The day after the end of the Midwinter holiday, Ozorne treated his two friends to a boat ride from the university to the port city of Thak’s Gate, at the end of the Zekoi. The season wasn’t ideal for boat rides, but they bore the winter rains for the excitement of visiting the markets, which were open and booming, filled with people from all around the Inland Sea. They came back exhausted and happy, carrying their purchases under their waterproof cloaks.
When Ozorne and Arram reached Master Lindhall’s lodgings, they discovered he had planned a surprise for them. One of the fourth-year helpers, a stocky young black woman whose expertise lay with reptiles, encountered them in the hall and snagged Ozorne’s arm. “Come and see,” she told him, dragging him into the rooms she shared with two other fourth-year helpers. “You know there’s only three of us in these rooms now, since Baaro went east to study herds.”
Confused, Ozorne nodded. Inside the main lounge, the other two occupants—one male, one female—lazed on broad couches and read. They waved as the woman, Nyoka, opened a door. She indicated the room beyond. “We did our best, but doubtless you’ll want to shift things around.”
Ozorne went inside; Arram followed. Someone had brought Ozorne’s things from his cramped quarters to these far bigger ones. He now had shelves, a good-sized bed, a proper desk and chair, and a standing cupboard in addition to his chest. It lacked only a window. “Much better,” the prince said as he dumped his belongings on the bed.
“There’s no window,” Arram pointed out.
Ozorne shrugged. “Who needs a window when you have a scrying mirror?” he asked. “I’ve gotten very good at finding the lake and the woods at Mother’s home whenever I want.” He led the way into the sitting room the four shared. “This is wonderful!” he told them.
Nyoka took Arram’s arm. “Now come. You’re dripping.” She towed him across the hall to the room that belonged to Lindhall’s personal assistant. He was not there. For that matter, his collection of gaudy drapes and brightly colored bowls was gone as well. Instead the bed was covered with plain red blankets and pillows, the floor with a brown rug. A desk fitted with shelves above it stood beside a tall set of bookshelves already partly stocked. There was a chair and a padded stool big enough to sit on. A table stood by the window. Branches of candles stood on the desk and table.
And on a lesser table, tucked into the space between the bed and the door, was Preet’s cage. The minute she saw Arram she began to twitter and sing.
Arram looked at Nyoka, trembling. He knew what he thought, but he wasn’t on the level that Lindhall would require from his assistant. “I don’t understand,” he said.
The door next to the desk was already open. Now Lindhall entered. “My assistant, like several others among my group of students, is off to…”
“Amar District,” Nyoka told him with a smile. “He forgets details about human beings,” she explained to Arram. “Master Lindhall has asked me to take his tasks, but he can’t have a woman living in the assistant’s quarters with him alone. People will talk. I’ll be across the hall. If he shoves in here in the middle of the night, just come and get me.” She grinned cheekily at Lindhall. “Though we did rig a summoning bell. Except he seems to have misplaced his end.”
Lindhall tried to frown at Nyoka. “I’m sure it’s in my study somewhere.”
Arram looked at them. “Is it on wire?”
“No, cotton cord,” Nyoka said.
“Better still,” Arram told her. “I could probably find wire, but cotton should be easier.”
Lindhall raised his eyebrows. “There are hooks in the hall between our doors. Hang up your cape—silly things. Useful only for shedding water. Hang it up, and you can come try.”
It took Arram only a few moments to apply Master Hulak’s spell for finding a particular plant. The leading end of the cord had gotten trapped under two fat books on songbirds and a cold teapot in the master’s study. With the problem solved and Nyoka chuckling to herself, Arram retreated to his new home.
Lindhall followed him. “I promise not to be in and out,” he assured Arram, “but I did want to draw your eyes to this. I had it made over the holiday.” He picked up a piece of cloth from the desk and offered it to Arram, who took it. It was a blue pouch with a long, thick cord attached. The bottom bulged flatly. When Arram put his hand inside, he found a wooden rod was attached to the sides near the bottom, while at the bottom itself was a wooden disk to hold the sides apart.
Arram smiled at the tall Northerner. “For Preet?”
Lindhall smiled back. “You know what she is like if you leave her at night. I now feel free to inform you that if she is left completely alone during the day, she raises a very similar amount of noise.”
Stricken with guilt, Arram said, “Master, I’m sorry!”
“Which is why I did not tell you before,” Lindhall replied, waving off the apology. “Apparently sunbirds are very sociable. From all I have learned, and you may read that book as a start on what we know of immortals that fly in general”—he pointed to one of Arram’s new bookshelves—“sunbirds do not strike out on their own. They remain in their original flocks, or when a flock is deemed too large, they separate into smaller ones. To Preet, you are her flock. Other humans—Ozorne, Varice, one or two of my students, myself—will do, but in fact she wants to be with you. I have sent notices to your teachers and to the cooks that Preet will be with you throughout the day. Unless, of course, Master Sebo takes you underwater.”
Preet made an ugly croaking sound. Picking her up to tickle her chest, Arram noticed that she had grown since their first meeting. She now filled his palm and reached the middle knuckles of his hand.
Lindhall was chuckling. “She doesn’t mind splashing in her water dish, but apparently walking into it is not to her taste.”
Arram stroked Preet’s head. “Don’t worry, I won’t take you into the river.” He looked up at his teacher. “I can’t thank you…This is so wonderful….”
“You need not thank me. I have sick rabbits and lizards whose cages must be cleaned,” the master replied. “Whenever you are free, you should check the sickrooms to clean out those areas that need it, and refill such dishes as require it. During the day, gather up old teacups and dishes and set them on a tray outside my door for the floor’s servants to take away. And occasionally I will require help around here.”
Arram could hardly breathe. Work with the sick creatures? Help Master Lindhall? He felt as if he had gone to the Divine Realms.
“At least, now that you are here with Preet, you will have a proper bed and you will be able to sleep until dawn,” Lindhall said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the menagerie, as my other helpers say. Now, off to supper with you.”
Arram hurried to meet his friends, Preet chuckling from inside her new pouch. It was going to be a splendid term.
The three friends spent most of their free time during the remainder of the term in Lindhall’s domain. Varice worked on medicines at the direction of the older students, who told Lindhall of her precision with the measurements. It may have looked like work, and for Arram and Ozorne it sometimes smelled like work, but they thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Prisca sent Arram a couple of notes asking if he wished to accompany her into the city. Once she stopped by. He was always too busy to go with her. He offered to show her around when she visited, but one look into the room where they had a group of snakes and lizards sent her on her way. Arram would have gone after her, but he had a number of tasks to do. He’d also discovered that Preet didn’t care for her.
Before the friends knew it, the free week was over. Their spring term schedules arrived the day before classes began. Reviewing his, Arram saw only one change. He was now taking advanced charms with a specific teacher, someone named Faziy aHadi. It was an old name from western Carthak—female, he was pretty sure.
Together with the schedule came marks, always a matter of slight discord between him and Ozorne. Arram was unhappy to find more sixes and sevens for the last term, but not surprised. Diop had worn on him, and the arrival of Preet had distracted him in December. He would just have to buckle down this term.
Over breakfast Ozorne noticed that he had a mark lower than Arram’s, though he ranked higher—as usual—in illusions. His marks for war magic were also high. He joked about it being good that he knew Arram was cleverer than he was, but his eyes sent a different message. Arram shrugged. Ozorne would feel better in a week or so.
He left his friends early so he could perform his day’s chores for Lindhall and get a good night’s sleep. Unlike them, he still had Yadeen’s class and the one with Cosmas before the school day began. He wished Ozorne studied with Cosmas as well, but Ozorne now took fire magic later in the day, with Chioké.
With the new term they had some new workrooms in which to meet with instructors. These were separate buildings on the western side of the School for Mages, beside the service road used by tradesmen to bring goods to the mages and kitchens. All three of the friends had been excited about this the day before: they had to be moving ahead if they were to be admitted to the rooms where the mages did their deepest spell-work.
Arram’s first experience in one naturally was with Yadeen. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the long, bright place with windows set near the ceiling was not it. The tables and counters were polished light-colored wood, as were the tall stools. Stones were arrayed in tidy square boxes on shelves six and seven layers high on both sides of the room. Cabinets supported the counters. Braziers stood in each corner, supplying warmth—the morning was cold. One also supported a teapot.
Arram produced Preet for Yadeen to look at, but if Preet intrigued him, he showed no sign of it. He simply ordered Arram to place her near a working brazier so he could juggle unencumbered.
Arram was all thumbs when Yadeen tossed him a piece of amethyst in place of a fourth ball, but it seemed that at least one irregular object in the circle was the rule for the first half hour. For the second half, Yadeen introduced him to the art of magically breaking a crystal the size of his fist into many tinier crystals—or at least, attempting to do so. Arram reached the end of the hour sweaty, without removing so much as a speck of crystal with his Gift. Even worse, he could have sworn he heard Preet make a rude noise when he stopped. He was wistfully dreaming of life as a peddler or beekeeper. His wrists were so tired that they ached.
“I don’t understand,” he complained to Yadeen when they ended. “It seemed easy enough when we split the chunks of marble into straight-sided pieces.”
Yadeen raised a heavy brow. “I believe I was the mage in charge,” he reminded Arram gently.
Blushing, Arram gathered up his belongings and Preet, then thanked Yadeen and left the workroom. At least Cosmas’s workroom was next door.
The breakfast that waited there helped. While Varice and Arram used pancakes with pistachios to scoop up eggs, Cosmas fed Preet whatever she expressed a wish for in between sips of tea. When the two young people sighed with content, the master told Preet, “Try the seeming of a blackbird fledgling from here on. It will match your size better.” To Arram he said, “Even the young creatures of the Divine Realms are more intelligent than our adult animals. How did you come by her?”
Arram didn’t want to lie to this man who had been so good to him. Miserably he replied, “I really can’t say, Master Cosmas.”
The master looked him over, and then patted his shoulder. “Never mind. I hope you’ll be able to tell me eventually.”
Preet voiced a soft musical note that spiraled into the air. Her blend of light and dark gray feathers shifted to speckled brown on her belly.
Arram and Varice gawped at her.
“I thought she might possess her own magic. Now she is palm-sized and matches her feathers.” Cosmas rubbed his hands. “Where did we stop? Drawing heat from the air itself. Varice, let me see you try.” Cosmas lit a candle. “Give it a go.”
Arram’s next class was with Lindhall himself. Other students were also present, including Varice and Ozorne. The prince waved to Arram and yawned; morning was not his best time. Arram settled at a corner desk—this room was a regular classroom—and propped the bird’s pouch on his lap.
Lindhall turned away and began to write on the immense slate board on one side of the room. “We shall spend this term in the examination of how reptiles give birth and raise their young. Also, of how parts of reptiles—skins taken when they are shed, eggshells left behind, bones once they are deceased—may be put in magic. We will have no capture or killing of wild reptiles under my auspices, understand?”
Arram grinned with excitement. This was exciting! Varice opened her notebook and readied her quill, while Ozorne sat up. Preet perched on Arram’s shoulder, tucked against his neck. Once there, she fluffed her feathers and did not move again for the length of the class. Since Arram was in a corner, no one noticed her until it came time to go.
“Arram minds her for me,” Lindhall called over the student’s exclamations. “She is not a pet. Do you really wish to be late to your next classes?”
Ozorne and Arram trotted toward their class on tribal magic. “You should have something more exciting for her than that dull old bag,” he told Arram. “Something with more padding if you’re going to bump her around like that. Varice would sew something if you asked nicely. Or Prisca.”
Arram made a face. “I don’t know about Prisca. She was having supper with some fellow from the School of Law last night, didn’t you see?”
“Perhaps she’s trying to make you jealous,” Ozorne suggested. “You pretty well ignored her over the break.”
“I told her I was working for Master Lindhall. She has to understand how things are. And I don’t like it when people play games like making other people jealous.” Arram kicked at one of the rocks lining the path and hurt his toe. Preet ran her beak over his ear—was she consoling him?
Ozorne held up a hand, panting. “Stop. I have to catch my breath—I can’t walk in all sweaty and gasping. I still think Prisca is trying to give you a hint.”
Arram looked down. “I think so, too. Just not the ‘I’m making you jealous so you’ll pay more attention to me’ sort of hint.”
Ozorne patted him on the shoulder unoccupied by a bird. “Too bad, but cheer up. There are other girls. Let’s go to class.”
Master Urukut, in tribal magic, only glanced at Preet. “That would be the bird you are minding for Lindhall?” the Apalite mage inquired. “I will not allow it to distract the class.”
He waved off Arram’s explanation that Preet would do no such thing and pointed for them to take their seats. Since Preet was napping, the master took no more interest in her, nor did anyone else. Arram sighed quietly with relief.
The last class of the morning was held in Master Ramasu’s large workroom, where Arram was the only student. When the big, broad-shouldered man looked him over, Arram felt compelled to produce Preet. Seeing her, the university’s chief healer raised an eyebrow.
“Sir, this is Preet?” Arram said, though it came out more as a question. “I think Master Lindhall mentioned I was caring for her?” He knew he sounded like a very junior student, but he couldn’t help it. Ramasu the Cloud-Handed was the greatest healer south of the Inland Sea. Arram knew how privileged he was to be learning from the man, and how amazing it was for him to be the only student in the room at the moment.
Ramasu inspected first the bird and then Arram with eyes that were a strange mix of gray and brown. At last he said, “That little bird will get you into more trouble than you can handle, boy.”
Arram scuffed his foot on the floor. “Everyone knows I’m just minding her for lessons, sir. And a friend. Master Lindhall thought that since she’s in my care, I should do a study of her.” He was talking too much, so he clamped his teeth together, hard.
“Indeed.” The master did not sound convinced. “Do you know how long she is to be in your care?”
Arram tucked Preet back into her pouch. “The friend wasn’t precise.”
Ramasu turned to the big slate hung on one of the narrow sides of the room and picked up the chalk. “Do you know why he was not precise?”
“He said there might be difficulties,” Arram replied, looking over the mage’s shoulder. Ramasu wrote in large, sharp letters, “Sunbird?”
Arram gulped. “Yes, sir, I know.” He shrugged. “What can I do, when someone vastly important asks for so small a favor?” Reaching into the pouch, he petted the bird’s soft head with a finger. “She’s no trouble, though I might catch some one day, if I’m cornered by somebody who won’t wait for an explanation. Somebody truly great. Outside the university, so to speak.”
“Demand a hearing before Minoss,” Ramasu told him. “Such a request must be honored by all gods. Once you are before the Great Judge, tell the truth. Bad things happen to those who lie to him. You will be fine once Minoss hears you.”
Arram eyed the master. “You say that as if you didn’t exactly learn it from a book.”
Ramasu looked down with a smile. “I have not always been the sober fellow who teaches herbs and simples. Now, when was your—blackbird—last fed?”
Preet was nibbling on Arram’s finger. Hurriedly he dug into an outer pouch of his workbag and brought out a wheat roll. Preet clambered up the arm still in her pouch. As soon as she had a grip on Arram’s wrist, she strained toward the shelf that lay along one long wall beneath windows of real glass. Among the healer’s tools placed there was a plate of figs and olives.
“She seems to have indicated a preference,” Ramasu said. “Since she is not a true bird, whatever her camouflage signifies, we must trust that she knows what is good for her. Set the food and the bird on the floor in that corner, if you will.”
Arram obeyed.
“Now,” the master said, indicating one of two walls of shelves full of jars and bottles, “my assistants have worked with you, but I have not. What I have heard is…interesting, so I have arranged this examination. You see I have turned these containers to conceal the labels. Use your Gift to identify common herbs and healers’ potions, and describe their uses. That short ladder by the door will let you reach the top shelf. Begin where you please.”
Arram looked at the shelves and at his shaking hands. After all he had heard of this man, he did not want to make a fool of himself. He took off his robe, folded it, and set it where he wouldn’t trip over it, along with his workbag. Ramasu took a seat on a tall stool near Preet.
Arram placed the ladder at one end of the shelves and stepped to the top. Drawing a deep breath, he let it go, summoned a cord of his Gift into his fingers, and touched the first jar there. The moment his power began to flow through his hand, his brain cooled and his body settled.
“Aloe in balm form,” he said. “For burns and scrapes. It can also be used raw for insect bites and burns.” He touched the next container. “Anemone. Sedation, dysentery, and fevers. Users must be wary of getting it on the skin. It can blister.” Another jar. “Angelica. For women if they have trouble with monthly bleeding, to strengthen a body recovering from disease, to steady an irregular heart.” On he went, skipping those he did not know. He finished more than a hundred jars before the bell rang for lunch.
“Very good,” Ramasu said as Arram shoved his hair back from his face. He’d gotten very excited about naming the jars’ contents and what they did. “I am impressed,” the healer admitted. “You know more than most second-year healing students. Now, tomorrow I must go to one of the city infirmaries. You shall go with me. I am in and out, so my students will continue to teach some of your lessons. You and I shall muddle along, however. Anatomy next. Have you studied musculature? Veins?”
Arram shook his head to both. “Only skeletons, sir.”
Ramasu picked up a book from a nearby shelf. “Read two chapters for Tuesday, when you and I will be back here. We will begin with veins. As for your friend…” Somehow during the last two hours Preet had migrated to his lap. Ramasu handed her to Arram. “You may have her back. Off with you both. A promising start, Arram.”
He didn’t think he’d breathe again after a welcome like that, but somehow he made it to the dining hall. Ozorne waited for him at the door. “I see from your face it went well and the great man didn’t crush you,” he said, clapping Arram on the shoulder. “Very good. We thought we’d eat outside, since it’s not so bad and not so cold. Varice is holding a table, and I’m getting her lunch as well as mine. How is your friend?”
“On my other shoulder,” Arram said as they went in and grabbed trays and utensils. “She charmed Master Ramasu.” He turned so Ozorne could see Preet.
“She’s a charming girl,” Ozorne said cheerfully.
Once they had their meals, they went outside to join Varice. Swiftly she cleared her bag and Ozorne’s from the table. “Where were you?” she demanded. “I had to fight off three parties of idiots, as if this was the only spot.”
“We came as fast as we could,” Arram said. He lifted Preet from his shoulder and offered her to Varice. “Let Preet soothe you.”
Preet was talking softly to Varice when a stocky young man asked, “May we sit here?”
He and a slightly taller young woman had approached them, trays in their hands. He was a Northerner with the remains of a gold tan, hazel eyes, and golden-brown hair. Under his white Upper Academy first-year robe he wore a green tunic and brown breeches. Varice dimpled when he smiled warmly at her. Arram and Ozorne, who had just begun eating, exchanged frowns. They were always a bit mistrustful of anyone who set out to charm Varice right away.
His companion was a dark-brown-skinned woman from one of the middle districts of the empire. She had black eyes, slightly pockmarked cheeks, and coarse black hair. She wore it braided and fixed in coils with enameled pins. Under her own first-year robe she wore a maroon tunic and thin yellow leggings, both made of wool. She looked them over. “He is Tristan Denane,” she said. “I am Gissa Rachne.”
“Have pity,” Tristan said, still smiling at Varice. “I think yours is the only table where everyone isn’t complaining of how miserable they are to return to class. Those who aren’t complaining? They still look decidedly unpleasant. Except your group. You seem pleasant.”
“They’ll still look unpleasant if you sit with us,” Ozorne told Gissa. “We’re not the most popular students here.”
“We’ll take our chances,” she said with a wry smile. “These trays are heavy.”
Sensing that his friends meant to agree, Arram moved closer to Varice so Gissa could fit between him and Ozorne. Varice made room for Tristan as Preet hopped back to Arram.
“Does anyone else have a pet?” Tristan asked. “I haven’t seen any.”
“She’s not a pet,” Arram said, holding Preet against his chest and running a finger down her back.
“Arram minds her for one of our masters. He isn’t exactly an everyday student, so don’t take him for an example,” Ozorne cautioned. “He’s got single teachers for nearly all of his courses.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “My congratulations.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you could see his schedule,” Varice said, spooning up mouthfuls of chickpea soup. Pausing, she asked, “Tristan, you’re from the North, yes?”
“Maren,” Tristan replied. “Gissa is from the Amar District here. I’ve been one of her father’s students for the last two years, until he said we’d both do better here.”
“Welcome,” Ozorne said. “We’ve introduced Arram, and his blackbird fledgling is Preet. He’s from Tyra originally—Arram, that is.” He offered Preet a piece of bean, which she ate. He went on. “I’m Ozorne. I’m Carthaki. She’s Varice, from Tusaine originally.”
Gissa nodded at Varice. “What classes do you take?” she asked. “Have you got that scary fellow Chioké for the introductions to the university and the city?”
“Oh, goodness, no,” Varice replied. “We’ve been here for years. We know the university and the capital. Ozorne even knows the palace pretty well.”
“If you like, we can take you around,” Ozorne offered. “Chioké isn’t bad, but he doesn’t know the useful places. We can show you ones that don’t charge too much. The introductory tours are well enough, but they tend to rush things a bit.”
“Thank you—we appreciate that!” Tristan said.
“Ozorne, I don’t know if I can help,” Arram reminded him quietly. “I have all that extra work.”
“Why extra? Are they punishing you for something?” Gissa inquired. She smiled crookedly at Arram.
“Actually, they are—he’s clever,” Ozorne said.
“That is an affliction,” Tristan remarked with a smile for Arram. “But I think we’ll take our chances with you, eh, Gissa?”
“Of course. You aren’t as loud as those others.” Gissa nodded toward the main dining hall. “I came from a small village.”
Arram understood that, with his love of libraries. “There are quiet areas,” he said as his friends nodded.
“And it gets better as the term goes on,” Varice added. “People will have work to do. They won’t be lively enough to carry on like this.”
Preet chose that moment to give voice to a soft, enchanting trill of song that made even Gissa melt and Tristan grin. When the bell to prepare for class chimed, they all sighed and reluctantly gathered their things.
As Arram and Ozorne waited for the young women and Tristan to emerge from the washrooms after lunch, Ozorne nudged his friend. “Tristan and Gissa seem all right, don’t they?”
Arram looked at him. Ozorne missed having more than two friends, that was clear. “They’re all right for now. We’ll have to see.”
“Our luck has to turn sometime,” Ozorne said. To the returning girls and Tristan he said, “I have truth-reading now. So does Varice.”
“I have it,” Gissa said, reviewing the schedule on a parchment in her bag.
“As do I,” Tristan announced.
Arram shrugged. “Charms. Faziy aHadi—I don’t recognize her name.”
“Poor Arram.” Ozorne looked at Tristan’s schedule. “The rest of us are all in the same room! Well, there’s luck!”
“So it is,” Tristan said. He offered an arm to each young woman. “Let us go immerse ourselves in the truth.”
Ozorne followed them, smiling. Arram looked down into the pouch. Preet had tucked her head under her wing and was snoozing.
“I suppose it’s just us, then,” he murmured, and set off for class.
Faziy aHadi had a workroom near those used by Yadeen, Cosmas, and Ramasu. He had to run to get there. He was late even so, and drenched by the rain that had begun to fall while he used outdoor shortcuts.
The woman who greeted him at the door was just his height at five feet ten inches, strong-bodied, with bronze-brown skin. Her wide white smile over a full lower lip dazzled him. She had a short, broad nose, dimples, and sparkling black eyes with long lashes. Her splendid black hair was wrapped in coils and secured with braids and gold hairpins in the shapes of tiny monkeys. She wore a blue wool dress under a yellow adept’s robe, which startled him—he expected her to be a red-robed master.
“You are surely Arram,” she said, urging him inside. “Isn’t the weather vile? I had lunch with Lindhall Reed—his description of you was very good. But I was told you have a bird in your care.”
“Oh, Preet!” Arram had kept her under his arm and robe, out of the weather. He fished the little bird out of the pouch as she grumbled. Carefully he showed Faziy his new friend.
“But how adorable!” she exclaimed, holding out a hand for Preet to examine. “A blackbird fledgling?”
“We believe so, um—Master?” Arram wasn’t sure what to call her.
The woman laughed as Preet walked onto her palm and up her arm. “Faziy will do. Technically I have taken all the charms classes to be granted a mastery, but I had to take leave of the university for a time before I could complete my credential. It was decided I can teach charms to the Upper and Lower Academies while I finish my mastery.” She saw Arram’s eyes go to the items on the shelves and the walls. “Go ahead—look around.”
He did so, listening to the sounds she exchanged with Preet. The teacher knew a number of birdcalls, trying them out when the youngster didn’t respond to blackbird sounds. He thought briefly that they should have realized this might be a problem, but he forgot about that in his fascination with the things on the wall shelves. They ranged from small metal, stone, and straw charms to necklaces, bracelets, dolls, braided or knotted strings, hand-sized mirrors, and wax or clay figures.
There were also several pieces like branches or sticks thickly coated in sand. One of them formed the shape of an O. He stretched his hand out over a slender shape. His hand tingled, and the hairs on the back of his fingers and wrist stood on end.
“Mages of long ago called them fulgurite,” Faziy said over his shoulder. Arram flinched. He didn’t even know the teacher had come up to him. “They are what happens when lightning strikes sand—well, very strong lightning. Beneath the surface it goes solid. We only know this when the sand on top washes off or is blown away.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Go on. Pick it up. It was fused a long time ago; it won’t hurt you.”
Arram gently wrapped his hand around a branch of it. He feared it would crumble to pieces, but it was as hard as stone. The tiny prickles raced up his arm again. “There’s lightning still in it!” he exclaimed, letting go.
She chuckled, a lovely, low sound in his ear. “That’s your imagination, my lad. The lightning was gone from these pieces centuries ago. Ages ago. You’ve been to the museum?” Arram nodded. “You’ve seen the skeletons of the giant lizards and birds, the huge elephants? It’s all from that time.”
Arram opened his mouth to argue, and closed it. Whether she had finished her classes to be a master or no, she was close to being one. It was not his place to argue. He did ask, “Why is that round one so different? The others just look like sticks.”
Faziy laughed. “Oh, that! I made that one!”
Arram gawped at her; even Preet squeaked.
Faziy looked down her nose at the little bird. “You’re not even supposed to be able to make sounds like that.” She looked at Arram. “I didn’t say it was easy.”
“You said it requires lightning!” Now it was time for him to squeak.
She smiled. “And it does. I am lucky enough that the lightning snakes find me amusing. When they’re about, sometimes I can coax them to help me do things. But it took years of practice, and knowledge, and study. Half of the time it doesn’t work, because they’re willful creatures.” She flicked the bird on the beak with a finger. “Most of the mages who try it incinerate themselves.”
Arram only grasped one idea out of all that she said. “L-l-lightning snakes?”
Faziy sighed and settled into one of the chairs at the room’s big table. She motioned for Arram to sit in another.
“Among the tribes, it is known that there is magic in far more things than the school mages believe,” she told him. “Well, lightning snakes ride with lightning in the season of storms. Some think they are the lords of lightning and give them names. Some think they are simply creatures like the immortals of old, the centaurs and Stormwings. I think they are more like gods. If there’s a big storm when we have class, I’ll try to show you some. Now, where did you end when you took charms the last time?”
Arram left the class dazed and filled with wonder. Never mind that he had made a botch of a twisted straw-and-wire charm for good crops. The thought of snakes made of lightning enchanted him. He couldn’t wait to see one!
He arrived early to his next class, which gave him private time to introduce Dagani to the sleeping Preet. Dagani eyed the bird and indicated a place where Arram could place her pouch out of the way as he worked.
“Lindhall told Faziy and me about her over lunch,” the master said. “I understand you just came from Faziy’s class.”
Arram nodded. Abruptly he said, “She told me about lightning snakes. Have you ever seen any?”
“No,” Dagani replied slowly, tracing an outline of something on a worktable. It rose, turning and twisting as Arram watched, fascinated. “But the desert shamans create their seemings in the fire. They want the seemings to find the real snakes, and call them to help the warriors in battle.” The outline fattened, turned jagged, and grew golden in color. Jagged wings sprouted in its sides, two pairs. The head formed, long and narrow, with red-orange hot coal eyes. It turned its head toward the door as Ozorne, Varice, and Tristan entered. They’d been chattering until they saw the lightning snake. As it rose to stand on the tip of its tail, flapping its wings, they froze.
The lightning snake hissed. Ozorne and Tristan immediately called up protective shields for themselves and Varice, creating a conflict—their Gifts did not mesh, and they had not thought to make allowance for another mage’s work. Sparks flew along with vile-smelling smoke, making the lightning snake screech. Arram called a breeze that took both smell and sparks out the still-open door, while with a hand gesture Dagani erased her simulacrum.
“I would say we have several lessons for today,” she told her students as the last of the smoke dissolved. “Lesson the first: learn if protection is even needed. Lesson the second: learn if the magics of your allies are compatible with yours. If they are not, work the charm that makes yours compatible with theirs. How many of you read the introduction in The Upper Academy: General Magic?”
Arram and Varice raised their hands. Ozorne and Tristan found someplace else to look.
Dagani rubbed her head. “The word to reveal if the magics of others are compatible with yours, as well as the sigils that make your Gift temporarily compatible with that of those nearby—both of these things are in the introduction. They are in the introduction because they are intended to introduce you to working magic with other mages. We shall practice these things, the four of you, while you decide which living creature you will create as your first simulacrum. Arram, do not choose a lightning snake,” she said when he opened his mouth.
Arram closed it. He’d been going to try just that.
“The larger the choice, the more power it consumes. The more magical the choice, the more power it consumes,” the master warned. “The simulacrum of a lightning snake would kill a beginner before that beginner even completed it.” Dagani looked at them all. “Choose a seat.” She pointed a scarlet-tinted fingertip at Tristan. “Your name?”
“Tristan Denane, Master,” he said, meeting her gaze.
“Tristan, tell me the word which reveals whether another’s Gift is compatible with your own. If you don’t know it, look it up.”
By the end of their time all four agreed—once they were outside the classroom—that the lovely, gracious Dagani was one of the hardest teachers they’d ever had, though Arram was willing to wager on Yadeen against her. Dagani had yet to throw a wooden ball at him.
It was a relief to change into sandals and his rough woolen shirt and breeches and report to Hulak in one of his glass winter houses. If the master was impressed with Preet, he neglected to mention it. Instead he instructed her to eat no seeds unless he gave them to her himself. He then fed her so much seed Arram feared she might burst after her lunch.
Sebo’s reaction was a little different from those of the other teachers. By then the bird was awake and happy to ride Arram’s shoulder once more. When the old master emerged from her home, she stopped in front of Arram and eyed his passenger. As she did so, a frown grew upon her face, blossoming into a scowl of fearsome proportions. She smashed the foot of her staff into the sandy dirt.
“Enzi!” she bellowed with more volume than one of her years should have been able to manage.
The crocodile god was there. I was napping was all he got to say before she gave him a frightful blow across the back with her stick.
Arram darted for what protection he and Preet could find in the hut. From its shelter, hiding behind the open door, he could only hear cracks and a few words—“Student…danger…mischief…troublemaker”—when the great crocodile wasn’t roaring. Finally there was a long silence. Arram peered through the gap below the top hinge, only to encounter a glittering, baleful black eye.
“And you were fool enough to say yes to him!” Sebo hissed. “Come outside!”
Arram didn’t think. “I don’t want to,” he replied. Pondering his reaction afterward, he was still convinced only a fool would want to face Sebo in that mood.
She slid her fingers through the crack and grabbed him by the nose. “Outside,” she ordered. She released him.
Arram emerged, rubbing his poor, abused nose. Enzi was still present. The remains of the shattered staff lay on his broad back. He glared at Sebo. I am not the worst thing that will happen to your precious boy, he told her.
“Please don’t say that,” Arram begged. “If you won’t tell me why—”
I will not. You have a destiny. You aren’t allowed to know it.
“Take back the bird,” Sebo ordered.
I dare not, Enzi retorted, just as Arram cried, “No!” and Preet shrieked. Swiftly Preet began to scold, but she was not looking at Enzi. She was looking at Sebo.
Finally the old woman pointed at her. “Very well, very well, be silent, or I will make you be silent!”
Preet gave a last squawk. Arram tucked her into the corner of his elbow and murmured to her that everything would be fine.
To Enzi, Sebo said, “If harm comes to him because of you, I will make you pay.”
Yes, you irascible mortal. And also, I owe you an ebony stick for the one I graciously allowed you to break on my poor back. Enzi vanished, leaving a hollow in the dirt and the remains of Sebo’s staff.
“You didn’t have to be so angry with him,” Arram protested. “I don’t mind looking after her. Neither do my masters.”
“Because you’re a boy, and daft by nature,” Sebo grumbled. “And they are air-dreaming fools! I was going to teach you how to dowse for water today, but I have a headache now. Come in. You can read about dowsing, and we’ll try it tomorrow if it doesn’t rain. And you…” Moving quickly, she scooped Preet out of Arram’s elbow hold. “You are not to distract him. You may sing me to sleep.”
To Arram’s surprise, Preet did just that. She nearly did it for him as well. He was just starting to nod off when the bell for the end of classes rang out. Arram sighed with relief. He didn’t know about Preet, but he was ready for a nap after his brief night and the day’s excitement.