46th of Sifdras - 7th Auryn

  Cira and I walk to Combat Training together with a smile on our faces, giggling about the latest gossip she has heard from Munsa talking her ears off. She tells me about a love triangle between some unlikely upperclassmen; an elf, a croakin, and a human. I remark that it sounds like the story Munsa was trying to tell her in Alchemy last week and she confirms that it is the same story. Apparently, Munsa had cornered her in the Sanctum and Cira had no polite way of telling her to shut her mouth.

  I didn’t feel bad about listening to the tale from Cira and I feel rather inseparable with her since I told her my quirk. Most of the conversation actually revolved around her regrettable situation with Munsa rather than spreading any kind of gossip. However, I do recognize the two females named Kishi and Wen, having encountered them before.

  Wen I recall most recently from Professor Lighthammer’s workshop, talking to a bored Narin and before that she delivered letters to us in the temporary dorms. Her fiery red hair and unintelligible speech are hard to forget. Hearing Kishi’s name gives me pause though, as she was the one who told me in the clinic that Calas had said I was cursed. Once again I get the feeling that maybe she just misheard him or it was somehow just a misunderstanding.

  Cira gives my hand a squeeze, noticing my distant stare as we settle into our “seats” on the floor of the training hall to the side of the outlined dueling box. They are no more than an outlined section of floor, but most other scribes choose to sit in the same places that they have since week one.

  Other students file in with us, taking their not-really-assigned seats and I see Calas from the corner of my eye take root in his normal spot in the back. He doesn’t seem to notice me and I let my eyes linger a moment before realizing what I’m doing. My gaze shifts quickly away as Professor Blackclaw enters the dueling box, my heart tries to run away as I tell myself that I wasn’t just waiting for him to look in my direction.

  Professor Blackclaw settles everyone down as he begins the instruction for today’s class. He explains that we will be preparing for exam questions today by discussing what the role of magic has or should have in combat. He instructs designated pairs to group up in sets of two or three and discuss. He emphasizes the word “discuss”, and goes on to say that shouting and fighting will not be tolerated for this class.

  Once he is done, I inch closer to Cira and give her a pleading smile. I hope it tells her that those boys will just have to come to us instead. She just laughs at me in a gleeful, knowing way and stays seated with me.

  Scribes bustle around lazily to group up and from the corner of my eye, I see an unamused Calas stalking toward us. Likewise from a different direction, Tymon moseys his way through the crowd; ambling unhurried. From what Cira has told me about him, that is just the way he is all the time and I am suddenly curious what his take on the question will be.

  Calas sits down across from me in his usual sleeveless shirt. He wears an almost bored expression, but when his gold eyes find mine, there is a deep intensity that I recall from when we first met. It is, thankfully, only for a moment that he holds my gaze in that way as I can feel my pulse in my ears from staring back. He breaks the contact first, regarding Cira with a dull, diluted expression.

  Finally, Tymon sits next to Cira lazily, his hoofed feet and furry legs stretched out in front of him. “Is this all for us, then?” Tymon starts lightheartedly. “Sorry to keep you all waiting.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I respond, giving a reassuring smile.

  “So what’s your opinion on magic in combat, little mouse?” Calas smoothly brings us all on topic by singling me out, of course.

  I give him a flat stare and answer honestly. “I feel it is best to use magic for defensive purposes.”

  Cira gives me an emphatic nod. It seems we are in agreement on this topic at least.

  Calas sighs audibly, “Is that because you are good at defensive magic or because that is what you feel its place is?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  I narrow my eyes at the question and reign in my emotion from my voice before speaking. “That should be its place.”

  “So would you agree that when offensive magic is used in the defense of another, that is the correct use of magic?” A true expression starts to show on his face, a wry quirk to his lips. It is reminiscent of when he debated Cira in the Hall of Equity and I get the sense that he rather likes these kinds of discussions.

  While I can see the trap in his words, I respond with logic. “Yes, by that standard, offensive magic would be considered a defensive purpose.”

  To my great surprise, Calas gives a mirthful laugh. “I’m glad to see you have more sense and talent for logic than your elven friend.”

  Cira’s expression turns dark and I hold her hand, to keep her from lunging at him in anger. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Cira’s voice is tight as she grabs hold of her amulet with her free hand; likely to also keep her from trying to strangle him and earn Professor Blackclaw’s ire.

  “Just what I said.” replies Calas with a smooth as velvet voice. His gaze lingers on Cira for a moment before looking to Tymon. “What about you, my man? Ty, right?”

  Tymon gives an awkward, almost pained smile toward Cira before shifting his focus to Calas. “Yeah. Ty is fine, I guess.” He heaves a sigh. “That was a bit harsh, don’tcha think, mate?” When Calas rolls his eyes in response, Tymon continues. “I dunno. Magic is just… magic. It don’t have a purpose, not really. Its purpose is what you make it as a person, as a mage.”

  I am stunned by the simplicity of his answer, but Tymon’s response makes so much sense. Magic just exists and it is the people who can wield it that give it purpose. It is a wonder that I have never thought of it before.

  I glance at Calas who is smiling appreciatively to Tymon, nodding to himself. I interject before he has a chance to get in another snide comment. “What about you, Calas? What is magic’s purpose in combat?”

  “Yeah, Calas,” Cira pipes up hotly, stressing his name, “tell us, oh wise one, what the true purpose of magic is.” The sarcasm drips from her words like honey on a comb.

  His smile dulls slightly as he turns those intense golden eyes on me. “Whatever it needs to be to come out on top.”

  While it is very similar to Tymon’s answer, the implication and way he says it makes my stomach turn.

  Cira doesn’t share my sentiment, though, proclaiming loudly “Oh, that is such a lame answer!”

  “You disagree, I take it.” Calas states flatly, the wisp of a smile still on his face.

  “Yes, of course!” Cira starts in again, “You are saying you have no moral convictions when using magic to hurt people.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Cira scoffs, disgust plain on her face. “You are slime! You seriously take pride in hurting people?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I think of what he told me last week, how it was true that he hurt another scribe last year. He wasn’t boasting about it. He seemed reluctant, even remorseful about it. Although that could have just been for telling me. But then why tell me at all? “Explain it, then.” I demand as he has demanded of me before.

  Calas glances in my direction, a calculating twinge in his eyes. “Alright. I don’t think about fairness in a fight. I don’t try to ‘win honorably’, because no such thing exists. You talk about morals? In combat? In a battle? What part of two sides wanting to kill one another is moral?”

  I suppress a shiver down my spine at the stark indifference in his voice in direct contrast to the ferocity in his gaze toward Cira. Cira, to her credit, appears completely non-plussed by the explanation, saying, “I’m not talking about war. War is for those who see no other options but bloodshed.”

  There is a hint of annoyance that passes through Calas’ face, a small twitch of his eye. “Fine. Even in a fight, I’m not going to stop and ask the other, or others, if its going to be fair. Again, a fair fight just does not exist. You use what you have to keep breathing.”

  “But that’s so—“

  “Realistic?” Calas stops Cira’s counterpoint dead. “Look, if someone has a knife to my throat, I’m not worried whether or not the other guy has magic or not. There is a knife to my throat and it will kill me all the same. I am going to use whatever I have at my disposal to make sure that it’s not my blood spilled all over the floor.”

  There is an uncomfortable silence between the four of us as we all take in the full depth of his answer. It is a much different perspective than he has shown me thus far. With each new piece I learn, I feel like there is another aspect to who he is that no one can see. Like this is only scratching the surface of the person he really is, not just the mischievous taunts and cruel jests. It’s almost as if those actions on the surface are playing into a role that others have made for him and I am suddenly curious to know where this deeper side of Calas really goes.

  Calas heaves a frustrated sigh. “Does that answer your question, mouse?” He asks me softly and I can almost feel the hope in him that I will change the subject.

  I nod curtly, aware of Cira’s bristling mood beside me. “Yeah, it does.” I start slowly. “It seems to me like the one you are protecting, is yourself.” I catch his eyes with mine, trying to gage if my assessment is close to the mark.

  Nodding slowly, his eyes find mine, a forlorn smile crossing his lips. “Yeah, that’s true enough.”

  As a group we decide we have had enough of the question and spend the rest of the class time showing off our magic to one another. Except Calas, who is more than content to observe silently, a contemplative hand over his mouth. I swear though, that snake on the back of his hand is staring at me.