Iron war, p.20
Iron War, page 20
part #4 of The Jack of Magic Series
Trying to remember her old schedule from what seemed like a lifetime ago, she thought it might be time for history class with Professor Aelric. She had questions for him anyway, so even if there was no class, it would be good to see him. She owed him some thanks for saving Mark and the others, even if he had thought it best to not tell her his plans. Grimacing at his duplicity, she climbed the stairs to his classroom on the second floor of the history building. It galled her to not know everything that was going on.
Portia walked down the hall to his door. It was open. He was lecturing at the front of the hall, writing in chalk on the big blackboard while the students sprawled in the desks behind him.
“It was the confluence of disease, new weapons, and blight on the crops that fall that led to the downfall of the free Phriestine era,” Professor Aelric said while scribbling on the board. Something in the room alerted him to a change, and he turned to see Portia standing in the doorway facing him and the other students. Her desk was still there, empty. It felt surreal to be in the classroom after having been gone so long and spending time in the Dragonoid world and under the lands in the Dwarven kingdom. It was as if nothing had happened at all.
“Welcome back, Portia,” Magisend Lucy said, a slight drawl in her tone. Portia nodded at her, unsure if it was a true greeting or sarcasm.
“Someone has to keep you on your toes, Magisend,” answered Portia. She wove her way between the outstretched legs of the students to reach her desk and slide behind it.
“Yes, welcome back, Portia. Although you are late,” Professor Aelric said.
“She does seem to get lost quite often, only to find herself in some exotic land. Perhaps it was a treacherous journey from the breakfast hall to here,” said Magisend Lucy, her cronies around her tittering.
“I see that saving your life was not enough. What does it take to get on your good side, Magisend?” Portia asked, feigning politeness she did not feel.
“You—” Magisend started to say.
“Enough.” Professor Aelric held up his hands. “We all worked very hard in the battle. I am disappointed in this behavior in my classroom. You will stop now, all of you. Is that understood?”
Both Magisend Lucy and Portia nodded slowly and turned to face the front of the class, sliding down in their seats in nearly identical slouches. Someone in the back of the class giggled. Portia’s face turned red, but she refused to turn and glare at whoever it was.
“I will talk to you after class, Portia,” said Professor Aelric before he resumed his lecture.
Portia slumped down even further in her seat and stared out the window at the campus grounds and the soldiers walking by as Professor Aelric droned on, the whole day feeling unreal. The classroom was so far away from the real world she had just been in—the world where people were struggling for their homes and their very lives while others were trying to kill and enslave them.
Portia thought of the historical figures Professor Aelric was lecturing about. Had they had to sit in lectures while their world was burning down around them and all was being changed without their desire or their will? She doubted it. But here she was, Jack of Magic, in history class while the queen and king were up in the castle making history of their own with the visiting dwarf commander.
Portia kicked at an empty chair before sliding into another one next to it and slumping down. “I don’t understand. Why would I be stopped at the castle gates?”
Professor Aelric sat at his desk watching Portia and tapping the end of a quill to his chin, considering her words.
“Can the queen do the magic that you can do?” he asked Portia.
“No, of course not,” said Portia and then reconsidered her answer. “At least not that I know of.
“She cannot heal the splinter, something that is most critical to our survival?”
“No, not that I know of.
“And we cannot risk her on a boat out in the middle of the ocean to go to battle for us?” asked Professor Aelric.
“No! Why are you asking me these things that surely you know the answers to better than I?” asked Portia, exasperated.
“Because I am not the one who needs the answers,” said Professor Aelric as he set down the quill and then tented his fingers, tapping them together in front of his face, staring over the tips of them at Portia.
Portia scowled and looked down. She examined the toes of her boots, turning each boot one way and then another before tucking her feet back underneath her and sitting up straighter.
“I understand your point,” she said, sullenly.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded, finally making eye contact.
“They will contact you when they are ready for your assistance. Is it not too much to ask to trust your own queen and king that they might do what is best for our kingdom?”
Portia didn’t answer, instead rising from her chair and going to look out the window, turning her back to her professor. He sighed and pushed his hair back from his face.
“It is so hard to not do something,” Portia said, finally.
“Then do something.”
She turned from the window to stare at him.
“From what you told me today, you have learned something very important about these splinters—how they can be steered by sounds—but you have not solved the mystery completely. Why does the Elven magic make them resonate together? Why is the Elven healing magic for the splinters not as permanent as even the elves themselves think?” ask Professor Aelric.
Portia thought over his words, staring off to the side and leaning against the windowsill behind her.
“Have you not learned how to deal with questions in this Academy?” he asked.
Shooting him a glare, Portia crossed her arms then shook her head as if clearing cobwebs and uncrossed her arms. “Okay, this is a lesson; I can tell by the way my head hurts. Can you not just say it straight?” she asked.
Professor Aelric sighed. “Might there be more you can learn from our libraries on specifically why some splinters link together, and why many, if not all, the splinters have a strange melody that only you can hear? Answering those questions is a better use of your intelligence and attention, Portia. You are the only one who has heard these things—there is no one better to investigate this,” he said gently. “I will help, of course, and search the libraries the best I can, along with the other staff, now that we know there is a question that needs to be answered, but in this, you are the expert.”
“There isn’t time for that!” Portia exclaimed, the urgency pushing at her again, feeling almost a physical pressure behind her eyes and on her arms. “We don’t have time to sit in the classroom and talk about theoretical things when people’s lives are at stake.”
“No, we don’t have the luxury of time,” said Professor Aelric, his eyes implacable.
Portia stared back at him, blinking. With a rush, she waved goodbye as she went out the door and ran down the hallway back to her room at the pyromancy house.
Ella was long gone to class by the time Portia got back to their room at the pyromancy house. She ran into the room and pushed her travel bags off her trunk on the back wall next to her bed. Flipping it open, she found the little green book that described the past invasions from the point of view of an invader. It was a translated copy of an old book she’d found in The Building of Mages, the special library that students were not normally allowed into but that had been opened up as part of the war effort to find a solution against the Dragonoids.
It was not an easy read. The descriptions of war were graphic and heartrending, especially since the author of the book seemed to enjoy the war even more as blood was shed and people died. She hoped to never meet anyone like that in real life. Or perhaps they were exaggerations put down for the benefit of glory and not truly how the author felt. She hoped that was so.
Thumbing through the book, she finally found the passage she was looking for. It was a description of the invaders’ retreat from the elves who were defending their lands. The city she was in right now was built by elves, or perhaps even by the dwarves before them, but at the time this book was written, elves lived in it. The elves had chased invaders back to the island called the Well of Tears, named for all the misery that seemed to come out of it from the splinter that would open up outside of it.
Portia scanned the passage describing the splinter and the invading humans’ retreat. The elves had altered the splinter, and then a different set of humans had emerged, compounding the problems the author was having in the book. Not only were they fighting the elves who already lived in the land, but now their retreat was blocked by other tribes of humans. Putting down the book for a second, Portia stared off into space, thinking about the described events. They were terrible. World ending. And yet, somehow, this book survived. Was this all a true account written by the original author, or could it be some made-up story meant only to entertain?
She thought back to the original volume she had found. It had been handwritten, bound in odd purple leather completely unfaded despite its obvious age, given away by the brittleness of the pages. The preservation spell on the book had somehow missed the sheets of vellum, though the ink upon them was as dark and black as the day it had been written.
Only one line in the book gave away that there was a particular sound associated with the splinter. The author was describing the Elven healing magic that closed the splinter and mentioned, in just a few words, a strange line about an “ear burning sound.” Could that have been the discordant music she had heard from the Dragonoid splinter? Archmage Vermeil had not been able to hear anything at all, nor had Iva. Perhaps dwarves couldn’t hear it, but only some humans could. Like herself.
That must be it, Portia thought. There was something to do with the sound as well as the visible scarring. If a sound was added to the splinter when the elves touched, then it might explain why different humans had come out of the portal than the ones the invaders came with—the elves had inadvertently changed the destination of the portal.
Portia put down the book and looked out the window, deep in thought. At least one other human had heard that sound: the author of the book. That meant there were probably others who could hear the sounds as well. She had always wondered why music had been taught at the Academy. Could that be another reason that even the current professors did not know about? Tradition often carried forward habits long after the original reason for doing them was forgotten.
Portia slid off the bed where she had been reading. She stuffed the book into her bag and left the pyromancy house. Her growling stomach reminded her that she had one hour before lunch. That should be plenty of time to make it down to the healing house to see if she could speak to a healer in person. She would have rather spoken to an elf, but there were none in the kingdom that she knew of, and even if there had been one, there was no guarantee that particular elf would understand the magic of Elven healing, the magic used to seal the splinters. Not all elves could do that magic. Very few, actually. The closest magic Portia knew of to the Elven healing spells was the magic used by the human healers. She needed to speak to one of them.
Maybe a music teacher too.
The healing house was busier than Portia expected. The main lobby was full, and an open doorway at the back revealed a long cavernous hall filled with beds, all filled with patients, while healers walked in the space between the rows checking the patients as they went.
The rest of the campus might look recovered from the attack by the Dragonoids, but there were still victims healing, Portia realized with a start.
“Can I help you?” an elderly woman dressed in the long robes of a healer asked Portia.
“I need to speak to someone about healing wounds without scars,” Portia asked.
The healer stared at her, her eyes widening a little before she gave a bark of laughter. “Right now, we are dealing with more serious issues than scars.” Her voice was unfriendly.
Portia blinked at the unexpectedly harsh words. She looked back at the ward full of patients and then to the incredulous face of the healer in front of her. Finally comprehending, she shook her head and blushed.
“No, no, not for me,” Portia said, trying to explain. “I mean yes, for me. I need to understand, but it’s not about getting rid of a scar on me but more understanding how healing works with and without scars. It’s for our war effort. Truly.”
The healer looked skeptical but finally gave a small nod, holding up one finger for Portia to wait a minute, then walking off to get somebody.
A few moments later a very young woman, younger than Portia even, with the half robes of an apprentice healer, came up to Portia. She was out of breath but still gave Portia a smile.
“I hear you want to learn about scarless healing. You did get Eugina quite puffed up, but then it doesn’t take much. I like you for that already. I’m Geniette. How can I help you?” the young woman said to Portia without any embarrassment for her own words mocking her elders.
“Can you talk like that here?” Portia asked, looking around to see if anyone else was glaring at them.
“Do your ears need healing too? I did just say that, didn’t I?” said the Geniette teasingly.
Portia shook her head, suppressing a smile as the tension in her stomach relaxed.
“She said something about the war effort? This is something to do with the Dragonoids?” the young woman asked while she motioned for Portia to come join her down a quiet side hallway.
They entered a small room with just a few chairs pushed up against the wall and a desk in a corner. It looked like a consultation room, long disused, with a faint odor of dust hanging in the air. Portia sat on one of the thick leather chairs and waited while the young woman shut the door and sat in a chair opposite her.
“Yes, I’m trying to figure out…” Portia struggled with her question. What was she trying to do? “There is this healing magic I can do on objects, including portals, but what I’ve been taught seems to be missing something. It concentrates on not leaving visible scars. If I leave a scar while healing an object, the magic is unstable and the object itself can explode or worse. Yet, some objects are visually healed but still open again later. There is something I am missing.”
Geniette looked at Portia, her smile replaced by a serious expression.
“You’re talking about the splinters to the invaders’ world, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Portia said, surprised. “How did you—”
“Know that you are Portia? The school is not so large for you to escape all notice. Just because Eugina didn’t recognize you doesn’t mean others won’t. You’re our Jack of Magic.”
Portia nodded.
“Is there any other sign the portal might open later?” the young woman asked, prodding when Portia appeared lost for words.
“I can hear music, at least now that I’ve started listening for it. It often sounds discordant.”
“Discordant?”
“Like some notes don’t belong there—as if the music is fighting itself. I’m doing a terrible job of explaining this, I think,” Portia said.
“Why do you think that has something to do with scarring?”
“The music gives me the same sensation I have when casting a healing spell and I know there will be a scar, and the spell might backfire on me.” Portia’s palm twinged at a memory of one of her past failures and the resulting explosion when she had failed to cast the spell correctly. “Also, the magic is Elven magic. Elven magic is done through singing. There is some connection there between the sounds and the scars and why the healing won’t take, either immediately or later.”
Geniette raised both eyebrows. “Would the music instructors be of some help?”
“I had been given some instruction on healing here, so I thought perhaps this group would be more helpful. My musical skills have never won me any friends in the music hall,” Portia said with chagrin.
It was true, Portia was not skilled when it came to music. Her lack of ability had frustrated more than one teacher. It had been a nightmare to realize she had to do better if she was going to be able to do the Elven magic.
“I see. Let me think a moment,” said the healer.
Portia sat in silence and then leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees and stared down at her boots.
“Okay, so what do you know about healing?” asked Geniette. “I mean, we all know you can do some since you have saved the city from the Well of Tears splinter.”
“Not much more than what I’ve told you. When I’m seeing the spell, sometimes I can feel when it is going correctly, almost like a vibration in the song,” said Portia. “I concentrate mostly on getting the right notes and then looking for the visual confirmation. If I can’t see what I’m doing, then I have to listen.”
“Do you concentrate on one side of the healing first over the other?”
“I don’t understand what you mean. Aren’t you joining both sides at once?”
The young woman held up her arm in front of Portia and took her other hand and pinched the skin, pulling up part of her forearm. “When you’re healing something, say the skin on an arm, there are two parts: the inside and the outside. The outside is the skin. The inside is the blood and flesh. When they are not both healed perfectly, the inside and the outside mix and you are left with the scar. If you concentrate on healing the inside first and then the outside, mixing doesn’t happen. There is no scar or very little.”
“I’m not sure how that works for a splinter. There are our lands—”
“Which could be the inside,” the young woman said.
Portia stared at her. “That would make the outside the Dragonoids’ land.” She blinked slowly and leaned back in her chair. “That makes sense. It is not how I’ve been healing them though. If your example is one to go by, I’ve not been paying any attention to whether I am mixing up the two layers. It also says nothing about the music.”
“Does it sound like someone is trying to play a tune in the wrong key?” Geniette asked.
