by B.J. Keeton
Chapter Six
It took Ceril a year to finally decide that he wanted to train to be a scholar. The deciding factor? Of the three choices offered, scholars were the ones who got the coolest toys.
Sure, a lot of a scholar’s time was spent in a library doing research, but from what Roman had said, they were also the ones who got to apply that research and experiment with making new magic and devices. One thing bothered him, though: even after nearly a year of being aboard the Inkwell Sigil, Ceril still wasn’t quite sure what the difference was between magic and technology.
Growing up, there had been a difference. Now, not so much. He thought that the two sounded basically the same, that the Charons used their devices and technology to such a high level of expertise and precision that they appeared as though they were magic to non-Charons.
Maybe he would get a better explanation next year when he started his scholar training.
And besides, Ceril just couldn't see himself as a soldier or a medic. If Roman nixed his becoming a scholar, or he couldn’t make it through the training, medic was his second choice because they also got to play with a lot of tech, and maybe design some of it themselves. The problem was that they were responsible for other people’s lives. Ceril didn’t know if he wanted that kind of responsibility. He didn't think he had a steady enough hand to be a healer of any sort.
Being a soldier was out of the question. He had ruled that one out quickly. He had no desire to risk his life every time he stepped through an Instance portal. Ceril was going to do everything in his power to stay out of trouble. Even though Erlon had been mostly peaceful for years, that situation could change fast.
And even though Roman had said he would be returning to Erlon at some point, Ceril had seen enough of the upperclassmen prepping for Instance runs that he knew Erlon wasn’t the only destination out there. There were enough battlefields out there to kill him a thousand times over. No, sir, Ceril thought. I don't care what they say about me already having a Flameblade; I'm no soldier.
Roman was in a really good mood that day. As the students filed into the classroom, Ceril approached him and said, “Can I talk to you for a second before we get started?”
“You know you can. What can I do for you, Ceril?”
“I think I know what I want to study. I think I want to be a scholar, do research and all that.”
Roman's face lit up. He said, “I have to tell you right now, Ceril, it’s not as glamorous as the other two paths, but I do think it’s the most fulfilling.”
“I’m not looking for glamour, sir.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
Ceril’s cheeks flushed red. He thought about a good way to say it. He couldn’t just tell Roman that he wanted some neat toys to play with. “I think that I want to work with technology, invent things, new things.” A little lower: “Magic.”
Roman tilted his bed back and let out a single guffaw. “There’s nothing wrong with that, son. Not a thing. That’s pretty much the reason I went the scholar’s route myself. I’m kind of addicted to technology.”
“Me, too,” Ceril said. “It just makes me happy.”
“But what do you plan on doing with that Flameblade you’ve got?” Roman asked. “I’ve told you before that I’ve never seen anyone your age with one. I think we only have a handful of students—six, I think—on board right now who even get to train with them, much less have one of their own. And even they have to share the weapons between themselves.”
“I hadn't really thought about it.”
“Well, think about it. Nowhere does it say that just because you're going to school to be a brainy-type that you can't learn to use your own equipment, too. Since you've already got the sword, you might as well learn to use it, you know?”
“I don't know, sir,” Ceril said. “I'm not really much of a fighter. I can’t even figure out how to make the thing show up when I want it.”
“Never said you were a fighter, but those swords are mighty hard to come by these days. It’s even harder to get them to bond with soldier Recruits. To have one bond with a wannabe scholar before he was even a Recruit is pretty much unheard of.”
Ceril hadn’t thought about that, either.
“I have no problem with you, Ceril,” Roman continued. “And I think you’ll do just fine as a bookworm. I just ask that you think about all the unique opportunities life is presenting you with these days. Can I ask you to at least think about learning to use the Flameblade?”
Ceril nodded. And think about it, he did.
