Red Madrassa: Algardis #1 (20 page)

By the end, the other three students were looking at Lara with saddened eyes. Sidimo felt almost ashamed that he himself had nothing of significance to share. When Margarette had calmed Lara down, she turned calm eyes on Sidimo. He said, “I’ve been interested in the mind for a while now. Seeing the mental pain of someone in distress calls to me. I want to help. I need to help. I feel this is a good way to learn.”

He shifted uncomfortably at the end of his speech. Margarette nodded and said, “We need people like you, all of you. There are far too many patients who need an empathic healer’s touch‌—‌not only for their ailments, but for comfort.”

The last student of the class was a pale-skinned boy with brown hair flopping in his face. He told the story of his people, of a great mind-healer who had come to them as a war prize. He wanted to learn more about her techniques, and had heard of the Madrassa, and that Initiate Margarette was the foremost practitioner of the art.

The students then discussed their prior history with mental illness a little longer before they were dismissed. By the time class was over, Sidimo’s head was crowded with disturbing thoughts and ideas.

He headed back across the field towards Marsea Gatehouse, catching up to Sitara as they crossed paths in the grass. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Gymnasium,” she replied sourly. “We have to pick out our student worker duties.”

“No, not today,” he corrected her quickly, “On Monday. Tara told us we pick the classes in the second week, and start during the second month. Don’t you remember?”

Sitara blinked. “Oh, right…‌I guess I just forgot. Busy day. Well then,” she said as she swung back around, “I guess I’m headed back to the gatehouse. You?”

“Same,” he replied. After a long moment, he asked, “Sitara, what are your thoughts on mental illness?”

Sitara started and almost stumbled; the only reason she didn’t fall was because he grabbed her by the elbow. “Um, why do you ask?” she said shakily.

Sidimo looked at her askance and decided not to comment on her clumsiness. “Just a class I’m taking.
Empathic Healing
.”

“What’s that?”

“Precisely what I’m trying to find the answer to,” he sighed. He rubbed his shoulder. “It seems to be a technique to help patients whose wounds aren’t physical. Wounds that are an illness of the mind.”

Sitara had ducked her head, and was studying the soil and grass intently as they walked. She finally looked back up at him. “My sister…‌she’s ill like that. She doesn’t always see me or anyone else. She works. She eats. She functions. But she’s not who she was. If I had someone like an empathic healer to help her…”

This was obviously a tough subject for her. “Has she been to a healer at all?” he asked quietly.

Sitara laughed bitterly, and turned to smile at him sadly as they walked through the gatehouse door. “And where would we get the funds to pay for
that
?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked through the kitchen and upstairs to her room.

Sidimo stood where she had left him, his knapsack on the table.

In that moment he vowed to do everything in his power to help those like Sitara’s sister‌—‌those who were marginalized by the system, who couldn’t pay or didn’t come from the “right” community‌—‌even if he had to become an empathic healer himself. It would take the next three years as a student and Probate, and then two more after he turned 18 as an apprentice, but he knew he could do it. He
would
do it.

As Allorna prepared for her fourth class, she wondered how well her cohorts were doing in their classes. For that was what they were, a cohort; they lived together, had entered the Madrassa together, and now lunched together. She was fairly sure Maride was in
Penmanship
, his required practicum course for this fourth bell slot. The rest she was unsure of.

She had decided to take
Firecraft
as her final course of the day. Then she would go home and soak in a nice, long, hot bath.
Firecraft
was held in the School of Fire proper; the Fire tower was on the opposite side of the half-ring from the Research tower.
Appropriate,
she thought wryly,
Wouldn’t want all those books to burn up.

What she assumed was the School of Water stood next to Fire on the left. Waterfalls cascaded down the front, with what looked like rivers looping in around the School towers. These miniature towers of Water sprang from one formation shaped almost like a flat pincushion. The towers surrounded a central dip, which was obscured by a curtain wall. She tilted her head, wondering what was in the dip.

The Healing School sat to the left of Water, and Air stood just beyond that. She turned her focus on the Tower of Fire. It certainly was different from those of the other Schools, much more…‌depressing. There were actually three towers comprising the Fire Tower, one each standing at the points of a triangular courtyard. They were made of a dark gray material that seemed to eat light, presumably to mask soot and scorch marks.

She stared at the tower on the right for a long moment before she realized what was wrong with it. It looked as if the top had melted right off. Molten stone, frozen in time now, flowed like old candle wax down the tower walls‌—‌although from the number of students gathered at its base it seemed the tower was still active. She looked once more at her class list. “Oh, great,” she groaned internally. It looked like she’d found the tower where her fourth class would be taking place. At least the class would be held several floors below where the melt
stopped. She didn’t have to worry about the walls crumbling.

She was startled to hear hearty laughter erupt to her right. A girl stood there, clearly laughing at her, doubled over in mirth. When Allorna glared in return and stalked over to demand an explanation, the girl stood up. She was tall with wavy red hair, a petite face, and three gold earrings arrayed along each of her upper ear lobes.

Seeing Allorna’s ire, she held out a hand in protest, saying between chuckles, “I’m sorry‌—‌your face was so expressive when you saw the tower. I couldn’t help but imagine your thoughts.” She shouldered her knapsack and continued, “It confuses a lot of people. But not many are as annoyed as you were.”

“You’re a face reader, then?” said Allorna.

“Something like that,” replied the girl with a shrug. “Nicolea,” she said, this time holding her hand out for a shake.

“Allorna,” Allorna replied, a little stiffly.

“Are you here for
Firecraft
? If so, I’m headed that way. We can go up together.”

With a shrug Allorna agreed, thinking there was no reason why not.

They walked into class‌—‌held in a normal looking classroom on the fourth floor‌—‌ and took adjoining desks near the door. Allorna had a nice view of the courtyard in between the three minis, as she privately referred to the miniature towers. When she returned her attention to the room, Nicolea had pulled out a pen and notebook, which Allorna could see was covered in scribbles and drawings.

She turned her attention to the Initiate who walked in at that moment. It was a woman. Rather than the typical robes of an Initiate, she wore breeches and a white tunic. More disconcertingly, she had purple hair. Allorna silently wondered if she was one of those free-spirited types, or if the purple hair signified something.

The woman began the lecture without ceremony. “I’m Initiate FireLancer,” she announced. “No need to rise or call me Ma’am. Initiate will do. In today’s lesson, we’ll focus on the use of fire as a weapon. Think of it as a refresher for your
BattleFire
class‌—‌or if you haven’t taken that one yet, a quick introduction to the subject.”

With that, she called up a fire orb in the palm of her hand. She began to toss it back and forth between her palms as she paced in front of the class. “Fire has been used in warfare for all of recorded history. Flares and burning arrows are used to reveal and reduce small targets at night, and have been for many centuries. A hundred years ago, flaming swords were invented as a means of inflicting further damage upon an opponent. Likan fire was used as an incendiary device from afar.”

At Allorna’s side, Nicolea muttered, “Not always,” as she drew something on her paper.

As the Initiate reached Allorna and Nicolea’s side of the room, she lifted a mauve eyebrow and looked directly at Nicolea. “You have something to say?”

“Well, yes, Initiate,” replied the redhead. “It’s correct to say that fire has been used as a positive agent as well as a weapon, right? Healers use it to cauterize wounds, and field sergeants use it for signals between camps.”

FireLancer nodded, with an approving look. “Yes, fire can be used for more than killing. Just like any element, its value lies in how the maker chooses to use it.”

She turned back to the class and peered toward the far back wall. A boy sat there slouched in his chair…‌and FireLancer tossed her fireball at him. Allorna flinched in horror, expecting him to start shouting in pain; he had seen the ball coming, and had automatically raised his arm to shield his face while turning to crouch in his chair.

The fireball dissipated in front of him. FireLancer directed her next question at him, speaking coolly: “You‌—‌bored boy. Can you tell me what just happened? Was the ball of flame merely light, or did I control the heat of the flame just enough to order it to dissipate before it reached you?”

The boy, seeing the flint in her eyes, gulped and replied meekly, “I don’t know, m‌—‌Initiate FireLancer.”

She nodded, still glaring at him. “Precisely. Do not make the mistake of dozing off in my class again.” As the boy paled and stammered an apology, to the rest of the class she said, “By the time this class is over, you will be able to tell the difference between an everlasting orb and a ball of BattleFire at a glance. This knowledge and the associated ability to act will undoubtedly save your life some day.”

Allorna released a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

Nicolea glanced at her with unreadable eyes, and turned back to gaze at FireLancer while closing her notebook.
Apparently she won’t be scribbling in this class,
thought Allorna, perhaps a bit uncharitably.

The rest of the class was just as interesting as the first few minutes. They learned that tiny changes to the chemical formula for creating an everlasting orb could turn it into BattleFire, a revelation that Allorna found both thrilling and frightening at the same time. The differences were minute, but were undertaken at every step of the process, and built upon each other to transform the meek to the destructive. Whether or not the students in her class intended to be practitioners of fire or chemistry at the highest levels, FireLancer required that they copy down the chemical formula for the everlasting orb‌—‌and its harmful variant‌—‌into their notebooks.

Allorna frowned and raised her hand towards the end of class. FireLancer came over and looked at her inquiringly. “I took a class today,” Allorna said, “in which we were taught to create the everlasting orb with our magical cores, not with chemistry.”

FireLancer answered her statement with a question: “Are you familiar with the three types of magic?”

“No, Initiate.”

FireLancer nodded, went back to her desk, and came back with a small sheet of paper. “Review this tonight. The short answer to your implied question is this: orbs can be created with both types of magic. If a chemist mixes the formula we’ve discussed with the right ingredients, he can create buckets of a lighting solution and distribute it to practitioners who can then infuse their own orbs with the liquid and the magic necessary to awaken it. That’s how Likan fire is made, for instance. If a practitioner were to create everlasting orbs from his or her core each time, it would be a painstakingly long process and, depending on their strength, might eliminate their core for days. There are benefits to both methods.”

FireLancer turned back to the class. “All of you: review the chemical differences in the formulae for the everlasting orb and BattleFire. I’ll test you in tomorrow’s class. Off with you, now.”

As she left the tower, Allorna stared at the sheet that the Initiate had given her, and had barely gone ten yards before she heard her name called from across the yard. It was Maride, on his way out of
Penmanship
. She raised her hand to acknowledge his call, waited for him to catch up, and together they walked downhill back to the gatehouse.

“God, I’m exhausted!” said Maride.

Allorna had pocketed the sheet and was surveying the school grounds. She turned back to him and said, “Exhausted isn’t even the word for it. Today was backbreaking.”

Unnoticed by them, Vedaris had dropped in on Maride’s other side, and now he said ominously, “Tomorrow’s going to be worse.” He began walking backwards, his brown eyes flashing hints of green in the evening light.

“Don’t
say
that!” Maride moaned.

Chapter 17

A
few minutes later they reached the gatehouse, and Vedaris was still walking backward, laughing at Allorna and Maride. When they wondered how he could do it so easily, he said lightly, “Eyes in the back of my head,” which wasn’t really a lie. Unbeknownst to the other races, Sahelians possessed a vestigial light-sensitive organ at the base of the skull (the better to sense threats from above while flying), which was why he never let his hair grow long. It had saved him more than once.