After Techie Magic Two as Folas calls it, he has Art. Technically it’s Magic Incorporated Into Art, but, according to him, everyone just calls it Art because the full name is too much of a mouthful. When we arrive at the ‘Art’ room, the door is wide open and the lights are on. I can hear classical music emanating from inside. Folas struts in, and Briareth and I follow curiously.
The room’s layout is quite simple. The teacher's desk is to the right of the door, and there are four long tables arranged in a rectangle. Most of the art supplies are arranged neatly on shelves along the edges of the room, but in the hollow center of the rectangle there is another table with some of the most simple drawing tools. Quills, inkpots, pencils, colored pencils, pencil sharpeners, and of course giant stacks of paper. The entire room exudes an aura of calmness. I wonder if it is magically induced or just natural.
The teacher doesn’t even look up when we enter the classroom, apparently he is too absorbed in his painting. He is a tall slim character wearing dark, paint splattered, robes. His hair, long and colored like ink, is in a ponytail effectively keeping it out of his face. He stares meditatively through his metal rimmed spectacles at his work.
Folas leads us through some gaps in the table layout to grab Briareth and I some paper then leads us over to a group of seats. We wait, and wait, and wait. Briareth starts fidgeting, he tries to chat with Folas, but the teacher stares him into silence. Eventually from somewhere a bell rings and all the ten other students take their seats. Briareth and I get some weird looks from some of them, but most seem to have heard of us already.
“We are going to be continuing our paintings today.” The teacher, I still don’t know his name, says softly into the stillness. Surprisingly, his voice is rather deep. “As we have two temporary students, they will just get started. Folas, I assume you can explain the assignment to them?”
“Yes Master Kolvar!” Master Kolvar nods in acknowledgement, then turns suddenly to a group of whispering students. I only noticed they were talking because of their mouths, but apparently Master Kolvar’s ears are sharper than mine.
“Lyra, hand out the projects and pencils to everyone please.” One of the group gets up sullenly, her friends immediately stop whispering, and she goes to a shelf in the back to grab the projects. She looks slightly familiar, wasn’t she in our last class? “In the meantime,” Master Kolvar continues, “anyone who wishes can come take a look at what I’ve painted since we last met, and can ask me questions.”
A couple of students go up to look at Master Kolvar’s work and murmur questions to him, pointing out specific features and asking about techniques. I guess this is the only teaching that we will see this class period. I suppose it would be hard to teach an art class, after all there are some people here who are probably brilliant artists, and just need somewhere to improve their techniques and practice, and then there are desperate people who can only draw stick figures and want to learn the basics only. Then there are some people who just want an easy class. How do you balance your lesson for all of them? I wouldn’t say Master Kolvar’s way is the best way, but it certainly would eliminate a lot of the stress.
“So” Folas begins talking practically as soon as Master Kolvar stops. “What we have been doing in here is making one of the most easy magical art things to create, a moving picture. It can be anyone, real or imaginary, but if you want a challenge, go for a self portrait. Those are the hardest to do. We draw the portraits first and then enchant, and then color them in. Master Kolvar only draws the face before enchanting, but that is really hard, so we can’t do that yet.”
“Why are self portraits the hardest?” I’m genuinely curious about this. Although I’ve looked at a lot of magical theory, none of it covered art.
“Well, when you draw someone else, it’s just how you see them. Their picture’s personality will depend on how you see them. Their character is flat, practically two dimensional if you don’t know them well or have made them up. You only know what they have shared with you and what you observe. With a portrait of yourself, you know exactly what you are like. After all you have been with yourself your whole life, you know all your secrets and all your fears. You know yourself at your worst and your best. And how can you possibly draw that? Put your personality into a painting? Capture the very essence of yourself in ink?”
“That is very poetic of you Folas.” Briareth says, surprised. “I’ll probably just draw someone randomly.”
“Exactly what I decided. I don’t want to deal with all that introspection.” Folas replies and laughs. “Then again, that sort of stuff pops up often when you deal with art.”
“I actually might try it.” I comment. “If I can’t figure it out, I’ll just draw Smay cooking.”
“Who’s Smay?” Folas asks while Briareth giggles at the idea.
“I don’t think he would be counted though.” Briareth says, suddenly sad.
“Master Kolvar is counting imaginary friends. I don’t see why he wouldn’t count a species that we thought was extinct.” I shoot back, and he cheers up.
“Who is this ‘Smay’?” Folas repeats, very confused.
“He’s a Dragon we met on our way here.” Briareth explains. Folas looks even more confused.
“Technically he is called Smayhellionthostvalisonknoll, but we just call him Smay.” I chime in. Folas’s face freezes as he tries to process all the impossible information at once. Lyra comes around and raises an eyebrow at his expression and Briareth’s barely contained giggles as she drops his picture on his desk. She shoots me a glare, I have no clue why, then she goes to get the pencils.
Eventually Folas’s face unfreezes as he manages to process things. “So you met a Dragon on your journey?”
“Yep.” Briareth confirms.
“And he likes to… cook.” Folas says, working through the concept.
“Yep.” Briareth confirms again.
“And his name is Smayhelli- Smayhellion-”
“Yep, practically unpronounceable. That’s why we call him Smay.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?!”
“Because your brain would overload in the middle of class, and that isn’t a good thing Folas.” Briareth chides solemnly. “I was going to tell you at supper, when it was safe.”
“What else have you been keeping from me?” Folas looks slightly worried.
“Oh, nothing much.” Briareth waves his hand “Just a daring escape, near death experiences, multiple explosions, and a false beard.”
“I’m not sure I want to see you in a false beard.” Folas says, grinning.
“Apparently I look just like a perfect specimen of a strong young Dwarven man. I was the recipient of numerous proclamations of undying love, and was even arrested because some soldiers suspected me of desertion.”
“How many is numerous?” I ask curiously. Briareth looks a little guilty.
“Only two…”
“That’s not very numerous.” I comment.
“It’s more than one!” Briareth says, trying to defend his claim.
“True, I suppose you could count that as numerous, since there were multiple numbers of it.” adds Folas
“You can’t possibly be taking his side on this Folas, that would mean I have numerous amounts of feet.” I protest.
“Yes Faladel, you have very numerous feet.” Folas says, trying his best to look completely serious. Briareth giggles. I sigh and shake my head. Briareth I might be able to convince, but with Folas backing up his nonsense? It’s a lost cause.
Lyra comes around again, this time with pencils in her hands. She hands Briareth and Folas their pencils, but when I reach out a hand for mine she snatches her hand back, as if she is loath to touch any object that touches a part of my body. I look at her face. Sure enough she is glaring at me again. What did I ever do to her? I’m not quite sure how long we stay there just staring at each other and evaluating each other. I only notice that a significant time has passed when Master Kolvar interrupts our little staring contest.
“Is something wrong here Ms. Aumrauth?” He asks. Lyra Aumrauth and I break our concentration and turn to look at him.
“Nothing, Sir. Absolutely nothing.” Lyra responds, cooly.
“Then give Faladel here his pencil please.” Lyra’s face twists, like she’d rather argue than give me the pencil. I sense another battle of wills going on, but eventually Lyra drops a pencil in front of me and stomps off.
“Tell me if she bothers you again please.” Says Master Kolvar, then he walks– well, it’s more like a glide –back to his desk.
“Phewww.” Folas says. “That was tense.”
“Why does she hate you, Faladel? How have you already made an enemy here? Do you have a talent for this sort of thing?” Briareth adds.
“I don’t know,” I frown, “but it seems like Master Kolvar was expecting this.”
“Yeah, the way he just gravitated towards our spot as soon as Lyra and you started that stare war thing was awesome, and I mean the awe inspiring through fear type of awesome. How did he notice it so quickly? I mean you guys weren’t gesturing or shouting or anything. Do you think he uses telepathy?” Briareth asks.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Briareth. Telepathy is impossible.” I reply. “Do you know why she doesn’t like me, Folas?”
“Silence!” Master Kolvar calls out to the chattering class. Strange how all their noise seemed to be drowned out by Lyra’s glare. “It’s drawing time now, get down to work. If you have any questions, come see me. But I’d rather you didn’t have questions because I’m working too.” He goes back to his seat and turns up the classical music. As the soft sounds of a piano and a violin drift through the air, Folas answers my question in a hushed whisper.
“I think so, I’ll tell you about it at supper. After you tell me of your adventures; I want to hear all about that Dragon.”
I start to draw, but immediately come upon a conundrum. Which me do I draw? In the past I would have drawn myself in full court regalia. Or in the more recent past before I was captured, I might have drawn myself in my army uniform, but now I’m different from those past personas. I’ve been through twenty plus years in prison and that changed me. How do I draw myself with all my pasts? Ugh. This is probably what Folas meant when he said self portraits are the hardest. I haven’t even tried to go into body position or eyes, which for me are usually the hard parts of any painting. I’m just starting on the clothes and background. I should probably just do Smay cooking. That would be so much simpler.
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I almost jump when the bell rings. Drawing dragon scales is really repetitive, and mildly trance inducing when combined with classical music. Apparently other students were expecting the bell though, and many have already put away their projects and packed up.
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Folas stands up and stretches. “Briareth, you take pencils, I grab projects?”
“Sure.” Briareth replies. “Faladel you wait here and pack up your stuff.”
“Where are we going next?” I call to Folas as he carefully carries our drawings to a storage container.
“Illusions!” He calls back over his shoulder. I grab my stuff, there isn’t much, a small knife I was using to sharpen my pencil, but that’s it. When Folas and Briareth arrive back, I’ve been waiting for around a minute. We make our way through the courtyard to our next class.
We’re a little later arriving for this one as it is on the other side of the building. It didn’t help that some people had started a fight in the courtyard, and a crowd had gathered around to watch, so we had to take a detour. I looked curiously over my shoulder as teachers arrived to break up the fight. The people had decided to fight midair for some reason. I guess It’ll be explained later. With how fast news travels around this school maybe Folas will have an explanation by the end of class.
When we arrive at the classroom I’m startled. The door looks like the door to a broom closet. I would have walked right past it! Thank goodness Folas was in the lead. He opens the door, and we enter a large dark room with a foreboding air. It is lit only by candles, and a sickly green glowing orb at the front of the class on a teacher's desk.
There are actual desks in this classroom, the type with the attached chair. They are all arranged in vertical rows facing the empty teacher's desk at the front. But in between the teacher’s desk and the students’ desks is a wide empty space. It looks a bit like a stage. I’m guessing this is where magic is performed.
Folas leads us to some empty desks in the middle-right side of the room. He takes a seat up front, I sit next to him, and Briareth sits behind him. We aren’t the first here, and other students noticed our entrance. I can’t see their faces in this dim light, but I can hear their comments.
“That’s them? The former student and the Prince?”
“Yep, from what I heard they broke through the deception shield.”
“Wow! They must have really powerful magic.”
“No, some idiot higher up made a mistake and forgot to put in the image of a tree.”
“Pfff. That’s hilarious. Why are they still here?”
“Ehh. I heard something about Dwarven patrols in the illusions, but that can’t be right.”
“Well if there are, I kinda hope they break through next period.”
“Yeah I want to fight!”
“No, well yes, but also I have a hard test in Runes that I want to skip.” I chuckle softly. Students are the same everywhere. I wonder if I can pick up any information on the fight? Someone in here probably already knows all about it. But before I can catch any more information, the teacher arrives.
He appears right at the front of the class. One moment there was nothing, then a puff of smoke, and a small Bang! And he appeared. His robes are jet black, his cloak a midnight blue, his skin as pale as the snow on the mountains, and his hair the reddish orange of rust. His lips are tight and slightly pale, as if he doesn’t smile enough, and his eyes are a cold beady black. His appearance in the dim light looks almost ghostly with the sickly green lamp glowing on his skin. Some students yelp as he appears, and then chuckle remorsefully.
“Hello everyone.” He begins smoothly, “Apparently some of you have yet to get used to my sudden appearances.” His eyes find the yelpers in the darkness. “Either that or you were too busy talking to notice the bell and remember that I arrive soon after.” I can’t tell if anyone looks guilty. “We have two guests who will be joining us for the foreseeable future here. Most of you have already noticed them as they were nearly late, but if you haven’t I shall introduce them to you. King’s Archer Briareth Herbalar, Prince Faladel Mithrandir, please stand.” I look at Briareth, I wasn’t expecting this. He shrugs in response, so I stand up. A couple heads turn and crane to get a good look at us. “Please be seated again.” Continues the teacher. “In case Folas hasn’t already told you, I’m Master Edraele, and we are in the middle of learning-'' He is interrupted by the door bursting open. A bruised slightly frantic looking young girl surges into the room, and then stops short.
“Nice of you to join us Miss Danala,” Master Edraele says, his voice like sharp shards of ice. “Please, have a seat.” Wait, isn’t Danala Folas’s last name? Is this the fabled Valkallyn that Briareth may or may not have had a crush on? Interesting. She comes over to us, and sits in front of Folas.
“Why are you late?” Folas hisses over Master Edraele’s voice. “I was worried!”
“You worry too much brother.” She says, “Who are your friends?”
“If you arrived five seconds earlier, you would have known. Don’t you recognise Briareth?”
“Briareth, is that really you? ” Valkallyn looks slightly shocked, “What are you doing back here? And who is the other person?”
“Talk later, Valkallyn.” Cautions Folas, “Undead redhead approaching.”
Wait, what did he just say? Undead redhead? Are they talking in some sort of code? I look up and see Master Edraele coming towards us. Were they talking about him? I guess it fits. He does have red hair, and his skin could be considered a deathly pallor.
“Now that you’ve settled in Ms. Danala. Could you please explain what we are supposed to be doing today?” Master Edraele asks, his voice like frost.
“We’ve been working on practicing minor illusions on teacups to make them look like they are full of tea. You said something about pouring the tea today?” Valkallyn says haltingly.
“Why is it a question? If you know the answer you know the answer, state it. Answering one question with another question is impertinent.” Master Edraele turns away, his midnight robes swishing behind him as they sweep across the floor. “But you are correct. Today we will work on pouring the tea. Trying to keep the image’s form while it leaves the pot and enters a teacup, and keeping its mass the same as well, so that it actually leaves the teapot with less in it then you started with. Ms. Padan, please pass out the teapots and teacups, you will find them in the back cupboard on the left.” A short mousy girl gets up and moves to the back. “Ms. Dathi, assist her please.” Another girl, this one taller, gets up and follows. They both soon return, each carrying a large tray, one covered in tiny teapots, the other full of miniature teacups.
Once everything is passed out, Master Edraele states, “You may begin.” Chatter instantly errups as people try to fill their teapots with fake tea, ask others for advice, and curse failures. I notice Master Edraele coming our direction, and point it out to the others before they become too absorbed in their tea.
“Archer Briareth, Prince Faladel,” Valkallyn glances up, a shocked expression on her face as she hears my title. “I expect you both to be able to complete this task, you don’t have to be able to pour the tea today, but by the end of the week you should be caught up with the rest of the class. Your friends can help you understand the necessary gestures easily enough. And the idea is rather simple once you master the basics.”
“Will do, Master Edraele.” Briareth chirrups.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that Master Edraele.” I say, steeling myself.
“Why. Ever. Not?” His voice is cold and relentless, emphasizing every word. I take a deep breath.
“I can’t do magic.”
“What?!” Master Edraele says. “I must have heard you wrong. Please repeat what you just said.” Why is he making this harder?
“I can’t do magic. I have no magic.”
“You have no magic? None at all?” Master Edraele’s voice peaks, becoming much louder than normal. He looks utterly stunned. The small chitter chatter of students communicating while working, (or not working in some cases), stops suddenly. The kids who caught what he said turn to look at us. I feel like a snake is slithering through my stomach.
Time to take the plunge, “Yes Master Edraele, I’ve only ever conjured up one spark, and none when I actively try.”
“Have you been tested?”
Of course I have, “Yes, multiple times. They all agree. I have absolutely no magical aptitude.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I can see his thoughts written on his face. Having no magical aptitude is a rare affliction. It’s never shown up in the royal family before. What’s wrong with me? Then his face brightens, a glimmer of something springing up in his eyes. I don’t know what it is, or what it means. It sort of scares me. I know this is ridiculous, I’ve faced down Dwarven battalions, without feeling an ounce of fear, but this spark feels ominously like something that I have been trying to avoid for years, especially when it comes to magic. It looks strangely like hope, an eagerness that will only cause me pain. “Do you mind if I try something?” Master Edraele says.
Yes, my brain says. Yes I certainly do mind. This can’t be fixed. Don’t think of it as a problem to be fixed. It’s just a part of who I am, and I can’t change it. Don’t get my hopes up, for you will only let them down when it fails. No matter what people say, it hurts to try.
My mouth ignores my brain though, and goes with what civility dictates. “Not at all.” I hear myself say. Why am I always so polite?
“I’ll need you to give me your hand for this, Prince,” Master Edraele says, holding out his own. I cautiously place my right hand in his. “Now close your eyes please.” I shoot a side glance at Briareth, he smiles at me encouragingly. I close my eyes. Suddenly Master Edraele’s voice changes, it becomes more melodic, soothing, convincing. Is he using magic to influence me?
“Have you ever felt awe before Prince Faladel?” Master Edraele says, I nod without opening my eyes. How can this help? “Fear?” I nod, “Love? Platonic or romantic, it doesn’t matter.” I nod again. “Choose three scenes, one for each emotion. Let them fill your mind. What was similar in each of them? What did you experience? A racing heart, an inability to speak, an urge to defend? Good, keep that in mind. Now choose three things that were different with each of them, perhaps with one you wished to defend yourself, and another to hug someone. Have you got them in mind? Excellent. Now try and feel those things here. Let the experiences flow through you. Try to have them all here right now. It’s okay if they are overwhelming, just keep channeling them. Don’t stop.”
“You can open your eyes now Prince Faladel.” Master Edraele sounds exhausted, as if whatever he just did sucked half his remaining lifeforce away. I open my eyes and suck in a small gasp. Five perfect precious blue sparks are dancing around my right hand. I don’t dare take my eyes off them; they might disappear. I slowly turn my hand over and the sparks wriggle and jump around to the front. They are so beautiful. The last time I saw a magical spark of my own was over a hundred years ago, and it didn’t even last for five seconds. I had forgotten the radiance of their blue sheen, the elegance of their movements, their hidden strength, their woefully short lifespans. I’m sure my awe is shown on my face. I don’t want to hide it. How did Master Edraele summon them? What was it about what he said that unlocked them? How could he do this, bring my magic to the surface when nothing has made it show for so long?
“Great job Faladel!” Briareth shouts right behind me and claps me on the back. I jump, the spell of my own magic broken for a brief second, and turn to glance at him. When I turn back to my own hand, desperate to make sure they are still there, I feel a profound sense of loss. The sparks are gone, their brief life shattered by my inattentiveness. It feels like a piece of my soul has fled with them. I don’t think they will ever return.
“Just five sparks.” Master Edraele seems shocked, but too exhausted to exclaim anything.
“That's more than I’ve ever conjured before.” I say, feeling a soft twinge inside, as if my body is just now noticing an emptiness inside that was there all along, but the spell had alleviated for a brief moment. I ignore it. “That was incredible. How did you coax them out?”
“It’s an old spell, meant to reveal magical potential. My family has passed it down through generations of spellcasters. I rarely cast it on anyone because the feedback is so strong. It’s meant to show every magical thing a person will ever do. Having only five sparks… That’s absurd.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel right now. Sad? I already knew that I would never use magic properly. Angry? Why should I be angry? That I was even able to produce five sparks at once is amazing. Disappointment perhaps? It’s just a confirmation of countless searches in the past. But I liked the results of this spell, I got to see my magic. Happiness doesn’t feel quite right either. I just feel tired. I feel like I’ve lost something I never knew I had, and now I don’t even have the energy to search for it. Maybe I can try and convey that.
“Well I was never expecting anything really.” I smile softly, trying to incorporate a bit of the tired sadness I feel. “You’ve shown me more of my magic than anyone else who’s tried. I’m guessing you know it’s useless now for me to try the spell?”
“Well of course, you don’t have nearly enough magic to do it.” Poor Master Edraele seems flustered. “I wasn’t expecting this, I’m sorry. I’ll have to come up with a completely separate lesson plan for you. For today, you can just do your own thing.” I’m not quite sure what he is supposed to be sorry for. Perhaps confirming bad news?
The rest of class is rather slow. I try to pay attention to what the conversation is about, but Briareth, faced with a former crush, is just retelling the story of his heroics while skipping out on his more ridiculous antics. Nothing I haven’t heard before. Valkallyn is the first to be able to pour the tea without some of it just floating away and dissipating as it leaves her concentration. Folas follows around thirty minutes afterwards, right before the bell rings. Briareth was even able to make tea appear in his cup by then, but mine remains empty.
I can’t pay attention in tactics class. The grim Master Siraye, who we met when we first arrived, just reads out of the book, and sometimes points out places on a map when they are relevant. The map is old. When I first learned tactics via a tutor he used an updated map, even when I learned it in officer training for the army, they would use recent maps with memorable battles. The battles in this textbook I would idly estimate to be about two hundred years old. We don’t even use some of the weapons mentioned anymore.
It is much more interesting to reflect upon what has happened today. Thinking about it, a lot of things have happened today. This morning, I was bumbling around in a swamp, then I bumped into an invisible branch and entered a fortress of magic with flying buildings, then I was told we won’t leave said fortress until our pursuers, whom we have never seen and they have never seen us, leave. We then met up with an old friend of Briareth’s; ate breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert combined; and went to classes to learn magic. That is quite a lot for one day.
My stomach rumbles slightly at the remembrance of the feast at lunch. Soon it will be time for supper. Hopefully nothing else strange will happen today, I’m not sure my brain will be able to handle any more excitement.
Supper is easy, we grab plates, and grab seats, while Briareth regales everyone with even more tales of his daring do. The only strange or slightly exciting thing that happens is that Briareth manages to down twenty donuts in five minutes, while telling a story.
When we head to bed that evening there seems to be one more interesting thing that fate will throw at us before we sleep. When we reach the door we can see a light coming from underneath it. It seems that our elusive roommate has arrived before us.