“Today,” the Fiore announced as he swept into the classroom, cat in arms, “we are looking at our last category of spells, which also happens to be the most dangerous, nebulous, and difficult to define category: contract spells. Who would like to define contract spells for me? Yes, Magista.”
“Contract spells are spells of exchange or law. They uh, they’re not as bound by physics as some categories, but more by how things should work.”
“A good summary. Can you give more specific examples?”
“Ah… well, magical vows fall under contract spells, such as people swearing to do something or act in some way, and the spell causes a consequence if they violate the vow. A lot of border protection spells, ones that aren’t physical force fields I mean, are contract spells, and anything that involves… nebulous contracts, like spells that let someone trade health for luck, or let them extract energy from somebody who owes them debts, or things like that. It’s a large category.”
“Indeed it is. It was once thought to be the largest category – most of the oldest known spells are either prophecies or contract spells, and it used to be assumed that contract spells were the norm before proper tallies started turning up so many change spells. The basis of our legal system is rooted in common rules found in contract spells; rules of territory and threefold retribution and the primacy of intent and sticking to one’s vows. If you happen to end up with a contract spell, you are handling something linked to the root of magic itself, something very dangerous and very difficult to understand. A poorly cast change spell could cause an immediate disaster, which you can then modify and mitigate. A poorly cast evocation can cause a similar problem, and you can stop channelling energy to it. But a poorly cast contract spell? In many cases, you won’t see the consequences immediately. Depending on the spell it could take minutes, days, and rarely even months or years. You won’t always be able to trace the consequences back to the problem, and if you can, you can’t necessarily stop or counteract it – it’s already been cast. Some contract spells are hyperspecialised, and easy enough to understand and therefore safe to use. But when it comes to the more general ones… many enforcers elect to never cast their spells at all.”
“My mum says that contract spells are the most powerful spells,” a boy in the back row said.
“It’s difficult to compare categories like that because there is so much power variation within categories, but in a way she is correct,” the Fiore said. “If you take a spell from each category of about equal power, the contract spell is likely to be the most influential, subtle and difficult to counter, with the most long-term consequences. This is why they’re so dangerous. A nuclear bomb is probably the most powerful weapon in the world, but if you needed to defend yourself, would you rather have access to a nuclear bomb or to a handgun? In practical terms, the level of power, influence or unpredictability you want your spell to have is extremely context-specific.
“It is also generally very difficult to get a contract spell to do what you want it to do. You’ve all heard the fairy tales of witches making a deal with spirits or making a selfish wish, and suffering the terrible consequences of their choice? These are stylised stories of contract spells gone wrong. The less specialised a contract spell is, the more ways there are for it to go wrong. Contract spells share a key limitation with prophecies; the limitation of communication, albeit in the opposite direction. A prophecy is limited by its ability to communicate with its prophet. A contract spell is limited by its ability to understand its enforcer. A contract spell has been trained by previous mages, like any spell, and follows its own internal rules of how things should work, and these rules will not necessarily line up with how you assume that things should work. More than one mage has killed themselves through a poor assumption on what their spell thinks counts as an equivalent exchange or just retribution. If you end up with one of these spells, be careful. If you have any opportunity to choose between spells in the Pit – and most of you will not have this opportunity – I’d caution you to avoid this kind of spell, if at all possible.”
The Fiore sat down. Well, slumped down. He looked kind of tired. Up all night hatching nefarious plans, perhaps?
“In one month,” he said, “you will have completed your Initiate classes. Two weeks after that, you will need to decide whether you are going through the Initiation or not. I’m sure that most of you have already made up your minds, but please take this time to reconsider the situation carefully and be absolutely certain of your choice. You all worked hard to be here. Many of you put in the time and work and attention to be considered by, and qualify for, Skolala Refujeyo with no help and no connections. Others among you are here because you are proud to serve your families and your family traditions of magic. In both cases, you might feel that you’ve put in too much and have too much riding on your success to back out now. You might feel that you don’t have any choice but to push forward. That isn’t true – for six more weeks, you will have a choice. After you walk into the Pit or don’t… only then will you no longer have that privilege. So think carefully about the potential dangers and the potential rewards, and make certain that whatever you decide is what you want.
“We’ll end early today. Feel free to leave when you like, unless you want to stay behind and ask questions.”
“Well that was an extremely short lesson,” I noted as we filed out. “Early lunch?”
“I’ve got stuff to get done,” Kylie said, shaking her head. “Later.” She peeled off.
“Kayden, I’m sending you something that might help with your curse,” Max told me. I checked my tablet.
“Yoga?”
“Yes.”
“Yoga? I already have a real exercise routine. How’s Stretching for Grandmas going to help?”
“That kind of arrogance and derision can only come from somebody who has never tried yoga and doesn’t understand what in entails, but this isn’t an exercise routine. It’s a meditation routine. Since you seem to have so much trouble sitting still for more than thirty seconds, an approach to awareness that requires a bit more activity might be more effective for you.”
“Oh. Well, uh. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. We’ll switch to this beginner’s routine tomorrow. I daresay you’ll outstrip me fairly quickly, with your superior strength and fitness, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.”
“Okay. And thanks.”
“You already said that.”
“I mean for this whole thing. I didn’t expect you to, you know, help me this much.”
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He gave me a puzzled look. “You asked for my help and I agreed. Do you want me to stop?”
“No! It’s just, I know you’re busy with other stuff. And with… I mean, I’d get if you were still angry with me after my uh, framing theory…”
Max’s only acknowledgement of this was a slight clenching of his jaw. Instead, he addressed my other statement. “I certainly will be busy next semester, with Alania Miratova. But for the next six weeks, I have few commitments.”
“Except for preparing for the Initiation!”
“I have been preparing for the Initiation for three years. Any preparation done at this point will make little difference.” Max stopped; we’d reached our dorm. “In fact, helping you is probably the best preparation I can do at this point.”
“How do you figure?”
“It reminds me to be brave.” He walked through the door.
What the hell did that mean?
I continued on my way to the cafeteria. I should probably pick up something for Max while I was there; he tended to get lost in his own little world when he was working on something, and despite what he’d said he’d definitely be busy learning everything he could about Miratova’s work in preparation for next year. He’d already be squirrelled away in his little space, working… soon enough, it wouldn’t be his little space any more. We’d be moving off to the main school. That room wouldn’t be ours any more.
Wow. That was…
Well, we’d still be Dorm Australia, right? Nobody had mentioned any other plans. We’d just be moving to a different room; no big deal.
Man, we were going to leave the previous room kind of a mess. I felt bad about that. No matter how we cleaned moving out, there was that chair I’d broken on Kylie’s force field in the first week, and that area where Miratova’s staff had exploded and left marks on the walls we couldn’t remove. I supposed it was a good thing that that whole thing had happened after Max had decided to actually use the space behind his bed; if he’d still been set up in the main part of the room, the mess could’ve been a lot worse.
What had been his problem with the force fields, again? Something about ambulances? But I supposed he’d changed his mind, after I…
Wait, did…?
Oh. Suddenly, a lot of things about Max made a lot more sense.
I rushed back to the room and burst through the door. “Max!”
“What?” he asked, in the slightly muffled tone of someone facing a wall who who wasn’t even bothering to turn around. He was writing something at his desk; I couldn’t see what.
“When did you move behind the force field?”
“What?”
“You used to set up your desk out in the main part of the room. Because you hated the force fields. When did you change your mind?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“It was after I discovered the force field gap under the beds, wasn’t it? When you realised there was a way in and out without going through the force field. If you had to use it. But that doesn’t make any sense, because you can already go through your own force field.”
“Well, yes, but is somebody were to become incapacitated behind the field – which, you may remember, I very nearly did when Miratova’s staff exploded – it is important for somebody else to be able to get in and render assistance.”
“And why did you say that I remind you to be brave?”
“What?”
“Because you said you admired Kylie in the van.”
“Kayden, has anyone ever told you that having a conversation with you is guaranteed intellectual whiplash?”
“I mean,” I said, “that you call us brave a lot. At first, when we didn’t know each other very well, I thought it was patronising as shit, like those arseholes who tell people in wheelchairs how brave they are? But it soon became obvious that you don’t mean that.”
“I never intended to sound patronising. I apologise if – ”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Because, you said helping me reminds you to be brave about the Initiation. Which makes no goddamned sense. I haven’t been through the Initiation. I’ve still got to do it, same as you. I still might die, same as you. There’s only one difference between us, one thing I’ve ‘achieved’ about becoming a mage that you haven’t. You’re not afraid of failing the Initiation, are you? You’re afraid of succeeding. Max, are you afraid of magic?”
Max went still. He put his pen down and, finally, turned to face me.
“Am I afraid of magic?”
“Yeah.”
“Someone who fought so hard to even get the chance to become a mage?”
“Yeah.”
“Am I, the ninth of a strong magical family, who studied and practiced since birth to continue that legacy… afraid of magic?”
“That’s what I asked.”
“Doesn’t my question answer your question?”
“Actually, all I’ve noticed so far is how hard you’re working not to answer my question.”
Max sighed. “I have a reasonable caution related to magic, as every good mage does. As both of our magical theory teachers have warned us to do. I am not afraid of magic.”
“You flinch any time someone’s about to cast any.”
“Because magic is dangerous.”
“You won’t go anywhere near kuracar Malas.”
“I have not required his services because I take basic care of my body and don’t fling it against every hard surface I can find.”
“You won’t let anyone use your mage name. Which, you know, I get; I get people pushing names and things on you that you don’t want. It’s just weird because it’s who you came here to be.”
“That is basic propriety. I am not yet a mage, so I am not yet the Nonus Acanthos.”
“So you’re going to change your name next semester? That’s going to be confusing.”
“Technically, I cannot be the Nonus until I graduate.”
“Right.”
“Kayden. If I were that much of a coward, why would I want to work with Miratova, studying the thing I’m so scared of?”
“I never said you were a coward, I said you were afraid of magic.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not… look. I only understand about a quarter of what you say about Miratova, but so far as I can tell she doesn’t study anything that needs actual casting, right? She works with ichor and runes and stuff, stuff that can be… contained and studied with maths, without needing very much actual magic to be done. And she studies ways to make it more predictable and safer, right? Like with the staff. Sounds like the perfect thing for someone afraid of magic to want to learn about.”
“Have you ever considered adopting Kylie’s general policy of minding your own business?”
“Considered it, decided against it. ‘Cause with Initiation in six weeks… Max, are you sure you even want to be a mage?”
“What? Of course I do. I decided years ago.”
“I know, I was just wondering if you’d decided recently.”
“You know what I want to do with my life.”
“I know you don’t want to put one of these thing inside you for status purposes so you can spend the next sixty years playing clique drama with your family,” I said, gesturing at my heart. “You want to be a researcher, right? But do you even need to be a mage to do that? I know there are people in this whole system that aren’t mages – my lawyer is one. And Miratova works with ichor, right? So long as you’ve got somebody on the team to supply ichor, not everyone needs to be a mage. If you’re afraid of magic, you – ”
“I am not afraid of magic!” Max practically shouted. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When he opened them again, he looked completely calm, even faintly amused. The expression would have looked completely genuine if I hadn’t witnessed the transformation, but I’d seen him do this before – this was the Max that was exceptionally fun at parties.
“Look, Kayden,” he said, “I’m… happy that you’re so concerned for me, but I’m fine, really. Everyone – including me – is just really nervous about the Initiation. I mean, people die in there. But the key to getting through is focus and certainty of purpose, so I know both of us are going to make it.”
“Yeah, that… doesn’t address anything I just said.”
“Yeah, because what you said makes no sense. This is like, your third weird conspiracy theory this semester. We should keep a list.”
“Hey, at least one of my ‘weird conspiracy theories’ panned out. Simon did try to kill Miratova.”
“Yeah, that’s very… if anyone shouldn’t do the Initiation, it’s probably that guy. I don’t think he makes great decisions.”
“I’d love nothing more than for him to drop out and leave us all – ” I stopped talking as Kylie entered the room and the haunted expression on her face stole my voice.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
“I, um. I think I know what the Eye’s false alarm was about, a couple of days ago.” She bit her lip.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s Instruktanto Miratova. She’s in the ward. She… she won’t wake up.”