“And that means you’re going to go ahead anyway,” I said, tartly. There were horror stories about what happened to children who were deemed insufficiently magical. “Is that right?”
Magistra Haydon’s smile grew wider. “I have no intention of doing anything to hurt you,” she said. She sounded sincere. “Now, tell me. Have your parents done anything to you that you resent?”
“They made me go to school and talk to you,” I said, before I could stop myself. The words just came tumbling out. She’d put a spell on me ... no, in the air. Maybe not a full-blooded truth spell, but enough to encourage me to talk. “You ...”
I stopped myself. Her smile grew a little strained. I felt a flicker of vindictive pleasure. Dad had talked about the downside of truth spells more than once - he worked with them at Magus Court - and about how the caster might hear more than they wished.
Served her right, I thought nastily. She’d wanted me to talk, and she’d got exactly what she wanted.
“Many other students have felt the same way,” Magistra Haydon said. She recovered magnificently, I admitted. “But my help has often made the difference between success and failure.”
She paused. “Why do you resent your parents for sending you to school?”
I clamped my mouth firmly closed until I had put an answer together. “I don’t have magic,” I said. Admitting that hurt, but it wasn't as though Magistra Haydon didn't know the problem already. “I can’t cast a single spell.”
Magistra Haydon looked back at me, evenly. “Do you realise how unprecedented that is?”
I nodded. Dad had gone through stacks of old books as he’d come to realise, slowly, that I would never match my sisters. Low magic was one thing, but no magic? And no sensitivity to magic? There were more stories of children being born with magic, using it in their cradles, than adults without magic. I’d even heard a story about a boy who’d been born with magic so powerful that none of the other magicians could match him. He’d been so strong that he could make spells work just by willing it ...
But I didn't have any magic at all.
“It’s much more likely that you repressed your magic, somehow,” Magistra Haydon said, gently. “And whatever caused it would have had to be so far in the past that you’ve forgotten it.”
I frowned. “Is that likely?”
“There was a boy I helped who was utterly terrified of water,” Magistra Haydon informed me. “It turned out that he had almost drowned as a toddler. He’d forgotten the incident itself, but not the fear. I brought it out and helped him to come to terms with it.”
“And he’s a champion swimmer now?” I guessed. It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. If the solution was that simple, Mum or Dad would have thought of it. “And you think you can do that to me?”
“You’re quite a defensive girl,” Magistra Haydon said. “You wrap yourself up in sarcasm to keep from being hurt. And yet you also push back as hard as you can.”
“That's not an answer,” I said. I had to push back. My sisters would walk all over me if I didn't. “Do you think you can do that to me?”
“It’s worth exploring,” Magistra Haydon said. She shrugged. “I can give you tools and let you play with them for the next hour, but I think that would be pointless. Whatever is blocking your magic won’t let them work. Think about it.”
She rang the bell for a maid. “Do you prefer hot milk or chocolate?”
“Chocolate,” I said, quickly. “Why?”
Magistra Haydon ordered tea for herself and hot chocolate for me, then smiled. “It helps you to relax,” she said, simply. “And I need an answer. Do you want me to reach into your past?”
I tensed. “How?”
“I’d use a spell to put you in a hypnotic state, then walk you backwards until we reached the incident,” Magistra Haydon said, simply. “Don’t worry. I’m not allowed to share anything I learn with anyone.”
“Apart from my parents,” I grumbled.
The maid returned, carrying a mug of hot chocolate and a pot of tea. I sipped mine gingerly, wondering if she’d slipped a potion into the brew. It wouldn't be hard - the hot chocolate was flavourful enough to hide a mild sedative. But I thought not ... I didn't feel tired, not after what she'd said. I felt alarmed. And yet, part of me wanted to believe she might be right.
“Very well,” I said, finally. “Do it.”
“Finish your chocolate first,” Magistra Haydon said, wryly. “And then lean back in your chair and relax.”
The hot chocolate tasted great, I thought, as an unaccustomed warmth spread through my body. I felt ... I felt tired, yet safe. I was vaguely aware of her speaking to me, but it seemed unimportant. The entire world just seemed to fade away until I was floating in a warm haze of peace. Her voice was gone, I thought. There was just peace and quiet and tranquillity ...
I jerked awake, almost dropping the mug. “What happened?”
Magistra Haydon was sitting behind her desk. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. She had to be rattled. She would never have admitted that to me if she hadn't been. “The spell worked, at first. You fell into a trance. But afterwards ... I’m not sure what happened after that. I should have been able to walk you back without trouble.”
I sat upright. My body felt ... odd, as if it couldn't decide if I was tired or not. “What did happen?”
“You just stayed in the trance,” Magistra Haydon said. “I didn’t dare try to bring you out, not when the spell was behaving oddly. I had to wait until you surfaced on your own.”
She peered at me, narrowly. “What did you feel?”
“Peace,” I said, finally. “Just ... peace.”
“I see,” Magistra Haydon said. She reached into a desk drawer and produced a pen-like tool, holding it out to me. “Try this, will you?”
I took the pen and waved it in the air. Nothing happened. Why was I not surprised?
“I’ll be in touch,” Magistra Haydon said, after a moment. “I need to consult with your parents.”
“You could tell them to pull me out,” I said. The peace was gone. “I don’t belong here.”
Magistra Haydon lifted her eyebrows. “Do you know how many students are rejected each year?”
I looked back at her. “Do you know how many students are admitted because of family connections?”
“No, and neither do you,” Magistra Haydon said. “All I know is that you have an opportunity to study that you would not get anywhere else.”
“Or to get permanently turned into a frog,” I snapped. The anger and bitterness threatened to bubble over. “I can't work magic. I can't sense magic. I’m blind and deaf in a world ruled by the seeing and the hearing. How long will it be before I get killed because I can't use magic to defend myself?”
Magistra Haydon looked back at me, evenly. It suddenly dawned on me that I had never dared speak to my mother like that, not once.
“You may also learn how to use magic,” she said, finally. “Or how to ... compensate for your problems. You would hardly be the first low-magic student to pass through the gates.”
“I’m the first no-magic student,” I snapped.
I rose and stormed towards the door. She could have called me back - or yanked me back - at any second, but instead she just let me go. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, really. Magistra Haydon talked a good game, but everyone she’d helped in the past had some spark of magic. I had nothing.
“Caitlyn,” a voice called. I turned to see an upperclassman, a fifth-year. He looked oddly familiar, with a lanky body and pale face, but I didn't recognise him. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I lied. I wanted to sit down and think. Who was this stranger? He was an upperclassman. Would he be offended if I admitted I’d forgotten him? “It’s been a long day.”
“The first day is always the longest,” he said. He stuck out a calloused hand. “Robin, Robin Brandon. I think we only met once.”
I smiled as it clicked. “Brian’s brother,”
I said. He’d been at the ceremony when Dad had taken Brian as an apprentice, but that had been two years ago. I vaguely recalled a pudgy boy who hadn't grown up yet ... he’d changed, over the last two years. He’d lost weight and shot upwards like a rocket. “He always spoke well of you.”
Robin smiled. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Are you enjoying your first day at school?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. A thought struck me and I leaned forward. “Can you ... find some things for me?”
“Maybe,” Robin said. “It would depend on what you wanted. I might have to get them smuggled through the walls ...”
“Some tools,” I said. “Casting Chalk, potions ingredients ... maybe a few other pieces.”
Robin’s smile grew wider. “Planning to have some fun, are you?”
I smiled back. “Something like that ...”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Robin said. “And how are you going to pay?”
We haggled all the way to the library. It was a new experience for me, although Mum had insisted that I learn to barter even as a child. Robin might be well-disposed towards me, but he wasn't going to give anything away for free. I finally beat him down to five golden crowns for the whole set, if he got it to me by the end of the week. As soon as we shook hands, he reached into his pocket and produced a piece of Casting Chalk.
“Bigger than that,” I said, crossly.
“It’ll do for starters,” Robin assured me. “Just don’t get caught with it or you’ll be in trouble.”
I nodded, then waved goodbye as we approached the library. Robin wouldn’t want to be seen with a mere firstie, even if I was connected to him through a tangled web of apprenticeship and obligation. He had his reputation to consider. I pushed open the library door and instantly fell in love. The immense room was utterly lined with bookshelves, crammed with so many books that it looked impossible to pull even a single one from the shelves without bringing down the rest. And yet ...
A dozen students were floating in the air, pulling books from the shelves and checking their pages before either floating the tomes down to the ground or replacing them on the shelves. I looked up ... the stacks towered above me, reaching high into the air. A giant couldn't have reached the topmost shelf without magic. I groaned out loud as I realised I would never be able to reach more than the lowermost shelves. There were no ladders, no steps ... just magic.
Rose was seated at a small table, looking despondent. I sighed and walked over to join her as she struggled through a textbook. Someone had lied to her, I noted, or they simply hadn't realised that a common-born wouldn't have read even the basic books. The textbook she’d been given was incomprehensible without some of the background details.
“That’s not a good choice of book,” I said, as I surveyed the nearby shelves. The library was nearly empty, thankfully. According to my mother, it was also neutral ground. The librarians wouldn't hesitate to evict anyone who caused trouble. “You really need to start with the basics.”
I paused as a thought struck me. “Can you read?”
“Not much,” Rose admitted. “I didn't even take any lessons until last year.”
“Ouch,” I said. I’d been reading since I was three. Mum and Dad had made sure I knew how to read and write before moving on to older languages. It struck me, suddenly, that Rose and I had something in common. I couldn't reach more than a third of the books in the library, if that, but she couldn't read them. “You’ll get better at it, won’t you?”
“I hope so,” Rose said.
I pulled a book off the shelf and held it out to her. “This is the very basic textbook,” I said. I decided not to mention that most magical children outgrew it very quickly. “It's the fundamentals you need to master before you can pass classes.”
“You make it look easy,” Rose said.
I gave her a sharp look, but she was sincere. It was all I could do to keep from bursting out into hysterical laughter. I could write out a dozen spells - a hundred spells - a day, but I wouldn't be able to cast them. And without that, I wouldn't be able to pass the exams at the end of the year. I was doomed.
“I worked hard,” I said, in the end. I opened the textbook, pointing to the first set of detailed explanations and examples. “Now, if you want to start here ... I’ll look at the next book, then check your work.”
In the end, I enjoyed spending time in the library more than I’d expected. Rose wasn't stupid, merely ignorant. And she hung on my every word. I knew I shouldn't get used to it - she would leave me as soon as she realised the truth - but it felt good. I watched her work, while flipping through several textbooks for the upcoming classes. Despite myself, I was actually looking forward to Forging. It didn't rely quite so much on magic.
“It’s nearly dinnertime,” the librarian said, finally. She was a sour-faced woman who looked to be permanently sucking on a lemon. Mum had told me that the same woman had been librarian in her day. Some of her classmates had wondered if the librarian was actually a golem under a very strong glamour. “And we'll be closing afterwards.”
We checked out a dozen books each - the basics for Rose, a handful of more advanced textbooks for me - and headed down to dinner. Alana, Bella and Isabella were all there, looking flushed. I suspected that all three of them had been practicing their defensive magics - and taking advantage of the opportunity to hex their groupies. At least they hadn’t been hexing me ...
“The food here is great,” Rose said. She was halfway through her second plate of roast pork and potatoes. “Is it like this all the time?”
I shrugged. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I ate better at home. Instead, we ate quickly and headed back to the dorm. Sandy was sitting on her bed, reading a textbook and looking very grim. It didn't seem safe to speak to her, so we showered, got into our nightclothes and pulled the drapes shut as Isabella and the McDonalds entered. Isabella was talking loudly and boastfully of the spell she’d cast after class. I did my best to ignore her as I pulled the Casting Chalk from my pocket and drew a set of protective runes around the bed. They weren’t much, but they’d have to do. Isabella certainly wouldn't be expecting them.
And when I get the rest of the tools, I thought, we’ll have to see what happens then.
Chapter Eleven
The interesting thing about Casting Chalk is that it responds oddly to magic.
It was yet another detail Mum and Dad had drummed into me, ever since they started trying to school me in magic. Casting Chalk - the base for a number of spells and runic rituals - has little magic of its own, but it tends to flare when exposed to outside magic. Ritualists use it to check the edges of their diagrams, knowing that when the chalk starts to flare it's time to duck for cover. And the runes I’d drawn on the floor, of little worth in themselves, would ensure that almost any contact with the chalk would cause a flare.
I jerked awake as I heard a crackling noise. Someone had slipped through my drapes and was trying to sneak up on my bed. And they’d stepped on the runes. I forced myself up, throwing the duvet forward. I had a brief glimpse of Isabella, light flickering around her fingertips, before the duvet crashed down on her. There was a brilliant flash of light and she shrank rapidly. She’d meant to turn me into a frog - or something equally small - but the spell had exploded against her instead. A moment later, I picked up the duvet and saw a small frog staring up at me. The remains of the chalk were already fading away.
“Hah,” I said. “Got you!”
It was amazing just how much anger and hatred Isabella could communicate, even when trapped in the shape of a frog. Her bulging eyes blazed with naked rage. I didn't really blame her. She’d been trapped by her own spell! It would wear off, of course, but she would then have to admit she’d ensorcelled herself or give up trying to convince her cronies I didn't have any magic. I couldn't help wondering what choice she’d make, when the time came.
Sandy pulled back the drapes. Behind her, I could hear a number of other drapes being op
ened. A glance at my watch told me it was seven in the morning, just about time to get up for breakfast. Thankfully, Isabella hadn't tried her little stunt in the middle of the night, when we both would have been blamed for any noise. I was sure Sandy didn’t like me.
She glared, proving me right. “What are you doing?”
“Isabella tripped one of my traps,” I said, as innocently as I could. It wasn't really a lie, was it? “And she got turned into a frog.”
“I can see that,” Sandy said, crossly. She jabbed a finger at me. “Just remember; if she’s late for class, you’ll be blamed.”
She turned and stamped off, snapping at a couple of other girls for making noise. I looked down at Isabella for a long moment, then nudged her through the drapes and back out into the open air with my foot. She could probably undo the spell easily, if she wanted. Isabella wouldn't take the risk of getting into trouble if I was late for class. But if she decided to skip lessons ...
The Zero Blessing Page 10