39th of Sifdras - 6th Auryn

  Combat Training starts a bit differently today as Professor Blackclaw instructs us to review some of our previous bouts with our designated pairs. He challenges us to find the things we did that could use improvement as well as things we did that worked in our favor. For a normal pair, I could see this as a beneficial exercise to correct mistakes and boost confidences on strategies that have been successful. With Calas as my counterpart though, I have a feeling this will not be as simple as all that.

  We meet in what we have deemed our designated working area as most other pairs have done in the large training hall. He is shockingly contemplative, sitting wordlessly on the hardwood floor, his legs crossed at the ankles, knees wide. Shrugging mentally, I follow suit resting my elbows on my knees in front of me and my chin in my hands. I wait silently, not wanting to prompt him into speaking.

  Instead, I watch the patterns of his tattoos shift in the natural light of the room. I squint trying to determine if it is the light from the high windows flickering or if he is moving his arm to make it look like the ink is following me. Maybe he is using his shadow magic because I swear that panther on his right bicep blinked at me while staring straight at me. That is just silliness, though. I would have seen the traces of mana if he were using magic. Then again, it was difficult to see him casting the last time we pelted one another with spells.

  “See anything interesting?”, his low voice breaks my stare on the panther and I meet his gaze, regarding me with an amused smirk.

  I shake my head, managing a muttered, “No. Just… no.” in response. I fold my legs up into a crossed position in front of me and straighten my back, my arms hugging my knees to my chest. I try to recall what it is we are supposed to be doing, but I am consumed instead by trying desperately to ignore Fara’s taunts in the back of my mind.

  He gives a sigh and straightens as well. “You are too slow, mouse.”

  “Excuse me?” I exclaim, slightly offended that he thinks so little of my intelligence.

  “Your weaving. It takes too long to be really effective in combat.” His golden eyes narrow, a frown replacing the amused expression. “What did you think I meant?”

  My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Oh…” I trail off sheepishly, recalling that we are supposed to be reviewing past bouts. I respond, ignoring his question. “You got that from my bout with Greyson?”

  “Not just that,” he starts in a measured tone, “I try not to put too much stock in anything dealing with that prick.” His comment ends with a quiet kind of vehemence and a harsh look in his eyes, though I can tell it’s not meant for me.

  I purse my lips at the rare display of what I can only call animosity from him. I have seen plenty of strange emotions from Calas thus far, but I honestly don’t recall ‘spite’ being one of them. “What happened between you two that makes you hate him so much?”

  He quirks a brow in my direction, disrupting the scowl on his face into something more temperate. “Are you serious? You couldn’t tell from the other day that he will try to snub me at any opportunity?”

  I shrug in concession, “Well, yeah, but there’s gotta be a reason for it, right?”

  Calas’ posture shifts, leaning back from me, arms across his chest as a sound, like a scoff, escapes him. “Are you asking me for gossip or…?” His voice trails off before he shakes his head, changing the train of thought. “This is not something I expected from you, mouse.”

  “It’s not gossip!” I chime in, perhaps too eager to correct him. But the last thing I want to do is give an impression like Munsa from the other day. “I was just…surprised, I guess, that he would say those things to you.” My eyes dart back and forth away from his, not quite able to meet his suspicious gaze. “I was curious.”

  After a moment of thought, Calas relaxes the intensity in his eyes and speaks, “Let’s just say that Asshole VonEbonleaf and I don’t see eye to eye on pretty much any subject, the least of which being how to treat others.”

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  I blink with a scoff as if to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I give him a bemused look, not really understanding why he doesn’t see the irony in that comment. “How to treat others? You realize you are both pretty bad at that, right?”

  He chuckles sardonically, “Sure, sure, that’s true enough.” Calas shakes his head, eying me sideways with a mirthful grin, “Vicious mouse.”

  A color comes to my cheeks despite not knowing if it is a compliment or a slight. “So, you don’t deny it, then?”

  Calas tempers his expression to something more neutral, more serious, shaking his head to a faster tempo. “No. No, I suppose that is the difference between us. He doesn’t think himself a monster for how he treats people.” He shrugs, relaxing his posture, “I know exactly what kind of monster I am.” He pauses a beat before smiling at me in that predatory way, “A beast, even.”

  I bite my lower lip as a question pops into my head and before I can stop myself, it’s out of my mouth, “So did you really hurt another scribe last year?”

  An eyebrow lifts subtly. “No gossip, huh?

  “It’s just something I heard,” I mutter sheepishly. “You’re probably the only one who can actually say whether it’s true or not.”

  Calas hesitates, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, his expression unreadable behind an intense gaze. “Yeah.”

  I wait for more, but he only locks eyes with me, that serious unreadable mask on his face. I give a start, “It—It’s true?”

  He nods subtly, a weight in his golden eyes.

  My mouth works soundlessly, not knowing what to say. Part of me is speechless that he even admits it to me. The other part is wondering what else might be true about him, but before I can ask, he is speaking.

  “What about you, little mouse?” His tone is low, but still carries a note of sass. “Are you unlucky now?”

  I scoff derisively. “No.”

  “Good.” Calas pats his hands on his knees, a gesture of finality that carries in his voice. “Now that that’s out of the way, how can we get your weaving faster?”

  I scrunch my face in thought at the change in mood and subject. “I suppose it’s not really made for fast paced actions.”

  “So why not use something else?” He asks smoothly, the previous subject forgotten, his face returning to a calm neutrality.

  “I don’t know any other methods.” I respond, bristling, but then I recall my other successes this week. “What if there was a hybrid method?”

  He quirks that questioning brow at me again stating, “Explain.”

  To my credit, I only hesitate for a heartbeat before responding. “I think I might have found a sort of mixture of my weaving with the imagery you taught me.”

  He tilts his head thoughtfully, a hand on his chin. “Show me.”

  I close my eyes, and feel out the presence of the threads as I had in Professor Moonshadow’s class. I think of the candle flame weave and snap it into existence as I had before. When I open my eyes the small flame is hovering in the empty space. No candle required.

  Calas give a chuckle at the tiny flame. “Okay, not bad. That was definitely faster, but, uh,” he pauses to blow out the flame with one, concentrated breath. “I think you might need to think bigger here.”

  I frown at the obvious flaw in my choice of spell and I try again, thinking of the weave for a more potent ball of flame. I manifest it with the same trigger as the candle flame and it snaps into existence.

  “Much better. What about those air knives?”

  This one takes me a bit to think through at first. Imagining the weave and the motions, I search for the best place to set the trigger for manifestation, but as I start to imagine the desired outcome, Calas stops me.

  “Don’t close your eyes this time.”

  I give him an unpleasant expression for interrupting my concentration, to which he laughs. My brow furrows more deeply.

  “You aren’t going to be able to close your eyes in a duel or a fight. So don’t get in the habit of closing your eyes.”

  Instead of closing them, I roll them at him and begin to imagine the knives again with a circular gesture as the trigger. When I perform it, the daggers of air spindle and form in my hand until made solid. Admittedly, it is still a bit slow, but the weave is more complex than the fire one. Maybe the complexity is a limiting factor to the speed by which the threads can weave themselves without manipulation.

  “Again.” Calas intones evenly, his posture and intense gaze set and calculating.

  I perform the gesture again, but it does feel faster than the first time. I exhale a sharp breath, blowing some wayward strands of sandy blond hair out of my eyes and feeling like I might be making progress. Who would have guessed that Calas Duskwood, of all people, would be able to help me develop this skill.

  “Do you ever put up your hair?”

  The knife vanishes from my hand, all my focus collapsing in a heap. “What? What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing!” He actually sounds surprised, as if he had not expected this reaction to his very random question. Is that a shock of color on his face? “It could block your vision in a fight, is all.”

  A smile starts to form on my face as he turns his head from me and I wonder why I get such enjoyment in catching him off guard this way. My smile halts when I remember what Fara said; that it is fun to test his limits. Is this what she had meant?

  “Anyway,” He clears his throat softly, his expression recovered now. “I think it’s definitely worth practicing this method. The good thing about using imagery is that is should come more naturally the more you use it. In this case, you should get faster at it each time you link the image with the movement.”

  I nod, trying the air knife again and finding that his words ring true. It is faster than the previous times. Together we go through at least a dozen other spells, trying to find ones that make the most sense for me to use for the next bout.