by M. J. Scott
The door of the room they most often used stood open. Madame Simsa was probably already inside. And hovering outside the door was only going to delay the inevitable.
"Come in, child." Madame Simsa's voice came from inside as though she could read Sophie's thoughts.
"Coming." She hoped her reluctance wasn't quite so obvious to Madame as it sounded to her. As she stepped toward the door, a sudden caw—accompanied by a whistling feathery rush of air—made her pause. Tok settled on top of the open door, wings spreading as he found his balance and cawed again. The sound was more subdued than his normal greeting.
"Hello, yourself," she replied giving the young raven a smile. She hadn't seen the bird in the last day—not that she'd had much time to think of him—but earlier when he hadn't been waiting for her outside her apartment, she'd started to wonder if the bond with Elarus had somehow scared him off. But apparently her feathered swain was made of stouter stuff than that.
"Stop talking to that bird and come inside," Madame Simsa called. The snap in her tone was fierce. Sophie looked up at Tok, who settled his wings with a movement that looked peculiarly like a shrug. Apparently he agreed she should get this over with.
She tugged at her robes, then stepped inside, telling herself it was foolish to feel nervous as she closed the door. She knew this room. For the last few weeks, she had spent a good part of most of her days here having lessons with Madame Simsa.
Small, and not exactly luxurious—built to resist magical mishaps rather than for the comfort of whoever might be working within its thick walls—it had grown familiar. She knew where the small drafts came from on windy days and which of the small windows had a latch that resisted being opened after it had rained. Knew that the chair on the far side of the small table wobbled slightly and the one nearest the door didn't.
She'd grown comfortable with it and with the woman giving her lessons. But today, she wasn't sure Madame Simsa would be in the mood to be comfortable.
The older mage stood by the table, leaning on her cane, her silver hair twisted back into a severe arrangement. Her robes gleamed softly in the lamplight, revealing the subtle rainbow sheen on the surface of the black cloth. Behind her, her sanctii, Belarus stood sentry, his gray face settled into the unreadable mask that Sophie had come to think of as normal for sanctii who were on duty with their mages.
His black gaze met hers, but his expression didn't change. Nor did Madame Simsa's. The sanctii hadn't often taken part in their lessons. But Sophie was less concerned with Belarus being in the room than she was with the fact that there was a fourth to their party. Henri Matin, Maistre of the Academe di Sages, stood by Madame Simsa.
His sanctii, Martius, was nowhere to be seen. Which was a small mercy. The training room was small—lacking space even when it was only Sophie and Madame Simsa. Adding in one sanctii and one additional human made it distinctly cramped. Two sanctii, and the potential for damage they represented, would be pushing her nerves to its limits.
Sophie curtsied briefly to the mages, but before she had barely opened her mouth to greet them, Madame Simsa pointed to the middle of the room.
Apparently there was to be no polite small talk to begin the session today.
So be it. Sophie moved to stand at the spot indicated, unsure if there was any significance to the precise location. Other than, perhaps, making her feel like a child being called to confess some wrongdoing. She straightened her shoulders and faced the mages. Perhaps what she'd done with Elarus had been foolish, but she'd had good reason. They could argue with her about those reasons, but she didn't think they could actually undo the bond.
Nor, when Aristides was still interested in her, would they banish her from the Academe. So, they had to teach her. Or show her how to use what Elarus had given her, which was perhaps something slightly different. Admittedly they could make the lessons unpleasant, but she could deal with unpleasant.
Madame Simsa regarded her for several seconds, then tapped her cane on the floor. "We shall begin. Tell me what you know about water magic."
False the water, the deadly pool, floated through Sophie's head. An old, old Anglion rhyme but one that probably had no meaning to an Illvyan who hadn't been raised to believe water magic was heresy. "Divination, deception, destruction, demons." Perhaps not much better than the rhyme in terms of a tactful response, especially the last word. Illvyans found the term "demon" rude. They called them sanctii. Or used their names.
But those four words neatly summed up the little Sophie had been taught about the fourth Art back in Anglion.
But her Anglion indoctrination was no longer all she knew. Now she had all the knowledge Elarus had given her. And though that was mostly a swirling weight in her head, she had the vague sense the words she'd used weren't completely wrong. Though not the whole of it.
"Anglions." Madame Simsa thumped her cane on the floor once again, and Belarus turned his gaze to her for a moment before resuming his study of Sophie. "So blinkered." The cane jittered in an irritated staccato. "So. We'll start with the basics."
Sophie hid her instinctive wince, schooling her face to bland. The thought of cramming still more information into her head—or making sense of what had been crammed there by Elarus— made her temples throb. She'd done little else but scramble to learn what she needed to know since arriving in Illvya. But, she had asked for this. She had bonded herself with Elarus to protect herself. She needed to learn to use the weapons she'd acquired. Safely. "Whatever you think is best, Madame."
That earned her another quick tap of the cane. "If you'd thought more about what might be best before you behaved so recklessly, then we wouldn't be standing here, would we? But as you, Lady Scardale, are apparently determined to do things your own way, what's done is done. Thus, we begin. Demons." Her gaze narrowed at Sophie. "As a first point on that subject, I do not expect to have to remind you again, not to refer to them in that manner. You survived the first test of a sanctii. You didn't kill yourself forming your foolish bond. Best you not aggravate the sanctii you have paired yourself with by being ill-mannered. Given the irregularity of your bonding, who knows what could happen should she decide to teach you a lesson."
"I—" Sophie closed her mouth. She hadn't thought of that. Madame Simsa was correct. Elarus had done the binding not Sophie. Normally a mage bound a sanctii—or the sanctii agreed to be bound—and the mage controlled the bond. With Elarus, anything might be possible.
Madame Simsa's cane rattled over the floor again. "So. Let us see what you can do with it. Call your sanctii, please."
At that request, Belarus pressed his mouth closed. Sanctii didn't have terribly expressive faces but unless Sophie was mistaken, what Belarus was expressing right now was distinct disapproval.
But she didn't have time to wonder why. Not with Madame Simsa standing there, steely eyed.
"Yes, Madame," she said. She closed her eyes.
"Keep your eyes open," Madame Simsa snapped.
Sophie obeyed. "Does that make a difference?"
"It's not a good habit," Henri interjected, his tone somewhat friendlier than Madame's. "You may have to call your sanctii when you are under threat. The last thing you need if you're facing down some danger is to have to close your eyes to make contact. That could get you killed."
There was no arguing with that. Sophie kept her gaze firmly on Madame Simsa while she fixed her thoughts on her sanctii.
[Elarus?] She paused, trying to work out how to politely phrase her request. After the reminder that the usual constraints may not apply to her bond with Elarus, polite seemed prudent.
[Yes?] The response came before Sophie could shape the next thought. The sanctii's voice seemed stronger here than it had in the palace.
[Would you mind joining me please?] That was polite.
No answer drifted into her mind, but before she had time to worry whether she should have tried a command after all, Elarus appeared by her side, her arrival accompanied by a chill that rolled through Sophie li
ke a sudden dousing of ice water.
"Here," Elarus said. Behind, Madame Simsa, Belarus folded his arms, eyes narrowing.
"Thank you," Sophie said, smiling at Elarus before focusing back on Madame Simsa. "Was that correct?"
Madame Simsa cocked her head. "It was effective, therefore it will do. For now. So, that is something you can do." She looked at Elarus a moment, lips pressing together, and then she lifted her cane and pointed to the table. "Sit."
Sophie moved to the wobble-free chair and settled herself. Elarus followed and resumed her position by Sophie's side. The chill of her presence had lessened, but it still felt somewhat like sitting by a large block of ice.
To avoid thinking about it, Sophie turned her attention to the table. It was bare other than for an empty white china bowl and a lidded metal jug. Her stomach sank. She recognized the bowl and jug for what they were. Anglions weren't taught much about water magic, but they were taught that the arts of divination water mages practiced were part of the reason they were banned.
"You want me to try scrying?" she asked dubiously. From time to time Anglion earth witches showed a small talent for foreseeing, but generally such visions were unpredictable, coming to the witch rather than being sought deliberately. Eloisa was rumored to have that power though Sophie had never seen her use it.
Water mages used scrying to deliberately try to see things hidden or yet to be. She clamped down on her instinct to refuse, ignoring the bone deep mistrust of water magic that had been drilled into her. Water magic had not harmed her yet. But she needed to be honest. "There is little talent for foretelling in the witches in my family." And none she'd seen in her own earth magic.
Madame Simsa dismissed this objection with a curt wave. "That is not this. True, the goddess seems to sometimes send hints of the future to earth witches, and there are some in the temple who seem to be granted more than hints from time to time, but scrying is a different art."
"Shouldn't I learn the theory first?" Or start with something simpler. Like scriptii—the runes water mages used to embed their spells in objects enabling them to be triggered later. Not that that was necessarily a simpler concept than scrying, but a scriptii was a tangible thing. Sophie could understand it. Touch it. It seemed more likely a place to start than trying to see the future.
Henri smiled at her briefly. "This is a preliminary test only. Scrying is a skill that takes time to master."
Madame Simsa tsked. Unlike Henri, she seemed in no mood to indulge Sophie's nerves. "Open the jug and fill the bowl."
The jug was cool to Sophie's touch, and the liquid that streamed from it was black as ink. Maybe it was ink. The smell was astringent, not entirely unfamiliar, but she couldn't quite place it. Still, she took care not to spill any as she filled the bowl nearly to its rim.
As she settled the jug back onto the table, Elarus stepped closer. The sanctii peered down into the bowl and made a noise in Sophie's head not a million miles away from the "tsk" that Madame Simsa had uttered. The similarity was amusing enough that it distracted Sophie from her nerves as she stared down at the dark liquid.
[Smells.] Elarus offered silently.
[Yes.] The scent didn't seem to be dissipating even though the usual drafts wafting through the nooks and crannies of the walls were stirring the air inside the room. The acrid note tickled Sophie’s nose and she risked a quick rub. Sneezing into a bowl of goddess knew what probably wasn't the best plan.
Maybe Elarus knew what the fluid was. Or maybe not. Sophie had no idea if the sanctii had ever been bound to another mage. Something to add to the list of things Sophie wanted to discuss with her.
Until she could, she had no way to gauge if Elarus might be familiar with the tasks the mages would be setting Sophie in her lessons. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't want Madame Simsa and Henri to think that she was learning from Elarus rather than them.
She lifted her head. "What do I do now?"
"Look into the bowl. Think of someone important to you. Like your husband," Madame Simsa said. "Focus on him. Then see if you see anything."
"As easy as that?" She doubted it could be so simple.
"This is merely a test," Henri said reassuringly. "Just try, Sophie. Let us see what happens."
No further guidance seemed to be forthcoming.
Sophie bent her head back to the bowl. Tried to see nothing but the black liquid and to think of nothing but Cameron. At first she felt foolish; no sensation, bar the odd feeling her eyes were going to cross, manifested itself to tell her she might be doing something right. She blinked and stared harder at the small black circle, her fingers digging into her palms as they curled with the force of concentration.
Still nothing. But then, as she was about to give up, the surface of the bowl rippled so softly it was barely a movement. Rippled, then lightened. She caught a glimpse of something that might have been Cameron's face—or might have been mere wishful thinking—before the bowl suddenly cracked into four pieces and the black liquid flooded across the table, a good portion of it spilling into her lap before she sprang back from the table and out of the way.
"I think," Henri said, as Madame Simsa tsked and Sophie tried to shake the liquid from her robes before it could soak through to her dress, "that perhaps we may need something larger to try that again."
Madame Simsa shot him a surprised look. "Do you think that wise?"
"The girl has power. She needs to learn to use it. And I don't want to spend a fortune on scrying bowls before she does." Henri nodded at Sophie. "And I suspect it might be easier on her clothing."
"Well. We shall see," Madame Simsa replied. "Now?"
Henri nodded. "That seems prudent."
Sophie had no idea what they were talking about. "Can someone please tell me what is happening?" She tried to keep her tone polite, but more than a hint of exasperation escaped her control. Or perhaps that was exhaustion creeping through.
Perhaps she could plead fatigue before the lesson continued. But she wasn't sure she could calm the thoughts spinning in her head if she lay down. And if she gave them free rein, she might be pulled down into the whirlpool they created and never escape. Empires. Kingdoms. Power. She wanted none of it.
She'd watched many people vying to grasp power during her time at court. She was yet to find anyone who could teach her how to avoid it.
"We need a bigger vessel for your practice," Henri said. "Something you are unlikely to shatter."
In Sophie's mind Elarus made another noise not a thousand miles away from "tsk." Hopefully that didn't mean the sanctii thought larger might not be better. Exploding things left and right didn't seem like it would be helpful in convincing the Academe that their bond wasn't a mistake.
"I'm game if you are," she said to Henri, trying to sound enthusiastic.
After a short break to dry her robes off, Sophie found herself trailing Madame Simsa and Henri through the Academe grounds. They wound up in a part of the complex that she was unfamiliar with.
Henri opened an unassuming door in the side of a building and led them into a hallway. They walked for maybe a minute before they turned a corner and passed through another door, which led to a staircase. When Henri began to descend, she wasn't entirely surprised. Water magic seemed to have an inherent secrecy. Not the kind of thing you practice out in the open. Or maybe that was her Anglion prejudices again.
She was surprised, however, by how far down the staircase went. She had always vaguely assumed the Academe would have a basement level or two, much like any grand house she'd ever been in, but she hadn't thought much more about it. But they had descended farther than that, and with each flight of stairs, the wards layered over the walls and floor grew thicker. Whatever was beneath the school, the mages didn't want it found easily.
The brightening pulse of power from the ley lines below them told her she was quite some way beneath the earth by the time the stairs ended in another doorway. This one was less unassuming. The wood was blackened with age and banded
with iron wider than Sophie's outstretched fingers. Two massive locks sealed it in place, the security they provided supplemented by the wards writhing over the door.
Anyone who passed through this door would have to know how to do so safely. Madame Simsa lifted a hand. The wards faded, then vanished. Henri drew a set of keys from the pocket of his robes. He opened each lock in turn, his body blocking Sophie from seeing exactly which keys he used.
No one volunteered an explanation as to where they were, as she followed Henri, Belarus, and Madame Simsa though the door. Elarus brought up the rear. Not long ago the thought of having a sanctii anywhere nearby had been one of Sophie's worst nightmares. She wasn't sure what it said about her, or what the last few months had been like, that she now found Elarus's presence at her back almost comforting. Almost.
She stepped over the threshold and into darkness. She couldn't tell how large the room was or see Henri and Madame Simsa. She blinked rapidly, hoping her eyes would adjust. The space felt big. And it was cold, colder than the stairs they'd climbed down, colder than the sanctii chill behind her. The air smelled damp. Not the stagnant neglected scent of long-standing water but the damp of a brook running through a forest. Clean damp. Was there a water source here below the Academe?
Earth-lights flared to life around her. Colored spots whirled across her vision, making her eyes water. She wiped them on her sleeve, blinking again as she shielded her eyes with one hand. When she could see again, the room resolved into something closer to a cave. The walls and ceiling were natural stone that curved and flowed into each other. In the center of the space was a body of water. Outside she might have called it a pond. Roughly thirty feet across. But down here, the water looked as eerily dark as the liquid they'd used upstairs, the reflected glow of the earth-lights catching slow ripples on the surface, and pond seemed too tame a word.
