person could muster the will to defeat it, but something they chose freely would be part of them forever, just like their hair or eyes. And a mundane wouldn’t have the magic to make an oath part of their very being.
“So it’s a bad idea to be mean to someone under your control,” she said. “They might break free and attack you.”
“Precisely,” Aurelius said. He shrugged. “But what makes us different from the mundanes?”
He went on before she could say a word. “Our power is woven into our very souls,” he said, softly. “It is that which makes us different from them. We call the study of the interaction between magic and our souls soul magic. It is the least understood branch of magic and perhaps the most dangerous, at least on a personal level. You could do far worse than accidentally committing suicide if you meddled with your soul.”
Emily nodded, slowly.
There was no shortage of cautionary tales at Whitehall about what happened to students who messed with magic without thinking through the consequences first. She’d been forced to read many of them after her misadventure with the pocket dimension and then write essays in which she had to locate the specific warning and explain why it was dangerous. One of them, she recalled, had featured a student who simply hadn’t been able to muster the motivation to keep herself studying, even thought she knew it was important. She’d eventually cast a compulsion spell on herself to make herself study. And then she hadn’t been able to stop, even to sleep or eat.
“There is no outside force that enforces oaths,” Aurelius said, softly. “We do it to ourselves.”
“That’s why oaths are often sworn to leave loopholes,” Emily said. “No one wants to bind themselves completely to someone else.”
“Of course,” Aurelius said. “But the person who swore the oath has to genuinely believe that the loophole is valid. If they don’t, the oath remains in effect and it kills them. Or it destroys their magic. It is that which is most curious about the whole system.”
“And the oaths also serve as drains on their magic,” Emily said, slowly. The oath she’d offered the fairies from First Year was, she assumed, still valid. It hadn’t impeded her studies, thankfully, but something more complex might make it harder for her to cast spells afterwards. “And any oath might conflict with any other.”
She thought hard, then asked a different question. “What does happen if two oaths come into conflict?”
“You suffer the consequences of breaking one of them,” Aurelius said. “Sometimes, the conflict isn’t recognized at the start, no matter its nature. That’s why so few magicians are comfortable swearing oaths.”
Emily shuddered. If she’d sworn an oath to Void, and then a different one to Lady Barb, what would have happened if they’d pulled her in separate directions? It would have been disastrous for her personally, at the very least.
“There are other potential dangers,” Aurelius added. “If you entangle your soul with someone else, that person will be bound to you for life. Done properly, you and your partner will be happily married; done poorly, one of you will be the master and the other will be the slave. And there will be no escape from such servitude.”
“The last-ditch healing spell,” Emily said, slowly. Aurelius had taught it to her, with strict warnings never to try to use it unless there was no other choice–and if she was willing to bear the consequences. If she saved a person’s life using the spell, that person would be bound to her for the rest of her life. “That’s a form of soul magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Aurelius said, flatly. “And it extracts a huge price from its user.”
Emily nodded. The concept of obligation had been devised, she suspected, partly in response to spells that demanded payment from both the caster and the target. It was possible that the whole purpose of the concept was to make magicians aware that there was always a price, even if the price was nothing more than simply repaying one’s debts. No wonder Healers were expected to forswear all obligations for their work. The alternative was far worse.
Aurelius stood, then led her into another room. This one was completely bare save for a table, two stools and a crystal ball mounted on the table. Emily frowned, but sat where he indicated she should sit. The only crystal ball she’d seen was the one the Grandmaster used to monitor the interior of Whitehall.
He sat down and faced her.
“This is a meditation tool,” he said. “It is a mirror, of sorts, allowing you to see the ebb and flow of your magic–and of your soul. What you see when you concentrate on your magic–as I assume you were taught–is a pale shadow of what you really are. But few students are encouraged to look beyond the very basics.”
Emily peered into the ball, but saw nothing. “Why not?”
“It would give them ideas,” Aurelius said. He inclined his eyebrows towards her, darkly. “And students already have far too many ideas merely from learning a handful of new spells.”
Just like the First Years, Emily thought. I taught them a handful of spells, and suddenly they’re standing up for themselves.
“Touch the ball,” Aurelius said. “And close your eyes.”
Emily obeyed, after checking the ball for unexpected spells. She felt a faint crackle of magic as her fingertips touched the crystal, but otherwise nothing. And then she realized it was all around her. It had always been there, merely beyond her perception. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, pumping blood–and magic–through her body. Magic flowed through her veins, touching the rune she’d carved into her flesh and the places she knew served as power points, places she could use to draw out magic if necessary. And, most of all, it ebbed and flowed through her brain, ready to bend to her will.
“Don’t try to twist the magic,” Aurelius ordered
, sharply. He sounded as though he were very far away. “Just... watch it.”
“I know,” Emily said, entranced. She didn’t dare try to disturb it. “It’s beautiful.”
She meant every word. The magic was beautiful. She could practically see her own brain as she fell deeper into the power. And then she saw something shimmering through her mind, something translucent and solid at the same time. It had to be the oath she’d sworn to the fairies, she reasoned. If someone else happened to look at her in such a manner, would he know she’d sworn an oath? Or would he be unable to see her so clearly?
“It’s also seductive,” Aurelius said, softly. “You can fall so far into yourself that you cannot escape.”
Emily barely heard him. Her magic was growing stronger, a roaring wave of power surrounding her, yet it felt oddly comfortable. She welcomed it as an old friend, something that had changed her life for the better. Part of her just wanted to surrender completely and allow it to absorb her...
She shook her head. It could not be allowed. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate until she managed to pull her mind and thoughts back out of herself. Her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, her mind was completely dazed, utterly unsure of what had just happened. And then she realized just how close she’d come to falling into her own power.
“That... that was strange,” she said. She felt energetic and tired, happy and sad, enthusiastic and cautious... her thoughts and emotions made no sense. “I...”
“Most students have the same reaction at first,” Aurelius told her. He seemed to be regarding her with approval, smiling warmly. “I would advise you not to try again for a few days.”
Emily stared at him, rebelliously.
“You would run the risk of killing yourself,” Aurelius said, flatly. “Or being lost forever.”
He took a breath. “And if you don’t take the dangers seriously,” he added, “you will come far too close to death the next time you venture into your own mind.”
“Very well,” Emily said.
“This room is barred to all without me,” Aurelius said. “I strongly advise you not to enter the room. We will try this again in a few days, Emily, but you are not to attempt this alone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said, carefully. “How much did you see?”
“Nothing,” Aurelius said. “You would have seen everything, but I saw nothing. I would have had to touch your soul to see what you saw and that would be dangerous. Your father would not be pleased.”
Emily nodded, then frowned. The crystal ball had seemed magic-less until she’d actually touched it, but now she could sense a faint haze of magic surrounding the table. It felt oddly familiar. And then she realized it felt a little like the magic surrounding the locked door and the proctors. Were they linked to Mountaintop though soul magic or was there something else, something more sinister, surrounding them?
The riddle of the ages, she thought, as she rose to her feet. What hides beneath a proctor’s hood?
“There are books I wish you to read, if you have time,” Aurelius said. “You’ll find them on the desk in my library, clearly marked for your attention. Read them, consider them and expect a quiz when you next see me. You should be capable of answering some of the most important questions after reading the books.”
“If I have time,” Emily said.
She sighed. Zed and Mistress Mauve had both assigned piles of reading, leading to near-duels in the library between students fighting over the handful of copies of each book. The sooner they bought textbooks from the newly-formed printing houses, the better. But she did have an advantage, she thought mischievously. Most of the assigned texts were also included in Aurelius’s library.
“I have also requested Mistress Mauve to teach you something new,” Aurelius added. “But I advise you to be careful. She hates being told to break her lesson plans.”
Emily swallowed, nervously. Mistress Mauve was almost certainly the most bad-tempered teacher in Mountaintop, particularly now. Yesterday, she’d torn into an unfortunate male student and questioned his competence, his parentage and his right to be at the school after he’d messed up a particularly complex charm. Charms might suffer one of the greatest accident rates in either Mountaintop or Whitehall, but Emily thought the tutor had overreacted. The thought of private lessons with Mistress Mauve was no more reassuring than private lessons with Zed!
But you survived those, she reminded herself. You can survive Mistress Mauve, too.
“One other thing,” Aurelius said. Emily stopped at the door. “You are aware, of course, that I am not the supreme ruler of Mountaintop?”
Emily nodded. The MageMaster was the supreme ruler, she assumed, although hardly anyone had mentioned him apart from Nanette. It was almost as if they didn’t want to say his name aloud and invoke him. But that was absurd. Saying a magician’s name aloud, let alone his title, wouldn’t bring him to her side.
“There are disputes among the staff about how to proceed,” Aurelius said. “Some of them disagree with me.”
“About what?” Emily asked. “About me being here?”
“Work it out,” Aurelius said. He waved a hand at the door. “You may go.”
Emily gave him a sharp look. “I should pay my respects to the MageMaster,” she said, fighting to conceal her irritation. “Can I see him?”
“He’s fighting for life,” Aurelius said. “You shouldn’t visit him, I think. If he gets better, I will introduce you to him.”
He paused. “Now, go study,” he said. “Or go get some sleep. You’ll need it after touching your own soul.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said.
She thought carefully as she walked her way back towards Raven Hall, almost tripping over a student who had been stuck to the floor. Clearly, the First Years were still waging their war despite the increased workload. Emily sighed, then released the student and kept walking, wondering which side the student was on. Or even if there were sides now.
But she knew, in the end, it didn’t really matter.
Maybe that was what Aurelius was trying to warn me about, she thought, as she entered the hall and walked towards her bed. Some of the other tutors want to take drastic action against the rebellious students.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“EMILY,” MISTRESS MAUVE SAID THE FOLLOWING day, “stay behind after class.”
Emily nodded, trying to ignore the pitying looks several of the students sent her as the class was dismissed. Mistress Mauve had been in an even temper all day–thoroughly terrible–and had snapped and snarled at the class for hours. It hadn’t helped any of them put their series of spells together, although Emily knew she’d done better than most and actually managed to get a full chain reaction before the spellware fell apart. But she didn’t want to call attention to how she was being treated, so she remained seated until the classroom was completely empty.
“I have been ordered to teach you how to teleport,” Mistress Mauve said. She sounded furious, although it didn’t seem to be directed at Emily. “This is against my best advice as a teacher who has been tutoring young students in teleportation for the last two decades. You are quite formidably powerful, as befits your heritage, but your power reserves have yet to reach the stable levels required for regular teleportation.”
“You don’t have to teach me,” Emily said. “I...”
“Don’t be more stupid than you can help, girl,” Mistress Mauve snapped. “I was ordered to teach you the theory and the spells, but I strongly advise you not to use them unless you are trapped and there’s no other way out. The worst that can happen in that case, at least, is better than certain death without teleporting out.”
Emily took a breath. “And what is the worst that can happen?”
“You scatter yourself into very tiny pieces,” Mistress Mauve said. “Or you wind up in the heart of a mountain. Or you slam against wards designed to block teleportation and no one ever knows what happened to you.”
She took a breath. “You will read these books and write an essay on the variables involved,” she added. She passed Emily a sheet of parchment with a written authorization to enter one of the more restricted parts of the library. “I should expect it to be perfect, but as you are a Third Year student I will allow you three mistakes. Any further mistakes will result in punishment. Do you understand me?”
Emily didn’t think that sounded particularly fair, but she knew better than to argue. She’d always intended to learn how to teleport, after all, and even knowing the theory might allow her to sidestep the normal rules. There were quite a few possible uses of her magical batteries that might make teleportation easier, if she had a battery set up and charged. Besides, it was clear that Mistress Mauve had been forced to teach her how to teleport. There was no point in complaining to her about it.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said, instead.
“Good,” Mistress Mauve said. She moved on at once. “Teleportation requires the use of several different pieces of spellwork, all of which must be triggered at the same time for the spell to work properly. Outside a nexus point, there is no such thing as an easy teleport. The spellcaster is required to envisage the destination, then the spells that move him from one part of the world to another, then finally the spells that will protect him from the ravages of the journey. It is quite difficult to practice the spells separately, let alone together. Very few magicians master teleporting until later in life.”
Emily nodded. She’d wondered if teleportation was akin to transporter technology, where a person was broken down into a stream of energy and put back together at the far end, or something more like a personalized wormhole. Judging from Mistress Mauve’s description, she would have bet on the latter. But there was no way to be sure.
“There is an additional spell that tests the waters at your destination,” Mistress Mauve continued. “It makes sure that there is no strong magical field blocking access. If you should fail to cast it and jump into a ward, you will vanish and no one will ever see you again.”
Schooled in Magic 5 - The School of Hard Knocks Page 27