by Aaron Crash
“I can name them,” Darisbeau Cujan offered. “Cantrips, armatus, prolium, fascinara, and devocho. Those are the five.”
Many of the scholars wrote the familiar information down.
Ymir didn’t need to. “So, last semester, we learned to cast a variety of Flow cantrips. That word I think I know from Pidgin. It means trick. The others are ancient Theranus words.”
The professor tilted her head, unable to hide her puzzled expression. “Yes, Ymir, that is right. We’ll continue to practice simple cantrips, which are the easiest spells to master. Then we will progress to armatus, which is something you should enjoy. It involves shielding magic and armor for the more bellicose among us.”
The boys in the room grinned.
Lillee wasn’t bellicose, by any stretch of the imagination. She was an artist, not a warrior.
Ymir had something more to ask. “And why weren’t we told about the Categoria Magica at the beginning of the school year?”
“Because we also didn’t cover grammar, basic arithmetic, or personal hygiene,” Leel said coldly.
Ymir sniffed at himself. “That last one I’m working on. I think I showered before Solstice Day. Or was it just after the Harvest Festival? It’s hard to keep up with your strange Theran holidays.”
“I think you smell fine,” Jennybelle called out. “Actually, I like it. Me and Mimilynn do. We talked.”
“And we’ll talk more,” Ymir grinned.
The Williminaville woman’s mouth dropped open. A flush added a red to her dark skin.
A shiver went through Lillee. Jennybelle was playing a dangerous game. Flirting with Ymir out in the open, in class, with Nelly right there, would only draw trouble.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Nelly already seemed to know.
And yet, Jenny was taking more and more chances, being risky. For example, the swamp woman wanted to have sex in the sea alley shower, where anyone might walk in. Without her cuff on, Lillee liked the idea. Wearing her essess? It was a terrible idea.
Daris laughed softly, a greasy, silky sound. Then, in accented Homme, he snickered. “And I’ve always wanted to know what an elk smelled like. Now I know.”
The swamp boy thought that Ymir wouldn’t catch what he’d said. Daris was wrong.
Ymir turned his gaze, eyes now a blazing blue, at the swamp man.
Daris smacked Odd. “Yes, Odd, you will need to shower. You smell like an elk.”
The clansman nodded at the reaction.
Professor Leel snapped her fingers. “Enough. This is not the time for questions. I will lecture. You will take notes.”
Ymir again laughed under his breath. “She started this with two questions.” He silenced himself before he could get into any more trouble.
Lillee then turned straight to take notes, while Professor Leel discussed the history of the categories. The Categoria Magica were called the Ancha Catagraffa, in far-off Ethra to the west, across the Weeping Sea. The strange peoples of Ethra insisted they invented magic. Therans believed the major discoveries came from their continent. The Ethrans disagreed. Not surprising, the Wingkin of Reytah thought all magic came to them from mystical entities who lived in the sky. The winged people then allowed other cultures to learn sorcery.
Lillee thought each continent probably learned the magic on their own. She was glad to be back to the rhythms of school. This was her home, in ideas, in the magic, and in the simple work. Without having to slave away under Gurla, the Janistra Dux, Lillee had so much more time for her art and study.
All because of Ymir. He’d gone to bed late and gotten up early, but he was still so full of energy. He was amazing. Lillee couldn’t believe that out of all the women at Old Ironbound, he’d chosen to be with her. He accepted her. He loved her.
And he very well might keep her and Jennybelle safe for decades. Yet, those decades would end. Lillee’s own centuries would go on and on.
Any number of sages and wise women said that the secret to all happiness and joy was in the moment, not in the past, and not in the future.
Even the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax talked of keeping your mind in the moment. For Lillee, that was easier said than done.
Worries over the future are lies that have no end, according to Ymir’s Grandmother Rabbit.
Lillee told herself lies all the time. Weren’t stories just lies, after all?
Chapter Nine
IN THE PRINCEPT’S CHAMBERS, Della Pennez adjusted her gown. She decided to wear the white camisole under the green dress to hide her cleavage, which wasn’t the valley some had but was eye-catching enough, given the right support. She smoothed her dress behind her, then chose the sandals, rather than the boots. Her feet might get cold, but the outfit looked better with sandals, and she wanted to look nice, professional.
She’d gotten a new haircut to make her white hair shorter and to allow her face to show more. She’d lost some weight, and it showed in her angular jawline.
The first week of classes was done, and it was Friday night, the night of the New Year Festival, a time for the scholars to enjoy themselves after a return to the rigors of their academics. Della loved the regularity of the rituals, the exams, the festivals, the normal flow of the days and nights at the Majestrial. They’d been a part of her life for so long.
Already the music would be starting in the Throne Auditorium. She hadn’t gone down to the feasting hall. Instead, she ate in her chambers—just some appetizers, since there would be food at the welcome dinner for the three potential candidates in the reception room of the Imperial Palace.
The Princept was distracted. She’d been reading Keez Forta’s Forbidden Arcana. Forta was a detailed, if not interesting, writer, but he had definite opinions on the Akkiric Rings. The prose lit up when he went on a rant about how the Akkiric Rings were Focus Rings, nothing more. Anything else was rumor. Forta insisted you could make as many of the rings as you wanted. Other sources disagreed, claiming you could only fashion the same ring once—only one could exist at a time. If all eight rings were created, it would give the wielder limitless power. Other rumors spoke of a demon rising from hell to devour the wielder and take his place on Raxid. Forta decried all to be false.
That made Della feel much better about this Black Ice Ring business of Ymir’s. He wasn’t wearing it. She’d checked when she’d taught him that week in his Introduction to Languages class.
Dressed and ready, the Princept headed toward the Imperial Palace’s Reception Room. This time, she didn’t use Moons magic to float down but used the stairs, walking, thinking, hoping that at least one of the three candidates could take over Moons College. They wouldn’t just be a professor, they would be the Studia Dux, and that required not just mastery of Moons magic but also the forethought to shape the college’s future.
Scholars meandered through the Librarium Citadel on their way to the dancing in the Throne Auditorium. As she normally did, Della checked the second floor, and there was one of Ymir’s princesses, the Sullied elf, poor girl. To be such an exile from her homeland. It couldn’t have been easy.
Lillee was there, but there was no sign of Ymir or the Swamp Coast schemer. Jennybelle Josen better scheme well. Della was watching, always watching.
Della approached the north exit of the citadel. She cast a quick Flow spell to keep the rain off her as she walked over the moat bridge and into the Imperial Palace’s main hallway. The infirmary was on the right and the sand letter room was to the left. Farther down was staff and faculty housing, including Gharam Ssornap’s spacious apartment where he lived with his five wives.
The stairwell in the middle of the building led up to the Reception Room, an open parlor closest to the citadel. The southern windows showed the stone and lights of the Librarium. Electricity from the Coruscation Shelves sparkled there.
The eastern and western windows gave them views of the various fields and towers of the school. It was a fine room, with two fireplaces on either side, a polished floor, and a thick black rug that took up most of the room.
The symbols of the school were in the carpet: a diamond divided into four sections marked with the starburst, the moons, the clenched fist, and the open palm—Sunfire, Moons, Form, and Flow, respectively.
Most of the professors at the school were there, and the newcomers were easy to see. They stood near the eastern fireplace next to a rain-smeared window.
Della went over their names, faces, and credentials. She’d start with the most interesting and unexpected candidate. Ibeliah Ironcoat was a Morbuskor woman who’d spent the last few decades teaching Moons magic at the Kifu Yun Lirum University in Four Roads. She’d started after Della had already left for the job at Old Ironbound. The Princept liked that the dwab wanted to make a similar move. She’d come with her husband, Brandmunli Ironcoat. Both looked very similar—large, craggy facial features, braided auburn hair, braided auburn beards, and short, wide bodies. Only her hips and her maroon dress seemed to mark Ibeliah as the female of the pair. Brandmunli wore a waistcoat that matched his wife’s dress, though the rest of his clothes were black, from his collared shirt to his boots.
The pair were odd for a number of reasons: Morbuskor rarely left their mountain stoneholds. And most of the time, Morbuskor mages preferred Form magic, like Brodor, who was the Studia Dux of the Form College. Della knew a little of Brodor’s history and why he’d left home to teach at her college. It wasn’t pleasant, and Brodor wasn’t pleasant when he talked of his past.
It wasn’t as if the races determined the magic, but, culturally, those races did gravitate toward certain types of spells. Elves were drawn to Moons and Flow. Orcs had a passion for Sunfire. Merfolk had perfect Flow sorcery. As for dwarves, Form magic helped them shape their stone kingdoms and aided them in their Knowing Lore.
Della wasn’t surprised to see Brodor talking with Brandmunli in Morbuskor, while the wife, the candidate, waited out their male talk patiently.
All the candidates already had jobs. However, none of their universities could compare to Old Ironbound. It was one of the reasons why the candidates were willing to come teach for an entire semester prior to being offered a permanent position.
While Brodor entertained the Ironcoats, the other two potential professors talked. By their faces and their closeness, it was clear they’d been friends before coming to Old Ironbound. Both the women were beautiful. One was human, Linnylynn Albatross from the Scatter Islands south of the Swamp Coast queendoms. Linny taught Moons at the Verra Nassa University in Williminaville. Her round face was the essence of cute: a round nose, full lips, and very dark skin. Curls danced around her head as she nodded, or shook her head, or laughed.
The other woman was half-elven, a surprise since that hadn’t been on her resume. This was Hayleesia Heenn, with her ears rising to slight points, half hidden by her dark hair, which deepened to scarlet the longer you looked. Her eyes were equally striking—dark at first, and you’d think black until you looked again to see the purple in them. Her smooth, milky skin might’ve been that of a young human lady...if she’d been human. She wasn’t. The ears, the almond-shaped eyes, her tall, lithe form gave her true heritage away. She worked at Wootash College in Panseloca, a border city on the Barrier River, half in the realm of the Holy Theranus Empire and half owned by the Ohlyrra—those living in the Viridis Peninsula, to be precise.
Hayleesia must’ve started her career later in life. What had she done before? And why wasn’t she wearing the essess? Did she have simple human lust? Or did she simply not want to control fiery Ohlyrran desires? The idea made her very interesting to Della. The Princept would have to be professional, though. She couldn’t let her more carnal instincts take over. Not all half-elves had the insatiable appetites of the unfettered Ohlyrra.
The two women stopped talking at Della’s approach. Ibeliah Ironcoat drifted over.
Della approached and stuck out a hand. “I’m the Princept, Della Pennez. Thank you, all three of you, for coming.”
“Four,” Ibeliah rumbled. “My husband is part of our package. I’m sure you have some kind of Form magic he could do. He might look dumb as shale, but I can assure you, he’s a clever one. Now, tell me, Princept, is that gonna hurt my chances at landing this job?”
Della shook the dwab’s hand. It was smoother than she would’ve thought but just as strong. She liked the feel. “Not at all, Mrs. Ironcoat. That was the understanding, right away. You know, I taught at the Kifu Yun Lirum, but that was before your time.”
“That’s what I heard all right. You left behind quite a reputation. You taught advanced swordsmanship and Sunfire magic. I didn’t think you’d be as slight or weak-lookin.’ I figured you’d be more orc. But you aren’t, are you?” The dwab’s reddish-brown eyes clearly showed she didn’t expect an answer.
“Not a Gruul,” the Princept said with a patient smile.
Hayleesia, the half-elf, went to speak, but Ibeliah interrupted. “I know we’ll have plenty of time to interview, and we’ll do supervised teaching, and I get all that. But right off, you’ll want to know more about our background. We’re from the Emerald Stonehold, that’s in the Sunrise Mountains, so we get along with elves.” She nodded at Hayleesia. “And we have orcs on the other side. We tolerate the Gruul. Glad you’re not one of them.” She laughed.
The Scatter Islands woman, Linny, jumped into the conversation. “So, tell us, Ibeliah, why did you and your husband leave the Sunrise Mountains?”
The dwab eyed her. “Not to spy. We get that a lot. We left to learn and to protect. Brand and I knew we’d only learn so much in our home. We had some sons and got them married, but we live a long time, and there’s a change coming. It’s in the air, spoiling what should be smelling like mashed mushroom pudding. Unlike a lot of our folk, who figure we’ll dig deeper if bad things come, we decided to do the opposite. Meet the trouble head on and shape the outcome. The Age of Isolation is coming to a close. I’ll be stone-damned if the Morbuskor aren’t going to have their voice in teaching the children and in choosing how things will run on the outside. Brand and I are proud members of the Undergem Guild, we run a little business in mushrooms, and we’re also in the Knowing Guild. If we got this job at Old Ironbound? Well, we’d be in a good position to add our voices to the decisions being made.”
One of the kitchen staff, a slender woman dressed in formal robes, came by with a tray of sparkling wine in crystalline goblets. All of them helped themselves.
Della had read the dwab’s resume. The couple’s motivations had been clear on the paper. So what was Ibeliah’s agenda in announcing all that now? And why the mention of the sons when the Withering still affected Thera outside of the mountains? It was a power play, pure and simple. Della could respect that.
Linny sipped her wine. A soft smile was on her face. “If we’re giving our histories and credentials, should I go next? Or would you like to be next, Haylee?”
The gruff Morbuskor woman swallowed down the wine. “Sorry, Linny, I think I got down to business too fast. I came here to work, not play. Was I out of line, Princept?”
“All three of you will be with us this semester to see who is the best fit, so we’ll have months on end to chat. Out of line? I don’t think so.” Della raised a glass. “A toast to you three taking a chance on our school.”
They clinked glasses together.
Hayleesia gave Della eye contact for a little longer than was necessary, those dark eyes becoming more purple. There was definite heat in her stare.
A little tingle went through Della. “We have oranges, Miss Heenn, so you’ll have a little taste of your home.”
“I do enjoy oranges,” the half elf-said agreeably. “I won’t miss the summers. It can be so hot, but I hear the weather here is mild.”
“If you like rain,” the dwab growled.
“Both Linnylynn and I know about rain,” Hayleesia replied.
“So you two know each other?” Della asked.
Hayleesia put out a hand and touched Linny, who took it. “Yes,” the Scatter Islands woman said. “Actuall
y, Haylee and I ran a study in the same Swamp Coast county together, working on our Moons magic and doing research on the queendoms. It’s fascinating that the women there rule. While other cultures gathered around a central male, those women took control.”
A smile played across Haylee’s lips. “Some scholars think that’s why the power structure split into all the different fiefdoms. The women couldn’t get along. I don’t think that’s the case.”
The dwab laughed. “Of course, I don’t have a thing to add to this conversation. Me and the old man have been together for a century or more. We Morbuskor still do the traditional marriage. And before you accuse us of not giving out the Withering cure, that’s not any of our business. All of that was decided a thousand years ago and by dumber folks than us.”
“And she didn’t have a thing to add to the conversation.” Linny sipped from her glass.
Ibeliah grinned, showing big, white teeth. “You caught me. I always have something to add. So, Linny, why are you here? Not content with Verra Nassa?”
Linny nodded. “This is a dream come true. To teach at Old Ironbound? To be the Studia Dux of Moons here? I would risk anything. Like you, Ibeliah, I think we’re at a turning point. In my Flow magic, I’ve seen the rise of armies. I’ve seen the violence, the evil, that will threaten us. A darkness is coming. Here, at the Majestrial, we will be building the scholars, the artists, the warriors that will keep that darkness at bay.”
Ibeliah grew serious. “Aye, the darkness. While I don’t like to get my head too far in the clouds, I’ve had my share of Flow visions as well. The humans around here might not live to see the day where we have to face the evils of this age, but we’ll be here, me and Brand. Aye.”
The dwab professor saw that Haylee wasn’t speaking. She jerked her head at the half-elf. “What about you, Heenn? Are you seeing the nightmares like we are?”
Haylee didn’t respond to her. Her reply was to Della, and Della alone. “I’m here because Old Ironbound pays the best. And I’m worth it.” She laughed to soften the strong words.
