“I said I was a blacksmith, not a writer,” Matt complained to Tassel, who leaned against a bookshelf next to him, reading something that was certainly not meant to be consumed in public. “Find me something less philosophical.”
“You’re at a high school,” Tassel said, raising his eyebrows as if he had completely explained himself.
“Dude. My high school library stocked my classmate's fanfiction series. If this is the best you’ve got for me, I’m going to go find whatever shop you bought your book from.”
It was a weak argument, only because Matt had already let his wonder get away from him when Tassel had led them onto school grounds. Feeling more like a British university campus than a high school, the library at the High School at Trensicourt was bigger than even the modern public libraries back home. Soaring stone walls, slatted with wood on the inside, gave way to huge glass windows in the walls and vaulted ceiling. Bright sunlight filtered through the dust in the air, past the numerous second- and third-floor catwalks and into a gorgeous atrium in the center. Books lined every space they could, from shelves to alcoves to messy stacks on tables in front of groups of students.
“Access to that shop is something you earn,” Tassel smirked knowingly. “As is the more interesting material here.”
Matt sighed and reopened his book, flipping past the foreword to the table of contents. He frowned, quickly skimming the bullet points, then stuck his nose up at Tassel. “You just gave me this to mock me!”
“Now you’re catching on. Smart lad.” Tassel tossed a lock of his hair to the side and closed his book, keeping a finger between the pages. “Go find a good book.”
“Go find someone else to step on,” Matt grumbled, quietly enough that Tassel wouldn’t be able to hear. He flipped his book, Subtleties of Conversation and Charisma, closed and left it on the closest table, not at all remembering where Tassel had fetched it from. Resolving to get as far away from the wizard as he could, he found a winding set of wooden stairs and climbed them all the way to the third-level balcony.
His ears burned with indignation. As soon as he had thought he had something good, that he might be able to find some joy in this world, Tassel had waltzed in and ruined it. Rachel, as much as she’d backed him up when the three of them were arguing at the inn, was already acting differently, as if their conversation the previous evening hadn’t even happened, as if he were still the same inexperienced burden he had been on the day of their arrival into Lyrian.
He knew he wasn’t much help. He could be, if only Rachel and Tassel would give him a chance. But what could he do, next to an Edomic adept and a full-blown wizard? What could he, the son of a drunkard from western Colorado, even hope to be in this hostile new world?
He was so lost in his thoughts that he bowled straight into a passing student, toppling a stack of books from their hands and knocking them both to the ground with a colossal crash. They both shouted in surprise, and Matt threw his arms out in just enough time to catch himself, though not at all quickly enough to slow his victim’s fall. The poor student stumbled backwards, landing hard on their bottom and rolling onto their back.
Silence reigned as the final few books slid into place, making little tapping sounds as their stiff covers hit the wooden floor. Matt’s face grew hot as he scanned the situation around him, seeing every pair of eyes in the library latch onto his. The air, which he had noticed upon entry was quite fresh and well-ventilated, felt suddenly stale.
“Prongs, I’m so sorry,” the student blurted, scooting backwards and collecting her books. “I can’t even see with all the books I need.”
Matt froze for a quick moment, then recovered. “No, no, it’s my fault. I was up in my head.”
The student collected her tomes into a neat pile on the floor, but did not pick them up. She was almost as tall as Matt, with curly black hair and milk-chocolate skin. She wore a dark green turtleneck sweater and black slacks, and each of her ears was pierced by several earrings. A tired black handbag was slung over her shoulder, itself also full of books.
“As are the wisest among us,” she said with a level of sincerity that Matt imagined had to contain at least a hint of sarcasm. “Lana Dunscrip.”
It took Matt a moment to realize that the name was an introduction. “Matt Davidson. What do you need all those books for?”
Lana made a show of dropping her head onto her stack of books. “Higher study entrance exam is in two weeks. In blasted history, no less. You have no idea how much I’ve had to read.”
History. Yes! This could be the exact chance Matt needed to find his place in this world. “I can imagine. Here, let me help you with your books.”
He stooped and picked up a stack of Lana’s texts, making sure to take a little more than half. They weighed a ton - Matt was impressed that Lana had managed to carry all of them at once. Given that she was applying to higher study, she must have had some practice.
“Thanks,” Lana breathed, hefting the rest of the books and leading him back down the stairs. “The third floor’s nice and comfortable, but it gets too busy.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Matt smiled. “Hard to score a seat on the couches?”
Lana scoffed. “If I can’t lie down and kick my feet up, it’s not worth my time. I’d rather have my choice of seats at the Ledge.”
The Ledge soon came into view as they left the stairwell on the second floor. The atmosphere here was darker and quieter, and fewer students patrolled the empty spaces. Shelves here were organized into smaller, three-walled rooms, leaving plenty of space to come and go but blocking enough light to make it comfortable. The Ledge, inhabiting the sunny edge of the balcony, was a long strip of wood forming to the contours of the balcony, haunted by numerous padded wooden chairs and a few bored-looking readers. It was not unlike an unreasonably wide, winding bar, or more accurately the bar seating at a cafe.
Lana glanced around herself for a moment, taking in the situation, then crossed to a pair of seats overlooking the area where Matt and Tassel had argued earlier. Matt followed suit and rested his pile of books next to Lana’s. Behind them, in a small, dark alcove, two students lay asleep, limbs tightly intertwined. Books surrounded them, as did a burnt-out candle that had dripped wax all over the floor.
“Double-checking that you didn’t lead me down here to assassinate me,” Matt shivered, hoping that his words came across as more of a joke than they were meant to be.
“No, this is just where I get my work done.” Lana gazed at her pile of books, then carefully dislodged one from the middle of the pile Matt had been carrying. “I should be more worried about you, stranger.”
“Eh,” Matt sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’d imagine an assassin would have the situational awareness not to stumble into a poor, innocent student.”
“Innocent is a strong word for anyone,” Lana said, holding a neutral expression with visible effort. “It too often denotes the fact that one hasn’t lived at all.”
Of course, Matt had always thought of himself as innocent. He had prided himself in being prudent, in avoiding the same traps that befell most of his friends at his age. Lana’s words, though, gave him pause.
“I hate that your definition probably includes me,” Matt sighed, sliding the top book off of his stack and reading the cover: The Geography of Magic.
Lana laughed quietly. “Don’t. You look barely old enough to be here. You’ve got your whole life to ruin. Don’t run ahead and speed up the process.”
Matt shrugged. “I may have already done so.”
He regretted his words as soon as he had spoken them. Of course he had to go out and say it. How was he supposed to dig himself out of this one?
“How so?” Lana looked up from her book, eyebrows raised.
Matt’s mind whirled, racing to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t sound out of place. “I don’t actually study here. Not yet. I just moved here from Weych to earn a life for my mom.”
Lana scoffed. “Good luck. Trensicourt’s got sharp teeth.”
I know, Matt thought, thinking grudgingly of Tassel. “Any tips for a newcomer?”
“Don’t look like a newcomer.” Lana dog-eared her book, which irritated Matt, and turned to face him. “You’re here too early to go straight to school, assuming that’s what you’re here for. Get a job before anyone knows you as jobless. Integrate before anyone knows you as an outsider. Don’t tell anyone where you’re from until they have reason not to care.”
“You don’t seem to care,” Matt pointed out.
Lana laughed again. “I’m from Kadara. One of the most important things I’ll have to do in my higher study application is to pledge that I’ll never take all of the knowledge I learned here and bring it back home to my people. I could care less what backwater you came from.”
“Kadara,” Matt repeated. “Is that close to here?”
“Sounds like you need to pick up a book,” Lana chided.
Matt dropped his head and opened the book he had grabbed earlier. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
Lana raised her eyebrows. “Careful with that one. They stock it as a warning.”
“I know Edom- um, the dark language is forbidden,” Matt stuttered, drawing a pointed glare from Lana. “I assume that’s what they mean here by magic.”
“You say forbidden.” Lana took his book, searched for a moment in her stack, and replaced it with a hefty tome called Religion and Subjugation. “Not so. Take a look.”
Matt flipped through to the table of contents. The names of two chapters caught his eye - Case Study: Kel Jerud and Modern Anti-Theism. He elected to start with the latter, since the implication of modernity suggested that it might be more relevant to his current question. He turned - carefully, so as not to fold any pages of a book that wasn’t his - to the start of the chapter, which commenced with a black-and-white map denoting different past religious castes and regions. He noted that Trensicourt was in the east, within an area marked as the Paisari Caliphate. Flipping past the chapter contents, he found the foreword, which stated very boldly that it was written by a Professor Julan D. Cossul.
There has arguably been no more damaging era in Lyrianic history than the final death throes of the recently passed Theic Age. The cause of this decline has been extensively explored in previous chapters, and here we begin to focus on its effects on the current world order, the weakening political structure of the anti-Edomic establishment, and the potential effects of an anti-magic movement in a world shaped by magic.
“The things you miss when you live in a small town,” Matt mused aloud. “The death throes of the Theic Age?”
Lana grinned. “You found the best part. The end of the Theic Age singlehandedly carried me through my undergrad.”
“Tell me about it. What happened? Why do we all hate the dark language?”
Lana laughed. “You should know you can’t just ask for free info. Read the damn book.”
Fine. Matt had figured as much, but thought he might be able to leverage her passion. He was instantly reminded of Tassel, who had tried his best to drill that fact into him. Of course, he had assumed it was just Tassel being a jerk, not a wider cultural trend.
Before he had the chance to reopen his book, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun to face Rachel, who had soundlessly approached him. Lana turned as well, appraising Rachel with an analytical gaze.
“Get up,” Rachel hissed, quietly enough that Lana would not hear. “We’ve got trouble.”
Matt glanced guiltily at Lana. “What kind of trouble?”
“Tassel trouble,” Rachel growled. She yanked Matt to his feet and led him out towards the stairwell, not quite quickly enough to keep Lana from following curiously behind them.