Ash gave him a crooked smile but said nothing. He couldn’t exactly explain that he had to become the most powerful magician in just a few short weeks, so he kept his lips shut and pulled the basic magic textbook closer. “Just keep practicing.”
Loren grumbled but held his hand out to the candle and focused his gaze.
Ash opened the magic book and turned to the second chapter. Transferring Heat to Light. He read over the text, committing it to memory. It differed very little from heat transfer and he didn’t doubt he’d be able to do it. He went on to chapter three, then four, occasionally glancing up to see Loren, red faced and sweating, staring at the candle.
Ash read all the way to the end of the book where the final chapter discussed Heat to Kinetic Transfer. He snapped it shut with a sigh.
Loren jumped and turned to glare at him. “Do you mind? I nearly had it!”
Ash rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. I was hoping there’d be something more interesting in here.”
“More interesting?”
“Yeah, like how you said Avarie doesn’t get hangovers. There’s got to be more to magic than heat to kinetic.”
Loren shrugged. “I’m sure there is, but we won’t learn about it in basic magic. And some of us struggle enough with heat to heat, thank you very much.”
“Sorry, Loren. Have you made any progress?”
Loren sighed. “I think I got the heat to my chest, but after that I lose track of it. I’m not going to have this mastered by tomorrow.”
“I’m sure Thimble won’t kick you out straight away. Just keep practicing. In a couple of days, you’ll have it mastered.”
“I hope so. I’m exhausted.”
“Me too,” Ash said. “You can keep practicing, but I need to sleep.”
“Happy dreaming.”
Ash pushed away from the table and lay down, knowing there was very little chance of happy dreaming in his head.
44
Ash followed Loren into the classroom where they took seats near the back. Many students turned to watch them, muttering to each other.
“At least they’re not talking about me anymore,” Loren said under his breath.
Ash grimaced. The last thing he needed was attention. He took out a piece of parchment and a pen even though he’d memorized most of the textbook the night before. The book in question sat on the table between him and Loren, its pages yellow in the morning light.
“Wish I’d gotten more sleep,” Loren said.
“When did you go to bed?”
“About two hours ago. I couldn’t get the blasted heat to my other hand.”
“Give it time.”
“Great. The one thing I don’t have.”
“Are you still complaining?” Kev said as he and Hopper took the seats in front of Ash and Loren.
Loren glared at him before letting his head fall to the desk.
“I hope you’re ready to knock the pants off Braydon,” Kev said to Ash. “Everyone’s waiting for it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this class so full.”
Ash swallowed and scanned the crowd. Many people ducked their heads as his gaze passed over them. “Maybe if everyone concentrated on their own work…”
Kev snorted. “When has that ever happened?”
Professor Thimble entered through the door near the front of the classroom, her shoes clicked on the wooden floorboards. She went straight to the gray chalkboard where she scribbled out a dozen equations. The students jumped into action, copying down the complicated numbers and symbols.
Ash recognized most of them from the textbook but others were new. He bent his head and scratched them out on his piece of parchment, committing them to memory at the same time.
“Okay, class,” Thimble said, turning to face them. “As I warned yesterday, we’re moving on from channeling heat so if you haven’t mastered that you should consider alternative classes. Channeling heat is the most basic form of energy transfer or, if you prefer, magic. More complicated transfers are more dangerous and so you must have a proper understanding of the thermodynamics. From the equations on the board, you can see the efficiency of energy transfer depends on the type and source you’re using. You must know these off by heart if you’re going to channel safely. From the work on the board, you can see that a simple light uses between five and twelve watts, depending on transfer efficiency. Which of course, largely depends on you.”
“I should have stayed in bed,” Loren said, resting his forehead on the wooden bench.
“How much energy does the average human body produce?” Professor Thimble said.
A few hands wavered near the front of the classroom.
“Yes, Pete?” Thimble said.
“A hundred watts.”
“Good. What about maximum output?”
“Two thousand,” Pete said.
Thimble nodded and strolled back to the board, adding the numbers to the top right-hand corner. Her chalk scratched in the relative silence of the classroom. “Pete is correct. Therefore, if you tried to channel your own body heat and used two thousand watts, you’d very quickly run out of energy. If you tried to keep that up, you’d give yourself hypothermia and probably die.”
Nervous laughter tittered through the room.
Ash’s pen darted across his page, noting down the figures.
“I’m telling you this because as we go to more complex channeling you may be tempted to use your own body heat. I would strongly advise against that. It only takes a change of about seven degrees in your body temperature, up or down, for you to die.” Thimble ran a serious gaze over the assembled students, pausing for a moment to lock eyes with each one. “Very well then; I assume you all read the chapter on heat to light conversion.”
At Ash’s side Loren groaned. “I forgot!”
Ash glanced down at him. “Just focus on heat to heat. You’ll get there.”
“From your reading, you should all be aware that changing the form of an energy source is significantly more difficult than just moving it from one place to another. You have to shape it in your mind, focus all of your concentration on the form that you want. I don’t expect any of you to manage the conversion today but with practice, some of you might make it.”
“Some might?” Loren hissed. “What’s the point of running this class if no one can do it?”
Thimble’s gaze locked on him. “Of course Lord Drake asks a good question which I’m sure many of you are asking yourselves. The answer is; we run this class for those few who can. There may be one or two among you who can channel and transform energy efficiently, this class is for those. More of you may have some small talent and get employed in minor houses but I’m afraid the rest of you will have to find other callings.”
Loren ducked his head, his ears glowed red beneath tufts of dark hair.
“And with that, we’ll begin. Form a line.” Thimble placed the bowl of lit coals in the middle of the central table.
Ash’s mouth fell open. There was so much more to channeling than the basic textbook told him. He had to know more. Without looking down at Loren, Ash scrambled into the line, finding himself not far from the front as no one else wanted to be the first to fail. Braydon stood at the front of the line, a smug grin on his face.
“Braydon, begin,” Thimble said. “Please use the heat from the flames to create a light on your other hand.”
Braydon strode to the bench and held his hand up toward the flames.
Ash’s vision changed and he could see tendrils of heat licking up, surrounding Braydon’s fingers. Braydon plucked one of these from the air. It twisted up around his arm.
Ash ripped his eyes from the energy to Braydon’s sweating face. His smug smile disappeared, replaced by intense concentration. Professor Thimble studied Braydon while the rest of the class looked on, eyes wide.
Ash returned his attention to the red tendrils. They’d reached Braydon’s chest and crept down his left arm. Near his hand they stopped and twisted into a tight ball. The threads wo
ve in and around each other until with a snap they burst into dim light.
The class gasped and drew back. The light in Braydon’s hand flickered, danced, and then puffed out of existence. Braydon let both his hands fall and leaned on the desk, breathing hard.
Thimble clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Amazing! On your first try. Excellent work.”
He grinned and sauntered back to his desk, giving Ash a meaningful look as he went past. Ash gritted his teeth and looked away, refusing to play his games.
“Next,” Thimble said.
The boy in front of Ash, Pete, trembled as he shuffled forward.
“Just keep calm and do your best,” Thimble said.
Pete nodded as he lifted a hand to the flames. He frowned at his own hand, sweat dribbling down his forehead. Tendrils wrapped around his left hand and snaked their way up his chest, but when they reached his other hand they stopped. Instead of curling into a tight ball, they dribbled from his fingers like thick honey.
Pete’s frown deepened. The tendrils dribbled faster but they didn’t change form.
Thimble stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Good try, Pete. You were close; you just need to visualize the transition more firmly.”
Pete sighed and shuffled back to his chair. Braydon leered at him, resting his boots on top of his desk and leaning back in his chair.
“Okay, Ash,” Thimble said.
Ash strode to the desk, keeping his expression neutral. “Sorry about your hand,” he said.
A small smile tugged at Thimble’s mouth and she lifted an uninjured hand. “It’s good to have friends in the hospital.”
Ash raised an eyebrow and looked down at his own, still stinging, palm. “Wish I had those kinds of friends.”
Thimble nodded and gestured to the flames.
Ash raised his hand and tendrils of heat wrapped around his fingers. He willed them up his arm, channeling instinctively as he pushed the energy across his chest where it left a warm burn. When the tendrils reached his right hand he paused. He forced them to collect in his palm like a writhing ball of string. They drooped, wanting to dribble through his fingers but he forced the ball to stay together. With another part of his mind he pictured a bright light in his hand, he imagined how the tendrils would transform into light and give off a blinding glow.
Something shivered in his palm and then a bright burst of light exploded from his hand, throwing dark shadows across the walls and lighting the center of the room. He had to squint against the glare and nearby students stepped back, shielding their faces.
Someone was speaking but Ash couldn’t hear them over the blood pounding in his ears. Heat ran from the coals, across his body, and into the glowing ball in his hand. The light existed as a physical thing he could mold and shape if he could just focus enough…
“Ash!” Thimble’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He blinked and focused on her face through the hot glow in his hands.
“Control it. Bring it down.”
Ash frowned down at his hand, trying to lower the flow of energy, to dim the light. But instead, it disappeared, blinking out of existence. In sudden panic, Ash reached back for the heat and a blinding new light flared into life. When he tried to control it, it winked out. Rage flickered inside his chest and he reached for more energy. Again the light flared on and then off. When he reached out a fourth time Thimble’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“That’s enough.”
“But…”
“Enough.”
Ash gritted his teeth and looked away.
“You can channel,” Thimble said. “No doubt. But you have to learn control, or you’ll turn yourself into a puff of smoke.”
“I tried! I just—”
Thimble held up a wrinkled hand. “It’s all about controlling your own mind. The energy will follow.”
Ash rubbed at his forehead. A pain had gathered behind his eyes and all his muscles ached. He turned to go back to his seat.
“Wait,” Thimble said.
He paused and turned.
“If you don’t learn control, you might turn my classroom to smoke too. I want you to practice control. It’s no good being able to transfer energy if you can’t control it.” She lifted her eyes from Ash to the rest of the class. “All of you listen. I want you all to practice this exercise tonight.”
Braydon snorted. “Why do we have to practice just because he can’t control himself?”
Thimble raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t see you maintaining a light for very long.”
Braydon glared at her but said nothing.
Thimble nodded. “Good. Everyone close your eyes.”
Ash tensed. He pretended to close his eyes but left a thin slit at the bottom, refusing to be jumped unawares.
“Picture a still pond.”
An image of the swamp in Wichden sprung into Ash’s mind. Drooping willow trees brushed the surface.
“Imagine throwing a rock into the pond,” Thimble said. “The ripples spread out; eventually they cover the whole surface.”
Ash watched the ripples lap at the side of the pool while another part of his mind kept an eye on the thin slit of classroom he could still see. No one moved.
“If you want big ripples you throw a big stone, or you throw it harder. It’s the same with channeling. You must be able to picture this pond, smooth or with raging ripples, at a moment’s notice depending on what kind of channeling you’re trying to do. Just picture your mind like that pond; when you need to channel a small amount, you only want small ripples.”
Silence, except for the crackling flames, hung in the classroom for several minutes.
“Good. You may open your eyes,” Thimble said. “Who’s next?”
45
Ash stepped into the hospital and the smell of antiseptic washed over him in a heavy wave. People in white aprons bustled around him, arms overflowing with bandages and bottles. Bright afternoon sunlight shone through broad windows and reflected off the polished floor.
“Can I help you?” a stern voice said.
Ash turned to a thin-faced woman with graying hair who sat behind a flimsy desk near the door. A pile of parchment balanced precariously by her left elbow and a thick ledger lay open before her.
“I’m looking for Professor Pulmen.”
“Reason? He’s very busy.”
“I’m supposed to start working here today.”
The woman sniffed. “Name?”
“Ash.”
“Yes. The Professor warned me you might arrive. He’s expecting you.”
Ash waited but the woman went back to studying the ledger.
“Where is he?”
“His office.”
Ash gritted his teeth to stop from telling the woman exactly what he thought of her interpersonal skills. “And where is that?”
“Second door on the left,” she said without looking up.
Ash rolled his eyes and strode down the corridor, weaving between the busy staff. He stopped in front of a sturdy oak door and rapped twice with his knuckle. The noise echoed hollow in the room beyond.
“Come in,” Pulmen’s voice filtered through the door.
Ash pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it click closed behind him. Shelves of books lined every wall and lay stacked in waist-high piles across the floor. Pulmen sat behind a broad desk covered in papers and books. He looked at Ash over the top of his glasses, expression stern.
“You came.”
Ash cleared his throat, sensing waves of disapproval washing over him. “I promised to work here in exchange—”
“In exchange for my sponsorship,” Pulmen cut in. “So imagine my surprise when on your first day you’re thrown out of History and Dapod comes breathing down my neck demanding I withdraw my support.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I made a mistake.”
Pulmen placed his pen flat on the open book in front of him. “Yes. You did.”
Ash kept his eyes locked on
the floor but could still feel Pulmen’s gaze burning into him.
“I’m giving you one chance. That’s it. But you will work like you’ve never worked before. You will scrub floors and change bed linens as if your very life depended on it.”
“Sir… don’t you think I would be better suited to treating patients?” He risked looking up.
Pulmen’s eyes flashed and he stood so he towered over Ash. “Are you already questioning my decisions? If I tell you to dust the windowsills, you’ll do it. If I tell you to empty the chamber pots, you’ll do it. Fel’s breath! If I tell you to stand and stare at a wall, you’ll do it!” Red flushed Pulmen’s cheeks and his chest heaved.
“Yes, sir,” Ash said.
“One toenail,” Pulmen said. “One toenail out of line and I’ll withdraw my sponsorship. You’ve embarrassed me enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get out. I’ve told one of my more experienced students to put you to work. You’ll do exactly what she says as if the orders came straight from my mouth.”
Ash nodded and hurried for the door. He let it fall closed behind him and stood outside, breathing hard. It wasn’t fair, none of it, but he needed Pulmen’s support, and if that meant he had to scrub some floors, then so be it.
“You went from hero to zero all in the space of a day.”
Ash turned to see Loren’s friend, Avarie, leaning on the wall beside him.
“Don’t worry about him too much. You should have seen him crowing about you after that first magic lesson. That’s probably why he’s so pissed; he thought he’d struck gold with sponsoring you and then…”
“Then I ruined it.”
Avarie shrugged. “Things change quickly around here. Just keep your head down, and you never know, you might end up back in his good books.”
“Yeah, maybe. You’re the one who’s supposed to be watching me?”
“That’s me,” Avarie said with a flourish of her hand. “Don’t take it personally but Pulmen made me promise to give you the bad jobs, at least to start. If I don’t do it, he’ll just find something really bad for you to do.”
“Just point the way.” Emptying chamber pots didn’t really bother him; it couldn’t be worse than some of the things he’d seen in Falconwall.
Shadow of a Slave (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 1) Page 24
