25th of Sifdras - 4th Auryn

  Our Combat class starts by Professor Blackclaw telling us to get into the predetermined pairs from last week and I groan at the anticipation of spending an entire morning with Calas. Cira gives my hand a squeeze, obviously thinking the same thing I am, and bids me good luck as she goes to meet Tymon, her easy-going partner with a curly mop of brown hair, whom she told me is a satyr after class last week. Indeed, as I watch them greet one another from across the large room, I glance down to see Tymon’s hooves peeking out of especially baggy pants. I cannot help but stare in awe and with a bit of curiosity.

  “I wasn’t aware you were interested in animal hybrids,” comes a familiar voice from behind me.

  I don’t even turn to look at Calas and say the first thing that pops into my head. “Well, you do keep calling me ‘little mouse’. Maybe your tastes are starting to rub off on me.”

  “Oh-ho, the mouse has teeth today.” His voice is a mixture of amusement and mockery as he walks up and puts a tattooed hand on my shoulder. Glancing at the hand out of the corner of my eye, I see the head of a snake staring back at me. “Come on, I will let you sharpen them on me.”

  I turn as he walks away and reluctantly follow to an empty section of the room where we can practice. I take the walk to study his back, trying to ignore the other pairs as they practice casting spells at one another or giving pointers about how to cast more efficiently. Instead, I find myself staring at the tattoos climbing up his arms, fully visible courtesy of the sleeveless shirt he wears.

  Other than the snake which is coiled down his left arm, there is a large black cat on the other arm in a pouncing position, its tail winding around his wrist. On his neck starting back at me is an extremely detailed wolf’s face. It is so realistic, that on more than one occasion, I could swear I caught it blink at me.

  In between the large, life-like animal prints are sporadically placed patterns and symbols I do not recognize, but these seem purely decorative. The black ink on his dark skin almost makes all the images feel like they are shifting and moving with the light. Reaching a secluded spot of the large training hall, he turns to me and I, too quickly, look away.

  “Since I now know your aversion to incantation, perhaps we can work on your imagery. It might help to shorten those gestures of yours, which took a bit too long last week.” He goes on, seeming not to notice my earlier glances. “For this first bout, I want you to try that fireball again and don’t hold back.” He takes a few steps away and gets into a defensive posture, which I have seen some other scribes use, though, his foot placement seems different somehow.

  I put a bit of distance between us too, not trusting myself to not actually hurt him. I prepare with a calming breath, pulling on some threads in the area, and weave a series of pellet-sized fireballs that fly straight toward him at varying angles. He dodges them all easily.

  “Come on, that was pitiful.” He groans at me from across the way. “Where did the teeth go? Again!”

  My eyes are a scathing deadpan at his taunt. I pull at the threads again, willing them into existence with an edge of my rage, my loathing for the smugness on his face. This time I form that emotion into three white-hot orbs and send them flying at him with fervor.

  Clapping his hands together, I see a flash of mana as he casts a spell, similarly without words. In an instant, a thin, shadowy barrier forms around him and as his hands come apart, he intercepts the first, the second, and the third orb with a fluid stream of dark water; cooling and deflecting the orbs in one smooth motion. “Much better!”

  My jaw drops. What was that flash? I couldn’t see any threads form the magic he wielded. It’s as if the spell just apparated out of nothing. A sense of vertigo grips me and I wonder if this is what others see when I weave my spells; not seeing anything but the result. It is uncomfortable to say the least.

  The water from his hands dissipates into little threads of blue floating around him and I narrow my eyes in his direction, thinking that I saw a brief glow of mana from his skin. Calas’ voice calling to me shakes my focus, though. “Something faster this time, mouse.” He snaps his fingers to exude the quickness he demands.

  I inhale sharply at his stupid nickname for me and this time do not hesitate to unleash woven daggers of air hurtling in his direction. They are barely visible to the naked eye and the first one hits the thin film of shadow in front of him, a visible crack in the thin veneer showing. He reacts then, barely dodging the others by moving in an impossibly agile manner. Even after all that insane movement, one air dagger still manages to do a bit of damage to him as a thin red line appears on his face, dripping slightly. Swiping the spot with a finger, he smears the small amount of blood on his cheek and when he glances down at his hand, he smiles wickedly, “That’s more like it.”

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  My hands cover my wince and the shame of actually hitting him still has me reeling. When his words reach me though, I slowly start to relax. Is that excitement in his voice? What kind of maniac is this guy, anyway?

  He chuckles, changing his stance again, not even bothering to stop and bandage his cheek, as if content to just let it bleed. “What else you got? Surely, that can’t be it.”

  He must be insane, I think to myself as I prepare the next attack uncertainly. No longer in a defensive stance, I am suddenly worried about actually hitting him. The thought is followed immediately by a resurgence of disgust. This is the same guy that all but pushed me into a forbidden room, tattled on me to a professor, and started a rumor among the scribes that I am cursed.

  A surge of adrenaline spurs me to weave, pulling on the strings and immediately forming the lattice to bring them to reality. Using my body as well as my will, I propel the earthen canon ball that was formed directly at him.

  At the same moment, as if ready for this, that flash goes off around him and he releases a wave of dark water toward me. It is not at me, I realize, it is at my large, heavy projectile. As the two magics collide, my earthen sphere is diminished, but not completely as it passes through the wave; still streaking in his direction.

  A second later, I hear a loud smack, as he catches the apple-sized stone that made it through to him in both hands. After a moment of gritted his teeth, he opens his grip, letting bits of compacted earth crumble onto the ground in a pile of blackened dust. I can only shake my head in equal parts relief and consternation. I’m currently leaning toward the latter.

  Calas stands to his full height while brushing the dirt off his hands, inhaling slowly and deeply before closing the distance between us. I take this to mean our first bout is finished and meet him halfway.

  “Feel better, mouse?” He asks and I nod slowly, still not wanting to acknowledge this name he has chosen for me. “Good. Now it’s my turn.” I roll my eyes at him, but refocus quickly when he continues. “But first I want to show you something.”

  “All right.” I say slowly, my eyes narrowing.

  A soft chuckle escapes him, “Don’t look so excited, it’s just a shield.”

  Is that supposed to be a joke? “Like one of your shadow shields?”

  Calas shrugs, gesturing haplessly, “It doesn’t have to be. I use shadow because it comes naturally to me. You should think about what comes naturally to you.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest and gesturing in my direction, giving me a pointed look. “Anything come to mind?”

  “Oh,” picking up on his queue, I try to think about what comes naturally to me other than disasters. “Uhg, I don’t know,” I whine, feeling discouraged and uncomfortable.

  “Hmm,” A snake-covered hand rubs at his chin thoughtfully and I eye the dried blood on his cheek. Not that I am squeamish about blood, I just never thought that I would be the one to cause even this minor occurrence of harm to someone. “What was the first spell you ever cast?”

  “Successfully?”

  “Sure, or maybe, the first one you attempted on your own.”

  “Ah,” I knew immediately, then, “it was a light spell.”

  Calas laughs with a mirth that seems misplaced, as I don’t get the joke. “Figures. So I want you to think about shaping the light into something physical. And I don’t mean like glass or something breakable. Think of it as being made out of something you feel is nigh impenetrable.” He pauses for another beat, eying me intently. “Can you see it?” He taps his own forehead with a finger thrice.

  I nod slowly, trying to picture the shield made of light, but not made of light. It was proving harder than I expected and I frown.

  He frowns, too, reading me correctly. “Alright, try this. Close your eyes. Don’t pout your lip at me, just close your damn eyes.” He huffs a sigh of frustration before measuring his tone. “Think of the light forming into one piece of a tortoise’s shell. You know, those hexagonal, diamond-like shapes. And then imagine interlocking rows of these shapes forming a wall in front of you.”

  There is a pause, but I’m nodding my head now, starting to see how threads of light could be woven this way. Still he continues, “Now think of this wall as being malleable only to you. Think about curving the wall, to protect your flank, or even wrapping yourself in a circular shell or a bubble of hexagonal diamonds of light.”

  I smile at the thought of a shining, shimmering barrier of little tiles of impenetrable light. Without thought or warning, I call the light to me and weave the pattern in my head, flicking my wrist here and there to form the necessary curve. When I open my eyes, I am inside my cozy barrier of brilliant, radiant light.

  Calas has taken a few steps back from me I realize and I see him half shielding his eyes with a snake covered hand from the powerful glow. “Great. Now let’s test it.”

  “Huh?” I ask, dumbfounded, but get my answer quickly as a bolt of shadow crashes into my shield. “Hey!” I protest at Calas’ back as he puts a bit more space between us.

  “How else are we supposed to test it?” That smug, devilish smile has returned to his face when he turns back around, making me want to throw more air daggers at him.

  Unfortunately I have no time for this as his magic assaults my shining beacon of a shield over and over again. I am actually quite pleased to find that it takes quite a long time for Calas to put a dent in it.

  Once he stops, though, it is my turn to smile smugly as we hurl our magic at one another, unimpeded by the thought of hurting the other for the rest of the morning. I can’t recall the last time I had so much fun casting magic.