After quickly summarizing the list, Margaret left Jeb to go prepare for the visiting Auditor. As thoughts rolled through his head, Jeb chose to ignore everything he had learned about himself that day. The fact that he was larger than the rest of his classmates may have been true. Given that nobody was willing to dispute it, it was almost certainly true, he amended. However, that didn’t mean that he had to pay attention to it.
Instead, he thought back to what had happened during his Alchemy class. Jeb had made an Alchemical! Even if it was almost trivially easy, he had still pulled the Essence out of a material and used it to create something different. He still wasn’t sure what, exactly, an Essence was, but he hoped that he would get a better picture as the term progressed. The idea that some intrinsic part of him wanted to burn everything, when combined with Fire, at least, was a little bit disconcerting.
Jeb couldn’t resist the urge to figure out why that was. Thankfully, Philip came by his desk just as he was getting ready to stand up.
“Hello Jeb,” Phillip said, “Margaret implied that you might be looking for a book. Is there something I can help you find?”
Jeb wasn’t sure whether Margaret had been trying to keep him from thinking too hard about what she had revealed, or whether she was actually so aware that she knew he would want a book, but it worked out for him either way. “I am,” he said. “Do you know if there’s anything about the way that someone’s personal Essence makes Alchemical Fire behave?”
Phillip hummed, clearly considering the question. A few books leapt off the shelves towards him, but he dismissed them after glancing through the pages.
“It may take me a few minutes to locate one, but I do believe that the Academy has a book on exactly that topic. It has not been requested in a number of years, however, so it may be a bit of a struggle for me to find exactly where it has ended up. I trust that you will be studying here for the foreseeable future?”
Jeb nodded. “I’ve got some other projects to work on,” he confirmed, “so there’s no rush for you to get back.”
Philip nodded and disappeared into the shelves. Jeb pulled out the other book that the Alchemy class had pushed him towards. It described the creation of Distilled Water through a number of different techniques.
Apparently, a skilled Alchemist could simply pull all of the Essence out of water as it boiled, leaving the resulting liquid completely free of any Essence or other contaminant. For less skilled Alchemists, there existed a number of options, from Enchantments to carefully constructed Alchemy apparatus. For the completely skillless, however, there did not appear to be any options. Making Distilled Water took a baseline competency.
The fact that it was apparently so easy for a skilled Alchemist to make Distilled Water did explain why Professor Quicksilver had been willing to share it with the class, however. Even if it was not particularly enjoyable work, it did not seem as though it was the sort of project that could really go wrong. At worst, it seemed like you would just need to distill the water again.
As Jeb finished combing through the chapter for any hints to what the Enchantments for making Distilled Water looked like, Philip came back with the book.
“This is the best book that I could find,” he said apologetically. “There may be something better somewhere else in the Stacks, but I do not have the authority to pull anything better.”
The book was clearly old and well used, if the faded gold lettering was any indication. The title was almost too faded to make out, reading “On the Blazing Fire of Alchemy and Connection to the Essence of a Given Person or Persons, a Treatise of Comparison.” From the title alone, Jeb knew that it was going to be filled to the brim with overly flowery language. Sighing, he opened the page.
What he had hoped to see was a chart explaining what the different reactions that Alchemical Fire could produce signified. Instead, the author went to great lengths to explain that a skilled Alchemist should be able to make their own Alchemical Fire produce any of the effects listed, and that any judgements of an Alchemist based on the behavior of their fire should take that into account. Despite the clear disclaimer, it then leapt immediately into a character and personality judgement of any Alchemist based on what their default Alchemical Fire reaction was. Jeb found what nearly every one of his classmates did within the first few pages, but apparently “continues burning and tries to eat floor” was not one of the common reactions.
The book was older than section headings, so he couldn’t just page through until he found the section he wanted. Instead, Jeb had to piece his way through each long paragraph of the book, struggling to convert the old text into something modernly legible. By the time that his stomach started growling, he was more than halfway through the book and still had no idea what his Fire’s reaction meant.
After a quick meal in the cafeteria, where he waved to Annabeth and Catherine as each sat at their own tables, he returned to the Library to continue his studying. When the lights began to dim, signalling that the final bell was about to ring for the night, he was just finishing the final chapter. In a brief aside on the last, page, the author mentioned that, “some young Alchemists find that their own Fire seems to take on a life of its own. The way that the Fire chooses to sustain itself is incredibly emblematic of the sort of Alchemist they will become. Due to the number of ways that a Living Fire might present, I will not do it the disservice of trying to condense the information onto a single page here. Instead, I will write another treatise concerned solely with this effect.”
That was where the book ended. Philip came by the desk, making sure that Jeb had noticed the lights dimming. “Philip, there wasn’t a sequel to this book anywhere, was there?”
“Not that I could find, why?” Philip asked.
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“The author said that the effect I’m concerned with was going to be covered in the next treatise that he wrote. I was hoping that it ended up getting written.”
“One moment,” Philip said, grabbing a book off of the shelf and leafing through it. “Ah, as I thought,” he said, shelving the book. “The author of your book there died mere days after publishing this first treatise. His cause of death is unknown, though contemporary sources link it to a professional rivalry. Given that the number one provable cause of death for Alchemists in that time was professional sabotage, I do not have trouble believing that account. I do not believe that he left any notes behind for a future treatise either, if that was going to be your next question.”
It wasn’t going to be. Truthfully, Jeb was more curious what, exactly, professional sabotage meant in the context of ending someone’s life. After a moment’s consideration, though, he decided against asking the question. Odds were good that the answer would only serve to give him nightmares for a few nights.
“Thank you anyways,” Jeb said, standing to leave his desk.
“Absolutely!” Philip said, carefully escorting Jeb back to the circulation desk. Privately, Jeb wished that he wouldn’t be so conscientious. When Philip wasn’t there, Jeb could go directly from his desk in the Stacks to his room in the dormitory. When Philip was there, however, he had to go first to the front of the Library, which only seemed willing to connect to the entrance of his dormitory. It wasn’t that much of a difference, but it seemed like a wasted amount of effort, which grated on Jeb slightly.
Still, he reminded himself that it wasn’t Philip’s fault. He had almost certainly been told to make sure that Jeb didn’t get lost on his way out of the Stacks, and was just making sure that Jeb didn’t. When Jeb got to his room, he debated pulling open his book of Druidic Plants to see if he could find any more references to Distilled Water. As his head hit his mattress, however, he fell directly asleep.
In the morning, Jeb woke to the tolling of bells. Sitting up in a jolt, he listened more carefully to the tones. In his time since coming to the Academy, Jeb had learned that the bells tolled out not only a different number of times each hour, but also had a slightly different timbre. The sound of tolling told him that it was only now fifth bell.
Even though it felt like he had slept in, he was still up before most anyone else in the cafeteria. As he ate a relaxed breakfast, Jeb considered what Catherine, Annabeth, and Margaret had told him the day before. He was completely willing to believe that he was strange. At the very least, he recognized that he was far more interested in learning Magic than his peers seemed to be.
It was strange. For all that they were all in a school that did not exist in a completely material way, many of them acted as though they were simply on their way to an apprenticeship doing something that they felt no passion for. Every time that Jeb heard one of his classmates groan about a homework assignment, he wanted to scream at them. Didn’t they realize how lucky they were?
Of course, Jeb knew that he did not feel that way about every course. Whenever he had to study for his Civics class, he bemoaned the existence of laws in general, even though he knew that they were generally beneficial. Civics, though, could never hold a candle to the joy that was effecting his will on the world, which Magic allowed in a very real and unique way.
Jeb was so caught up in his meditations that he did not notice when someone sat down across from him. When they spoke, he leapt slightly.
“I’m sorry,” Annabeth said, “I did not mean to scare you. What are you doing at breakfast so early, though?”
“No, it’s completely fine,” Jeb said. “What do you mean by so early, though? I normally eat breakfast this early.”
She gave him a challenging look. “If you normally eat breakfast at sixth bell, then why haven’t I seen you here most days?”
Jeb’s eyes widened in shock. “Don’t tell me that it’s already sixth bell!” he cried, leaping out of his seat. “I need to go. Sorry! Good to see you!” He took his tray and quickly cleaned up after himself, before returning to the Stacks in the Library. Once back at his desk, he took a deep breath.
Was it wrong to imply that I had to be somewhere else urgently? he asked himself, even though my main goal was just being able to be somewhere by myself to think? Even considering the question for a few minutes, Jeb did not end up coming to a conclusion. Shrugging, he made his way out of the Stacks towards his Weaving independent study.
The first few sessions with the Weaver had been relatively simple. Despite the fact that he had learned how to spin thread before, the Weaver started him off with wool, carding it to get rid of any debris. When Jeb had asked why, the Weaver explained that, even if Jeb might never wish to work in anything but Manaweave, the world might not allow him to do so.
“Even if you never touch another aspect of the craft,” he had continued, “I would be failing in my role as a teacher if I did not prepare you for the eventuality.”
And so, Jeb had spent the past week cleaning wool and preparing it to be spun. By halfway through today’s session, the Weaver was satisfied with his progress and had him start to spin the wool. Compared to Managrass, spinning wool was practically effortless. It seemed as though the fibers wanted to be made into something.
Seeing Jeb’s astonishment, the Weaver laughed. “There is a reason that we would not tend to start students off on Managrass, even if it were more readily available,” he explained. “Once you have experience with spinning this wool, we will move on to other, less ideal breeds of sheep. From there, we will move on to other materials. By the end of the term, I expect that you will be able to prepare nearly any fiber for Weaving.”
“Will I also be able to weave them?”Jeb asked curiously. If the entire term was just going to be spent teaching him to make thread, he would need to revise his plans for the next term. Studying the Magical side of Weaving would have to wait until after he had some experience actually working with weft and warp.
“Absolutely!” the Weaver exclaimed, scuttling to beside Jeb. “I am not teaching you to become a Spinner, laudable and essential as those crafters are. I am teaching you the skills you will need so that, stranded alone in the wilderness, you need not live like an uncivilized beast. Even amid nothing but stone and thorn, you will be able to craft soft and gentle clothing for yourself.”
Jeb had no intention of ever going off into the wilderness alone. Before he could say as much, though, he considered the fact that he had also never really intended to join the Academy. The world would not always behave how he expected it to, which meant that he should do everything in his power to deal with whatever life might bring his way. Knowing how to start from raw wool and turn it into a bolt of fabric might never be a useful skill for him. Just off the top of his head, though, Jeb could think of at least half a dozen situations he could find himself in where that would be an absolutely essential skill.
When the bell tolled the end of his new independent study, the Weaver nodded approvingly. “You have made enough thread now that I think you are ready to begin your First Weave.”
“Haven’t I already made that?” Jeb asked, thinking about the sheets of Manaweave he had crafted.
The Weaver sighed. “If we are being strictly technical, then yes. However, there is a difference between a craft done with the goal of reaching an end result and a craft done for its own sake.” Jeb struggled to tell the difference, even though he did not say anything. Something in his silence must have shown, however, because the Weaver sighed.
“You will understand in the future,” he said, shooing Jeb out of the Workshop.