TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 22 (RAW)

Chapter 22 - Fresh Choices

Sometimes you make the right decision, sometimes you make the decision right.

Phil McGraw.

Classes had finally begun, and Seraphina found herself locked into a new life of seemingly endless tedium. Her schedule was still crammed with additional lessons from Lord Beron de Laney, though the atmosphere between tutor and pupil had grown strangely taut. She recognized that look in his eyes—the same yearning, equal parts dream and failure, that she had witnessed in countless others. In her mind, Lord Beron had merely joined the throng of would-be admirers who could not quite manage to acquire her. A touch pathetic, really, though she still found him useful for prying out useful information.

Now she sat in a large, sunlit classroom, her posture so perfect she might have been a living piece of art. Golden hair caught the rays that slanted in through the windows, rendering her features radiant and angelic. The boys, though they tried to be subtle, stole glances whenever they imagined she was distracted. But she knew precisely when she was being watched.

The lazy morning had drifted by with a lecture on the neighboring Empire, that sprawling conglomerate of once-warring tribes forged by Emperor Zhu Li through a dizzying blend of conquest, bribery, and political marriages. According to the lore, he had been aided by five thousand foreign warriors, a mysterious contingent from lands beyond the Empire’s borders. These were men who, according to the histories, had shaped its armies, its governance, and even its architecture. Fascinating though it was, the teacher, Mister Drenaul Zard, adored the sound of his own voice a shade too much for Seraphina’s liking, and she soon found herself sinking into an even deeper form of boredom. For a moment Seraphina fantasized about smashing his head through the blackboard.

Raise your hand, Milly, Seraphina silently commanded.

Her maid Miriam obeyed, arm shooting up like a startled jack-in-the-box.

“Miss Bottlesworth,” Zard intoned, “perhaps you can enlighten us about the year Emperor Zhu Li first received the Mandate of Heaven?”

Two thousand three hundred years before the Cataclysm, Seraphina supplied silently.

“Uh… 2300 B.C.?” Miriam ventured hesitantly.

Zard’s jowls quivered as he shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Bottlesworth. Current scholarship in Quas points to approximately 1900 B.C.”

Seraphina lifted her hand, remembering an overlooked detail. Zard acknowledged her with a wary smile. “Yes, Miss de Sariens?”

“I believe the commoner is correct,” Seraphina said, her voice as poised and collected as her posture.

Zard blinked in confusion. “I assure you, Lady, err, Miss de Sariens, the modern consensus is—”

“Next month, when groundwork begins in the Palana Gardens of the Quas Council, they will discover a hidden cache of scrolls exchanged with the Empire centuries ago. Those scrolls will date the Empire’s founding to 2300 B.C. So I’m quite certain Miss Bottlesworth…”

“This is a flight of fancy, Miss de Sariens. You cannot simply…”

“Are you calling the Sight a ‘flight of fancy,’ Mister Zard?” Seraphina asked, a serene smile on her lips but a cool challenge in her tone. She did not enjoy being interrupted. “It is, after all, one of the greatest pillars of Aranthia’s Strength.”

“Regardless, current scholarship…” he spluttered, but was cut off by the fortuitous tolling of the bell.

“Very well,” he said, clearing his throat. “We’ll continue this discussion next time. And remember, your electives begin soon. Choose wisely!” he added with a wink.

He had been saved, Seraphina noted, from a truly thorough dressing-down.

Students poured out of the classroom in a chattering stream. One of them, a pleasantly ordinary brown-haired girl named Fleur, paused by Seraphina’s desk. “Lady Seraphina, what you said about the Palana Gardens, was it true?”

Seraphina shrugged with polished indifference. “It will be. Are you tempted to join the dig? You could make quite the scholarly name for yourself.”

For a moment, Fleur appeared to seriously consider it.

Then, a slightly plump classmate with flaxen hair named Amanda, often caught daydreaming through lessons, suddenly decided to speak up. “Was it… something you foresaw with the Sight? How does it work?”

“That, my dears, is a closely guarded secret of my family,” Seraphina replied with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have Basic Spellcraft to attend, and it’s half a campus away.”

“Of course!” her classmates chorused, scattering like leaves in the breeze.

Seraphina slipped into the corridor and spotted Eloise de Savant, so petite and perfectly styled she resembled a porcelain doll, exchanging farewells with her new friend Desdemona. The moment Desdemona headed off to her Fine Arts class, Eloise turned to greet Seraphina.

“How were your classes?” Seraphina asked.

Eloise heaved a dramatic sigh. “Utterly dull, to be honest. We’ve covered nearly everything before. I feel I could sleep through the lessons without losing much.”

Seraphina wagged a finger with mock severity. “Careful, Eloise. That’s precisely how our teachers might lull you into a false sense of security. One must stay vigilant.”

“You might be right,” Eloise said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But truly, it’s been so boring. Who taught you this morning?”

“A pompous man named Zard,” Seraphina replied, rolling her eyes. “He’s overly fond of his own voice and has a habit of just droning on.”

“We got Miss Templeton,” Eloise said, wrinkling her nose. “She speaks so softly it’s impossible to catch every word, and what she does say, I’ve heard before. She’s… just not very good.”

“Everyone must start somewhere,” Seraphina said, a trace of defensiveness in her tone. “No one is a master from the start. Anyway, it’s a long walk to the Tower’s basement for our Spellcraft class. I must confess, I’m not entirely sure which route to take. We could try and cut across the grounds but I hear there is another way.”

Eloise nodded eagerly. “I’ve explored a bit—I know a shortcut. Let’s go!” She pointed at a narrow staircase. “By the way,” she added, glancing over her shoulder, “which elective did Milly pick?”

“Bookkeeping, of all things,” Seraphina said.

Eloise frowned. “Why would a maid need bookkeeping?”

Seraphina offered a graceful shrug, one that might have driven an artist mad with envy. “Who knows? Perhaps the silly girl dreams of becoming something more than a mere maid.”

***

The tunnels and corridors beneath the Academy formed a labyrinth, and Seraphina and Eloise quickly regretted taking the “shorter” underground route. Even so, after flagging down a few older students for directions, and despite Seraphina’s refusal to stoop to anything as undignified as running, they managed to arrive at their destination just in time.

They stepped into a wide, well-lit training hall already bustling with students—an almost even split of boys and girls. Rows of sconces flickered along walls clad in a dull gray substance known as Dullstone, one of the few materials completely non-conductive to Mana. Any spell striking its surface would be, for the most part, harmlessly dispersed. The ceiling was similarly lined with Dullstone, though streaks of gold formed elaborate warding symbols. One carving depicted an epic scene of dragons clashing in the heavens—an illustration of the schism of Wing and Scale that had triggered the First Cataclysm that was nearly the undoing of the world. Part masterpiece, part warning, its meaning could not be missed.

Seraphina fought the urge to grimace when she spotted the silver-haired Este Liza among the other spellcraft students. She also felt a flicker of annoyance at Hugh, who waved at her from across the room. Flushing slightly, she forced her attention onto the teacher instead. 

Her new instructor stood at the front of the students: a man of average height and dark hair, sporting sideburns along his jaw but neither mustache nor beard. He wore the deep purple robes of a magister, a gold chain of office glinting at his collar.

“You two are late,” he said coldly, his rich baritone echoing in the hall.

Seraphina considered pointing out they had arrived precisely on time, but quibbling with him now would only appear petty. So she simply inclined her head with regal grace.

“Those of you who have already received your first spells, raise your hands,” the teacher commanded.

Only Eloise and Este Liza raised their hands. Eloise had Earth magic, while Este Liza’s full repertoire remained a mystery. If memory served Seraphina correctly, the original protagonist Este Lize could use all forms of magic, a feature that was put in place to give the player maximum choice. 

Eloise threw Seraphina a sidelong glance—she alone knew Seraphina could already cast spells.

“For the latecomers,” their teacher continued, “I am your instructor, Magister Belfrost. I will not waste my time with anyone who has no wish to walk the path of Mana. Neither will I teach those who only want to learn of theory. On that table, you will find scrolls of power—Manzaza Shiptu, as they say in Al-Lazar. Choose one. You will pay for it with gold or service. If you refuse, you will have to leave my class.”

“What do you mean by service?” called a stocky boy near the back.

“A fair question, Mister Tomarin,” the magister stated.

“How did you—” started the boy, but before Tomarin could complete his protest, the Magister plowed on. 

“The Academy will accept either five hundred gold pieces or a promise that you create your own scrolls in the future, passing your Gift-Spark on before your Path consumes you.”

A murmur spread through the hall. Five hundred Aranthian gold pieces was an astronomical sum for most, even for many of the lesser nobility. Seraphina felt a stir of unease for five hundred gold pieces would basically wipe out what remained of her allowance from her parents. Around her, students exchanged worried glances.

“Magister Belfrost, sir,” ventured a determined-looking commoner, “what do you mean ‘consumed by our Path’?”

Seraphina looked at the girl who had questioned the Magister. It was one of the types that “put everything on the line.” She could smell the desperation positively reeking from her.

Magister Belfrost’s expression turned grim. “Those who walk the path of Mana risk being lured into madness by the very power they hope to control. If your own magic devours you from the inside, that is when your Path has consumed you. Four in five wild mages meet a rather… dramatic end. But if your will is strong, you can keep Mana under your command. Under my guidance, I believe only one in two will fail.” He paused, letting the severity of his words sink in. “There is no shame in refusing this Path,” he added quietly, the weight of old regrets behind his eyes. “Let this be your first lesson: Mana is the finest of servants, but the most terrifying masters.”

A boy at the edge of the group shook his head and excused himself, preferring to remain sane and alive. Slowly, others followed suit. A trickle of withdrawals soon became a flood, until only two dozen or so remained.

The Magister surveyed those left behind with a measured smile. “Your resolve—or perhaps your pride—has kept you here. That was our first test. It shows a strength of will, whatever your reasons may be. Grand or petty, it matters not, as long as the will behind it is strong. Good,” he nodded with a satisfied huff. “Under my guidance, none of you will succumb to your Path before graduation. The Academy has standards after all.”

Even so, his words were hardly comforting. The promise “before graduation” offered little solace for a lifetime of risk, for one could not step off the Path once it was chosen. Seraphina recalled why it was so rare to see truly old mages in Aranthia.

“Now,” Belfrost said, sweeping out an arm toward the table of scrolls, “it is time to choose your Path. Choose wisely an aspect that mirrors your soul, that will temper your mind and govern your future.”