Cantrip Mage B1 C5: Emerald Cursive

I'm getting desperate to launch this on Royal Road, because I have limited self-control and discipline, so I'm going to pick up the pace on posting chapters here so I can get to the launch.

~Chapter Five: Emerald Cursive~

Twenty minutes later, Eola was back in her suite. Her roommates weren’t asleep, but Evelyn and Bannoque weren’t in the common room, thank Y’aer. Colin was, though. “You’re covered in blood. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Eola nodded. “It belonged to a monster—a trog—and to a girl I rescued in the library.”

Colin collapsed back into the couch cushions. “Oh, good. Not the monster, but that you rescued her. Who was she?”

"Patrice Clerk? Do you know her?”

Colin shook his head.

“Anyway, she needed help, so I got her out of the library.”

“That’s good.” Colin yawned. “Now that you’re back, I can finally get to sleep.”

“You stayed up for me?” Eola asked, genuinely surprised and a little touched. Colin hadn’t done that for any of her other trips to the library. “Thanks.”

“Of course. We’re suitemates, and Bannoque and Evelyn are too busy getting to ‘know’ each other to watch our backs. It’s all us.”

Eola laughed quietly. “Good night, Colin.”

The boy nodded and walked to his room as she slid through the narrow gap between the couch and table and hurried to her own. She had the books. Now, she’d have all night to study them and learn how modifying marks worked.

She shut her door behind her, then locked it with a satisfying click that wouldn’t actually keep even her roommates out if they wanted to come in. Then she took a moment to compose herself.

Eola wasn’t very good at magic—but she was good at studying it.

Evander’s Guide to Battle-Marks came first. Eola flipped through the pages, skimming past the descriptions and various uses Evander had come up with for the half-dozen modifying marks he considered to be worthwhile. Silenced, Hasty, Delayed, Reaching, Echoing, and Stilled were worth casting, but nothing else was even mentioned. That was fine; Eola wasn’t reading his book for ideas on which modifying marks to pick. She was looking for how they worked.

But after half an hour—and a more complete skimming—Eola glared at the book. “Evander, you’re an idiot.” He wasn’t helpful at all for theory. The entire thing was just what it said on the cover—a guide for battle-mages looking to add variety to the limited number of combat-functional cantrips. And that was fine.

For someone like Catrine—a normal mage.

Eola pushed the pale green book to the top corner of her desk. She’d look it over again once she had a better idea of how modifying marks worked. For now, Combat Tricks, by Tiphane waited.

Truthfully, Eola didn’t have much hope for this one. The first page didn’t help matters at all.

I, Tiphane Skystalk, record my thoughts on combat tricks in this tome for future fighters of the Greenlands.

That was all it said, but Eola got a sinking feeling in her stomach as she flipped the page.

“Oh, curse Y’aer!”

The entire thing was written in Emerald Cursive—a nightmare of a magical script. Words changed meaning if they were written even a hair’s breadth wrong, straight lines were more like suggestions than rules, and there were at least a thousand different symbols in Emerald Cursive. That first part was only made worse by its structure. Every sentence was a tangled string of symbols, all flowing together and folding onto each other until it was all but impossible to break the symbols into meaningful chunks.

It was a language for someone who lived two hundred years or more, not for a girl with a single term to solve her attunement problem.

Eola set the books aside. This wasn’t a dead-end. It couldn’t be. She just had to track down the last of the three tomes she’d wanted.

Someone knocked on the suite door.

Eola ignored it. Knocks were never for her—and if they were, they were never a good thing. It was usually one of Evelyn’s friends. That girl had dozens of them, somehow. Instead, she re-opened Combat Tricks, by Tiphane, fished through her language books, and started the painstaking process of translating the first page of real notes.

She was halfway through the first sentence—This being the most basic of—when the knocking started up again, and this time, it didn’t stop.

After a minute, Eola sighed and pushed herself out of the straight-backed, wooden chair. Her behind was sore anyway, and movement wouldn’t hurt her. But when she opened her door, then the common room one, no one was there.

She glared down the hall. The wooden floorboards gave away nothing. There weren’t any nooks or hiding places—the nearest stairwell was eight doors away, and the knocking hadn’t stopped until she touched the doorknob. “Catrine, if that’s you, go away.”

No response.

Eola retreated to her room and returned to her translation. It was painful, slow-going, and by the time she’d gotten through Tiphane Skystalk’s introduction for, of all things, the Hasty modifying mark, she couldn’t stop from yawning. Worse, there were meaning-shifting mistakes in at least three symbols, but maybe as many as seven, the way they strung together. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be a one-night job.

As she changed into a sleeping shift, Eola stared out of her window. Her suite was on the third floor of five. Fifteen rooms to a floor, all on the outside, with the hall directly against the marble walls of the spire. She couldn’t be sure from this high up, but it looked like something was moving down below. It was small, and almost perfectly invisible in the evening shadows. Eola watched carefully, but even after a minute, she couldn’t be sure it even existed.

Her stomach growled. She ignored it. There’d be time for breakfast tomorrow, before Ideograms. She’d wake up early, get into the cafeteria before Catrine could corner her, and maybe even take Combat Tricks, by Tiphane with her for some early-morning translation. After all, she had a lot of work to do if she wanted to figure out modifying marks.

◄▼►

The next morning, Eola followed Instructor Tarik to his office instead of going to Mana Studies, notebook in hand. He’d sent Colin along with a note letting Madame Reyanna know that Eola would be late, and—apparently against his better judgment—opened his office to her demonstration. It was still a mess, but at least this time, Eola was braced for it.

As Eola prepared her explanation, Instructor Tarik massaged his temples. She barely noticed. She’d gotten a hold of the chalkboard and a stick of chalk, and after a moment, a fresh symbol sat on the desk between the two.

“You’re showing me Child’s Magic?” Tarik asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. You asked for an update when I’d learned something, and this is the easiest rune to demonstrate with.”

“They’re Ideograms, Miss Lemiene.”

She ignored him. “Look, this is Bright Ball.” Eola’s chalk flew across the symbol, adding a trio of lines to the left side. “And this is Hasty Bright Ball.”

“It is.”

Eola rubbed her robe-sleeve across the symbol, then re-drew the three lines. “This is Hasty.”

“Agreed.”

“And…” Eola spent three seconds quickly scribbling only the Old Alemic rune for Bright Ball, placing it so the three lines were exactly where they’d been the first time. “…this is also Hasty Bright Ball, according to the pages I translated. It should work if I try to cast it.”

“And?”

Eola groaned in frustration. Why didn’t he see it? “And it takes about three seconds to sketch a normal Bright Ball, about six for a fully-detailed Hasty Bright Ball, and about four for the cut-down one. That’s why battle-mages use modifying marks on Child’s Magic all the time, right? It’s not that much longer to cast and fill, and it’s a slightly different effect that’s harder to counter. It’s also why they all use the same six symbols. Silenced, Hasty, Delayed, Reaching, Echoing, and Stilled. I couldn’t find any others in the books I found, or in the texts for Magical Dueling.”

Instructor Tarik didn’t say anything. Eola clenched a fist behind the desk. He had to be testing her. “Combat magic is all about the Taron-Li. The goal is to make your opponent lose the beat of the dance. Little changes do that.”

“True.”

“So, why not apply modifying marks to First Order spells, too?” she asked.

“Why not, Miss Lemiene?” The professor kept rubbing his temples. “Are you the teacher, or am I?”

“You are. I’m just trying to explain myself.” Eola took a deep breath and tried to settle herself down. “That’s a practical reason for battle-mages not to do it. Why wouldn’t an Iron-attuned mage want a First-Order forging spell to be Echoing, though? What’s stopping that?”

“Mana costs,” Instructor Tarik said.

Eola nodded. “That’s what everything I’ve read says. Two marks, and it’s cheaper to just cast a First Order spell that does the same thing. No one adds three. You even mentioned that in a lecture. Would the same rule apply to a First Order spell?”

The professor’s head shook. “Allow me to demonstrate. I have eleven bars as an archmage.” He stood and drew a symbol—Call and Calm, of all the spells. He cast it, and his black rabbit disappeared from the corner and plopped onto the desk. It snuffled, and he set it back down on the floor. Then he repeated the spell—but this time, he added the Hasty modifier. He pushed Mana into the spell, and the office’s lights died out as the spell failed and backlash snuffed out Instructor Tarik’s Bright Balls.

“In theory, there’s nothing stopping Call and Calm from being cast with Hasty,” Instructor Tarik said. “But in practice, First Order spells cannot be modified, and no one knows why.”

Eola relaxed, slumping into the rickety chair like a puppet without strings. She took a breath. “It should work, and it’s incredibly odd that no one’s figured out why it doesn’t.”

“It is.” Tarik kept looking at the Bright Ball sketch for a moment, then reached over and erased it. “I’ll talk to Instructor Clearance and Maestro Yarrowbloom about their classes, and get you dropped from both my class and Mana Studies.”

Eola’s tension returned. Was he really going to kick her out after all of this? Her stomach roiled, and the oatmeal threatened to come back up.

Then he stood and offered a hand from across the desk. “Consider this your first lesson in my independent study course. I’m curious what you discover. And, Miss Lemiene? Keep this to yourself.”

◄▼►

~Lan Tarik~

An hour later, Instructor Tarik sat at his desk.

He hadn’t moved. His familiar, Garah, hopped up the stacks of books and eyed him, an expression of almost human concern on her face.

“What do I do, Garah?” Tarik asked.

He’d asked her that question dozens of times over the last two decades, and she’d never answered. She wouldn’t answer this time, either—even elves’ familiars never lived long enough to learn speech. But she did understand him, and that was something.

He could still turn his back on Eola Lemiene. It’d be the safe move, and either the right one or the politically savvy one. He could wash his hands of this opportunity. It’d be easy, and no one would question him for it.

He could bring Miss Lemiene’s attunement and path of study to the Cult of Y’aer’s attention. They had an interest in mages like her, after all; the Saint of Curses and Gifts had left behind many mysteries, and she could help the cult unravel them. It had taken Tarik himself six years to discover what she’d found in only a handful of months—that Ordered Magic was built on something else. She’d become an excellent cultist.

Or he could turn her in to the Governing Houses. They’d ruled off the strength of Ordered Magic for Y’aer knew how long—since it had been founded and made commonplace—and they were always on the lookout for anyone trying to dig into its mysteries. Without their familial attunements and the secret ideograms they passed down from generation to generation, the Houses that ruled Alemia would lose power. They defended the status quo vehemently, as Tarik knew well. Only his willingness to abandon his open research had stayed their swords. They would offer Miss Lemiene the same arrangement.

“But neither is really an option. Not this time.”

Garah snuffled again, but had no response.

Miss Lemiene had discovered a core problem with Ordered Magic. It was well-known in academic circles, and had been for three hundred years. The Great Mage Klerien had uncovered the rapidly-scaling relationship between Mana consumption and modifying marks—which was verified by spellswords and their battle-marks. But she’d also confirmed that Ordered Magic, from First Order all the way to Fourth, couldn’t be modified.

Now, it was common knowledge. Everyone knew it. No one questioned it.

He’d been questioning it eight years ago, when the Governing Houses had put a stop to that line of research. He’d been focused on attunements and ideograms ever since.

Eola had questioned it, and found the problem in less than two months.

Her attunement. That would be his way forward.

Tarik had worked hard to confirm her claim—that it was an attunement to unattuned Mana. With that established, and now, he had a justification for taking an interest.

It was even a legitimate one. For the last several years, he’d been studying the attunements that made Ordered Magic difficult or impossible. Some merely interfered, demanding more from the caster—more precision, more Mana, or more…anything, really. And others prevented Ordered Magic entirely. He could focus outwardly on studying Eola’s attunement and follow her research in secret until…until he had things in order and could play a more active role.

“Yes, Garah, this is feasible. We can make it happen,” he said as he picked the black rabbit up and carefully set her on the floor.

Tarik shoved a jumble of books and unopened letters aside and spread a sheet of parchment across his desk. Then he got to writing. One thing he’d learned was that, for all the magic in the world, sometimes the most powerful spell was a letter to the right people. When it was finished, sealed, and on its way to its recipient, then and only then did Instructor Tarik relax.

Miss Lemiene would be walking a dangerous path, but he’d set the groundwork to ensure she wouldn’t walk it alone.

◄▼►

In the end, Instructor Tarik and Eola reached an agreement—with a few conditions—and her schedule changed dramatically in the days that followed.

Mana Studies and Ideograms were both a waste of her time. She didn’t need more of the stuff in her soul, and the course wouldn’t look into Mana control techniques until the second half of the term. Until then, her time was better spent elsewhere.

And, Instructor Tarik had to admit, she wouldn’t learn anything in Ideograms she hadn’t already figured out. Worse, she’d be put on the spot again—there were more full-class practical lessons coming, and every one was an opportunity for her to botch another spell in front of her classmates. The fewer opportunities for that, the better. The agreed-on explanation was that she was taking remedials for soul control. The entire class had heard the professor say it, so it shouldn’t attract too much attention.

Introduction to Monsters and Magical Dueling continued normally, but with one change. Eola wasn’t to take part in any practical demonstrations involving magic beyond cantrips. Instructor Tarik took care of that with both Instructor Clearance and Maestro Yarrowbloom. She could still demonstrate Yarrowbloom’s favorite fencing moves, and the condition hardly changed Clearance’s lessons at all.

Eola ate a leisurely, delicious breakfast every morning in the cafeteria, then unlocked the professor’s office door with a brand-new key on her badge. She sat in the rickety chair and marked mistakes on dozens of rune sketches in bright red ink. Every one of the hundred first-year students in Varin’s sat in Tarik’s classes, and many older ones took Advanced Ideograms, so there was always grading to do—and Eola didn’t waste the time, either. She sketched dozens of new symbols in her own spellbook and studied the Second-Order spells that the older students were all working with, hunting for patterns and rules.

Every morning, just before Ideograms ended, she’d tuck the sketches into envelopes and leave them, unsealed, on the professor’s desk. Then she’d meet him in an empty classroom across the hall.

Her independent study had three goals—three exams, Tarik called them.

First, and worth half of the course’s marks, was the third rune. She hadn’t been able to identify it, and Instructor Tarik put her to work on that. “When you can tell me exactly what that ideogram does, I’ll tell you its name and add the library’s third-floor key-spell to your badge.” Eola only had an hour and a half a day to tinker with the spell, and a lot of that time was taken up in discussions with the professor about the nature of runes.

The second goal—and the first condition of their agreement—was something she could work on in her own room, though. The professor had a translated copy of Combat Tricks, by Tiphane, but he wouldn’t let her see it until she’d translated the Emerald Cursive herself.

It was a miserable, grueling task, and Eola doubted she’d get it done any time soon, but it was also good for a half-hour of mind-numbing pain before bed, and she fell asleep with Emerald Script in her head most nights. Every time she finished a section, Instructor Tarik either accepted it or sent her back—and he never explained what she’d done wrong, only that it was flawed.

And then there was Instructor Tarik’s final condition—a deadline harder than anything Eola had faced so far. She poured herself into meeting it. She stopped visiting the library altogether, and spent all her free time between classes staring at the frustrating circles and diamond, playing around with the Old Alemic script, and trying to understand the different parts of Call and Calm. She was missing something, and she had to figure it out soon.

“You have until the middle of term to begin bonding a familiar.”

She tried everything. Different modifying marks all produced the same result Tarik had gotten—a blackout as the backlash shut down Eola’s other spells. Slowing or speeding up her Mana seemed to be effective, but only at changing the backlash’s effect slightly, and it wasn’t predictable. By the end of the first week, she’d stopped trying to cast Call and Calm altogether.

It took her three weeks to make any progress at all.

And in the end, she didn’t make it alone.

◄▼►
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