Cantrip Mage B1 C6: Well-Seasoned Vegetables

~Chapter Six: Well-Seasoned Vegetables~

For the first time all term, Magical Dueling had assigned homework.

And Colin had asked Eola to help him with it.

So, instead of sitting in her room and working on solving the Call and Calm riddle, Eola found herself on the common room couch with her roommate, studying a primer on mixing footwork and spellwork as a storm raged outside.

It wasn’t hard for her. While she hadn’t mixed in any casting until a couple of years ago, her mother had put her through all the dance steps in the Taron-Li—sometimes for hours at a time. She knew the dozens of basic advancing, retreating, and side-stepping moves by heart.

But Colin—poor Colin—was just as methodical and precise with the sword dance as he was when he sketched spells. He knew the correct answers, but he didn’t know them, and there was a difference. It made him slow in fighting and in the sword dance, and his frustration was starting to boil over. Admittedly, it had been well over an hour, but still, Eola needed this done so she could focus on what mattered—rescuing her parents.

“Alright, Colin. The primer’s saying that if your opponent is advancing in third guard, you can counter that with Spark Shot, Quickened Spark Shot, or a similar cantrip to the left side. It’ll force them to the right, and that opens them to an attack from the left. So, most duelists will cover the left with a barrier. But you can beat that with your own barrier during retreat, which—“

“Eola, please,” Colin groaned. He had the primer in his lap, and he kept staring at it, but his face looked like it was written in Emerald Cursive. “Please, I’m trying. I really am, but I need a break.”

“You need a break?” Eola asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can figure this out! I just need some time to digest it.”

Eola’s stomach chose that moment to rumble, and she winced.

“See,” Colin said. “I need to digest this primer, and you need to eat something. We’ll go to the cafeteria, see if they’ve got anything that won’t poison us, and then get back to studying.”

“Wait. No. Y’aer’s curse, Colin,” Eola said, but she was too late.

Colin bounced off the couch and disappeared into his room. He returned a moment later, his cloak flung over his shoulders at a shabby-looking angle. He clearly hadn’t put any effort whatsoever into it. “I’m ready.”

“Alright, then,” Eola sighed, picking her own cloak off the couch arm. “Let’s go. We can discuss the Taron-Li homework on the way.”

Colin groaned again as they left the suite and hurried down the curved hall toward the stairwell. The fastest way to the academy’s cafeteria was outside, across the courtyard, and she wasn’t looking forward to crossing the windswept space. Snow blew sideways into her eyes, and she leaned against the wind. Colin stepped in front of her and blocked the worst of it. Her eyes narrowed against the wind as she stared at the back of his head.

Then they were through it, in the cafeteria, and the smell of butter, potatoes, and oven-cooked vegetables hit her. Salt. Pepper. Something more unusual that she couldn’t place. It smelled delicious, and she’d skipped lunch to try to make progress on one of her projects, the Call and Calm rune. Nothing had clicked, but she’d eliminated a few of her less likely possibilities.

All she had left now were the least likely possibilities.

She hurried to find a place in line, and Colin followed her. “You know, Eola, I think that’s the most words you’ve said to me at once,” he said as they waited for their plates.

“Is it?” Eola knew, intellectually, that it was true. She also knew that Colin was a friend—her only one at Varin’s. Catrine Andrese hadn’t let up. If anything, she’d gotten bolder as the number of classes the two girls shared dwindled from four to two. Eola could probably take her in a sword duel, but without First Order magic, the young noblewoman could overwhelm her with raw power. That was part of the Taron-Li that the elf didn’t discuss in his class. First-Order spells’ power counted for more than anything Eola could do.

“Yes.” The plates slid across the counter, and Colin grabbed his. “You only talk about magic. I know basically nothing about you.”

Talking about herself would only, inevitably, bring up her parents, and Eola had sworn not to talk about them. It’d be better for her if fewer people knew why she had to learn magic. Even Colin, who probably had no idea who Lord Card was, didn’t need to know.

The food was a welcome distraction, and Eola carried hers one-handed as she poked at the vegetables with a finger. “What do you think they seasoned this with?”

Colin rolled his eyes, and they sat down.

It turned out to be paprika and a small dose of chili powder—plus more pepper than Eola had been expecting. She sneezed after the first bit. “They didn’t overdo it, but Y’aer, that’s a lot of flavor.”

For the next three minutes, she didn’t say anything as Colin poked at his broccoli and squash. She was too busy eating. Then, when she’d finished, her eyes fell on his untouched pile. He’d given up on it and was working on his potato instead.

“Are you going to eat those?” she asked after another minute.

“No.”

“Great!” she eyed it for a few more seconds as Colin ignored her. “Can I have them?”

“Your eating habits are weird,” Colin said. “I can’t believe you like cafeteria food.”

“They’re not weird. I just eat efficiently. A lot all at once, as quickly as I can. I’m too busy to sit down and eat three times a day, much less to run to Varin’s Town every time I get peckish.” Another pause. “Well?”

“Sure. I’ll trade you the vegetables for a favor.”

Eola reached over, grabbed his plate, and slid the slightly-too-spiced pile onto her own with her fork. Then she nodded seriously. “Deal. What’s the favor?”

◄▼►

An hour later, as the clock in Varin’s Town struck seven and the storm redoubled, Eola strode toward the towering spire’s entrance. “You really haven’t been to the library once?”

“Not past the first floor gate.” Colin stared at his boots. He’d needed a little help with his armor—an ill-fitting padded coat, light scale breastplate and pauldron, and boots and gloves. No bandolier, no loops for a wand or spellbook, only a satchel bag over his shoulder and a plain smallsword on his right hip. “I’m not…”

“Good at fighting?”

“Yeah. That.” The boy held out a list for her. Eola had looked it over, and just like everything else Colin did academically, it was exhaustively detailed, with book titles, row and shelf numbers, and how many copies existed. It was also smudged and crumpled. She glanced at it one more time and nodded. “Right. Let’s get to it.”

The two students dropped their robes and cloaks at the lockers, double-checked their gear, and walked through the first floor. A few librarians eyed them, and Eola spotted students in every row—including an unwanted, but familiar face. She put on a little more speed before Catrine could notice her, and they arrived at the first gate.

Tagg wasn’t on duty tonight, it seemed. Either that or he was busy.

Eola opened the gate, and they stepped through the tunnel and into the second floor.

The moment she did, the hairs on her neck stood on end, and she shivered. So did Colin. “Something’s not right here,” he muttered.

“Swords out,” she whispered back. “You’re on Bright Ball. I’ll do the fighting, just keep our rows lit. First destination is Row Thirty-Five, right?”

“Row Thirty-Five, Shelf One.” Colin drew his sword, then fell into Fourth Guard, ready to cover their left flank. It was the right move in theory, but it looked awkward on Colin. She pushed the feeling down as they started creeping down the tiled central pathway.

Row Thirty-Five was about a third of the way through the floor—there were an even hundred rows of tall shelves, each perfectly straight despite the tiled central path’s upward spiral. Eola hadn’t been past Row Thirty; it was too dangerous alone. But tonight, if everything went well, they’d visit Row Sixty-Three. Colin had insisted on it. According to him, there was a book on rituals there that he needed for an independent study with Clearance.

Ritual magic held no interest to Eola. Something like Call and Calm was fine, but for the most part, the symbols were needlessly complex, the effects took too long to manifest, and the payoffs weren’t worth the time and effort.

“What was that?” Colin asked.

“Nothing,” Eola said quickly. She pushed past the row in question, dragging Colin along before he could investigate. “It wasn’t anything. We’re not interested in Row Fifteen—there’s nothing useful there.”

Colin followed, and they left the nothing they’d both seen behind.

It was odd, though, that she’d seen two glowing yellow eyes right where she’d killed the trog the last time she’d been this far.

◄▼►

Row Thirty-Five was miraculously empty. Colin pulled the list from his pocket and unfolded it, then started pulling books from the shelf and dropping them into his satchel.

Eola watched the main path and the row for a moment, then, as her classmate finished up, snatched the last title from his hand. “Abridged History of the Magecraft Holds and Cities, Volume Six? Really? This is abridged?”

The first five volumes—all at least three inches thick—were already in Colin’s satchel, and there were six more on the shelf. He nodded, looking over Eola’s shoulder. “We don’t have a history course until next term, and we’ve only got four classes a term, plus apprenticeships. I might not have room for it. Where are you from again?”

“Greenarbor.”

“Right, that’s Volume Two, I think. You should give it a read. Might learn something.”

Eola shrugged. “Maybe later. My plate’s full.”

“I don’t know…”

“What?”

Colin grinned sheepishly. “It’s just that you empty plates pretty quickly. You’ll probably have space soon.”

“Shut up and let’s go.” Eola waited until Colin’s bag was secured, then stepped back onto the marble path. The feeling of wrongness in the library hadn’t left, and she wanted to get this finished. It wasn’t worth the extra vegetables.

After Row Thirty-Five was the long, slow walk to Row Sixty-Three. It took the two almost ten minutes, leapfrogging so one was always watching the other’s back as they passed each row, and by the end of it, Eola had seen the eyes two more times. Both times, they’d disappeared the moment they met hers. Her neck shivered almost constantly, and she had a death grip on the sword.

And, worse, Row Sixty-Three hadn’t been weeded.

“What is that?” Colin asked, staring.

“Y’aer curse it,” she whispered under her breath. “That is a book about to go feral. The librarians should have dealt with this already.”

The longer a book sat on the shelf, the more likely it was to need weeding. That was true in any library, but in Varin’s Academy’s dungeon, old books didn’t get pulled from the shelves and tossed at the end of their lives. There were just too many books to curate like that, and too much magic in the air. So, weeding looked a little different here.

A book left in the same place in the dungeon for too long started taking on the characteristics of a magical monster—Mana, attunement, and everything. They weren’t monsters, though, and the librarians could return them to a dormant state by cutting off their sources of Mana. In most cases, that meant trimming the magical, light blue vines that seemed to sprout from them and search for other books to root into. Easier said than done.

“And it’s the book I want, too,” Colin groaned.

“Shut it, Colin,” Eola snapped. “We’ll get it. Just have to trim it back first. Keep an eye out.”

She readied her sword and the Spark Shot rune, then started sawing away at the thickest vine—a section almost as big as her bicep. It was hard work; a smallsword was absolutely the wrong tool for the job, and Eola added a folding saw to her mental checklist. Next time, she’d be ready. But, after almost a minute, she wiped the sweat from her brow and sketched Spark Shot.

The fiery spell burned down the length of vine she’d separated from the book, consuming the now-unattuned Mana as it did. Within seconds, it guttered out against the floor.

“Only five more to go,” she said.

“That’s how magic works for me,” Colin said sullenly.

“What?”

“When you cast Spark Shot, you draw the Forsooth symbol, add the tongue of fire, and fill it. When I sketch it, the lines in the symbol are all steps, and they all have to be done in order. It’s like that problem some people have with reading Alemic, but magically-enforced.” Colin looked at the shelf. “Ritual symbols need that kind of precision. Combat magic—“

“Doesn’t.” Eola started working on the next vine.

“Right. My parents and I both want me to learn ritual magic. It’s good for my attunement.” Colin fell silent, and Eola threw herself into her work.

Ten minutes later, she was done, and Colin held the offending book well away from his satchel. “This thing’s safe to carry around?”

“Ritual Magic, Siegecraft, and Alternatives to the Melee. What do you think Maestro Yarrowbloom’s going to do if you pull that out in the middle of class, Colin?”

“Have a fit? It’s not for his class. It’s for my independent study. Is it safe?”

“Yeah, it’s safe.” Eola nodded for the hallway. “Ready to go?”

“Yes. Very. This place gives me the shivers.” Colin tucked the book into his bag, and the two of them worked their way slowly down the path toward the first gate.

They were a third of the way there when Eola had a thought. Not quite a revelation, but a tickling on her brain. She stopped, sword arm falling from the First Guard she’d been holding it in as Colin took the lead, and ran it through her mind, tongue pressed against her teeth. Then, almost hesitantly, she cleared her throat. “Colin? May I ask a question?”

Colin waved her forward, past Row Forty-Two, and then nodded. “Move. You’ve been asking them all night.”

“When you drew Call and Calm in front of the class, what was your process like?” She darted ahead to Row Forty-One, then peeked down both sides.

“Call and Calm’s about forty steps long. Old Alemic is the worst language—“

“Wrong. Emerald Cursive. Move.”

“Thanks.” Colin leapfrogged Eola, then stared into the next row. “Each of the words is at least three steps, then the circles, then each of the central diamond’s four sides. That’s twenty right there. Then my personal attunement modifier. Eight more. Then I can start filling it, but each part has to be filled evenly, which means even more steps. Move.”

“That seems incredibly inefficient.”

“It is, but my attunement won’t let me do it any other way.”

“What’s your attunement? Move.”

Colin stepped forward. Then he stopped. “Tell you later. Trouble,” he muttered. He took three quick steps backward as he fumbled with his bag and sword. Eola sidestepped in front of him, sketching Safe Shield and filling it to create a blocking surface at the entrance to Row Thirty-Nine. Then she steeled herself.

A cat stepped out, walking under her barrier like it wasn’t even there.

It was blue—not the gray-blue a few of the cats back in Greenarbor had been, but a shimmering blue that almost glowed in Colin’s Bright Ball’s light. And it was big. Paws nearly as large as Eola’s hands. A body that was three feet long if it was an inch. And two glowing, yellow eyes.

She forgot all about Colin’s attunement.

Her sword snapped to Sixth Guard—a low-bladed stance, good for fighting quadrupedal monsters.

The cat didn’t move.

She side-stepped, and the cat moved with her, blocking her path down the hall. When she did it again, stepping into Row Thirty-Nine, it moved between her and Colin, blocking her escape. The duelist in her wanted to attack it and force a way out. But this thing wasn’t a second-floor monster, and the last thing they needed was to make it mad. One of them needed to get help, and it was interested in her, not her friend.

“Colin, listen carefully. Do not whistle,” she said.

He stopped, lips on the whistle attached to his armor’s chest. “No? Eola, this is—“

“I don’t know what this is, Colin. Try moving past it. If that works, go straight to the gate and find Tagg. He’s an old Truemage, carries a spear. He’ll know how to handle this. If he’s not around, get any librarian you can.” Eola took another step back, down the row, and the blue cat followed. Its eyes didn’t leave hers.

“You’re serious? I don’t want to leave you—”

“Yes! Go, Y’aer curse you!”

Colin went. The cat didn’t even glance his way.

It was here for her.

After the trog, Eola had sworn she’d move faster, be more decisive, but the cat…as she retreated down Row Thirty-Nine, it mirrored her movements perfectly. She bit back a curse. She was stuck.

“What do you want, cat?” she muttered.

The cat stared at her for a moment, and a shiver ran down Eola’s spine. Power. The cat was power. Pure power. And it was here for her.

Then it opened its mouth, and runes flooded from it in a wave of magic. Old Alemic. Forsooth Script. Emerald Cursive. Dozens of languages—symbols Eola couldn’t translate or identify or even try to remember, they moved so fast. She tried to brace herself against the spellstorm, but the sheer volume of magic overwhelmed her. As the surge of magic raged around her, one thought ran through her mind.

Every symbol was unattuned.

What did that mean? What was this thing? It wasn’t a normal cat—the sheer Mana in the air was overwhelming.

Then a yowling voice cut through the spellstorm, and the symbols spun themselves into a glowing white band that slipped over the cat’s neck and locked itself into place, complete with a tiny bell. The collar seemed to cool into a burgundy red, and the cat shrank with it until it was little more than a thin stray housecat. The overwhelming sense of power vanished, too. But the cat didn’t. Its eyes stayed locked on her, and it mewed softly.

Eola's sword had slid across the floor, lying with its hilt under a nearby shelf, and the cat was less than a foot from her. She tried to say something, but only a pathetic squeak came out. The cat’s ears perked for a moment. It licked a paw. “Sorry. Been a while since I talked. Little bit rusty.”

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