Fallen Magic

Three days. I worked through just enough to understand today’s practical work yesterday evening: fear, it turns out, is a powerful motivator. There is not a chance I’m going into a lesson with Electra without knowing the spells I’m supposed to be casting.

It’s a struggle just to drag myself out of bed, though. I’ve been going to bed early, but I’m still tired every morning. Why can’t I just be awake and focused?

Edward brings news of the first few days of campaigning for the winter elections, of speculation about what the High Princess might call her child – “There was an article looking into the historical significance of different names. I thought it might interest you – “ and of more troops being sent to the border with Sirgal as a defensive precaution. He does not bring news of Lord Cavendish’s sentence or of any arrangement between Mildred and his father.

I appreciate the attempts to distract me, though. I skim through the article he gave me about possible names for a new prince or princess, but there’s no interesting history there; it doesn’t hold my attention.

Instead I start reading A History of the Kings of Rasin again. It begins, as all histories do, with an account of the Mages and the miracle they performed to prevent a bitter war and birth the Kingdom of Rasin. There’s little detail, but the historical sources all disagree on the details and a book like this isn’t supposed to take sides on that dispute.

I’m almost more intrigued by the account of the end of the Mages’ reign, because that is so rarely discussed. It’s as if the accepted fact is that in one year the Mages ruled, and in the next Charles First-King had been chosen and crowned and the Mages simply disappeared. The History gives a brief account of the choosing of Charles, and then continues: And so the Mages left, for their work was done and the newborn Kingdom could stand alone. There is no confirmed record of what they did next, though for a century afterwards there were tales of powerful magicians who would fight monsters or evil men, heal wounds and illnesses thought uncurable and then disappear without accepting any payment.

Some say they returned to the stars from whence they came. Some say they wandered across the lands and eventually sailed across the sea to faraway lands. Some say they simply grew old and died, though it is generally accepted that the Mages did not age in the same way as mortals. For how else could they have ruled for seventy years without ever showing their age as any mortal king would? But we may never know the truth, and that is the great wonder and tragedy of history: that it can never be complete.

Magic as we know it can hide the visible signs of aging well enough, and with enough money to hire a specialist magical doctor can prolong life by perhaps a decade at the cost of becoming completely reliant on their services. Many such doctors have made a fortune helping the wealthy to cling to life, but casting magic on another human is one of the most difficult areas of magic to specialise in. There are less than twenty fully-certified magical doctors in the entire Kingdom.

But holding off age indefinitely? Cheating death either by outrunning it or by snatching back a soul? Impossible. That – apart from nearly a thousand years of the Temple’s preaching – is why the Mages are seen as more than human.

So ends the prologue of the History.

I dream that night. It’s the fire again. This time my reading infiltrates my dreams, and I’m burning down a palace in which every king of Rasin for the last thousand years sleeps, with not a flicker of regret. At least, I think, now I can say I’ve killed Lucius the Usurper. I dedicate the blaze to every one of his victims. Including those who are also dying a second time in it.

Then the statue of the Mages I’m standing beside moves, and becomes the Mages themselves. They look mostly human except for the starlight glowing in their eyes. “You know we can’t let you do this,” they say as one, and with a wave of their hands the palace is whole again.

I don’t feel anything, but the magic within me is angry at that. I move in a furious flurry I’d never be capable of, twisting and turning and casting deadly spells. The Mages could kill me in an instant if they wanted to, but they’re holding back, and they pay for it. It only takes tiny mistakes for them to fall to my spells and lie screaming on the ground until they’re burnt to ashes.

I’ve killed the Mages. There’s no statue now. I should feel triumphant, or horrified, or something, but I don’t.

There’s a dreadful groaning. I turn slowly to see the Abbey Royal swaying in an invisible wind. All the buildings around the Central Ring are doing it: back and forth, back and forth, until finally they collapse into a thousand stone blocks.

Then there’s just me, alone, surrounded by ruins. I realise what I’ve done: the Mages are Rasin. By killing them, I’ve killed my country.

And I still don’t care.

That’s the real terror of Malaina, I decide when I wake at two and fifteen, once I can free my mind from the horror enough to think. Not the death and destruction, but the way it makes you stop caring about what you do. It’s all too easy to understand how, without that, you can become a monster.

I’m almost glad there are only two days left. I don’t think I could stand any more of this dreadful not-knowing.

It’s the weekend, as well, which means two days of my pile of lessons and homework not getting any larger. If I work hard enough, I can probably catch up to where I should be.

I know the moment I drag myself out of bed that I won’t be working hard enough.

There’s still no news.

Edward begs Electra to let him stay with me for the entire afternoon, since she doesn’t have classes to teach.

“How do you know I don’t have a family to spend time with?” she asks.

I would have laughed if I weren’t in the state I am. The idea of Electra going home at the weekend to a loving husband and children eager to see her and tell her all about what they’ve done this week is just utterly absurd.

Edward is holding back laughter himself. “Do you?” he asks.

“No.”

“Never felt the call of domestic bliss?”

To my surprise, Electra is smiling as well. “I doubt I would find it particularly blissful. Besides, the only man I’d consider marrying isn’t interested. So I suppose I have nothing better to do with my Saturday than to supervise you brats, as you thought.”

I don’t even mind being called a brat.

Electra doesn’t just lean against the wall as she usually does; she fetches some paperwork from her office and grades homework, occasionally letting out an undignified sigh or muttering something about stupidity. I wouldn’t like to be one of the students who inspire those remarks.

Edward works on simultaneous casting again. He can manage the General Animation Spell at the same time as a light-spell easily now, but he’s struggling with more complex spells or those that are too similar. “It’s a mental limitation,” he says, “not a magical one. I just need to learn to effectively split my focus.”

“I could help with that,” says Electra, “if you like.”

Yeah, that tone is definitely an ominous one, but Edward seems to be seriously considering it. I wish I were surprised by that.

“What would that involve?” he asks.

“You maintaining a spell while I attempt to… distract you.”

“Interested, Tallulah?”

I blink. “I’m not even multi-School.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t be useful. You never know when you’ll need to cast effectively under pressure, or have to perform magic and mundane tasks simultaneously.”

Yeah, I can’t imagine ending up in a situation where I’d need to be able to do that.

Then again, a month ago I couldn’t imagine being trapped in a room with Edward Blackthorn and a teacher who nearly stabbed me and feeling anything other than utterly terrified.

I think it’s the urge to prove that I’m a capable magician, in the end, that makes me say “I will if you will.”

“Let’s do it, then,” says Edward.

“Do you still have those marbles of yours?” asks Electra.

Edward reaches into his robes and pulls out a handful of them.

“I want you each to levitate one, keeping it as still as possible.”

I fumble to catch the marble Edward tosses me, and cast a specialised levitation spell rather than the General Animation Spell. That will have the precision I need for this task. Hopefully.

“Find a space to stand, not too close to any obstructions or each other.”

That does not sound reassuring. We obey.

Electra waves a hand at a pile of scrap paper on the piece of floor she’s turned into a makeshift desk and mutters an incantation. One by one, each sheet floats off the pile and folds itself into an intricate paper bird. “Your goal,” she says, “is to last for one minute without losing control of your marble or being hit by any of these birds. Begin.”

And the birds soar across the room towards us.

I dodge the first one by simply stepping to one side, but I don’t see the second one coming until it’s nearly too late. I throw myself to the ground, but the marble falls with me and hits the floor with a soft thud.

I lasted all of three seconds. Edward lasts ten, but I get the sense Electra was going easy on me. The birds aimed at him fly faster and swerve in mid-air to respond to his movements.

“Again.”

Neither of us does much better than the first time. This time my concentration breaks as I dodge the second bird, as before, but I keep my footing and frantically recast the levitation spell. At which point the third bird flies directly into my face.

“Perhaps it would help to see a demonstration of how it should be done?”

Edward nods. He’s still smiling despite his uncharacteristic failure. “I can’t levitate your entire flock, though. I can levitate up to ten objects at once but I struggle with precise control for more than five.”

I stare at him for a second. “I’ve never even tried more than three, like we did in class.”

“Right,” says Edward. “Sometimes I forget you’re a normal person.”

I don’t think anyone else could have said that and made it sound like a compliment.

“How many of these are there, anyway?”

We gather up the birds from where they’ve been scattered across the room – the slow, mundane way. There are two dozen of them. I don’t have a proper measure to compare that against, Edward being anything but a typical magician, but I get the sense it’s a lot more than most could manage.

Edward picks five birds and sets them in a row in front of him, then mutters an incantation. They take flight, hesitant at first but then flying in tight circles above his head. “Okay,” he says. “I can do this.”

I take three birds of my own and animate them – using the General Animation Spell this time, because I want to be able to do more than just levitate them. Even with fewer birds my control isn’t as precise as Edward’s – I think he’s casting using Siaril, which is a lot more suited to that than Malaina. Not for the first time, I’m a little jealous of his being able to switch between Schools according to which better suits the task at hand.

Or maybe he’s just that much better than me.

Edward hands Electra one of his marbles; she tips it out of her palm and casts quickly enough that it hangs in the air instead of falling.

“I’m waiting,” she says simply.

And we attack. It takes us a while to find the right approach – I struggle to give different mental commands to the birds simultaneously, so I’m mostly reduced to attacking one bird at a time, while Edward seems to have more success having two birds move symmetrically.

None of it makes a shred of difference. Electra barely seems to be moving: she leans a little to the left, takes a step to the right, ducks down slightly, but never rushed or out of control. It’s as if she knows where the birds will be before we do, even when we try looping around the room to attack from behind.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly multi-School?” asks Edward after about five minutes of this.

“Fairly,” replies Electra, lifting her leg to let a low-flying bird of mine pass underneath. “There’s no secret. No trick. Just natural talent combined with years of practice. You could be better than me if you devoted enough effort to it, I expect.”

“You’re not just talking an hour a week, are you?” I ask.

Electra shakes her head.

And that’s how the second-to-last day ends, with me realising that I haven’t been worried or tired for the last few hours. I wonder if I could make that happen again tomorrow. I wonder why I didn’t ask Electra to stay for tomorrow afternoon instead of this one.

My sleep is thankfully dreamless, but the day seems to last an eternity. Tara pays another visit at lunchtime to reassure me that she’s ready for the hearing and I will be just fine. Edward gives me his lack of news again. I try and fail to work, read through a century’s worth of kings, go to bed straight after dinner and lie sleepless for five hours.

I must have slept at some point, otherwise I wouldn’t have woken on the morning of the hearing.