Tempests and Slaughter

Arram turned possible replies over in his head. He rejected complaints about long hours of study and having to give up expeditions into town. Finally he said, ‘I like the more complicated magics, sir.’

Cosmas nodded. ‘It’s a very good thing we are pursuing this course of study with you, then,’ he said gravely. ‘I know it’s a great deal of work. It leads to more difficult courses in the Upper Academy, too. Still, they will keep that busy mind of yours happy, as they will those of Ozorne and Varice. You three won’t be bored. Exhausted, but never bored.’ He smiled cheerfully at Arram, who found that he was smiling back.

‘Now,’ Cosmas went on, reaching for a document and an apparently heavy pouch that were on the corner of his desk, ‘I have had correspondence with your mother and grandfather over the winter, through the Council of Mages in Tyra. We have come to a different arrangement with them as regards your education.’

‘Sir?’ Arram was puzzled.

‘You see, it is impossible for us to educate you properly, as your talents demand, while asking for varying amounts of fees from your family to cover materials and books, depending on what you must study in the coming terms,’ Cosmas explained. ‘Even if they approved each course of instruction – and there are some that have refused to allow their youngsters to take certain classes—’

Arram grimaced. Last autumn Varice’s father had ordered that she was to have no more classes in cooking magic, calling it ‘nonsense’. Princess Mahira had forbidden Ozorne to study the part of a history class that covered the end of slavery in the Northern Lands. She said it was ‘seditious poison’ and threatened to complain to the emperor. Arram had always worried that his own family might not be able to afford his education in a bad year, but he knew they would never forbid a particular class.

‘We will not allow your schooling to be vulnerable. Thus …’ Cosmas offered the parchment to Arram. ‘This states that your education from this point onward – supplies, housing, and class fees – is assumed by the university. On the first day of the interval between terms, you come to me. I will give you a clothing and spending allowance. Here.’ He gave the pouch to Arram. ‘Your books and supplies will be delivered to your room, just as Ozorne’s are, the day before term begins.’ He leaned back and folded his hands on his small round belly. ‘A paper inside that pouch explains everything, including your classes for summer term.’ He smiled. ‘You appear dazed.’

Arram drew a shuddery breath. He was a little dazed. ‘My parents …’ he murmured.

‘They have agreed to everything,’ the headmaster reassured him.

Arram peeked into the pouch. It was heavy with silver thaki coins.

‘New summer garments first,’ Cosmas advised. ‘But buy yourself something – several somethings, in fact. You’ve worked hard. Perhaps let Varice do the bargaining when it comes to clothes.’

Arram looked at Cosmas. ‘I don’t understand!’ he said, baffled. ‘Why me? What did I do that day in water magic that makes me worth so much attention?’

Cosmas sat back in his chair. ‘Actually, we do this for others, students with talent who don’t have wealthy families. But … Great Mithros, did no one tell you?’

Arram shook his head. ‘Not really, sir.’

Cosmas rubbed his forehead. ‘Lad, however you did it, you reached through the floor, through the foundation of the building, and deep into the earth, breaking through the protective shield under the university. Then you gathered water from the lake beneath us, miles below. If Sebo and I had not stopped you, you might have flooded the entire building! What occurred is called a flare. It happens with young mages who will manifest great strength once they mature. You may have other such flares as time goes on. We are watching for them now, and your masters are stronger than most. Youngsters with your potential – and your intellect – are worth extra trouble.’

Arram felt his cheeks go hot with embarrassment. Cosmas had to be mistaken – though certainly Girisunika had not drawn the water into the dish. She had not forgiven him after all this time, but glared at him whenever they passed each other in the halls.

‘I hope I live up to your plans for me,’ he finally said shyly.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Cosmas said, rising to his feet. Arram understood that this uncomfortable meeting was over and scrambled up, only to trip on the leg of his chair. Cosmas caught him as he pitched forward and set him upright, chuckling. ‘There you go,’ he said as Arram got both feet under him. ‘You’ve grown enough that it must be difficult to keep track of your legs, eh? Now study hard.

‘Oh.’ Cosmas tapped the purse. ‘And I would leave most of that with the bursar. Draw out what you need when you wish to shop. Run along – don’t waste your week off!’

Arram went, with an assortment of thank-yous. His first stop was in fact the office of the academy’s bursar: the purse felt conspicuous on his belt. He was glad to hand all but fifteen thakis over to the clerk, accepting a receipt for the rest from her.

He was wandering back to his room, considering what to do next, when Ozorne found him. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’ the older boy exclaimed, clapping Arram on the shoulder. ‘My lady mother has sent my allowance for the month. Let’s find Varice and go into town. What do you say?’

‘Master Cosmas said I need to buy clothes,’ Arram mumbled, looking down at his knee-length breeches.

Ozorne tugged on his own tunic hem. It was supposed to come to the tops of his calves and only covered his knees. ‘It seems you aren’t the only one who needs a new wardrobe, and quickly. I wager we’ll find Varice with her kitchen friends – come along.’

The afternoon was fun once they finished the dull work of choosing cloth, being measured, and bespeaking new clothes at Varice’s favourite tailor. They prowled the booksellers, finding more than a few volumes they could not do without, ogled the jewellery sellers’ booths, watched jugglers, and attended the latest play.

After a wonderful supper they were on their way out of the market when Arram saw a pastry seller’s cart and halted. ‘I have to do it,’ he said, digging a coin from his depleted purse. ‘He has tassen pastries, those three-cornered ones? Do you want tassen to take back with you? He has poppy, and it looks like apricot—’

Ozorne’s hand clamped on his arm. ‘Don’t,’ he said fiercely. ‘Look at that seller – the blue headcloth, and the star pendant. He’s a filthy Sirajit. He probably put dung in them, or piss. We don’t buy from Sirajit pigs.’

Arram didn’t protest. By now he had learned that Ozorne could not be shaken from his suspicion of anyone he thought was Sirajit. Arram only gave the pastry cart a yearning look as Ozorne pulled him away. Passing, he could see the vendor stood straight, holding on to his pride in the face of the students’ snub.

Once they reached the university, Ozorne stalked off, leaving Arram to escort Varice to her room. At her door she told him, ‘Don’t do that again, not if you can help it. You can see how it upsets him.’

‘I didn’t even know those cakes are Sirajit things,’ Arram protested. ‘Mother bought them all the time. This was the first I’ve seen them since I came here. Of course I won’t upset Ozorne, but the poppy seed ones are so good.’

Varice grinned. ‘I love the apricot ones. I tell you what – I’ll ask one of the cooks to get some, and we’ll just hide them from Ozorne.’

Arram gave her a coin large enough to buy a number of pastries. ‘You are wonderful, Varice!’ he told her gratefully.

‘I know,’ she replied, twirling before she entered her dormitory.

Arram began the walk to his room, thinking about what a good friend Varice was. It wasn’t long before, to his dismay, his member added its opinion, if not of his pretty friend, then of girls in general. Fortunately, his shopping satchel covered the bulge in his breeches, and the inconvenience shrank by the time he reached his room.

Two days later he and Ozorne went star watching with permission from the housekeeper. They lay head to head on the stretch of green behind the menagerie buildings, where most torchlight didn’t reach.

‘I saw the strangest thing the other day,’ Arram began. ‘This fellow was at his desk, and his – his …’ This was his best friend, and he couldn’t even say the word. ‘Below his belt. His, um, manhood, got … large. He didn’t even have his hands there.’

Ozorne moaned. ‘Oh, that,’ he said with amusement and despair. ‘But – just a moment. Didn’t you have the talk, the one they give to the twelve-year-olds …? No, wait, that won’t be until the autumn term.’

He fell silent for a short while until Arram said impatiently, ‘Ozorne, what talk?’

His friend shook his head. ‘I suppose … Well. They teach this to the twelve-year-olds when autumn term begins. You’ll love it; everyone makes noise and they won’t sit still … Really, you’d think our clever instructors would know that if you were so far ahead on everything else you might be far ahead on this! Sometimes these mages aren’t practical, have you noticed?’

‘Why? I’m not very practical,’ Arram reminded his friend.

‘Very true. Listen, then. This fellow – the thing with his member happens to most of us eventually. We could be looking at dirt and it will happen, or test questions, or things that have nothing to do with canoodling. Mother had our healer talk to me about’ – he made his voice deeper – ‘Becoming a Man the last time I was home. We start to get wet spots on our sheets or loincloths, too.’

‘Wet spots?’ Arram asked, horrified. He hadn’t wet the bed since he was a baby!

‘Because we have sex dreams,’ Ozorne explained. ‘Our members practise for the real thing. That has to be a gift from the gods, because bedding someone is all adults who aren’t mages talk about. The liquid, that’s what makes babies when it’s put in a woman.’

‘Why is life so complicated?’ Arram whispered.

‘Oh, don’t fuss. We’ll get to try it with a lover eventually – Look! A shooting star!’

Arram watched the stars fall, awed, wondering which god was sending a fiery love letter to another god, or even to a mortal. It happened sometimes: he’d read enough stories about it. A burst of stars passed over, drawing sighs of wonder from both lads.

They were sharing a bottle of grape juice when a group of students Ozorne’s age walked by. One of them looked towards the two boys and said something that made the others laugh, before they wandered on.

Arram glanced up and noticed his friend’s closed look and clenched fists. Hearing the ugly thing the older boy had said, Arram murmured, ‘The highest mark that one will get is his certificate in tree worm magic.’

Ozorne snorted. ‘Is that meant to console me?’

Arram assumed his most innocent tone. ‘Don’t you like tree worms?’

The prince looked at him. ‘One day they’ll pay for that.’ He took a drink from a flask he’d kept tucked away and offered it to Arram. ‘It’s only elderberry wine. My aunt married in Galla, and she sends casks of the stuff to my mother for ailments.’