Chapter Three: Through the Looking Glass

The afternoon found Tom sitting in Philosophy class. The other students shuffled restlessly in their seats, which was not unusual for this time of day. Today’s lecture was covering the basics again, compounding the other students’ boredom.

Tom, however, tried to listen with as much attention as possible as Instructor Glass described the three pillars of manifestation. He had heard the same explanation a thousand times before, in a thousand different variations, but there was always the chance that he had missed some critical piece of understanding.

“What is the first pillar of manifestation?” said Glass.

“Affinity!” the class cried in chorus.

Glass’ sharp eyes cut about the room like a hawk, searching for any hesitation. She was a severe teacher, and expected perfection from her students. Her person reflected her attitudes, dressed in an immaculate blouse and skirt, not a single strand of her grey hair out of place. Her crow’s feet pinched as she squinted slightly, not detecting any laggards.

“Correct.” It was the most praise Tom ever heard pass her lips. Most of the Philosophy Instructors ranged from casual to flippant, and looked like they didn’t own a comb between them. Glass, however, was nearing her thirtieth year as an instructor. Time had worn away her soft edges - if she ever had any to begin with.

“Affinity is the most necessary element for manifestation. Having an affinity does not necessarily mean one will manifest an Ideal for it, but one cannot – cannot – manifest an Ideal without it.” She turned a disapproving eye over her class, seeking out any hint of confusion on their faces. Finding none, she continued, “Affinity describes one’s natural inclination towards an Ideal. It is impossible to qualify, but it can be quantified by those Idealists with certain skills.”

Tom was familiar. The Church of Wayrest had several such priests, and Tom’s father had paid large sums of silver several times to have him tested. The first time, when he was eight, a priest of Truth had led Tom through a massive hall on the Church grounds, lined with rows upon rows of tables and shelves. They moved among them, stopping for a painstaking moment in front of every object.

Some were just that - objects, and others represented concepts. Tools and weapons, raw materials, essences, bowls of liquid, incense, and thousands of other variations filled the hall.

Tom had an affinity for weapons, the old priest found. Each time they passed a weapon on a table he had paused, squinting at it, before making a note in a ledger in a precise hand.

The priest had produced a sheet of paper when they were done, and given it to his father. Tom still remembered the look on his face; it was the happiest he had ever seen him.

“Affinity for the Sword,” he pronounced in his deep voice, dismissing all the other affinities Tom had shown. “Excellent. One day soon you will manifest it, and then I will teach you everything I know.”

Fourteen years later and Tom had still shown no sign of manifesting the Sword. His father’s initial excitement had soured into disappointment. He had even tried to manifest other weapons, hoping for a reprieve from his father’s wrath. The Bow, the Staff, the Axe, and many others, but in the end they had all proven just as pointless. Disappointment had curdled into frustration. His father had paid for Tom to be tested two more times, but his affinities hadn’t shifted, as they were sometimes wont to do. Eventually his father’s frustration had fermented into anger.

Glass cleared her throat sharply, and Tom yanked himself from his reverie a split second before Glass’ eagle-eyed stare found his face. Her gaze lingered a long moment before she continued. Tom took a long, shallow breath to calm himself, smelling the scent of lavender that was so pervasive in Glass’ room.

“Affinity only matters for manifestation of Ideals,” she said. “It does not matter for the manifestation of skills under them.” Again the penetrating look. “Finally, aptitude or interest are often confused for affinity. They are, however, not suitable substitutes.”

“Now,” she said, raising a questioning eyebrow. “What is the second pillar of manifestation?”

“Understanding!” the class sang back to her.

“Correct,” she said, her tone clear and flat and sharp as her name. “Understanding is, however, not as critical to manifesting an Ideal. There is a clearly documented link between it to manifesting, but, there have also been many cases of individuals manifesting Ideals that they do not have a good understanding of,” she paused. “Does anyone know why this is?”

Everyone hesitated, sensing the trap. Glass’ severe expression became even sharper. “Master Cutter?” She turned to him. She loved picking on him, for reasons he’d never understood. The closest he could guess was that she was affronted at having to teach such an old student with no Ideals. One who happened to be her most diligent student, no less.

Tom straightened and cleared his throat. “It’s theorised that Ideals are The World attempting to facilitate an understanding of itself. Because one uplifts skills, and therefore the Ideals they fall under, through not only practice, but through understanding, it’s believed that understanding is not as crucial to initial manifestation. It can be …made up for later, so to speak.”

Glass looked at him, her face giving nothing away. Tom could feel the tension rising in the room, his peers expecting him to get a tongue-lashing.

“Acceptable,” she said eventually. “If not entirely correct.” She didn’t bother to elaborate though. “What is the third pillar of manifestation?”

“Circumstance!” they chanted, right on her heels.

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“Correct,” she said again. “Circumstance is the most nebulous of the three pillars, but it is just as important. Many different factors contribute to circumstance: proximity to something related to the Ideal, quality or quantity of something related to it, desperation, stress, danger – they can all precipitate a manifestation. Circumstance is often called the Trigger Pillar because of this.”

Her gaze swept over the room like a searchlight, visible by a slight stiffening in each student it struck.

“What is a World Wisp?” said Glass, enunciating each word crisply.

Everyone hesitated. The class couldn’t give a unified response, given that World Wisps were a somewhat esoteric concept, and weren’t well understood by even the foremost scholars.

“Miss Raventos, please explain.” Her focus snapped to Rosa like a homeless man hearing metal ping off a cobblestone.

“World Wisps appear whenever someone manifests their first Ideal,” Rose said. “Every Idealist has one. Adding to what Tom said before, World Wisps appear to be the next step in The World attempting to facilitate an understanding of itself. Some believe they are also The World’s way of attempting to understand us.”

“Correct,” said Glass. “And what do World Wisps do ...Master Courser?”

Gad shuffled about in his seat, consternation wriggling across his features. “Umm, they ...give you information?”

Her wrinkled face creased into a glare as her mouth opened, then fractured momentarily into surprise as the bell rang three times.

Everyone sat stock still for a long moment, before breaking into excited whispers. Three bells meant an assembly. There were several reasons one could be called, but there was only ever one reason one would be called spontaneously.

“Quiet!” The conversations died immediately. “Hadn’t even finished my lesson…” she muttered to herself, tapping a bony finger against her chin. “Go, then! All of you! Hurry!”

The students began frantically packing at her whip-like voice. Glass herself strode to her desk. “Not you, Master Cutter.”

The students filed past him, not daring to whisper barbs at him, but giving him mocking looks all the same. There was only one reason Glass ever kept someone behind.

Tom waited until the last of the other students left before approaching. Glass sat behind her large desk, but she stood, rounding it to stand before him. He had to fight the urge to cringe or flee.

“You are twenty-two, Master Cutter,” she began. “And the heir to House Cutter. You have still yet to manifest. What will you do?”

His eyes were already downcast, not wanting to draw any more of her ire than he had to, but his shoulders slumped too.

“I will try harder, Instructor,” he said, just managing to keep his voice steady. “There must be something wrong with me.”

“You misunderstand me, boy,” she said, her voice softening. “There are a great many people in this world that never manifest. Most, in fact. And you are not most people, Master Cutter.”

Tom raised his head, his brow creasing as he met her eye. He had never heard Glass speak with anything other than a flat, sharp, tone. “What do you mean..?” he said.

“Most of the instructors around here have shit for brains,” Tom’s eyes bulged, his fear forgotten. “But I, Tom Cutter, do not.”

“I suspect you live a very hard life. Everyone else sees a normal young man struggling hard to be something he is not, and most want to put you back in your place. Only a few have empathy for you, and no one understands. But I do.”

Tom was beyond confused by this point. This was so far out the gate for Instructor Glass it was across the field and over the ditch.

She gave a sigh, and seemed to deflate a little. As an Idealist, she was hearty, even for seventy years old, but at this moment she looked every minute her age.

“The House of Glass was there at the Founding of Wayrest, just the same as Cutter. I know what it is to not live up to high expectations. Tell me, Master Cutter, what Ideals do I hold?”

“Glass..?” he said, as he had always assumed, but even as he said it he knew it was not.

“Incorrect,” she replied, a sliver of her usual self creeping back in. She looked at him expectantly.

Glass has always been the sternest Instructor at the Academy. Unbending, always cutting with her remarks. Using her razor wit to pare away any misconceptions in her students. Hard as steel…

Tom couldn’t help but gape.

“Close your mouth, boy, you look like a fish.” His mouth snapped shut.

“I see the copper has dropped.” She held up two fingers, and a small twisting in the air, like heat rising from a cobblestone, appeared in the shape of a blade.

“You hold the Sword,” Tom said, awed by even the small display.

“I spent the first third of my life trying so hard to manifest Glass I’m still surprised I didn’t turn transparent.” Her eagle eyed gaze returned, raking his face.

“Once I manifested, I spent the next third of my life playing at being a soldier in the Guard.” She shook her head. “Damn foolishness. Sword wasn’t good enough for the best Artisan House in Wayrest. Went so far the other way I lost myself.”

“You were in the Guard? How did you end up here? Why aren’t you a combat instructor?” Unable to contain his curiosity, the questions burst from him.

“I got sick of seeing death. Seeing people ruin themselves in pursuit of bloody Ideals. The Sword can cut truth from lies as well as flesh from bone, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tom nodded, trying to digest the information.

Suddenly, she grabbed his chin. She might be old, but it was like a tree branch had gotten a hold of him.

“What I’m trying to say is that what you get isn’t always what you want. Don’t lose yourself, trying to be what someone else wants. Don’t lose yourself, trying to be what you think you want either.” She stared into his eyes, searching for something. A flicker of understanding lit within him. She nodded, releasing him.

“You have a mind like a sword at least,” she said. “You’ve always been my favourite student.”

Tom felt as if Gad had climbed inside his skull and beat up his brains. He stood for a moment, trying to regain some semblance of his balance. A slight creasing at the corner of her mouth could have been a smile.

“Thank you, Instructor Glass. I… I’ll think about what you said.”

“See that you do.” She gave him another penetrating stare. “Best get to assembly, Master Cutter. Hurry now. And don’t get lost along your way.”