Control Comes from Within

“It appears some of my students place more importance on celebrating the beginning of spring than arriving to my class on time. Well, no matter. All of you sitting here chose to be punctual, and those I wish to admonish are, sadly, not present for me to do so. Something to be discussed in the future.”

The thin and lanky bearded professor that was speaking had a small goatee which he was stroking as he slowly paced around his table in the front of the classroom. A few seats in the front row were conspicuously empty, marking the absence of some of last night’s revelers. I had no doubt they would regret their decision in the future.

“For now, let us turn our attention to what’s truly important and the main reason all of you are here. Blood magic.” The professor turned his back to the students, facing the yellowish chalkboard. With a few hand gestures and a flick of the finger, a stream of blood rose from his table and rained onto the chalkboard, staining the board messily at first, but soon enough, the blood merged and flowed onto the board as though written by an invisible hand, leaving enough blood that a very legible ‘Professor Alinis’ was left behind.

A few of the students clapped and cheered, but the professor raised a hand, and the noise quickly died down. Turning back to the students in their silence, he began speaking. “What I have just demonstrated for you, apart from my name, is a glimpse of the things one can do with blood magic, should you possess the right aptitude and mindset. For example, those of you walking the path of the warrior can use blood on the battlefield,” And he manipulated the blood into the shape of a longsword, grasping it firmly and cleanly slicing an empty seat into two halves, “as a literal weapon. Those walking the path of the healer can sense the maladies and various ailments in a patient’s blood and body, or even your own, if you find yourself ill and without a healer at hand. You, the silver boy, in the corner,” he pointed to someone in the back of the room, “You have some affliction in your eye, do you not?”

The silver boy, whose hair was white as chalk, stood up and nervously replied, “Yes, professor. I, I...the healer said that –”

“Oh, Mother save me. Here, hold still, and try not to squirm.” The professor strode to the silver boy’s desk and placed a hand on his head, and within seconds, the boy gasped loudly, then thanked the professor profusely, which he waved off, telling the boy to sit down.

“Next, those who choose the scribe’s path. A contract written in blood, signed in blood, or even using a bloody thumbprint, is more binding than one written in ink, and the effects are magnified further when written by a blood mage. Those who attempt to renege on a blood contract face far harsher consequences than its terms state. Finally, for those of you who think yourself artisans and enchanters, you need only look at your student cards to see an inspired application of blood magic.”

With those words, nearly everyone took out their student cards and examined them. Naturally, I knew what he was referring to and didn’t look at mine, but apparently I was in the minority.

“For those of you who have somehow managed to remain unaware of what I refer to, you have my sincere condolences…and contempt. I only hope you display more intelligence in the time we have together than you have for the past year. And for those of you who are aware, know that you show more promise in this field than those dunces you have the misfortune of calling your classmates.” he finished snidely. The class was silent throughout all of his speech, astounded by his abilities, or maybe his demeanor.

I liked him.

“Unfortunately, any practical lessons will have to wait until most of you can show that you possess at least a minimum of theoretical knowledge. So, gather your books and quills, and then we can discuss what blood is, and where it comes from. As ludicrous as it sounds, blood is actually produced within one’s bones, which have been found to be – why aren’t you all writing this down? All of this will be covered in the monthly assessment!”

The rest of the class passed in a flash, as Professor Alinis described what blood was, its role in the body, and how it was created in the bones, aka bone marrow.

Sadly, the next class was not nearly as entertaining as blood magic had been.

“Shi shi, everyone, or as it would translate in the Human tongue, good morning!”

All second-years were required to study a foreign language, and I chose the Beastfolk tongue as my elective. I figured it was the most populous continent and I’d eventually travel there, so why not get the lingo down in advance?

I was unsure if the translation spell would work on the Beastfolk language or any others for that matter,, but if it didn’t, I would still be able to communicate when needed. If the spell did end up working…then I’d effectively be wasting time and effort.

Meh. it was a moot point. Future-me could deal with it if it became a problem.

Our professor was a beastfolk herself, though she seemed like a…mixed-blood? I really couldn’t think of any polite way to put it. Hybrid sounded bad, so did half-blood or half-breed, not to mention mongrel or chimera or any other fantasy term.

“Miss, are you a real beastman?” One bold, or perhaps simply ignorant student asked her.

“I’d like to remind the class to address me as Professor, and yes, I am a real member of the beastfolk. Beastmen, hah! As if man and beast lay together and their offspring all happened to be male!” The small looking professor ranted. She seemed slightly different from what I could recall of Khime’s description of the beastfolk. Her appearance was almost entirely humanoid, save for the two floppy rabbit ears atop her head, and the v-shaped leporine nose in the center of her face. She was wearing baggy trousers that seemed comfortable, and a form-fitting robe with intricate designs. Her clothing practically screamed ‘foreigner’.

“To the young student standing up, I recognize your confusion, and apologize for my outburst, warranted though it was. You all should address me as Professor Tu, like the word too. My mother is a human, while my father is a Beastfolk of the rabbit tribes, resulting in my…confusing…appearance. However! I was born and raised among my father’s tribe, and all who see me know me as such, from the elders of my tribe to the children of other tribes, and even traveling merchants of other races. So, yes, I am very much a real Beastfolk.” Her usually light voice had a weight to it that commanded respect. It was similar to what the headmaster had done with his voice at my transfer meeting, but less violent and aggressive.

The female student who posed the question sat in her seat, a fierce blush on her cheeks as she tried not to draw any more attention.

“Now. You all chose this class because you wish to learn the language of the beastfolk, or as we know it…” she conspiratorially lowered her voice to a whisper and beckoned everyone closer, making most of us lean forward, “...dragonspeak.”

There was a brief moment of shocked silence before a few students began loudly badgering her about dragons. Were they real? Had she seen one? Were they common in the beastfolk homeland?

A snap of her fingers, magically amplified, put a quick stop to that. Professor Tu wore a serious expression as she continued, “Dragonspeak is easy to learn…if it is your first language. But it is hard to fill a cup that is already full, especially if the one holding it does not wish to fill it. And so it falls to me to ensure you all have at least a basic understanding of the beastfolk language before the year is through. So, everyone, take one of these sheets then pass the rest back, and we can get started on our first lesson: characters. The Beastfolk tongue has over twenty thousand characters, but good news for you all, most Beastfolk are illiterate! As long as you know the most common two to three thousand, you can hold a basic conversation with most Beastfolk. So, looking at your reference sheets, the first one is shi. Um, you in the red robe, why don’t you come up and try to draw it on the board…”

The rest of the class proceeded in a similar fashion, the professor calling students up to draw the characters and pronounce them correctly as they did so, to reinforce the sound each character had. Her assignment for the next class was to be familiar with the first five hundred characters…by writing them fifty times. Each. I was really looking forward to that.

My next class, General Combat, was just as dry as beastfolk language class, or dragonspeak class as I and everyone else would call it, if in a different way.

At least, at the beginning.

The instructor, who was most definitely not a professor, made us all march out to a training ground and run laps. For the entire hour. In whatever we were wearing. With all our bags, purses, satchels, or rucksacks on us.

I was most certainly one of the better off ones, as I usually wore comfortable and breathable clothes. Some of the others, a few of the girls specifically, kept stumbling and falling down into the grass and dirt, their pretty clothes ruined, at least in their eyes, and their sandals broken or snapped. Most of the class was able to run for a good while, at least until the instructor called for us to stop, and the majority of us broke down, lying down on the ground and taking deep heaving breaths or sharp and panting ones. I had some stamina, but that endurance I recalled having on my first day on the beach was all but gone, and I was panting like a dog along with the majority of the class.

By some coincidence, I ended up running alongside two other students, twins by the looks of it. Our running got in the way of introductions, but once we collapsed on the grass, we exchanged names.

“Hey, pant, I’m, pant, Rhaaj, pant. You, pant, brothers?, pant.” I managed to get out.

One of the brothers made an attempt to kick me but was too drained and couldn’t connect with me.

“I’m a, pant, girl, pant, you idiot, pant. Cough, cough. I’m, pant, Riddis. The, pant, the guy over, pant, there, pant, is, pant, my brother, pant, Or, pant, Orddis, pant.”

Ordiss wiggled his arm in what could only generously be called a wave. I nodded to him, the closest I could get to reciprocating. As everyone was catching their breath on the ground, the instructor yelled out to all of us, his volume reminding me of Elius, the guard I hadn’t seen in some time.

“You will all address me as Sir Yalmaar! If any of you call me Professor or Professor Yalmaar or Lord Yalmaar, basically, anything but Sir Yalmaar, the entire class will run laps that day! Oh, stop your whining, you big babies! As far as I can tell, most of you don’t know the first thing about combat, which is why you’re all gonna be running laps for a good long while! Anyone wanna prove me wrong? You, southie boy! What’s your name?”

Nobody responded after a second, which only made Sir Yalmaar angry.

“Southie boy, with the green tunic, brown pants, dark skin!”

Shit. Still trying to catch my breath, I got up and stood up as much as I could, my hands on my knees, basically hunched over. “Yes, Sir Yalmaar?” I said breathlessly.

“Why didn’t you respond the first time I called you!” He said aggressively, getting into my personal space.

“I, I didn’t know who you were talking to, Sir Yalmaar.”

“Well, alright. You’re young, which means you’re stupid, and you’re tired, which means you’re extra stupid. I’ll give you one chance for forgiveness. Tell me something useful about combat, and all your friends can lie down on the ground like a bunch of worms for the rest of class.” He shouted, an inch away from my face.

I could have just spouted some random shit from a book, like footwork is nothing without balance, or don’t let your shield block your line of sight to the enemy, and I might have gotten off fine. But instead, I actually thought back to my one real combat experience, and…whatever I felt, it wasn’t positive. I had a feeling this drill sergeant guy wouldn’t accept anything vague.

I was thinking about maybe quoting Sun Tzu’s Art of War, weighing the odds I’d say something too profound or outlandish, and having to answer awkward questions I had no easy answer to.

But whatever I meant to say was deleted from my brain, as something I had no intention of telling anyone fell out of my mouth before conscious thought took hold.

More to myself than him, I whispered the word I’d only heard before.

“Osenir.”

And in the blink of an eye, the drill sergeant was gone, and a kindly uncle took his place, his hands on my shoulders and his eyes as wide as one could get as he held me straight and looked me in the eyes.

“Mother’s mercy,” he whispered. “Shit. Kid, are you alright?”

His words lit a fire in me, full of rage and pain. How the fuck would anyone be alright after that? His tone was full of concern, and I hated it. And I could tell from the look in his eyes, he knew it.

“Shit.” he said again. “Sorry, kid.”

Turning away from me, he yelled out to the students, “Looks like you worms got lucky! Keep lying on the grass until class is over. For those of you too weak to make it to your next class, get a friend to carry you. If you don’t have friends, too bad, suck it up.”

The rest of the class only had about five minutes to recover before they staggered and stumbled to their next class, everyone in various states of disarray. The twins waved to me as they left, and I responded with my own half-hearted wave back, struggling to contain the fire that was still blazing within me, white-hot and threatening to burn me alive if I didn’t do something about it.

A cold and metallic grip on my upper arm prevented me from going to my next class. I turned around only to see the cause of this entire thing in his full plate armor, Sir-fucking-Yalmaar. It was obvious he knew what I went through, and what I was going through, and I hated it.

I should have been grateful there was somebody I could talk to, to confide in about what happened. We had apparently lived similar experiences, and there was a certain knowledge in that. That you weren’t alone. That others had been where you were, and would without a doubt stand where you once stood.

But I didn’t care about any of that. All I cared about was not succumbing to the inferno blazing inside me, triggered by this man’s words and stoked by my memories.

It was hard to keep my mask on at that moment. The mask of civility and politeness, of pretend smiles and an illusory sense of caring about random people. The mask that concealed my true self, and my inner feelings, which polite society told me to reject completely. With as much will as I could, I doused the fire within me with something I had long thought of as my ally. With as much indifference as I could muster, I stamped out the fire, then its embers, and metaphorically froze the remains.

And finally, in a supreme act of will, I managed to wrench the mask back on as I said to the soldier holding my arm, “Yes, Sir Yalmaar?”

“Kid, I know it hurts. Mother knows I’ve been where you are. If you wanna talk –”

I twisted my arm out of his grip before he could go any further, “I appreciate your good intentions, Sir Yalmaar, but I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to my next class before I’m late.”

Walking away from him right then was short-sighted and petty. I didn’t accomplish anything. I didn’t hurt him. If anything, I hurt myself.

But the cold winds of my indifference snuffed out that spark of pain before it ever had the chance to ignite.

I didn’t have to imagine what the consequences of letting that spark grow would be. I knew what would happen, and it was something I wanted to avoid at all costs. The aftermath was never pretty.

I made my way to my next class: healing.

I finally had proof the universe had a sense of humor.