Red Madrassa: Algardis #1 (16 page)

He hadn’t wanted anything to happen to them, so he accepted the proposal with his mother by his side. His father, ill and bedridden, had been unable to join them. And with a mere slip of paper, the financial shackles that had burdened his family’s lives for so long were gone.

Hmm,
he thought
. Perhaps I can find out more about mother’s family while I’m at it. It’s a good time to learn who I truly am. It might even help my sister’s dowries.
Familial lines with magic blood always brought more money to the table where bride prices were concerned. It hadn’t mattered as much with
his
marriage, as they were both males. Damian would have hired a surrogate mother for his heirs.

He’d just finished scratching his name on the inner cover of the notebook when a loud clap interrupted his thoughts. “Very good!” said Barinum in a satisfied tone, “Off to your fourth classes for the day, my fine young friends! We’ll discuss your first memories in class tomorrow. And I should mention this: all that is learned in classroom discussions is considered private, and not to be shared with outsiders.”

Ah, the privacy of the confessional, then. That was…‌encouraging. The students all gathered their things and left in a gaggle through the door, Maride among them. He decided to head to the third floor stacks; he had seen some interesting books on mercantile history there the other day. There was bound to be some information about the great families and their cadet branches there.

Chapter 14

S
idimo entered a side room off the Healers’ emergency headquarters, feeling a bit annoyed. It was a queer room, divided precisely in half by an invisible line. In the back half, 12 individual desks sat facing the front half. In the half near the door, there were six cots, three to each side. As he walked between on his way to the seats, he saw that each cot was covered with a lumpy sheet, and his heart sank a bit as he realized what they probably concealed.

He took a seat at the first available desk he came to, and looked around calmly. It seemed that two Probates would be teaching
Emergency Aid
today: An older girl and an older boy, both of whom fidgeted nervously in front of the class, under the watchful gaze of a female Initiate with graying hair, who stood off to the side.

They got started four minutes later. “Welcome to
Emergency Aid
,” blurted the young woman. “We will be your instructors in the class. I’m Caras and this is Sean. First we’d like to say that classes like
Emergency
Aid are taught by student instructors with the help of an experienced professional to enforce what we’ve already learned as we go off into the world as well as to impart the importance of having strong skills in the field when you might not have an adult by your side.”

As she stopped to take a deep breath, Sean stepped forward. “The class will be broken up into four intervals of two weeks each. In the first interval, we’ll study the five steps of first response aid and practice the techniques on mannequins. The second interval will consist of a study of common medicinal herbs and their uses in field situations. Now, please open your texts to the diagram on the 10
^th
page. Bring them with you to your assigned cot when we tell you to.”

He turned to Caras, who said, “When I finish calling out a number, please go stand by a cot,” and began to count off six pairs of two while pointing to each student. After some shuffling there were three pairs of two on either side of the other half of the class. Caras took the pairs on the left; Sean went to the students on the right.

“Pull back the sheets,” Caras said to her group, which included Sidimo. “Imagine that you’ve come across a fallen person in the forest. Their body is warm, but you’re not sure if they’re breathing. What do you do?” she asked.

Sidimo, bored, deigned to answer, “Check for signs of life‌—‌breath from the mouth or air from the nose.”

“Yes,” Caras replied. “Physically common tactics are sometimes the best answer.” She motioned to a boy standing at her side. “Now, if you wanted to check magically, what would you do?”

He responded, “I would check for the magic vitals and his pulse rate.”

“And how would he do that? Please demonstrate, Vane.” Caras pointed to a girl with silky black hair standing on the other side of the cot from Sidimo.

The girl pursed her lips and lowered her hand to the mannequin’s center. She said, “I would place my hand over his heart, like so, and use my magic to feel for activity. The pulse of one’s magic is timed to one’s heart rate. The only time it stops is when the heart stops. As such, he should be breathing if he has an even pulse rate.”

“And if something obstructs the blood flow to his heart?” Caras said this while looking at Sidimo.

“If I can push my magic to align with his magical pulse, I could see the raised bumps that an obstruction would emanate from,” he responded.

“And what should he be wary of?” Caras asked, this time pointing at a short boy with mouse-brown hair. He wiped his locks out of his eyes and quietly said, “If a magic user emits too much magic into another’s form, he could disrupt that person’s heart rhythm and stop their pulse‌—‌especially if the patient is very sick.”

“Very good, everyone,” Caras said perkily. Clearly, she was loosening up after her breathless beginning. “Chapters 3 and 4 of your text include an intricate diagram of the airways and ventilation system of the heart and lungs. Please study it for tomorrow’s class. We’ll discuss it then. You may go.”

As all the other students walked out of the class, excitedly discussing pulse rates, Sidimo held back. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stared absentmindedly at the mannequin in front of him. “Is there something wrong?” asked Caras.

Somewhat startled, he looked up and turned to where she stood at the foot of the cot. “No, not really,” he said. “I do have a question, though. If a mage can see the pulse rate of another’s magic, what’s to stop him from modifying that rate from afar?”

At his question, the iron-haired Initiate watching from the side of the room walked over. “Nothing, young man…‌except a sense of morality.”

At this Caras spoke up: “Yes, sensing the magical pulse is a sacred gift of the healers, and not to be used lightly.”

Sidimo quickly asked, “Are you saying that healers are the
only
mages who can sense the pulse rate?”

“Well, no,” Cara replied slowly, glancing nervously at the Initiate.

“But we
are
the only School that is taught to look for it,” said the Initiate, “That is how it always has been, and always will be.”

With a frown, he said, “You misunderstand me. If more mages knew about this ability, they could use it in times of emergency, just as a healer would.”

“One would hope so,” responded the Initiate, “But for now the rules stand, Sidimo. You are not to share this knowledge with students of other Schools.”

Sidimo grimaced and protested, “But what about healers who are not taught by the Schools? Surely you could understand…”

Sean had come up by then. His tone was decidedly cool in response: “The only proper healers are those taught at the Madrassa. Hedgewitches are charlatans who prey on villagers and rely on inefficient herbs in their concoctions.”

Seeing that he was outnumbered and clearly had no support, Sidimo said nothing further on the matter. He bid them a good day and walked out of the classroom.

Allorna had decided the previous night that her next class needed to be
Techniques and the Flame
. She was excited about the opportunity to learn about the basics of the fire element, as well as how to call upon it reliably. She was surprised to see, upon walking into the classroom, all sorts of glass instruments all over the place: tables covered with storage tubes, neat ranks of round bottles with slender openings, cases of glass orbs, and even boxes full of sparkling stirrers made of black glass. She took a seat in the front row close to the large chalkboard.

In walked a middle-aged man with fiery red hair. On his left arm he carried, of all things, a snake. It was small, with red and gold bands swirling around its body. He absentmindedly put his satchel down on the long demonstration table at the front of the class and walked over to the window. There was a glass cage sitting in the sunlight with grass inside; he tenderly scooted the snake into the cage, and returned to the front of the room. “Good Afternoon, students!” he boomed in a hearty baritone. “Beautiful day outside, isn’t it? I’m Initiate Hoffman. I’ll be teaching you about the fire element and perhaps more.

“Now,” he continued, looking out at the students and rubbing his hands together. “Who can tell me how to make a normal Human fire?”

A girl in back raised her hand. “You need a source of fuel for the flames, and a source of ignition to light them.”

Hoffman stroked his beard, “Yes, I would consider that an apt description, if a bit wordy. Very apt. Well done. One point for your team!”

When the students looked around in bemusement, he started and said a bit sheepishly, “Oh, yes, I haven’t assigned teams yet have I? Very well, there are 16 desks here, and 32 of you.” He stopped for a second and squinted, “Wait, no, I can see that one of you is missing. He or she will just have to catch up tomorrow.”

He then pointed at the girl who had spoken up, “You are the Purple Team.” He moved his hand around in a square, “By you, I mean the four desks in the back corner.” He then proceeded to put the other three sets of four desks into team colors. The room was soon divided into four quadrants: Purple, Green, Blue, and Orange.

Satisfied, he went back to teaching about the innovation of fire. About halfway through the lesson, his snake started squawking like a little bird. With a cough, Hoffman waddled over and reached his hand into its cage. “Aww, my pretty little Sephora is hungry. Yes, yes, my sweet.” He carried her out and proceeded to go back to the front table. As he fumbled around in his satchel for what Allorna assumed was snake food, he addressed the class: “This, students, is Sephora. You are not to try to touch her, pet her, or otherwise agitate her. She is an Agora snake, mildly poisonous and wholly uninterested in your little lives.

“Ah ha!” he said. Out of a little packet that he set on the table, the Initiate fetched a white mouse by the tail. Allorna’s lips curled down in distaste. At least it was already dead. Sephora proceeded to slither onto the table, presumably knowing what part to play in the upcoming meal.

As she turned towards the mouse, her feathered hood flared open, displaying spiny ridges and bright red scales. She reared back, darted forward, and then swallowed the mouse whole, leaving only the tip of its tail visible at one corner of her mouth. Allorna watch in fascinated horror as the bulge made by the mouse moved gradually down toward Sephora’s midsection, and the bit of tail disappeared.

“Yes, my sweet, aren’t you such a good girl?” Hoffman cooed over his disgusting pet as he put her back in her cage to digest the meal. “That should last her a few days.”

As he went back to the lesson with no further comment, Allorna’s left eye was twitching. She couldn’t help it. Were
all
the Initiates at the Madrassa odd in some way? First it was the kith instructor; now this?

“Each of you please fetch a round bottomed beaker and stand from the selection cabinet to your right,” Hoffman said. After much scraping of chairs and shuffling, they returned to their seats with beakers and iron beaker stands in hand. “Today we shall practice fire orbs. But not just
any
fire orbs: everlasting orbs.”

He glared around the room portentously, then continued, “Now pay careful attention. Please come to my side and gather round.” The students gathered in a circle around the front table with Hoffman; Allorna end up two students to his right. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, or about this instructor; but she determined that any prejudices she held as a gardis would remain separate from her position in this class.

“Please tell me your names as you practice,” said Hoffman, while pointing a hand at a young boy across the circle, “You will be first.”

The boy was calm and looked directly at the instructor without flinching. He replied, “Yes, sir. My name is Nard.”

“Good. Now,” Hoffman intoned, “follow my lead and instructions. No one else interferes or moves. Merely watch, listen, and learn.” He held up his left palm, and a soft purple glow began to form above it. “Creating this orb was easy, as I’m sure you all know from practice before.” There were nods all around the table.

He continued, “Calling the flame to hover above my flesh means that I don’t need a conduit to enhance my power. The energy flows straight from my core to the air above my skin, and takes the form I’ve asked it to. Do you all understand that?” They all nodded again as they stared at the bright ball of fire hovering above his palm next to the large glass beaker. “Good. Now, Ned is it?”

“Nard, sir.”

“Well then, Nord, hold your palm out and push a bit of fire out of your core to hover in front of you.” They had all lit palm fires before, so it was an easy feat for Nard to manage.