Chapter 312: A Teacher's Calling
A Teacher's Calling
Martel arrived for Master Fenrick's class with a nice stack of parchment filled with Archean letters. Looking around, he saw everyone else had the same. Exchanging glances with Eleanor, he gave a quick smile. Her help had been rather invaluable, both in terms of speeding up his work process and eliminating many possible errors he might otherwise have made. He knew she had only worked together with him for his sake, as he could not offer the same assistance to her, which only made him more grateful.
"Alright, students. I see you've all brought your assignments. We'll be reading the book in order, so we'll start with Griffe and his first chapter. Assuming none of you have butchered your work, we'll begin on Tyrian runes this time next fiveday." Master Fenrick gazed at them all from behind his spectacles. "But rest assured, I will collect your work and scrutinise it if anything smells suspicious." He cleared his throat. "Griffe, if you please."
Looking nervous, Alain gripped the edges of his parchment and began reading aloud.
***
One bell later, Martel had finished the course on Archean. He did not imagine himself ever having any conversations in the language like Eleanor could, but he knew the letters, at least. He should think of some way to thank Eleanor when he got the chance for helping him clear another course, just like she had with astronomy. It would have to wait, though; an afternoon spent with Master Alastair and Mistress Rana awaited him.
In the Hall of Elements, Martel demonstrated his mastery of his newest spell. Whether earth, stone, metal, Martel imbued any material with his magic and flung it as a missile against Master Alastair.
Nodding in approval, his teacher smiled. "Excellent. I don't think there's much improvement to be made regarding this. I say it's time we turn to the last element, which admittedly is also the most difficult to use with this spell. It's a lot easier to pour your magic into something you can actually touch or see. Doing so with nothing but air is harder, but it also has the advantage of always being available. I can also guarantee you that it's an attack they never see coming." The old battlemage laughed.
"I look forward to figuring it out."
"Of course you do. You're interested in learning, after all."
Looking at his teacher, Martel remembered that this was not part of the regular schedule; Master Alastair was teaching Martel of his own accord. For no other reason than to help him prepare for what lay ahead. Few people had the fortune of such a teacher.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes, master, I am."
"Good. Now, when it comes to creating a bolt of pure air, it helps to spend a moment gathering the wind to you. Just at first until you learn to cast the spell as second nature…"
***
With all his obligations at the Lyceum completed for the day, Martel went into the city. He had a long walk ahead of him with cold weather, making him long for a potion of warmth. Unfortunately, Mistress Rana had kept the one he had just made, declaring it good enough to be sold. Which Martel could not complain about; he had a newfound appreciation for the cost of alchemy supplies.
He had also hoped to move on to a new recipe by now, but Mistress Rana preached patience above all else when it came to alchemy, and she had delayed it for another fiveday.
As he reached the copper lanes, Martel gathered his wits about him before knocking on the door to Weasel's hideout; he knew the welcome to expect.
Badger opened the door, tilting his head to look at him curiously. "Weasel said you shouldn't come around anymore."
"I know. I'll be waiting at the end of the alley. Tell Sparrow I'd like to talk to her, and Weasel, if he must come along."
True to his word, Martel walked down to where the alley met the outer street. He pulled his cloak around himself, wishing spring would come soon. It could not be much longer now.
"What do you want?" Weasel's tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion of Martel.
Martel glanced down the road; the young chief was alone. "I accept that Sparrow will be staying here. But she should still learn to use the gift she's received. I can show her a few simple exercises to help her train."
"What do you want for that?"
"Nothing. I just want to see her get better at magic."
Weasel shook his head with a dismissive expression. "Nobody believes that."
"It's true nonetheless. There are people who help me become a better mage. I want to do the same for Sparrow."
"What kind of exercises?" The voice belonged to a small girl who suddenly appeared between some debris.
"I told you to wait," Weasel huffed at her.
Ignoring him, Sparrow looked at Martel. "What kind?"
Martel looked around in the alley. The houses looked derelict and abandoned; it would be best to teach Sparrow out here, with the earth below their feet; the wooden floor inside their house would prevent her from connecting to her element. He got down on one knee, ignoring how cold the ground felt. "You'll want to practise somewhere out of sight, but this alley will do while I'm here, and there's nobody around. You got a natural connection to earth, Sparrow. So I suggest you start practising with that." He stamped his hand against the dirt.
"How?"
"It might be easiest to touch it at first. Feel it against the palm of your hand." Martel dug his fingers down to dig up some of the dirt. He gestured for her to extend her hand and let the grains of earth fall into her grip. "Look at it. Feel it. Decide to move it, but keep your fingers still. If you will it, your magic will do the rest."
Sparrow frowned in concentration; Martel noticed that despite his scowl, Weasel had yet to interrupt them. Suddenly, the dirt in her hand flew in every direction. Surprised, she laughed.
"Alright, I suppose that's a start. Maybe try to imagine exactly where you want it to move. Say, from one of your hands to the other." Martel gathered up some more dirt and left it on her palm, which he placed next to her other one. "Gently, like a breeze cautiously pushing the earth across the length of your hands."
Once more gaining a look of focus that sat strangely on the small girl's face, Sparrow tried again.
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