Heavy, plain white mage robes hung on a rack outside Professor Ashsprocket’s classroom. The robes looked old and worn except for a brand new child’s sized robe that must have just been purchased for Val. Yeva and Jashal were wearing the white robes and speaking softly at one end of the room, while Belladonna was telling a joke to a group of elves whose laughter puffed out in clouds of fog in the frigid room. The heavy, white robes made Yeva look like an old priestess, while Jashal was swallowed in his and looked even younger than normal.
Reg shrugged into one of the robes and stepped into the room, heading towards Yeva and Jashal. One of the elves, a boisterous male with eye-brows that made him look perpetually surprised called Cracic, raised his voice loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear, “That reminds me of another joke. What are the two times of day that a moss-farmer is most confused?” He paused for a few long beats, “the daytime and the nighttime.” The laughter of the group of elves had a cruel edge.
Another elf jumped in, “What do you call a moss-farmer who says he can read?” A pause, then “A liar!”
Belladonna’s cheery voice followed on, “A moss-farmer left the twigs and hiked for weeks and weeks to the very top of the Tree. When he got there, an old druid asked him, ‘You seem far from home. Why did you hike all the way up here?’ The moss-farmer said, ‘was having trouble with me pisser. Healer said she needed a canopy to diagnose it.’”
Belladonna wilted a bit at the blank stares. “Canopy, can ‘o pee? I’ll work on that one.”
Moss-farmer jokes had always been funny growing up, but they carved different when coming from fancy folks on the upper-branch who weren’t joking with their neighbors. Reg wanted to send the jokes in a different direction, but the only joke he could think of was one of his father’s oft-repeated jokes that always garnered more groans than laughs, but he went for it regardless: “How do you tell if you’re on the lower branches?” He put on a confused face and voice, “I don’t know, you just twig to it.”
It took a second, but Belladonna’s laugh was loud and merry, “that’s so stupid, I love it!” As if she’d given permission, a few other elves laughed lightly.
Reg didn’t know if he’d derailed the moss-farmer jokes, or if Professor Ashsprocket walking into the classroom soon after had tamped down on the levity, but no one told any more loud moss-farmer jokes. The Professor rapped his staff on the floor to get the class’s attention and directed them to grab short stools out of a closet. When everyone was sitting down, he cleared his throat and then in a deep, projecting voice that felt surprising from the short gnome, he started to explain the course. “In this class, I’ll be ensuring you all are proficient with evocational basics. They are not only foundational to the exploration of slower and more complex enchantments, glyph-work, and divinings, they can also prove useful in the field. Enhancing a weapon,” with a gesture, the top of his staff burned with a hissing, blue-gold flame; “marking an enemy in the darkness,” the professor pursed his lips and blew the flames on top of his staff towards Cracic where they turned into small stars that circled his waist and chest like belts of fireflies; “or animating a shield,” a loud snap from his left hand had a stool levitating in front of him.
With a muttered word, he dismissed his magic, the stool clattering back down to the floor and the floating stars fading away. “With hard work, some of you might even be able to catch up and join the advanced classes I’m teaching your classmates and existing guards.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up too much though. Using magic under duress is an entirely different branch than using it in the classroom. I’ve never been in a life-or-death situation, but I suspect I wouldn’t be able to muster up the meanest spell.”
Professor Ashsprocket lowered his voice a little bit and smiled, “In fact, the first time I taught a class at Nest’eff, I was so nervous I couldn’t even make my way through a trunk-finding divination. I still have nightmares about it.” The Professor gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Before we get into the spellcraft though, let’s talk classroom rules. I only have two rules in my classroom: number one, safety comes first. That means no rough-housing, targeting spells at each other, or otherwise like a mudhead. If you don’t feel safe with a spell, stop. Number two, no laughing at your classmates’ spells. Mastering spells takes thousands of mistakes, and making sure this classroom is an environment where people feel comfortable making those mistakes and learning from them is crucial. Understood?”
Professor Ashsprocket waited to see nods from the recruits before continuing, “For the first week, we’ll be focusing on sparks.” A small groan went up from the class, but the professor seemed to have expected it, “I know, I know. You all have probably practiced making sparks in every single magic class you’ve ever been in. There’s a good reason it’s a classic classroom spell: it’s easy to vary power to, it’s easy to verify correctness, and it lends itself well to complex variations that practice speed and control. First, we’ll review the full spell form you’ll need to visualize…”
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Professor Ashsprocket dove into the lecture, pausing every few minutes to ask someone in the class to demonstrate one part of it or another, and offering quick critiques as he went. When he finished reviewing the basic spell, he went over the exercises that he wanted the class to practice. First, conjuring a handful of sparks. Then, varying the color of all of the sparks at once. Then, varying the colors of the sparks so that you held a rainbow in your hand. Finally, reducing the spark count down to a single spark. With his explanation finished, he admonished them, “Now, remember: a bush pruned wrong ever crooked grows. Perfect practice is the goal. Don’t try to push through to the next step until you feel like you’ve mastered the previous. Everyone, please find a circle and start practicing! Stay in your circle and raise your hand if you have a question about technique.”
Professor Ashsprocket grabbed Jashal and Reg on their way to their circles and gave them each one of the same green, crystal batteries they’d both failed to light during the trial. “For you two, keep trying different things to see if you can light up this battery. I’ve heard some folks describe it as learning to wiggle your ears: once you get a feeling for it, it’ll be a lot easier. I’ve ordered something from up the trunk that might help you get the knack, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”
Reg stood in a circle and focused on the green crystal in his hand. He tried relaxing, concentrating, pretending it wasn’t there, tracing the copper filigree as it wound around the crystal, trading it from hand to hand, focusing on his heart, his gut, picturing himself as a branch full of leaves, a pitcher of water pouring out, and a crackling fire. He went through the old exercises he remembered from his days in school, but no matter what he tried, the crystal remained dull and Reg felt nothing. He never had, but he’d never cared before: being able to make sparks hadn’t mattered for taking care of a flock.
In the background, Reg heard Professor Ashsprocket wending through the classroom and correcting people’s technique, “No, that’s blue not violet. Focus on narrowing the neck a little bit. Yes, that’s better.”; “Yeva, excellent power, but you’re not under control. Don’t try changing colors until you can keep them all in hand without any hopping out.”; “Yes, you’re down to a single spark, but you’ve reduced the flow too much. Start with a full hand and then try to compact it. Good, good”; “Excellent control, now try a little faster”; and “Yeva, I see that second hand. You know I meant one hand.”
As more and more spells were cast, the classroom got colder and colder. Frost started to grow on the crystal that Reg held in his hand and he broke from his concentration to rub his hands on his robes to try and warm them.
Professor Ashsprocket stopped by several times to encourage Reg and give him visualizations to try, but by the end of the class, his battery was still as dull as when class had started.
As the class wrapped up, Professor Ashsprocket assigned reading and scribing of spell formulae before freeing them for dinner. The warm air of the hallway felt like stepping into a sauna after the chill of the classroom. Reg and Jashal lingered a bit to wait for Yeva; the older woman was asking Professor Ashsprocket a few last questions.
Yeva, Jashal, and Reg took the long staircase down to dinner. Yeva was poor company, muttering to herself as she conjured a handful of sparks over and over again. Jashal and Reg commiserated with each other on the way down: neither had had the slightest luck with the battery. The conversation was quiet and slow: Reg got the sense that like him, Jashal kept flashing back to the day’s earlier The Self and the Other class. The memory felt like a tender wound that Reg’s mind kept shying away from.
Dinner was a somber affair. Yeva, Jashal, Annise, Val, and Reg sat down at the same table. The meal was a hearty goat stew that was full of meat, rich funguses, and legumes. Everyone looked exhausted; had it really only been that morning that they’d said their oaths and been accepted into the guard? The day had started out with such enthusiasm, but now Reg’s body and mind just ached and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed.
Annise was the first to break the silence, “I heard Captain Merrin let Geraldine and Ullamandor leave. It wouldn’t surprise me if a few more people ask tonight. I’m thinking about it: that class earlier today, I don’t think I can go through that again.”
Reg and others nodded slowly. At the start of the day, he’d have scoffed at the idea that a single class would make him leave, but now? He didn’t want to think about going into Instructor Mossgate’s classroom in two days. He’d rather… Well, he’d rather an awful lot of things.
Yeva broke the slow silence, “Felt like losing my daughter’s family all over again. That was all I could think about. But,” she seemed like she was gathering her thoughts slowly, “I can see why they’re doing it. Been in a few storms in my day. Most of ‘em weak, and I ain’t felt one feel like that, but I’ll walk through any thorns if it’d help me keep my mind from twisting.”
Reg grunted assent, “I’ve only been in the one storm, and I still have nightmares. If the class will help, I’ll do it.” He looked around the table, “Can’t lie though, part of sticking around is I don’t want to give up before ponces like Fenjor or Dun do.”
There was some strained laughter at that, and the mood felt a little lighter. Tomorrow loomed ahead, but they’d cross that gap when they came to it.