The Black Squirrel

4. First Friend

The next few days were a whirlwind of events for Morden as his first days of classes began.

The morning dawned crisp and clear, hills turned into frozen snowbanks. The Mages-to-be gathered an hour earlier than the other students. When Kessey came, smart woolen vest over her body, she looked more energetic and well-rested than before.

“There are three basic Mage attacks I want ya ta master in ya first year,” she explained. Holding out a twig in the shape of a wishbone, she cried, “Mage’s Bolt!” A piercing white sphere exploded into the distance. Kessey flew away and back with an apple, showing them its freshly burnt center.

“That’s ya first offensive attack. Here’s a basic defensive move. Mage’s Circle!” The same white glowing particles, but now traveling along the ground in an ethereal circle of white motes to protect Kessey. “It’ll blunt any attacks coming ya way. But it’s not foolproof, so stay sharp!”

“Here’s the last offensive attack. I don’t expect ya ta master this till spring. Ho ho.” She cheerily smiled and said, “Mage’s Claw!”

Morden and three other students watched a tarp she’d set up shred as though a big bear had swiped it with both paws. It sagged and then dramatically fell over.

Then she handed them all twigs and urged them to try. When Morden did and nothing happened, she rolled over hooting.

“Can’t believe ya thought it’d work without any training.”

Morden felt a little embarrassed but the other students had all genuinely attempted the attack too, so he didn’t feel too bad.

She explained that they would need to concentrate their minds for some time before achieving any kind of magic at all. “When ya mind gets dense, and pure, it gets like a magnifying glass. That lets ya convert the energy ya already have in ya body into magic. Ya saw tha white particle dust from my wand. We call that mana.” But when Morden asked her how to meditate, she hemmed and hawed and eventually said they would have to figure it out themselves, because the exact metaphor needed to unlock the pure state of meditation would be different for each animal.

Sitting down for the rest of the morning, while Kessey went to the mages in the years above them, following her suggestion to sit and think of nothing, Morden found himself thinking of a dozen things, including questions about the source of their energy and the range and power of their attacks. He was aware from the subtle shifting noises next to him that his fellow first years from different kingdoms were struggling the same way.

Soon enough it was lunchtime. Morden sat down at the far end of a table, light streaming down on him as he munched his sunflower seed bar. I was hoping to catch Rhodella, but seems we’re all let out at different times. He kept his ears alert in case any senior students came to talk to him like the raccoons, but he was left alone.

The snow was receding on the hills when Morden got there, leaving pinpricks of grass poking out like hedgehog quills. In a great gust of icy blue wings that spun some loose snow drifting, Cassiopeia swooped by to survey the mages. “First Years, follow me,” he said, eyes narrowing as he sighted Morden.

He led them to a carrot patch not far from the Dining Hall. “As I explained to each of you, my first lesson for you will be to grind down your arrogance. The kitchen cook needs their root vegetables harvested before next snowfall. Your job will be to harvest all these carrots and place them in this basket here.”

As they knelt down on the wet, cold dirt to begin, Morden spotted Cassiopeia perching on a nearby branch and taking out a book to read.Books! A sudden thrill of exaltation went through him. Will they teach us how to read? Cassiopeia noticed his attention but mistook it for envy for the owl’s comfortable position. His beak curved into a smile as the very pale, almost white squirrel next to Morden slipped and swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

Morden needed both paws to wedge out the carrot, which felt like a frozen solid icicle, from the ground. As he worked his way through the line, the gopher in their group said, “Well. Not very educational, is this?” He had an unusually aristocratic profile and nose. Without looking up from his book, Cassiopeia said, “Didn’t Kessey explain that meditation would be the foundation for all your magic skills? Or did you believe mages were entitled to skip hard work?”

I see! This is a walking meditation , realized Morden.

“Oh. So we’re supposed to meditate while we garden. Got it,” said a walnut brown squirrel, smiling.

“Education doesn’t fall out of the sky into your head. You’ll need to seize each and every opportunity to learn. Either you’ll make the most of your time here, or you won’t.”

Morden couldn’t help but to add, “I thought it was the teacher’s responsibility to deliver content to the students. Otherwise, can’t we just do this at home?”

Cassiopeia’s hawk-like yellow eyes glittered. “If that’s how you feel, I will be sure to make our future sessions extra educational.”

The pale white squirrel winced and glanced at Morden as if to say, “Why’d you have to speak up?

They continued pulling up carrots as the sky turned greyer and more overcast, like a goose’s belly growing fat. By the end of the session Morden’s paws felt like they had returned to icicles themselves, and his knees were stiff when Cassiopeia told them to return to the Dining Hall. However, Morden only felt triumph. The momentum of swinging out the carrot, digging the hole, and repeating the process had slowly allowed his mind to enter a flow state. He bet that if he tried Mage’s Bolt right now with a wand, something would happen. But he’d have to wait until tomorrow to try.

Sadly, his expectation was dashed the next day. Kessey started by handing them twigs. Morden caught more than one hopeful glance from his peers at their own wands, but no one was able to do so much as make the wands glow. So they continued their morning meditations and afternoon gardening. Morden couldn’t see any progress in the morning meditation, but the gardening could allow him to enter the flow state for up to four hours, disturbed only when another student broke the silence. On the second day, during dinner, he caught sight of Rhodella and Guy.

“Hey, Morden! They’re going to pair us up into teams on Thursday. Wanna be in ours?” Guy asked.

“Of course. What are the teams for?”

“I think we stay in them for a semester. It’s to improve our ability to work together. I heard when you get sent out on assignments for the royal family, it’s usually in groups that have at least one of each class.”

They caught up on their coursework. When Morden explained the task Cassiopeia had sent them to, Rhodella let out a long sigh. “It’s not a terrible idea… but in this cold? He could’ve explained the point of gardening, too.”

“Who was the teacher last year?” Morden wanted to know.

Rhodella frowned. “It was Kessey. There’s usually just the Guardian. Cassiopeia is strange. Where did he come from? I’d think I’d have heard of an icy blue owl mage before he appeared. I haven’t talked to him personally, but he almost sounds like my great-grandfather. No one our age brings up the hierarchy anymore.”

Morden shook his head. “It’s like he designs his classes around how to humiliate us. It would be nice if he could put that energy into teaching us.”

Another day passed. Morden was confident that his ability to concentrate his magic was increasing, as were most of his classmates, although the aristocratic gopher seemed rather unsure. Cassiopeia did nothing to reassure the gopher.

Thursday dawned and the First Years all clambered to the center of the hills where the skunk had been waiting. A break in the snowy days meant the green of the hills were showing. The Spearman Guardian explained that his classes would be focused on building up basic strength and endurance – “at least enough to hold down an opponent and then run away” – and then brought up the teams Rhodella had mentioned earlier.

Suddenly Morden noticed a commotion behind him. Turning around, he saw Alvin holding a small black stone and gloating over it. There was an opossum whose looked very upset, eyes ringed red. Oh, it’s Celeste , realized Morden.

It looked like Alvin had managed to gather a gang of – what appeared to Morden – thugs. They were all peering at the black stone and shaking it up and down like baby squirrels with their first acorn.

Alvin was waving the stone. Celeste would reach for it but the opossum was much slower than the squirrel. It was clear which direction she shifted her weight to, which would cue Alvin to casually toss the stone at the last second to his other paw.

Celeste winced each time Alvin threw it.

“Please just give it back to me,” she said lowly.

Alvin frowned. “Now I’m good enough to talk to, huh? Since I found your little rock. Or whatever this is.” He held it to the light and Morden suddenly recognized the device. It was a compass.

One of Alvin’s friends said, “But why don’t you come back to our table again? Or do we have to keep this for you to join us?” “Do it!” another friend yelled, and the first friend slipped the compass down Alvin’s shorts. Alvin looked down incredulously and guffawed, as much out of confusion as genuine mirth. The entire gang broke out into hysterics. Morden decided he’d had enough.

“Alvin, give it back,” he commanded.

Alvin whirled around, face momentarily frozen after catching sight of Morden. “Look who found their way to the big boys,” one of Alvin’s friends taunted. Alvin’s face transformed into a confident leer. “Wondered when I’d see your face.”

“Been learning a lot?” Morden said conversationally, pretending to look down to inspect his toes and then rising with a twig he’d found on the path.

Alvin wasn’t fooled by the conversational misdirection. “What’re you planning to do with that twig?” From his darting eyes, he must have realized the danger of hiding an object near his groin.

As Morden approached, Alvin suddenly warned, “You use your magey attack, you break the stone!”

Morden was now right next to Alvin. “Of course. That’s why I’m not going to,” before hooking Alvin’s underwear with the twig and deftly slipping it up over his head.

The crowd roared and Morden quickly slipped the rock which had fallen out with a grimace. He intended to grab Celeste and return it, but now the Spearsman Guardian was standing right in front of them.

“Oh, it’s you. Right, you two are brothers.” He looked, considering. “This will be a good team,” he decided, and began to leave.

Morden stared at him, shocked. “A good team? Did you see what just happened?”

The Spearsman Guardian looked directly at Morden. “I’m hoping you can curb Alvin’s more… chaotic tendencies,” he said in a weary tone.

His teachers are getting tired of him already?

“I can’t be paired with Morden!” Alvin said, underwear still on his head.

“Oh, you’re not a pair.” The Spearman Guardian chuckled. “You’re a trio!” he said, glancing at Celeste and smiling.

Despite the protests of all three, the skunk walked by unperturbed. The cold détente Morden and Alvin had had ever since Cassiopeia’s forced showdown between the two had been broken now into open hostility. Trading insults about topics they had carefully left untread previously, only the Spearman Guardian’s command for them to start running laps had finally broken their quarrel.

After a verbal argument that Morden had won, but only by saying words bitter and made more bitter by the prolonged silence between them, Alvin stomped off. Morden fumed, heart pumping not just from the run but from the anger coursing through him. A paw softly touched his shoulder.

“Are you OK?” Celeste asked. Morden had completely forgotten she was there.

“Oh. Yeah,” he said, still unable to relax.

“We missed lunch,” said Celeste.

“I don’t have an appetite,” Morden said acidly. Celeste looked up at him. “I-I-I brought you an apple.”

“Thanks.” Morden pocketed it as she continued, “It was actually you I-I-I was looking for in the cafeteria…”

“What for?”

Celeste shook her head. “We’re going to be late as it is.” On that enigmatic note they hurried to the green hills again to see most of the students already there. Without looking at them as they approached, the Thief Guardian explained the purpose of their training. They were to learn stealth, which included tracking a target, but also blending in to look natural in a crowd.

Normally Morden would find stealth interesting, but he continued to think over his and Alvin’s conflict. He came out of class with several strategies for how to deal with Alvin depending on how he reacted the next time they saw each other. He also noted how the Spearman Guardian already seemed tired of Alvin. He’s having trouble in school? No kidding. Looks like he never figured out how to stand his own in a social group. Could I use that to bait him if necessary?

In a flash, the day was over. Morden saw Rhodella and Guy at dinner again, although he had learned by now that each class ended at different times. Halfway through his retelling of the incident, Guy interrupted. “Yes, yes, yes. Alvin’s stupid. But he’s your brother. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Rarely was Morden caught off guard. Rhodella laughed good-naturedly.

The next day began with First Aid. The Archery Guardian explained that frequently on the battlefield there wouldn’t be medics to help them. They’d need to perform first aid on themselves and on others. She spoke nonstop about splinting, setting bones, and reducing swelling, but Morden was able to keep up. Despite this week being a comparative information overload compared to his entire life, he also felt like he’d been waiting all these years to learn, like an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Some glances showed his peers struggling already, especially the Spearmen. “You there! Stop your yammering. Spearmen are the most likely out of any of us to face serious injuries on the battlefield.” Morden noted that Alvin’s friends laughed off the Guardian’s rebuke, but that the careless grin Alvin pasted on his face looked insincere.

“Oh, and the next class will be indoors,” the Archery Guardian said off-handedly. “Letters will be in the top of the Mage Tower.” Morden sat up straight. “Well?” she said to the crowd. “Aren’t you going to get going?”

Celeste came up to Morden so quietly Morden startled when she said, “Hello.”

“Hey.” Morden blinked. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me in the cafeteria?”

“Umm. Yes?” She scratched the bottom of her ear. “I-I-I’m interested in your candle clock?” A pause.

Morden had the feeling that for whatever reason, she just made up the last reason on the spot.

Nevertheless, Morden obliged her and explained its reasoning as they walked up the spiral of the Mage Tower. When he was done, he couldn’t help but add excitedly, “Letters! It’s always been my dream to read.”

“Really? I-I-I can’t remember how long ago I-I-I learned.”

Morden looked at her. “How old are you?”

Celeste’s ears shrank and she didn’t reply. She said instead, “It looks l-i-i-ike we’ll be working together a lot. Wanna get together here every week and practice? I-I-I don’t want to have a bad grade just because we fail as a team.” She cringed and Morden accurately guessed she was thinking about Alvin.

“Hey, this team is better without Alvin in it. Besides, there’s no way we could fail.” If anything, I’ll take on the team challenge alone.

“It’s the fi-i-inal exam. The team test,” she said, looking at her paws. For the first time, Morden noticed Celeste was slightly rotund. Though it’s not like I’ve seen many opossums before.

The stairway Morden had marked the very first time he’d seen his room they now ascended. Further still they climbed until they reached Memorial Tower Library. Inside was a dark oak library with green felt chaises, the same color and material of the green felt hat the King wore. The place was spacious and seemed, to Morden, to hold the memory of many Mages for generations reading in peaceful solitude.

Cassiopeia began, “Reading. It’s the only way we can connect with our descendants. And our descendants before that.”

For the first time, Morden heard a note of grief in Cassiopeia’s voice. Squinting closely, Morden thought he could spot a tiny tear eke from the corner of Cassiopeia’s eye. Well, that’s surprising.

“Reading.” Cassiopeia held up four scrolls in turn. This caught the interest of even the Spearmen. “This is a scroll with recipes from our first king’s time,” he said, and Morden noted the winter garden root vegetable embellishments along the edges. He picked up the next item and said, “A tome covering theories behind the source of Mages’ magic.” Morden’s interest sharpened. The next item, “Medieval weaponry,” with more differently shaped twigs than Morden had ever imagined before, and the final one, “A wandering beast’s travels along the world.” On the cover was a fanciful illustrated of a tentacle wrapping around a wooden boat whole.So, Morden realized excitedly, there must be a whole genre of writings that are made-up.

“But before you can avail yourself of the knowledge of centuries, we need to start with a simple letter.” Laboriously the owl picked up chalk with his talon and drew a symbol onto the blackboard. The rest of the lesson was devoted to letters. Each student had their own chalkboard. The letters seemed endless, and Morden saw the Spearmen one by one crack their chalk in two and begin playing practical pranks on each other. But Cassiopeia simply ignored them.

At some point, the raucousness increased, and bits of chalk flew over to where the Archers and Thieves were sitting. The Thieves reseated themselves, but the Archers looked among each other, and finally one spoke up.

“Excuse me, sir, but we can’t concentrate when half the class is throwing chalk at each other,” he said.

Cassiopeia turned his head to the spearmen. “Spearmen, your peers are having trouble concentrating.” He suggested, “Perhaps you had better see yourselves out if you don’t intend on learning.”

In any other context Cassiopeia’s words would not have seemed prejudiced. His tone was completely neutral. Yet the fact that it took the class to bring up the matter made Cassiopeia appear wholly biased towards the Spearmen. Quickly they packed their belongings and left, only several of them remaining, chewing their cheeks and studying the letters Cassiopeia had written on the board.

And so the first week passed, with Morden thoughtfully poring over his slate as the sky dissolved into a fine grey mist. Slowly the days blended together into a new life. Though Morden had been afraid of his energy dips, he found that studying magic gave him so much enthusiasm, he seemed to be running on an energy high. Sometimes he wondered what would happen when he crashed, but no signs of it showed at the moment.

Cassiopeia had not been kidding when he had said he would make their sessions next week more informative. Now as they dug out carrots, and continued onto other vegetables such as lettuce, Cassiopeia would suddenly spin his wand and fire Mage’s Bolt into the spot their paws just were. Sometimes, as they were all gardening down a row, a thin white glistening line would appear and block them in their path as suddenly as a stolid groundhog popping from the ground. But they knew it was Mage’s Circle. The worst was when Cassiopeia decided to score vegetable patches with Mage’s Claw, which in theory could help them dig out carrots. But since Cassiopeia would chastise them if the carrots were scored, the students had to grab the carrots and pull them sideways by the carrot top to avoid marking the flesh, once they saw Cassiopeia raising his wand.

And yet the more Cassiopeia continued his random harassment, the more Morden learned. He was already deeply ensconced in the rhythm of gardening. Every morning Kessey now gave them a wand to see where their mana levels were. Morden couldn’t help but let out a jubilant “Yes!” when after two weeks a faint but bright blue spark capped his wand. The development happened around the same time for the pale white squirrel. Even when for days after, the spark didn’t grow but remained the same size, Morden hope renewed just by looking at it. Besides his increased magic levels, Morden noticed something strange several days after Cassiopeia had started his harassment.

Morden inspected one of the carrots after Cassiopeia had dismissed them. He turned it over in his paw. As always, Cassiopeia’s hole pierced it straight through the center. Some singed bits were all that encircled the perfect circle of nothingness gaping from the carrot’s center. He scampered over the other edge of the field and inspected another carrot Cassiopeia had blasted, from the aristocratic gopher’s paw. The carrot was noticeably thicker. At the stem another second carrot’s bulby head emerged.

Morden thought. How does Cassiopeia control Mage’s Bolt so accurately? I’ve seen the bolt immediately vanish after piercing the carrot. But each carrot is a different width!

Hmm . A plan began to form in Morden’s mind. He explained the gist of his hypothesis to Rhodella and Guy that night.

Midway through his explanation, Rhodella put down the little teacup she always used to drink. Morden halted, surprised at the changes in her face the steam had previously concealed. Little lines dragged downwards around her eyes, and as Morden halted she coughed. Is she sick? Morden thought. I’ll ask her after I finish, he decided.

When he finished, Rhodella mused, “I’d be really interested to see the results of that experiment. To be honest, I never even thought to ask about how Mage’s Bolt worked. If you’re interested in magic theory, you’d love to read the books up in Memorial Tower.” This new line of thought sidetracked Morden from Rhodella’s worn appearance, and Rhodella spent the rest of the conversation relating entertaining tales she’d read.

Midway through her retelling, Guy came in and slammed his paws on the table. “What’s wrong?” asked Rhodella, more bored than concerned.

“So we were supposed to meet at sunup to train the scouts. I get there and they’re asking me where all the weapons are. Beats me, I’m here to show them the moves, not carry the equipment. The newbies wait there one hour before they show up. Apparently some of the Spearmen have started to throw these crazy parties in the swamp. So there we were, waiting, with trainees, for one hour, while the Spearmen go work off their hangovers,” Guy finished disgustedly.

“Train the scouts? Scouts for Overland?” Morden interrupted.

Guy leaned in confidentially. His love for gossip overrode his love to angrily complain about his fellow Spearmen. “A few weeks ago, some of our soldiers were knocked out on sentry duty. Only the first door from Overland, but still. In my lifetime, I’ve never heard of this happening.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It was a big, black – “

“Goose,” Rhodella finished flatly. She looked severely at Guy. “Does a First Year need to know of these things?”

The weekend saw Morden poring over his letters again in Memorial Tower Library. The air was so still only motes of dust streamed through the room, made visible from the light from the windows. Suddenly the door opened.

“Oh, it’s you,” Morden blinked, refocusing his attention. It was Celeste.

“Did you forget we were supposed to meet up and train?” Celeste wondered.

“Oh! I totally did. Sorry.” Morden looked at his slate with longing and with force of will set it aside.

Now he saw Celeste was eating cherries out of her paw. She was a very noisy and messy eater, Morden decided, wincing as some of the cherry juice splat out from the cherry she bit into his plate.

He looked at her with an expectant face, but Celeste kept eating.

“Uh…”

After several minutes of silence, Morden finally said, “The training?”

Celeste jumped. It looked like her attention had been entirely consumed by the cherries. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

What? She’s the one who asked me to training. I assumed she had an agenda.

“Do we have any information on what the test will be like?” Morden said to start with.

“It changes every year. But it’s always held in the swamp,” Celeste said.

Judging by my rate of progress against my peers, there’s no way I’ll fail. I don’t see the use of spending my time gathering information about this test. To be honest, I don’t really need to be using my free time training with Celeste, either, but I don’t want to leave behind anyone sincerely seeking help. I guess I’ll stay with her til her confidence grows.

Morden shrugged. “So let’s head to the swamp.”

“OK!”

They made their way to the swamp. The ground oozed green and purple, shades of toxic plants and mysterious juices seeping out of them. By habit of gardening, Morden knelt down and began to examine the plants one by one . May as well use the extra time meditating if I can’t be learning how to read . Most of the varieties he didn’t recognize, but he identified a few as the Archery Guardian sometimes brought in cuttings of various healing or poisonous plants. Those he set aside.

Following his lead, Celeste squatted on another patch of swamp and began to categorize the plants. Despite having pegged her as somewhat physically slow, Morden watched her nimbly leaf through dozens of plants at once.

Morden’s curiosity broke through his meditative state. “How can you leaf through the plants so quickly?”

Celeste blinked. “I-I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Morden strode over to her to watch her closely.

“Ummm, I-I-I don’t li-i-ike it when you’re that close.”

He relented and stepped back three paws. “Can you show me what you’re doing?”

With a confused look, she continued. Wait! Her paw’s different from mine! She has an extra digit! It’s smaller and it lets her grasp things!

Morden smiled. “Take a look,” he said, and regardless of what she’d said earlier, he placed his paw next to Celeste’s.

“Oh,” she breathed. She flexed her thumb, which Morden did not have, tentatively.

“You have a thumb. Therefore, you have a tactical advantage over many squirrels,” Morden said honestly. He continued, “You should find out what kinds of things you’ve been doing with your opposable thumb so you can note exactly what advantages you have.”

Celeste stared at her thumb for a while, like she’d never seen it before. Then she looked up at Morden. To his surprise, her eyes were wet. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he said, surprised and a little uncomfortable.

She closed her paws tightly and drew back. “I-I-I know you think you’d be better off taking the test alone,” she said, surprising Morden yet again with her own honesty. “But I-I-I knew when we were paired off that you could help me. And you already have!”

Morden blinked. She’s thanking me for pointing out what seemed obvious to me. Normally, the slowness of other townsfolk is irritating to me. But this time, I actually feel… good for helping her recognize something new? Normally, other squirrels hate to hear the truth about themselves. I never knew how satisfying it could feel to give advice and have someone listen and thank me sincerely.

“It’s no problem,” he said sincerely, but as he turned back his paw slipped on a pile of leaves. “Whoa!”

In an instant, he was drenched in the green ooze they had been avoiding.

“Are you OK?” Celeste asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” said Morden, and he lifted a paw to get out but found it was stuck. Meanwhile, lifting his other paw repeatedly up and down actually seemed to be causing the water level to rise. It was only chest high, but every movement Morden made to lift his back paw caused the substrate he was standing on to sink, so that even now the ooze rose to his shoulders.

“Stop moving back and forth, Morden!”

“Then what should I do?” he asked, panicking but following her words.

“Just hold on! Let me think,” she pleaded. The whites of her eyes betrayed her own panic.

Seconds ticked by and Celeste showed no indication of a plan.

Celeste can’t pull me out; her own strength won’t be enough. And if she does it too weakly, the backwards force could actually plunge me deeper into the swamp. She could try to dive and remove the substrate from my paws, but then she would endanger herself if she even so much as touched the mud.

Suddenly he knew. She’s not a squirrel! She’s an opossum. And opossums can…

“Celeste!” Morden cried out. “Can you use your tail to curl onto the tree branch in front of us? Hang upside down and use the tree stem to keep yourself rooted as you pull me out of here!”

She blanched but nodded. Gathering her strength, she leapt onto the tree. Upside down, she looked even more foreign than usual to Morden.

“Ready?” she cried. She swung forward, and back, and the third time around she hooked Morden’s puffy coat with her grip.

“Uff!” they collapsed onto dry land together.

“Let’s… rest… here…” Celeste was gasping.

The next week, two things happened. First, Morden was finally able to perform Mage’s Bolt.

At the testing, Morden watched with baited breath as his magic bullet formed and dispersed harmlessly into the air less than a yard away.

“Baby steps,” said Kessey, smiling. She had promised to teach them more about Mage’s Bolt as soon as one of the students finally achieved it. Morden and the pale white squirrel had both successfully performed it that day, so she launched into an in-depth explanation of the attack.

“Ta be completely honest, Mage’s Bolt is useless.” She chuckled at the crestfallen looks in the students’ faces. “If ya want a long distance attack, an Archer’s bow is far more reliable and doesn’t ever max out in power. But Mage’s Bolt is limited by a specific damage capacity. That capacity is similar to the damage stats of a First Year Archer. Since tha King doesn’t let ya go out by yaselves anyway, you’ll always be with another class with a better long distance attack.” Turning to Morden, she said, “That’s why I wasn’t able ta answer all ya questions about this spell. Truth is, no one cares about it!” She went on to explain how Mage’s Bolt had immense use as a pedagogical tool, but given its strategic and battlefield limitations was never used in real life.

That’s disappointing but to be expected. There’s going to be some useless cruft work at the beginning of learning anything important. However, because it’s the one magic spell I do know, I intend to squeeze everything I can out of it to better understand magic theory, at least before I can read books!

It was in this spirit that Morden rushed to the carrot field once morning class was over. He pulled out a carrot. Then he took out a scrap of green cloth poorly cut to resemble a carrot top and attached it to the carrot. Next, he attached a conical orange foam wedge to the bottom of the carrot. It didn’t look convincing, but it didn’t need to.

When afternoon class started, Morden deliberately dawdled by his modified carrot. Irritated, Cassiopeia shot Mage’s Bolt at the carrot. I baited him into it! Now to check if my theory is correct… Morden dug out the carrot. As he had hypothesized, the hole from Mage’s Bolt had pierced the carrot completely top to bottom – including Morden’s fake carrot attachments.

This means that somehow, Mage’s Bolt responds to our idea of a carrot. That’s how it knows when to start and stop an attack. The attack is precisely limited to our concept of a carrot.

Morden wasn’t sure yet how to use this revelation, but it excited him so much that when Celeste came to find him again at Memorial Tower Library, it was the first thing out of his mouth.

Celeste was much more interested in his finally achieving Mage’s Bolt, however. At her insistence they practiced it at the swamp.

“But it’s much more useful for me to practice meditating, still. Meditation is the scaling factor behind the bolt’s range and power. As the bolt is right now, my range is nearly just twenty paws.”

Celeste made an impatient noise. “It’s more important that we do what we can, with what we have now,” she said stubbornly.

“If we don’t spend time on optimization now, we never will. It’s never a good time to stop and put in place best practices. That’s why it’s always a good time to do so, and why I should be meditating,” he concluded.

Just for fun, Morden was lining up a straight shot of O’s down a giant weeping willow-like tree. However, he still wasn’t steady aiming Mage’s Bolt, so the line of O’s ended up looking instead like a drunk woodpecker’s fervent attempts at coring a tree.

Meanwhile, Celeste scoped out a vine-like appendage above Morden. Suddenly she paused. “What’s that noise?”

“What noise?” As Morden spoke, he caught a rumbling. Then a huge, human-sized brown fungus loomed into view.

“What now? Sentient fungi?” Morden complained.

The fungus had two protruding sacs on either side of its stem, which Morden assumed were its eyes. It shook all over like a dog, then its dark brown gills underneath its cap began expanding rapidly.

Spores! We need to run!

Out of nowhere an arrow pierced the fungus in the corner of an eye. It would have hit the pupil except for the fungus’ periodic all-body tremors.

Morden used its distraction to warn Celeste. “Celeste! The fungus is gonna try to cover us with spores! We need to run up the trees so we’re above it!”

Celeste gave a single nod and at the same instant they leapt onto opposite tree trunks and ran up. They safely flanked the mushroom by the time it released a powder of bright green spores to the ground.

Now looking at the mushroom from a bird’s eye view, Morden noticed the cap looked like it was made of a tough, cork-like substance, not at all a chewy cap that would easily pierce.

Still, since we can only attack from above… we may as well try to ride it!

“Celeste! Get onto the cap and drive your arrow into its center over and over!”

Both scampered on the fungus at the same time. The cap was like a platform that supported their weight well. At least we have no fear of falling.

Celeste repeatedly jabbed in her arrowhead with more alacrity than Morden would’ve guessed. Still, the cap was so foamy that all Celeste’s efforts produced was a small wedge. Morden felt they’d barely injured the mushroom.

Meanwhile, the fungi had been jumping, presumably to try to get them off. Now Morden felt a little dizzy. The mushroom was spinning to release the intruders on its head.

Morden gritted his teeth. Gotta get the gills! They have to be the weak part. But how?

Mage’s Bolt cuts a perfect circle though anything. He suddenly had an idea. It was inelegant, but it would work.

Running to the edge of the fungus cap, he shouted, “Mage’s Bolt!,” pointing his spell down with a twig he’d broken off while climbing the tree earlier.

The bolt sizzled, leaving a perfectly round hole at the perimeter of the cap. It looked like a fashion hole, as if the fungus was now going to wear an earring. We’re not going to put an earring into you, exactly, he thought.

“Celeste! I want you to hook yourself upside down from the cap hole. Loop your tail around this hole and aim for its eyes!”

“Why-y-y do you always have me fi-i-ight upsi-i-ide down?” she wailed as she hooked her tail around the newly fashioned hole and pierced the fungus’ left eye.

OK, time for the hard part.

Morden clambered down to where Celeste was and allowed his body to dangle but for one paw holding onto the cap, as though it were a cliff ledge. It would have been much more difficult save the recent Fitness classes where pullups were mandatory, and the fact that unlike most mushrooms this one was corky, not slippery.

“Mage’s Bolt!” Morden yelled, twig outstretched, white bullet cutting the mushroom cap neatly across its diameter.

By attacking the mushroom laterally, I can slice off a good chunk of its gills in a single bolt. If I were just pointing my wand down to attack with the bolt, I’d have do it 50 times to cover its surface area. But this way…!

From the way the fungus spun uncontrollably, Morden guessed they had incapacitated it.

“Well? What now?” Morden asked.

“Now we leave,” Celeste urged.

So the weeks continued, and before Morden knew it two months had rolled by. The new normal quickly became a laser like focus on examining and testing the theory of magic, and the continuation of his slow and decelerating progress in reading. He had felt a sense of unbounded accomplishment at memorizing the 26 letters, but found to his dismay he had plateaued when it came to knowing enough vocabulary words to make sense of a page. It was a struggle to continue when he looked at the thickness of a dictionary and recognized his rate of memorizing words were at best 20 a week. On the other hand, he took to classes like a duck to water. He readily excelled in every class, not just the Mage classes, but he found the most excitement and even exhilaration in testing ways to maximize the efficiency and power of Mage’s Bolt and studying Cassiopeia’s frequent attacks on the students.

It had happened so gradually that Morden barely realized it until he was at the Dining Hall and scanning the tables for Celeste instead of Rhodella and Guy. Over the weeks, the two chipmunks appeared more and more infrequently, but when Morden did see them both looked tired, Rhodella with eye lines and Guy subdued. They still waved when they saw each other, but after the growing number of misadventures between him and Celeste a sort of bond had formed between them that he didn’t have with Rhodella. Quite naturally they would bump into each other and begin talking about the latest mishap at the swamp, or share thoughts about what each was learning in their respective First Year classes. Morden became inured to Celeste’s extraordinarily messy manner of eating. Sometimes it would still disgust him, but then he reminded himself they were different species after all, and there were probably squirrely habits about himself she felt the same way about.

One day they came into Fitness class late. Morden had just been asking Celeste to read him aloud some books, figuring out that the audio and visual methods of learning combined would be doubly effective. However, Celeste had refused to read any book she was not interested in, and eventually picked out a book on astrology. Strangely enough, she had stumbled upon a page about Cassiopeia.

“A constellation named after a pri-i-ideful woman,” she read.

“Cassiopeia is a woman’s name?” Morden asked.

“Seems so.”

“He really doesn’t seem like the type to introduce himself with a female name. Why didn’t he shorten it?”

“Maybe he is a woman?”

Morden blinked, an image of Kessey crossdressing in an oversized suit and monocle in his mind. He shook his head.

“Well, keep going.”

After a while Celeste came across something interesting again. “Castor and Pollux: the twins. Superb on horseback.”

“Castor? That’s our King’s name,” Morden said.

Celeste looked at him. “You just live with famous constellations surrounding you.”

Morden thought. Hesitantly he started, “Kessey said that our city was named Reflector to reflect the power of nature. The very first Mage built an acorn fountain in the center of town. I’ve noticed it falls right under the full moon. One of the theories on where our magic energy comes from is actually moonlight.” He looked at Celeste to see her reaction. Seeing that she didn’t have a reaction of disdain (not surprising for someone who consulted astrology books, he thought), he continued, “It’s not regarded as a serious theory for most scholars. There aren’t any real lines of evidence, so it’s mostly thought of as a pretty notion. More suitable for tale-tellers and mystics.” Morden took a breath and was about to expound on his thoughts, but just then the Tower Bell from the Archery Spire rang, signaling the afternoon sessions.

They looked at each other, dismayed mirrored in both faces, before running to the Fitness class on the hills.

The day was clear and sunny but the icy wind felt like a slap to their faces. The Spearman Guardian grunted. “Ten extra laps for you two,” he cried to them, before turning back to supervise the rest of the class.

Morden was finished at Celeste’s lap three. Her running looked so laborious, even Morden had to wince. Within the first month of school social hierarchies had shifted and solidified. Morden always had an acid comeback to any who tried to insult him. He was also clearly superior in every subject to the average student, so most left him alone. But Celeste frequently soldiered on with a hangdog look on her face, which made her an even more popular target for insults. Her round body did not go escaped by the Spearmen, nor did her terrible results in running. There were, unfortunately, no other opossums in the school, otherwise it was possible she wouldn’t have stood out so much.

“Celeste! Up and at ‘em!” the Spearman Guardian said sharply. The rest of the class had been restlessly chatting for a while now, and Morden could understand the Guardian’s desire to start the rest of their training regimes already. The Guardian timed her next lap.

“You’re running at 4 miles per hour? C’mon. Even opossums can go twice as fast!” he barked impatiently.

“Yes sir!” she said piteously. Her legs moved faster but because of the excess weight in her lower body, she trundled along just as slowly.

Morden wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say this or not, but he couldn’t tolerate it when someone said something factually inaccurate.

“Actually, opossum’s maximum speed is 4 miles per hour. At that rate she’s already been sprinting. A squirrel’s maximum is 20 miles per hour.” Meaning she can only reach a fifth of our rate.

Celeste’s face closed up and hardened like a rock.

“Is that true? Tell us, Celeste. You’re the only opossum here.”

“No, it’s not,” said Celeste.

Morden gawked at her. “This is a fact,” he said. “You can look it up in the Encyclopedia. Opossums can never reach the same speed a squirrel can – “

“YOU’RE WRONG!” boomed Celeste.

Morden frowned. Celeste was not at her 9^th lap and she was visibly huffing and puffing. “This isn’t a difference in opinion,” Morden tried. “It’s a verifiable statistic.”

When Celeste passed Morden, she said in a voice biting back emotion, “Why-y-y do you always have to be right?”

Only Morden heard. He stared as she walked past. “Celeste!” he called. For the first time in their friendship, Celeste did not respond.

Morden fumed all the way to dinner. Several times he saw Celeste ambling about for more food, but she did not try to get his attention. Finally Morden couldn’t take it any longer and left his nut pastry untouched. Maybe I’d better double check if I’m right. Sprinting to Memorial Tower Library, he took the Encyclopedia off the shelf and laboriously read every letter of the entry on opossums. It’s true. Opossums’ max speed is at 4 miles per hour. Squirrels are at 20 miles per hour. So why’d she get so upset at me for correcting someone who didn’t know the facts?

He was alternately angry and longing to make up with Celeste. However, every time he imagined saying “sorry,” Morden thought, What do I have to be sorry for? I just told the truth.

Finally he decided he needed someone else’s advice. I don’t know what to do. I thought I was doing what was best, but clearly it wasn’t. I’ll go find Kessey.

Knowing that she had been off performing tasks for the King, Morden had been careful not to bother her even during her open office hours. He instead formulated concise questions that fit into their class time. But he had been missing their open and friendly rapport. With great eagerness, he rapped on her door at the bottom of the Mage Tower, and let himself in.

“Kessey – “ he began.

But it was the Thief Guardian, the mild grey squirrel, that raised his eyes to Morden’s from the desk.

“Ah. Hello, Morden.” The Thief Guardian gave a warm smile and set down the papers he had been looking at.

“Oh. You’re here.” Morden blinked. His only interactions with the Thief Guardian had been in Surveillance Class. While Morden had a good impression of him, he certainly wasn’t close enough to ask for advice about his personal relationships. “Sorry, I thought Kessey – “

“I’m just temporarily substituting for her, I’m afraid. But for any problems you’re encountering, I’d be happy to help, in whatever limited way I can.” His open demeanor and humility somehow shamed Morden for setting up walls between the two. Morden decided to take the other squirrel at his word. Just the fact that he’s probably had more friends than me means he can give me advice , Morden decided.

He sat down and explained, “I got into a fight with a friend. We disagreed over a – “ Morden stumbled, “fact. She said afterwards that ‘I always have to be right.’ This is not true. It’s not that I always have to be right,” Morden said, frustrated. “It’s just that I can’t let it be when other people are wrong. Or, when they make inaccurate statements. I don’t mean wrong as in, in my opinion, that’s wrong. I mean wrong like saying 1 + 1 = 3 – “

The Thief Guardian was nodding thoughtfully, so Morden relaxed and set aside his defensive rant.

“What I think you’re telling me,” the grey squirrel finally said, “is that you never meant to hurt your friend. Yet she felt hurt regardless. Is that right?”

“I would never use words to hurt a friend,” Morden said sincerely.

“Since that’s what matters, I think you could just consider saying sorry.”

Morden frowned and backpedaled the conversation. “But it’s like I said. I have nothing to be sorry for – “

“Part of being a mature adult is being able to say sorry, even when you never intended to hurt someone. Especially if you never intended to hurt someone.” The squirrel lifted his grey eyes to Morden. “It’s a big step in growing up, to set aside your pride for the sake of easing another’s pain.”

“Set aside my pride?” repeated Morden, wanting to make sure he’d heard these words exactly.

“Right. Morden, you are intellectually gifted – more so than most of the folks you will meet, work with, and even love. In many arguments like this, you may be factually correct, but you have to consider to yourself – what’s more important, insisting on being factually correct, or safeguarding an emotional connection?”

“I… never realized that was a decision I would have to make.” Morden thought for a bit. “But others know what I’m like. The value of being my friend is having a smart, competent companion. Aren’t they friends with me just for these intellectual gifts?”

The Thief Guardian smiled kindly at Morden. “Are they?” he asked rhetorically. “You prize mental acuity above all else, and you prize your own intellect. But what do other folks prize? Yes, those folks you consider beneath your regard for their ‘stupidity’ and ‘mediocrity’ (only quoting another Mage friend!) – they prize warmth, love, and friendship. And perhaps you do, more than you let on – or else you wouldn’t be here.”

Morden swallowed and asked, “You used specifically the word ‘pride.’ Some time ago, another teacher railed on me for that. Can you explain how it relates to their situation?”

“Like a lot of Mages, you are proud – and rightfully so – of your ability to soak up information and quickly communicate it. Because of that superior ability, you frequently approach conversations from a thinking standpoint, instead of a feeling standpoint. That’s where you shine. But staying in that perspective all the time will nearly always elevate you. A true friendship starts when you level yourself with someone. You might find that when you start off, you’re much less skilled in the feeling standpoint, and so you might feel small, and vulnerable. But remember that when you always take the elevated stance, the end result is that some folks who are important to you will be feeling small and vulnerable themselves.”

Morden nodded in understanding. What a bitter pill to swallow. I’d just about gotten over Cassiopeia’s ranting… but come to think of it, I didn’t take most of it seriously. When I heard Rhodella didn’t take them seriously either, I brushed off all his criticism of me. But Rhodella’s also a Mage. It would stand to reason that whatever the blind spots in my thinking – or my feeling? – she might share, too. It doesn’t matter. Celeste’s friendship, and her feelings, are more important to me than being right. Or as the Thief Guardian puts it, I’d rather be emotionally correct this time, than intellectually correct. But all he said was, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Morden. I’m here to help. I can’t claim to know all the answers, but it’s my sincere wish to see you happy and untroubled.” The Thief Guardian smiled. Morden suddenly felt a pang of envy for his Thief students.

Morden paused at the door. “Do you plan on telling Kessey about this?”

“Not necessarily. Why?”

Morden was silent for a bit, and the grey squirrel asked, “Are you, perhaps, worried she would think less of you for asking me about this?”

I’d feel a bit embarrassed for her to hear someone single out my pride, again…

“Morden.” The grey squirrel’s tone was very gentle. “To me, the single mark of a student worth keeping – and a friend worth keeping – is the ability to examine themselves and ask others if what they are doing is right.”

“Got it,” said Morden. Feeling uncharacteristically shy, he threw up his paw in a signal of thanks, and ran off to find Celeste.

He had a good feeling about where she was. Unlike Morden, who preferred snug underground dens, Celeste preferred to sit by the shore, legs extended into the water, the vast expanse of sea reflecting the stars. So even though it wasn’t technically allowed, Morden scampered out into the cold February night, winter air stinging his cheeks.

Coming closer to the shore, Morden saw a lone figure. Celeste saw him but said nothing.

Morden swallowed. “Hey,” he finally managed.

“Did you come here to say sorry?”

Morden couldn’t read her face. She looked at his and laughed.

“You’re forgiven,” she said playfully. “I-I-I have never seen a face so sorry. Not even when my-y-y little sister broke my-y-y favorite toy.”

“You had a little sister?”

“Yeah.” Morden waited but she didn’t say any more. They looked out into the glimmering black night.

“You never told me about her.”

Although come to think of it, I never asked. Maybe that’s something else to this whole pride thing that I really did miss. Have we really been spending all our conversations just talking about the topics I brought up?

“I-I-I didn’t really get along with my family growing up,” she said succinctly.

“I see.” They sat in companiable silence for a long time, the waves black as the night. When they got up Morden’s limbs felt cold and wet, but he strangely felt better than he had in days.

xxx

The King passed through a narrow hallway into a dim antechamber. A small hooded figure followed him. The King’s attendant tried to follow, but with a single paw the King waved off the attendant, who scurried aside vigorously.

In the dimly lit chamber, the King’s face wore a menacing cast completely different to what any squirrel in Reflector had seen of him in public.

And that’s only because we spend day and night hiding tha fact tha King’s insane .

Wrapped in her thoughts, the figure startled when the King called her name.

“Kessey. It’s time for your report.”

A sardonic smile curled on the King’s mouth. But Kessey had had a lifetime – several lifetimes, actually – hiding her instinctive reaction to the ominous aura hanging from the King.

“Memory of Light,” she intoned. A single blue feather she drew from her head. Made of mana, the King softly took it in his paws and closed his eyes.

This has ta satisfy him , she thought desperately. Memory of Light shows him everything that’s happened through my eyes. But it can’t reveal my thoughts! No matter how powerful he is… and he is powerful… I’ll never let on how I’ve been able ta protect my own!

A glittering light burned in the King’s eyes as he finished Kessey’s memory report of the last four months.

“So. Through your endless diligence, you were able to locate four new Mages across the empire.”

You’ll die before ya get ta touch them! Kessey snarled in her head, but she knew in truth her power was only a fraction of the King’s. The truth wound its way around her neck, a chain made of links so fine and small and sharp they constantly incised her skin. A chain she knew all too well.

The King’s smirk grew wider, as if he could sense what Kessey was thinking. “I’d like you to change, now,” he said softly.

In a flash of blue feathers, Kessey the brown owl was gone. Instead, Cassiopeia – the great horned icy blue owl – stood before the King.

“Elder brother, I was wrong all the times I mocked you. It was I that should have been mocked – for my endless vanity. Forgive me; I failed to learn my place,” breathed the King.

“They all spoke the words you prepared, my King,” said Cassiopeia.

But the King was far away. Trapped in a cycle of memories continuing to torment him, he stared through Cassiopeia.

“It’s not enough,” breathed the King again. “It’ll never be enough… because, you’re gone, Pollux.” The King’s eyes intensified. “Gone before I could punish you…”

Cassiopeia… the demented, Frankensteinian invention of the King. Born of eldritch magic, with one half tha King’s memories of his younger brother Pollux, and another half tha King’s imprinted hatred of Mages! And me… just tha smallest voice in tha back of this monster’s head! Barely enough to help my students… but…

The time Cassiopeia’s wing barely stopped from striking Morden out cold… his insistence they garden, in turn meditating… his “harassment” in truth also introducing the principles of magic techniques… Kessey flashed back to all the minor ways she had been able to mitigate Cassiopeia’s harm to her students.

“Onwards, onwards, Kessey… Your Memory of Light is the only vision that gives me any pleasure now.” The King’s gaze shifted to the now tawny brown owl in front of him. “But why is it that I feel your whole heart is not in this… enterprise?”

Kessey sunk to a low, low bow. So low her eyes were hidden from the searing gaze of her King.

“I live only to serve you.”

“I hope,” he said softly, in a voice so like Cassiopeia’s. So like, Kessey remembered, Pollux.

“It seems like it was only yesterday I let you out of these chains,” the King added.

Kessey froze. She saw the telltale glint of silver winding sinuously out of the King’s cloak on his arms. Freak!

He held the chains out with his paws, making a glinting crisscross, like the cat’s cradle game Kessey had seen children play many years ago. Centuries, in fact. Back when she and Castor and Pollux had stepped foot into this hidden valley, back before it had been even named Reflector… a thousand years ago, when she began serving her sentence for opening the “Pandora’s Box” of Mages.

“Your wish is my command.”

She thought fiercely, We’ll see who will be the last one standing, King, you or me!

But then she despaired, Oh, Morden!

Next Chapter: 5. The Duel with Cassiopeia

Previous Chapter: 3. First Day

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