Chapter Three:

Navihm’s class schedule had been delivered to his room the night before by another student. It had been written in a Lowland script that Navihm couldn’t read but he’d gotten the messenger to translate. Navihm had spent the week in town, mostly around the markets, working on learning the language but so far he had very little practice reading it. The Interrans had a completely different alphabet than he was used to.

He looked over his schedule, he knew where most of his classes were already thanks to the exploring he’d done. His first class would be in Elemental Theory and History. It was an introductory level class that, according to the student who had delivered his schedule, every student had to pass.

The classrooms were more like huge auditoriums. Navihm wondered how the teachers were able to properly instruct each student when a class was made up of almost two hundred people. Navihm was used to being taught mostly one on one or in groups of no more than twelve. Magic was a hands-on learning and in Genticus children would learn how to use their magic as an apprentice, rather than as a student.

The students here were no younger than fifteen. When Navihm was fifteen he was almost finished the customary four years Genti youth spent as an apprentice learning how the channel their spirit magic. This was probably due to the differences between the magics. Spirit magic is present in every Genti child from birth and reaches full strength at around puberty. In the Lowlands, not every person was gifted with magic and those who were, were only able to use it usually around sixteen or seventeen.

Navihm’s magic had always worked strangely. He was never able to use his spirit magic consistently. His mother attributed it to his mixed heritage and Navihm had made his peace with it long ago. He'd always just assumed he didn't have much Spirit magic because his bloodlines were diluted.

At around nineteen his magic turned wild, affecting his surroundings bizarrely. Spirit magic usually only affected the immaterial. Navihm’s magic had started interacting with the physical world in unpredictable ways.

It was only years later when he encountered an elder during a trip to the Tenth that the puzzle of his magic was solved. This elder was knowledgeable in many different magics and suggested that perhaps Navihm possessed more than one strain of magic that were somehow interfering with each other. Navihm hadn't known that was possible but once it was suggested he began investigating ways to master his elemental magic. If he became adept at using his magics, Navihm would better be able to serve his tribe and his family.

Navihm arrived at his first class before anyone else. It was ten minutes to the hour and few people were about. Navihm tugged gently at the stiff collar of his uniform. The clothing the Lowlanders wore were much tighter than what Navihm was used to. They favored high, starched collars and long sleeves. Navihm usually wore soft cotton or loose silk shirts so the stiff material took some getting used to.

Students began to file in. Almost everyone stopped to stare at Navihm, who was sitting in the front row. He ignored them, accustomed to the staring from his time travelling across the Lowlands.

It was another fifteen minutes until the teacher arrived. He entered the room in a flurry of papers and rushed words.

“Sorry for the tardiness students. You know how it can be sometimes.” The vast majority of the students ignored him and continued their conversation. The Professor was not the only person late, students continued to wander in after him.

Navihm ceased his tugging and rose from his seat, standing beside his small desk, as was customary when a teacher entered the room. No other student stood. Navihm supposed that it was not customary here. No matter, that was no reason for Navihm to do away with good manners so he continued to stand until the Professor greeted the class.

“Good morning class,” he said. Navihm murmured a polite greeting and took his seat, drawing even more attention to himself. By now, most of the conversation had died down, more to make way for gawking at the foreigner, rather than out of any respect for the Professor. The Professor awkwardly nodded towards Navihm, bemused by his actions.

“Right,” he said gathering his thoughts. “Welcome to Elemental Theory and History. My name is Professor Prescott.”

The lecture for the first lesson was on the basic concepts of elemental magic. Navihm knew that most of the other students would already have a good idea of the fundamentals due to their upbringing in the Lowlands, an advantage he went without.

“Elemental magic has been a part of you since birth,” the Professor began. “Detectable levels of magic are present within a gifted individual at only a few weeks of age. Most of you would have you talents detected by a mage long before you were able to use them. Your magic flows through an individual’s body their whole life but most won't access it until they are fully grown. This is because your magic matures as your body does. At around seventeen, your elemental magic converges and forms a well of magic near your heart. This becomes the source of your magic.”

The Professor had them meditating and focusing on their hearts, trying to sense their magic. Navihm found the well of power easily. He had been using magic all his life so, for him, it was second nature to sense it. The elemental power felt different to his spirit magic. It was tangible and sensing it was more like tasting or smelling; it was grounded in a physical sensation.

When he felt for his spirit magic, it was more like the sensation of currents of air or water moving around; you felt its presence by the way it pushed and carried the things around it.

“Once your magic concentrates and forms this well,” the Professor continued “the overflow will spill out and circulate through your body. In this class, you will learn to grasp a vein of power and use it to manipulate your surroundings. Later, when you become more skilled, you will learn how to draw your magic directly from the well of power in you chest. This will allow you to perform more powerful magic but is infinitely more difficult. It will be a long time before you have that sort of control.”

The rest of the lesson continued much like this. The students spent a long time meditating and sensing their magic. By the end of class, more than half the students were successful in finding their well of magic.

Navihm struggled through the first day. His teachers tended to speak much faster than Navihm could follow and they were using a lot of words he had never encountered. It seemed that his practice in town hadn’t helped much when it came to academic phrasing. Navihm would just have to work harder on learning the language.

By the time evening had come, Navihm had sat through hours of lectures. He had begun to learn the theoretics of accessing his elemental powers and basic spellwork but, so far, hadn't had the chance to apply any of the theory. The next day he would attend smaller classes of about thirty where they participate in the practical side of magic. He hoped that he would prove more adept at that than he was at the theory.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Eamonn knocked on the new student’s door. It was after the evening meal and he had been sent by Professor Ward to deliver a letter to the boy. The boy who answered the door was not who Eamonn expected. He was greeted with a bear chest, decorated with scars and tattoos. The most prominent scar twisted over his shoulder, the corded muscles knotting unnaturally. On the opposite shoulder was a tattoo that matched the coiling lines and deep punctures of the adjoining scar. Eamonn was stunned briefly. Eventually, he tore his eyes away from the captivating disfigurement and looked up at the man. He had to tip his head back quite a ways to look at his considerable height.

He was Genti with bronze skin and shoulder length brown hair. On the left side, his hair was weaved into three thick braids that hugged his skull until the back of his head and hung to his shoulder. These braids were interwoven with coloured ribbon and decorated with beads.

“Um, hi,” said Eamonn, realising he had been quiet for a while. The Genti man just rose an eyebrow. He looked a lot older than most of the other new students here. Eamonn himself was only nineteen and had been at the school almost three years.

“This is for you,” Eamonn said holding out the paper he was sent to deliver. “It is from Professor Ward, your Culture and Traditions teacher. It’s probably just an invitation to meet with him, he does that for all the foreign students.” The other man took the paper and opened it, frowning at the contents.

Eamonn was curious as to why a Genti was at the school. He knew a bit about their culture from his mother who also was from Genticus, though she wasn't of the Tribes like this boy. Eamonn’s mother was from a Nomadic clan that lived in the North. They had traveled from across the shallow seas from Pershus a few centuries back, fleeing persecution, and the Tribes had allowed them to settle in the desert of Genticus. They referred to themselves simply as Nomads, refusing to give up their heritage as a clan of Pershus and unwilling to adopt Genticus as their home. 

Eamonn had inherited his chocolate brown skin and dark eyes from his Nomadic mother and his elemental magic from his Lowland father. He wondered if this was the case for the new student. Was he a half-breed like him?

“I’m Eamonn,” he introduced himself, unwilling to leave until he found out a bit more about the student.

“Excuse me. I Navihm,” the newcomer said, bowing slightly. “You Nomad?”

Eamonn noticed Navihm’s difficulty with the Lowland tongue and so switched to the common language.

“Yes, my mother is a Nomad,” he said and held out his hand. Navihm took it and shook it enthusiastically, happy to see someone familiar. Navihm gave a rapid greeting in what Eamonn recognised as the Nomadic tongue, a mix of Genti and Persian. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the common tongue. “I don't speak much Nomad.”

“Please,” Navihm said in Lowland, “no common, I learn.”

“I suppose that's wise, all your classes are in Ianterran,” Eamonn said, switching languages again. All this switching between languages was giving him a headache. “Are you fluent in Nomad?”

Navihm nodded, then, deciding that was a lazy reply, he said; “Yes, I is fluent”

“I am, not I is” Eamonn corrected automatically. Navihm, rather than getting offended, bowed in thanks.

“Could you teach me?” Eamonn asked.

“Teach what?” asked Navihm.

“Teach me to speak Nomad?” Since Eamonn’s people moved from Pershus, their language had evolved. It could not longer be called Persian because of the vast amount of language they had adopted from their Genti neighbours. These days, people referred to the Nomadic dialect as ‘speaking Nomad’.

“My mother’s family would love that, I plan to visit them after I finish school. I already know a little, my mother taught me some before she died.”

Navihm bowed deeply.

“It would be my honour.” Navihm stepped back from his doorway, gesturing for Eamonn to enter his room.

“I guess you like to read,” said Eamonn looking around at the stacks of books and scrolls Navihm had stashed around his room. A few, mostly the scrolls, Navihm had taken with him from home or had sent for once he'd settled. The rest he had picked up in town or borrowed from the school library.

Eamonn looked at the titles as he wandered around the room. A lot of the older, battered books were in languages he couldn’t read, but some he recognised as books on elemental magic and Lowland history and geography. There were maps and scrolls on the Lowland alphabet and biographies on famous elemental mages. The covered the entire room. Eamon guessed that Navihm didn't have a roommate. Navihm walked over to a stack of papers. He selected a handwritten bundle and handed it to Eamonn.

“Here, for practice.” Eamonn flicked through the hand bound papers and saw that they were translations of basic phrases in the common tongue, Genti, Nomadic, Persian and a few other languages he didn't recognise. Some pages were written in a childish scrawl, some, on much newer paper, were written in flowing, slanted handwriting.

“My practice, now for you practice.” Navihm gave him a half grin.

Eamonn laughed. “That’s very convenient.”

“My mother said I need it,” Navihm explained. “She right.”

“She was right,” corrected Eamonn, flicking through the pages.

“She was right,” repeated Navihm.

“I could help you learn Ianterran,” offered Eamonn. Navihm nodded enthusiastically.

“Please. Yes. Class is…” Navihm struggled to find the word.

“Difficult?”

“Yes, difficult.” Navihm held out the note from Professor Ward. “Could you?”

Eamonn took it and begun reading it out for him without complaint. Navihm thought that he could become very good friends with this boy.