“You said your next class is enchantments and curses, right?” Cyprus looked over his map, then pointed out the building. “I can walk you there before I head to my dorm.”
“You don’t have another class today?” Saahira idly stroked the smooth leather satchel at her hip. It was delightful to the touch, and the most expensive gift anyone had ever given her. Well, besides the sanctum’s tuition, she supposed.
“No. My four class days are on the even days of the week, I fear.” He folded the map and put it back into his bag. “But I have fewer books to carry today, which worked out for us both.”
Saahira yanked her hand away from the satchel. “You didn’t have to—”
“Shush. I have a fine new bag and made a friend on my first day.” He held up a hand to interrupt her. “Now. Enchantments and curses. This way.”
The classroom shared the same building as spellcraft, and Saahira was grateful for the fountain in the center of the sanctum. It made the perfect landmark for at least two of her classes so far.
They paused outside the doorway, Saahira’s gaze sliding from the handle to her shoes. “U-um, I know tonight we’ll be settling into our rooms…”
“Of course. What’s your first class tomorrow?”
“Oh, um, let me see…” Saahira dug her schedule out of her bag and unfolded it. She’d recited it at least a thousand times to herself, but the day’s efforts were already wearing on her memory. “Hexlations.”
“That’s good news. We’ll have at least one class together, then.” Cyprus ran a hand through his hair, looked to his left, and then gently touched her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone here beleaguer you, Saahira. You deserve to be here just as much as they do.”
Saahira’s face burned. She nodded while she returned her schedule to her bag. “I’ll try my best.”
“Don’t be afraid to hand them my name, either.” He chuckled as she looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Better them to fear me than be terrible to you.”
She could never. It was impossible to imagine dragging the names of anyone through the mud, let alone the one person who had given her a chance. “No. I’ll be alright. Thank you, Cyprus.”
The warning bell rang, and he urged her inside with a quick goodbye.
Saahira was on her own for the rest of the evening. She inhaled a deep breath—the air smelled of flora and citrus—and walked down the side aisle of desks in the classroom.
Her nerves quieted when she peered up at the colorful tapestries and sculptures adorning the walls. Fabrics with curious masks woven between thick strips the color of sunset hung between red-faced figures with pursed lips and exotic headwear. She paused to study one picture that was entirely fabricated from tiny beads, depicting a woman’s face beside a blooming plant. The decor could not have been more different than her prior three classes, and she couldn’t help but slow her pace to study them more closely.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a soft voice whispered beside her.
“I’ve never seen anything like them,” Saahira murmured and glanced to her right. Nia’s pink braid looked right at home among the vivid decorations. “Nia, right? I’m… I’m Saahira. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I know.” The corner of Nia’s mouth lifted in a half-smile, and she folded her arms over her chest as the final bell chimed. “We will have ample opportunities to speak more later.”
Saahira’s breath caught. Was that a threat? A promise? Why did a supposed princess wish to speak with her? She bit back all three questions, instead nodding and managing to say, “Alright.” Worry muddled her interest as Saahira picked out a desk in the back corner.
Though it was less like a “desk” and more a personal table, with enough room to stretch her arms out on either side and barely touch the edges. Two drawers hovered just above her thighs, but before she could check the contents, a tall man with deep umber skin crossed the room to stand at its center.
Black robes embellished with golden filigree were tailored to his imposing form, and the hem wafted around his ankles as if the fabric weighed nothing. A single red gemstone hung inside a golden ornamental pendant around his neck, and a string of beads in a matching red dangled from his wrist. On his shoulder stood a colorful bird as tall as the geese that made Almaryn their home during the harvest. However, instead of webbed feet and an unassuming bill, this bird’s long talons curled over the teacher’s arm, and its hooked beak looked sharp enough to break skin without resistance. The bird’s eye blazed a glowing blue, outlined in an equally bright red. Its head turned back and forth in quick, furious ticks as it studied the room.
The man smiled with bright white teeth between his moustache and beard, and his black hair fell in loose curls around his high cheekbones.
“Good afternoon, omode. It is good to see so many new faces in the Sanctum of the Nine Arts.” He spread his arms wide and bowed. The bird adjusted its feet with the movement, shifting to stand on his back. “I am Professor Adér??mí le Moborí. You may refer to me as Professor Moborí.”
He had an accent to his deep, unhurried voice that Saahira had only heard two other times—both from A?álian travelers who had journeyed to the northern continent of Chivari to escape the constant blaze of sunlight that accompanied their growing seasons. Most travelers, no matter their reason for relocating, chose to take haven in the larger cities, but they’d instead stumbled into The Laughing Bull on a chance they called destiny.
Professor Moborí straightened and favored his students with brown eyes whose color seemed to have faded with time. “This is Khuwadzi, my familiar.” He held his forearm up to the bird, who obediently stepped down. “As you will come to learn, Khuwadzi is a Hydraia-class demon.”
Saahira flicked through her stack of papers before finding her demonology notes. Water? A bird? A pair of students sitting in front of her exchanged looks that seemed just as confused.
Oh, that’s Kaylee and Arthur.
With a quick look around the room, Saahira was able to identify a few of her peers from her prior classes. Nia, Melony, Kaylee, Arthur, Celeste, Talia, and Eland. Relief eased her shoulders with Dimitri’s absence, though Talia’s silver eyes seemed to seek Saahira out and gift her with a malicious glare. Saahira looked away and trained her eyes instead on the curious bird.
“There is only one rule regarding Khuwadzi,” Professor Moborí continued. “If he asks you for a drink, do not heed him.”
Nia raised her hand.
Moborí looked at her and frowned. “Let me share another rule with you, omode. One of the sanctum itself.” The rich tone of his voice took on a cold edge. “If you doubt or ignore your professor’s instructions, it will cost you your life.”
As Nia lowered her hand, Talia giggled to her left—a haughty, infuriating sound.
Khuwadzi’s eye snapped to Talia, and he craned his slender neck in her direction. “Oh, this one has so much to give.” His gravelly voice was soaked in yearning. Saahira shivered. “Just a little drink. I will leave her still breathing.”
Talia stopped giggling and covered her lips with one hand as the color drained from her face.
“Khu,” Moborí hissed.
Khuwadzi laughed, and its hollow, haunting echo would have fit perfectly with the choir. Saahira pushed the thought away and scribbled down, Do NOT water the bird.
Moborí shifted the bird back to his shoulder with a brief shake of his head. “As I’m sure many of you wisely perceived from your itineraries, my specialties are enchantments and curses.” He folded his arms over his chest in an uncannily similar way to Nia. “What some of you may not know, however, is the unique style of magic that comes with these practices. First and foremost, crafting emboldening enchantments or effective curses is a creative art.
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“For each spell you transfer into, say, armor, weapons, gemstones, or artwork,” Professor Moborí gestured to the pieces on the walls, “you will imbue an intention and a purpose. These may be relayed to an object through impassioned prose, dedicated song, thousands of careful stitches, or mindful strokes of the brush. Every spell is different, and each one will be tailored by your magic.”
Whispers were traded amongst a handful of other students. The rest didn’t seem surprised.
Creative…? Saahira’s quill hovered above the word. She could hum a tune, but singing it—especially in public—was out of the question. She’d written a poem for a boy once, and he’d laughed at her and torn it up. Isa was already much better at drawing the horse for the harvest season celebration, and Saahira’s sewing “prowess” had resulted in her barely held-together skirt.
She couldn’t imagine that balancing four mugs on a tray while weaving through crowded tables counted as “art.” Honestly, the summoning circle she’d forged outside of her consciousness was probably the most creative she’d ever been in her life.
“You have a question?” Professor Moborí pointed to Arthur.
“Are the decorations on the walls enchanted or cursed?”
The warmth in Moborí’s smile vanished from his gaze. “Yes.”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. His curiosity was palpable. How? With what? Are we allowed to ask? Saahira shifted uneasily in her seat, and it seemed many of the other students did the same.
Moborí didn’t offer an explanation. “To help me illustrate the birth of enchantments, who here carries an enchanted item with them?”
Talia, Arthur, Nia, and an unfamiliar student sitting beside Saahira raised their hands.
“Good. We’ll start with you.” He pointed at Talia. “Tell the class how the enchanted object was created and what it does.”
Talia’s prideful expression wavered as she lowered her hand. “I did not think we would have to share that information…”
“I suggest you learn not to have secrets in this place,” Moborí said. “Your participation in my class is required if you want full marks.”
The wings on Talia’s head twitched, but it was the only sign of irritability that Saahira could find. So many of the students seemed well-trained in maintaining their composure. I should probably try to do the same.
“My…cloak is enchanted to keep me cool,” Talia said through her teeth. Khuwadzi’s shoulders rolled forward, and his attention grew more rapt with each word Talia spoke. “Sensucht has much more agreeable weather. The threat of heat stroke in Chivari is deplorable—”
“How was it made?” Moborí interrupted.
Talia pursed her lips. “The enchantment was drawn into the lines of its pattern and then taken into account with the chosen materials.” She tore her eyes away from the professor and the bird, moving instead to her clasped hands on her desk. “I am admittedly unfamiliar with the specifics beyond that.”
“There. Simple, hm?” Moborí rounded his desk to the chalkboard waiting behind it. Instead of hanging on the wall like the prior three classrooms, this chalkboard was on a set of wheels that allowed him to move it closer. “Let’s discuss a few of the ‘specifics.’”
Beside the board was a structure shaped like a miniature tree, with a thick wooden trunk and solid branch extensions. Moborí lifted Khuwadzi to his forearm, then placed him onto the tree stand. After one more longing look at Talia, Khuwadzi began preening his feathers.
“The intention of the cloak’s enchantment is to radiate ice magic. The purpose is to keep a mortal normally from a cooler climate like Eichh?rn, as Talia kindly provided, from suffering heat exhaustion.” Moborí wrote the intention and purpose on the board, ignoring Talia’s squeak of surprise at hearing her name. “To imbue these into a cloak, the crafter must first consider the pattern’s geometry.” He drew three half-circles beside the word, then sliced each one with varying lines at different angles. “You’ll find that correct geometry and patterns are important in most of the nine arts.
“Anyway, once the crafter finds a pattern that resonates with the intention and purpose, the next step is, as Talia said, to choose which materials will do the same. Not every ingredient in a spell will respond well to magic, and the best teachers are our predecessors and patience.” He noted a few examples beneath the patterns. Rabbit fur, flügel wings, rotusk skin. “Once the pattern’s crafted and the ingredients found, every second of creation will drain your energy and stamina until the item is complete. Question, Celeste?”
Did he learn our names before class? How does he know?
“How will we know when our choices resonate with an enchantment?” Celeste asked.
“Like most spells in magic, you will feel it.” Moborí smiled. “You’ll have ample practice in class, don’t worry.”
As Saahira copied down the pattern, she found an eerie similarity to the lines of her summoning circle.
“Next was Arthur, yes?”
“Ah. Yes. Well.” Arthur rolled up his right shirt sleeve, revealing a dark, intricate pattern inked into his forearm. “It’s a tattoo that reacts if I’ve been poisoned. My grandfather designed it, then sang as it was done.”
Moborí wrote ‘Tattoo’ on the board and underlined ‘pattern’ three times. “Tattoos are an ambitious option for enchantments and curses. It’s impossible to tell if the enchantment took until it’s already embedded into your skin.”
Arthur shivered. “This one works,” he murmured.
Moborí pressed on. “Unlike an article of clothing, there are an infinite number of designs, patterns, and lines to draw in a tattoo. However, there isn’t an infinite amount of skin to test it on.
“In this example, the intention is to detect poison. The purpose is to keep its bearer safe. After drafting a relevant pattern, the crafter chose to sing a song that likely resonated with the ink. Excellent example, Arthur.”
“Mm,” Arthur grumbled.
“Nia. It’s your turn.”
Nia grinned and fingered the three diamond studs in her left ear. “Each one of my earrings is enchanted with my mother, father, and brother’s voices. They tell me good morning and good night.”
First, Saahira thought of Cyprus’s earring. It certainly looked like an enchanted object. She made a note to ask him. Second, she envied Nia. She wished that she could hear her parents’ and sister’s voices twice a day.
“As far as how they were made, a sorcerer close to the family assisted them.” Nia shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”
Moborí gave her a look that seemed to say, That’s what you chose not to question? Saahira fought back a smile. “Interesting. I don’t often see sentimental enchantments.” He hummed and tapped his chalk against the board.
“You don’t?” Nia asked.
“The intent was to record two messages that repeat at certain times of day. The purpose was comfort. For an enchantment, these would typically be too broad to act on. That makes them expensive, more time-consuming than usual, and the price of potential materials—diamonds, especially—can be exponential.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You can see the problem.”
Nia tilted her head to the side. “I’ll make sure to thank my parents again in my next letter home.”
“Diamonds are a difficult gemstone to enchant. They’re…closed and dense. Not much room left to add any magic,” Moborí said.
“Nothing left to drink,” Khuwadzi wheezed.
Moborí turned toward the final student, sliding the demon bird a dark glance along the way, and pointed at him. “Leon? Tell us about your item.”
Despite their close proximity, Saahira hadn’t really looked at Leon until the professor called his name. His tousled brown hair framed a handsome face and striking violet eyes. The white coat he wore folded over his chest and was held in place by a line of silver buttons—Saahira had seen soldiers wearing similar attire on their marches through the village.
Leon smiled easily and held out his palm face up. “My apologies, Professor, but I cannot say.” Moborí opened his mouth, and Leon twisted his wrist so that his hand raised in a motion for silence. Saahira’s eyes widened. “Feel free to give me failing marks for the day. Secrets are something of a specialty, and I will know better than to volunteer in the future.”
Khuwadzi’s head jerked in Leon’s direction. He clicked his beak three times and hissed. The classroom went still. Saahira was certain that everyone in the room was waiting to find out what happened when Khuwadzi drank. Even Moborí’s tight-lipped expression appeared willing to give them a demonstration.
“You know that unclaimed enchanted items are forbidden on sanctum grounds, yes?” Moborí said slowly, enunciating every syllable.
“You put words into my mouth, Professor. The headmaster is well aware of this artifact.” Leon’s smile never wavered. He crossed his arms and remained straight-backed. “Is it prudent to waste class time on this argument? I believe it is almost over.”
Khuwadzi’s shoulders rose and fell with fervent breaths. The clicks of his beak sped, and his glowing eyes bulged from the sides of his head.
Professor Moborí clicked his tongue in an eerily similar sound to Khuwadzi’s beak. “It is good that most of my omode are eager learners.” He returned to the board and drew arrows down from the two listed enchantments. “Let us speak of Talia’s cloak and Nia’s earring in greater detail. While we will revisit these aspects again many times in the future, this will grant you a foothold in your climb.”
The flood of information for the duration of the class was overwhelming. Enchanting diamonds versus emeralds, sapphires, rubies, or a half dozen other precious stones. The influence of the cut and clarity. Specific fabrics used in enchanted clothing, or metals for enchanted armor. Examples of geometric patterns that held greater chances of resonating. Why a sorcerer would choose songs over chants—how the words themselves held less meaning than the intent behind them.
Saahira’s hand cramped as she copied down as much as she possibly could. Without prior knowledge, though, it was like writing down an entirely different language.
“I see apprehension on many of your faces. Consider this an introduction, hm? Nothing more,” Moborí said. The bell rang, and he smiled. “Read the first chapter on ‘intent’ and ‘purpose’ by our next meeting. Class dismissed. Except for Leon.”
Leon chuckled and waited at his desk. For a few, strained heartbeats, so did everyone else. At last, Saahira moved to collect her things and slung the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. She left the room with her peers, then slipped beneath the shade of a nearby tree.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.
She held her breath. The look on Khuwadzi’s face had terrified her.
At last, after twenty minutes, Leon emerged from the classroom with a triumphant smile on his face. Saahira sighed with relief.
Then, Leon’s gaze caught hers, and her heart sped. His brow furrowed, and before she could think it through, she turned tail and ran.
She would rather have faced the demon bird than answer to Leon.
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