by Rosie Scott
Until the past few days, I had been worried that Cerin would have been a natural with death magic. He certainly looked the part, and as most elemental mages had found throughout history, their physical appearance tended to resemble the elements they were predisposed to. It was why wielding fire and air hadn't come as much of a surprise. My hair was a deep red, so deep that many who met me thought I dyed it with the expensive dyes imported to Sera from the desert nation of Nahara to the south. I was also quite pale, a feature that was a common attribute among air wielders. Due to Cerin's dark features, then, I'd assumed he would have easily learned death magic; it was an element as powerful, if not moreso, than the others, but the art of necromancy was a banned practice in all of Chairel, and much of the world. Bringing the dead to life, wielding plague and disease, and leeching the life and energy from others were all practices considered too savage for warfare. They had no place in a modern society, according to our Queen and the Seran University. The moral and ethics implications of the element were far too complicated and vast to keep the practice legal.
Regardless, Cerin had found life magic to be his calling. He was very lucky in this respect. Healers were the most sought after of mages, and tended to become the wealthiest. Alchemists could often heal sickness, and surgeons could often mend broken bones. But life mages, well...they could do both, and more accurately, while taking a fraction of the time.
My ears picked up on whispers, and I glanced up to the table beside ours, just in time to see a classmate use his own air magic to blow a gust of wind in Cerin's direction. Cerin's notes from the day before blew off the table, scattering and skidding across the tiled floors. The boy and his friend burst into laughter, while Cerin, humiliated, moved out of his seat to begin gathering the papers.
“Your powers aren't to be used so needlessly,” I hissed at my peer, getting out of my seat to help gather the papers.
“Or what, girly? You gonna tell daddy and get me sent back to Kilgor?” He sneered back at me.
“No, I'll be telling Ms. Ply about this so she makes it known you're not taking your studies seriously,” I retorted, taking the stack of Cerin's notes and handing it over to him.
“Thanks,” he offered, his voice nearly cracking. He looked away in embarrassment.
“Oh, I'm shaking in me boots,” the bully replied to me, carelessly.
“Kilgor's not so bad, mate,” his friend teased him, as Cerin and I sat back into our seats. My table mate had an arm protectively over his notes, now. “Not if yer lookin' for the farmer's life.”
“Yeah, but I ain't. Why the hell else do ya think I'm here?”
“Because the only girls in our town are goats,” his friend replied, with a snort of laughter.
The classroom door opened a moment later, and Beatrice Ply, one of our professors, hurried in. As always, she was late and disheveled, her thick mop of curly red hair refusing to be tamed by a few oddly placed hair pins. She carried a stack of old texts to the counter ahead of us, before turning to the impatient class.
“Good morning, everyone. Sorry I'm late.” As she said it, her eyes met mine. I inwardly wondered if she thought I would ever tattle on her to my father. Unbeknownst to her, I never would. I didn't like talking to him more than I had to. “Please get out the spell books you were assigned yesterday. We're going to continue where we left off, learning various words for each of your elements and how they connect between spells. Remember, don't conjure, just read and study. We don't want any accidents.”
I retrieved my two spell books from my pack, bringing them to the table before me. I caught Cerin's eyes watching them both with admiration. I knew he was impressed by my ability to dual cast.
“Now, who can tell me what creatius means?” Ms. Ply continued, looking over the class.
I raised my hand, and when she chose me, I said, “Create.”
“Very good.”
“Very easy,” the bully from earlier seethed. I ignored the comment.
“And who can tell me what givara means?”
Cerin hadn't raised his hand, but he was called on anyway. Perhaps because he was the only one in the class who knew a spell where givara was relevant. “Give,” he offered.
“Correct. Give, as in give life. Create, as in create an element, using the energy in the air around you and harnessing it to your will. Does anyone know what would happen if you were to say a spell incorrectly? Suppose you said, givara les fiers? Or even, creatius le life?”
I raised my hand again, but Ms. Ply decided to call on another student.
“Nothing. Nothing would happen,” came the response.
“Correct. To give fire is an incorrect statement, as is create life. Even in necromancy, the spells are not stated as you creating life, because you are not. You are using energy to reanimate the dead. Even if you manage to have a corpse standing before you, it is not living, because it cannot. It is only existing and acting upon your will because you are commanding the energy animating it. Does this make sense?” A few of us nodded, and she continued, “Now would be a good time to remind you all that if you see any student—or anyone, for that matter—using necromancy, please report it to your nearest professor or guard. Necromancers are considered enemies of the kingdom and are often put to death.”
“Ironic,” I heard a student muse.
“Now, using the words you know, I want you all to attempt to write new spells using these words. Spells that you think could work, using what little you do know. In order to use magic effectively, you not only need to wield it, but understand its language.” She paused, looked around the room, and finished, “I'll be coming around the room to guide each of you. Please begin.”
Cerin and I were silent for minutes afterward, using our spell books for reference and writing down ideas. Ms. Ply took her time moving from table to table, helping the other students with the language, letting them know when they were wrong about the usage of a word and why.
After a while, I looked up to Cerin, deciding to attempt conversation with him as I often did. “Cerin, have you ever tried to wield another element?”
His silver eyes rose from his book, meeting mine with a stare that felt oddly distant. “Why would I do that? I'm no dual caster, like you.”
“How would you know if you've never tried?”
“Are you saying I have?” The question was weird and defensive. I wondered if I was annoying him.
“No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I just wonder what would happen if you tried, you know? Once you have designated elements, you're not really supposed to branch out. But what if you did?”
Cerin hesitated. “I've heard nothing happens. You can attempt a spell of a different element, but it doesn't work. If you're a dual caster, anyway. If you only cast one element and casting another works, well...I guess that's how you find out you're a dual caster.”
The beginnings of a smile began to spread on my face. I felt for once like I was finally getting through to him. “Yeah, I guess so,” I admitted.
“Do you want to try it?” Cerin offered, pushing his spell book over to me. “Let's see what happens.”
“Oh, so I get to be the guinea pig?” I teased him, pulling the book to me.
“I doubt it'll hurt you. It's life magic, after all.”
“How will I know if it's working?” I asked him, reading the beginner's healing spell. I wasn't injured. It wasn't like I would be able to tell if it was working by mending a cut that didn't exist.
“You'll feel a warmth. Put your hand to your skin, and you'll feel warmth from your hand, and tingling from what it's touching.”
“Okay.” I put my right hand to my left arm, and recited low, “Givara le life.” There was a rising heat in my palm. Slowly, I felt the warmth transfer to my other arm, leaving it numb and tingling, like it had fallen asleep. I looked up to Cerin, a little in shock. “It's working.”
He stared back, unable to believe me. “It can't be. You already know fire and air.”
&n
bsp; I reached across the table to him, grabbing his hand. In normal circumstances, this would have embarrassed me. But right now, I needed him to feel it. I repeated the spell, watching as Cerin realized I was right. He jerked his hand away, before staring at me like I was some kind of a god. “That's impossible,” he whispered, rubbing at his hand.
“Then how am I doing it?”
Cerin only stared back. He had no answer.
Ms. Ply was at our table a moment later, asking about the spells we'd attempted to create. I barely heard her. I turned to her, and asked her the first question that came to mind.
“Why can I wield life?”
She watched me for a moment, before a chuckle. “You can't, Kai. You wield fire and air.”
“I just used Cerin's spell.” It was stupid of me to admit. We weren't really supposed to be practicing spells right now, only writing them. My excitement had overcome me.
“Kai...it is impossible to wield more than two elements. You know this.” She appeared uncomfortable and confused by my recent ramblings.
Risking much, I grabbed the professor's arm, reciting the spell. A moment later, she, too, jerked back from it like it was hurting her.
“I saw you wield fire and air yesterday,” she said, her words a rush.
“I know. I've done both. And I just wielded life.”
She stared at me, in a state of shock. After a few seconds of silence, she stuttered, “Then—then do this for me. Lift up your palm, like you're going to wield simple fire.” I did so. “Now repeat after me. Creatius la agua.”
I repeated the spell, and just like that, water began to form from the energy particles in the air, the water splashing slowly up against the protective circular energy barrier just above my palm. Both Ms. Ply and I stared at it as if it shouldn't exist.
“Dispel it!” She exclaimed, almost as if in fear. I did so with a wave of my hand. The water fell to the classroom floor, splashing across the tile and dampening my shoes.
Now, I had the attention of the class. Everyone was quiet and watching the history unfolding before their eyes, with me at its center.
“Repeat creatius la terra.”
I did so. Instead of water, or fire, or even air, I harnessed even more energy within my hand, and a swirling ball of earth hovered where water just had, full of pebbles and dead tree roots, just like if I had gone outside and dug up a shovel full of the earth in the university's courtyard.
Ms. Ply stared at the earth, swirling around within its barrier and waiting to be used, and pointed toward one of my peers, the girl closest to the door. “You,” she said, her voice a frightened, hushed tone. “Get the headmaster. Now!”
One
Towering stone walls rose above me on both sides as I trotted along one of the hallways of the university, on my way to see a good friend. An employee of the university nodded toward me in greeting as he lit the candles along the wall that had died overnight with quick bursts of fire magic.
At the end of the hallway, the walls opened up to a large gathering room. With polished wooden floors that reflected its occupants and ceilings as high as five stories, it was a sight to behold.
Halfway across the room, a friendly face came into view. Silas Galan was an old friend, among other things. Born among Celdic elven royalty in the great city of Celendar, he was given a free ticket through the Seran University to learn earth magic in exchange for his service as my personal bodyguard through my teenage years. At just a year over forty, he was extraordinarily young for an elf, as elves were the only race to have an average lifespan of hundreds of years. Elves were mostly known to only die prematurely by battle wounds or extreme heartbreak. Because of this, Celdic elves in particular were not fond of war or battle, and tended to favor peace whilst living tucked away lives in the deep forests of the world.
Silas was a handsome sight, as were most elves. Because of the delayed aging process elves were known for, he appeared to be no more than twenty or twenty-one, with a mop of sienna brown hair that swept over the points of his ears, and stunning, sharp green eyes. He was taller than most humans, built for speed and agility with practical muscles and a knack for attention to details. His trusty bow sat perched on his back along with a quiver of elven arrows. The weapon was a beautiful one, made out of the pearl-white bark of the trees only known to grow in the forests of Celendar.
“On your way to see Bjorn?” He questioned, spinning slowly to seamlessly go from a standstill to walking by my side. He spoke of the general of the Seran Army, and one of the few authority figures to me that I was completely comfortable around.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice holding a slight tremble. “I'm a nervous wreck.”
“You have your supporters. The only person standing in opposition to you is your father.”
“I know,” I acknowledged. “Sometimes that's the hardest fact to accept.”
Silas remained silent. I knew he agreed with me, but he was extremely intelligent, probably already thinking through how verbally acknowledging my depressing statement would only make me feel worse.
We walked together toward the front exit of the building, passing by an entire room full of people waiting to meet with members of the university to discuss magical services. Before even knowing what any of them were here for, I knew most of them would be disappointed. Most were peasants and would be unable to afford the services. Others had trekked seasons from Nahara and would be told that Seran mages dealt in gold, not trade, like many of the Naharans were used to.
I had never agreed with Sera's methods of holding its mages above the heads of commonfolk. The only thing I was ashamed of as a mage myself was being an unwilling participant to the monopoly Sera held over magic. It was illegal in Chairel to practice magic without a license from the Seran University, which, of course, didn't mean that no one practiced it without licenses at all, only that they were imprisoned if they were caught.
Silas and I exited the university, and the bustling city of Sera opened up before us. Sera was built on the side of a mountain, and was set up in tiers. At the uppermost point of the city was the Seran University, the city's prized possession. Beneath that was the sector in which the tourist attractions, merchants, and prestigious class of citizens lived, those who either had family members who were mages, or those who could simply afford our services. Beneath that, near the bottom of the mountain, was the poor sector, along the edge of the outer walls. This is where most of the people who kept the city fed and serviced lived. Some of the poor even spilled over to outside of the walls, where small farms were scattered over the surrounding plains.
From the northernmost points of Sera, the view was incredible. From the courtyard of the university, the rest of the city sloped downward for a few miles, before the plains and view beyond opened up to the horizon. It would be an easy city to defend, if there were ever a need. The view allowed defenders to see for miles, attacking the city would be an uphill climb, and Sera held one of the best armies in the world. Not only did we have the Orders of the Mages, the only army of magicians in the world, we also had the Seran Army, an army of rank and file soldiers armed with some of the best armor and weapons available to humankind. And at the very top of that army was Bjorn.
“Hit him like you mean it! Is this a training field or a little girl's playroom? Bloody hell!”
I chuckled at the sound of Bjorn's voice bellowing out from the training fields behind the barracks. Turning the corner with Silas at my side, I caught eye of the bulky man behind the voice, yelling at two frightened men who were in a dirt arena, both wielding wooden swords.
Bjorn was my father's right-hand man in terms of the Seran Army. He was the best general we had, and also took a front seat in the training of the non-magic soldiers, putting himself in charge of melee fighters. He was a large, towering, and muscular man, with light reddish hair that held stubborn grays that he kept held back from his face in a short, messy ponytail. His face was usually covered in facial hair of some description, though he
wasn't too fond of keeping it tidy. His skin was a natural tan, and his muscles stuck out in sharp angles from his body from years of training and fighting.
In comparison with my father, Bjorn was frightening in appearance. He reeked of strength and power and confidence. On the contrary, my father was thin and pale, and if one were to glance at him without knowing his name, they could be mistaken in believing he was not a threat. In a sharp contrast to what appearances would have one believe, it was my father I feared, and with Bjorn that I took solace. While I was raised as the daughter of Sirius Sera, it was Bjorn that I looked up to and admired the most.
“Bjorn!” I called. Despite being in mid-training, I knew the man would call off the day's events to make time for me if he had to.
He turned from the sparring match, his eyes brightening when he saw me. “Ah! There ya are, my girl. Word from the messengers is that your father's already looking for you.”
My heart sunk into my stomach, attempting to hide within its acidic bile. I said nothing for fear that my sudden nausea would overcome me.
“Listen, Kai, I know you're scared. Your father makes me shit my pants sometimes, myself.”
I couldn't help but chuckle a bit from the unexpected humor. I could always count on Bjorn to try to make me feel better.
“You have my support, and that will help. Your father listens to me...sometimes...as much as he tries to pretend he won't. I've already told him of your plans, and I've told him I agree.”
“What'd he say?” I asked quietly.