Red Madrassa: Algardis #1 (13 page)

The Research Initiate inserted a corresponding object into the receptacle and, with a turn of his hand, the door slid back to reveal a room with one long wooden table in the center. The table bore stacks upon stacks of books, all perfectly balanced according to size and meticulously squared off. Along the right side of the wall was a wide window with tiny leaded panes that looked out onto an enclosed garden. Under the window was a short table laden with parchment and pens.

Maran walked over to the books on the tables. He caressed them with ink-stained fingers, almost lovingly. As the students filed into the room behind him, he said, “These texts came to us from the library of the Duke of Carne. He has awarded us the privilege of cataloguing his manse’s private collection, and keeping two books for our own library with his permission. In order to choose those two books I must know what is within
all
of them. You are to summarize and catalog each of these texts. Look not only for what is on its pages, but also for what is less obvious. A signature, a book plate, a scribble in the margins can make all the difference between an ordinary work and an extraordinary one.”

He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes lingering longest, and mockingly, on Maride. “I trust that you have memorized the teachings in the four books, so get started.” He walked back towards the door, saying as he went, “There are 70 books here, and seven of you. I expect the reports in my office within five days.” With that he walked back through the door, which clanged shut with a resounding boom behind him.

“Does he expect us to stay in here the whole time, then?” demanded one of the other boys, who had dusky skin and tight black curls.

“Don’t be silly,” responded Callia, “He does this every semester. He comes back before the second bell rings…‌usually.”

With that less-than-enthusiastic endorsement, they got started dividing the tomes between them.

Sitara, realizing that she had to get started somewhere and knowing very little about weather formation, had decided that her first class would be
Meteorology.

As she walked into the School of Air, she was surprised at how big it was. From the outside it had looked like a normal round tower with a balcony on the second floor, and what appeared to be an observation deck at the very top. But as she entered, clutching her schedule and trying not to bump into anyone, her eyes widened in awe. It seemed as though the very sky was enclosed in the tower. From a point about five feet up, the brick walls disappeared, presenting an image of the open air, with clear blue skies and plump white clouds. Looking around, she was almost tempted to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Maris, seeing her flustered, sauntered over. “Amazing, isn’t it? This was built by Mindalran the Architect. He grew up in the cold country near the western border.”

Sitara asked curiously, “Is the actual tower bigger inside than out, then?”

“Oh, no,” replied the Probate. “Technically, we’re not actually
in
the tower anymore. The front entrance is keyed to a portal. Unless you tell it otherwise, it takes you here. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Oh!” Sitara said. She looked around, staring, then said quickly, “But wait…‌what about my class? I’m supposed to be in Meteorology
right now.”

“Luckily for you, that’s one of the few classes held here in the Air Green‌—‌usually it’s just Flight Practice and Advanced Air Techniques. Anyway, it’s over there.” She pointed straight ahead.

With a muttered thanks, Sitara headed toward the opposite side of the Air Green. Upon reaching what she assumed to be her “classroom” for the morning, she settled on the grass and decided firmly not to be caught gawking at all the students, who included more Ansari, flying overhead. Disciplining herself, she started looking over her notes from last night on weather patterns, seasonal fluctuations, and types of clouds.

Then a light thump sounded next to her, and she nearly dropped her notes. She was startled enough to loosen her grip and lose a few to the winds playing havoc in the Green. With a gasp and a curse, she hustled to retrieve them.

In doing so, she turned and ran straight into someone’s legs. A boy’s legs. A boy’s legs in tight leather pants. She scrambled back, just about ready to die from embarrassment. Her frustration didn’t ease when she heard him laughing.

She looked up with no little ire, and was met by the half-smile of a younger version of the Ansari man she’d met earlier. Blue eyes, white hair, white wings, the whole jazz.
Do they
all
have mental problems?
she wondered, scowling.

The boy, caught up in her obvious anger, frowned back and raised an elegant eyebrow. “Look, I’m sorry‌—‌I didn’t see you, and you weren’t emitting any kind of warning signal.”

Sitara couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. “Warning signal? Is this a battlefield, then?”

“Can be.” He caught some of her errant papers with a facile micro-gust and held them out to her. After glancing at them he said, “Oh, so you’re a new recruit. We don’t get many of those in the middle of the year. Explains the lack of a signal.”

Sitara gave him a wry smile, took the notes, and introduced herself. At that moment she heard a “Gather round, gather round!” from an older instructor. Excusing herself, she did just that. To her consternation, the Ansari boy chose to follow her over. “Ah, Cleotin!” said the Instructor while looking at the boy at her side, “I see you’ve chosen to join us.” Cleotin acknowledged him with a brief nod.

“Very well, students, I am Instructor Mattes. I am in charge of both
Meteorology
and
Nature’s Skies
, if you have chosen to take that class. Cleotin will be my Probate for both, and will be available to assist you with basic class instructions.”

With that, Instructor Mattes squatted comfortably on the ground and indicated the class should do the same. Cleotin remained standing; his wingspan wouldn’t allow him to sit on the ground easily for very long.

Instructor Mattes began to drone, “The skies are great celestial bodies, which should be both feared and revered. In this class, I will teach you the how, show you the why, and prepare you for the when. Now: who can tell me how long winter lasts?”

Sitara raised her hand to answer. When he nodded at her, she said, “It depends on which vale or region you’re in, sir. In the West, the mountains are much higher. The winter can last for four to five months. Whereas here in the East, near to the sea, winter is much briefer and can barely be considered a winter at all.”

“Very good, very concise, Miss Sitara,” responded Instructor Mattes. “So, would you consider the East to have four seasons, miss?”

“Culturally yes, but meteorologically, no sir.”

Turning to a boy with black hair and sun-kissed skin, Mattes said, “Riyan, please explain why Miss Sitara would say this, and tell us whether she is right or wrong.”

Riyan seemed startled at being called upon, but didn’t falter. “Well, sir, if you’ve lived in one place all your life, what you consider a season will differ vastly from the definition of another person who’s lived elsewhere. Nevertheless, Miss Sitara is wrong to say that meteorologically the East doesn’t have four seasons. It’s true that it doesn’t get as cold as it does in the West during our winters, but there is still a regionally significant change of temperature and weather patterns every quarter.”

“Very good!” Mattes said, nodding jovially. “Now, then…”

The class discussion continued along the same vein for an hour and a half, consisting of back and forth debate, sometimes rather heated, between students and instructor on weather topics. Towards the end, Sitara was amazed at how fast time had flown by. As they prepared to leave, Instructor Mattes said, “Young people, read up on the Western Sea Lights for tomorrow’s discussion.”

As she rose, Sitara glanced discreetly at Cleotin, wondering if he had been uncomfortable standing for the entire time. She was surprised to see that he was staring right at her. She turned away when Riyan came over to continue discussing the morning’s topic. When she turned back, Cleotin had already flown away…‌or maybe he’d walked.

Chapter 12

A
s Allorna arrived for her first practicum class, she was startled to learn that it was taught by a kith. The students stood in an open ring of sand thirty feet in diameter, in one of those sturdy multi-purpose classrooms set aside for the School of Fire. When the Initiate walked in, she instinctively reached for the weapon she no longer carried. He was a Kadari dragon, for gods’ sake! Not a
real
dragon, of course, but that might just make him worse. Vedaris would probably kill her if she even
dared
to compare him to this four-legged, gray-skinned behemoth with its flickering tongue.

Just a century ago, Kadari dragons had terrorized the rainy wilds of the Satur basin. They were wily hunters with a taste for meat‌—‌animal, unHuman, and Human alike. The resident farmers of Satur had soon called for the aid of the royal family. Fortunately for the Kadari, instead of just sending troops, the Emperor had been wise and sent a militia with a diplomatic presence. Initially, they evacuated the farmers in preparation for extirpating the Kadari; but the Magical Research Probate who had arrived with the militia changed their plans when he was able to communicate with the creatures.

This kith paused in the center of the ring, his tongue flickering in and out. You didn’t see many kith in the city. She didn’t even think Kadari dragons could speak, at least not in the normal way. Their mouths weren’t made for interlocution, just roaring and clamping down on large prey.

But this one did talk in a way, as she learned when she heard his voice in her head. His baritone had an undertone that reminded her of gravel and crunching stones. His head slowly wove back and forth as he took in the students who stood hesitantly in the sand, some almost paralyzed in fear as he said,
Well…‌what a brave lot you are. Come, shivering Humans, I won’t eat you…‌at least, not without basting sauce. Har har.

Great
, thought Allorna,
he thinks he’s a comedian
.

Welcome to BattleFire,
the Kadari continued.
In this class, you’ll learn how to master multiple fiery tactics for the field. Now come with me.
He lumbered across the sand towards a portal that had appeared in the air; they followed.

When the students arrived on the other side, they saw an endless wave of orange grass blowing in the wind‌—‌orange grass that hid the horrors before they stumbled upon them. Allorna frowned as she began to see shapes in the ground as they moved forward: skeletons and shriveled mummies, overgrown with weeds. Rusty weapons and armor. Mystic medallions covered with dirt. Everything coated in a dusty layer of soot.

The kith continued mindspeaking as they strode forward.
My name is Tikaras. In my people’s tongue, it means glassmaker. Do any of you know where we are?

Allorna recognized the signs: the empty field, the bones, rusty weapons poking from the soil, the strangely colored grass. “Sir, could we be in Calasus Field?”

Yes, Miss…?

“Allorna, sir.”

Miss Allorna, you are correct.
The dragon turned to address the rest of the class.
We are in Calasus Field, the site of one of the great battles of the Initiate Wars, just over one hundred and fifty years ago.
He turned and pointed a claw at a skeleton partially submerged in the ground.
Who can tell me the story of these bones?

At this, a large, muscular girl with mousy brown hair stepped forward. “Maithry, sir. By the cleanness of the bones, given the lack of any remaining skin or muscle tissue, this was probably done by Likan fire.”

Very good,
said Tikaras.
You with the yellow hair. More.

The girl gulped and stepped forward. “Kathern, sir. The body, Initiate Tikaras, is half-submerged in the soil. That means the bottom half was not struck by the flames, only the top. This person must have been hit head on.”

And why is that?
asked Tikaras. This time he directed his gaze at a young boy who stood staring at the skeleton, fascinated, flames licking his fingers.

The boy, embarrassed at the Initiate seeing his magic manifest, quickly focused on suppressing the fire while saying, “Likan fire isn’t natural, sir. Earth and Water will fight it.” Turning and gesturing at the field around him, he said, “According to legend, all the bodies that were felled by it still lie here above ground, untouched by animal or soil a century later.”

That’s no legend, boy‌—‌it’s the truth
.
The only way to get rid of a body burned by Likan fire is to submerge it in Likan oil until it dissolves
, Tikaras advised.
This type of BattleFire was created by the Likans, using a secret combination of chemicals. They died out when their own creation overwhelmed their city and ships, and the secret of Likan oil died with them. It took our Magical Research scholars fifty years to recreate the recipe, and during those fifty years hundreds of people died trying.