Fallen Magic

I see what my dad means as soon as he returns with the woman he mentioned. She’s short, barely coming up to his shoulders – and he’s by no means a giant – and her skin is so pale I have to wonder if she’s ever seen the sunlight. I'd guess she's in her forties, though I've never had a talent for guessing ages. She’s dressed in all black except the lacing on her robes, which is a silvery grey, and her bright red lipstick. The smile playing across her face says she knows exactly the impression she creates, and enjoys it.

“Miss Roberts?” she says, giving me a look that makes me all too aware of the fact I haven’t cleaned myself up in over a day. My hair must be in a frightful state by now.

“That’s me.”

She sits down in the chair vacated by my dad, leaving him hovering awkwardly until she says “I find it’s usually best to have these conversations with the magician alone.”

My dad keeps his reaction to a glance at me.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as him.

“Good. I’ll just take a stroll, shall I?” I recognise the faint edge of sarcasm in his tone as he turns and walks slowly away.

“You’ve had these sorts of conversations before?” I ask once he’s gone. I find that reassuring. I think it’s just knowing that there have been other Malaina before me. That I’m not the only person to have dealt with this. I wonder how many of them have become mala sia.

“Yes.”

She has an accent different to the wealthy students I’m used to: vowels longer, more drawn out. Northern, I realise immediately, but it takes me a few seconds to place it as Ryk, the capital city, hundreds of miles from here. Wherever “here” is; I presume the hospital is in Crelt itself rather than further out in the suburbs.

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Electra. I can answer some of your questions.”

I have to fight not to visibly scoff. No-one sensible calls their child Electra, not with the myth attached to that name. There’s a good reason many scholars have used it as a byword for revenge in its most destructive form.

It suits her image, though. In fact she looks remarkably similar to my mental image of the mythical Electra.

But whatever image she’s trying to put on, she claims she has answers. And I need them. I take a moment to order my thoughts, then give up and ask the first thing that pops into my mind. “The numbness,” I say.

“The emotional damping?”

So there is a more technical term. “Yes.”

“Normal. Insofar as there is a normal for Malaina. It’s a kind of inbuilt coping mechanism. Feeling the full force of the shock and horror that would otherwise often follow active episodes would most likely trigger another episode immediately.”

“Active episodes?”

“Incidents of uncontrolled magic such as the one you recently experienced.”

“How… often do they happen?”

“That isn’t something you can predict. It depends completely on the individual magician. Generally at moments of either physical danger or emotional strain. Though it can become more regular if you’re permanently living with those situations, and it tends to be self-reinforcing.”

“But I wasn’t – “ I can’t force the words out.

Electra stares at me silently, waiting.

“I wasn’t – there was no danger or emotional strain. It was – I was helping a girl with her homework!”

“The knowledge of what is happening to you can itself be a cause. Often when people Fall it’s just a small incident that tips them over the edge. Tell me about it.”

“But – “

“If I’m going to help you, I first need to understand what led you here.”

There are a lot of things I want to say to that. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what kind of help you’re proposing to give.

Something in the way she looks at me, though, says that she isn’t going to take no for an answer. And right now I don’t have the strength to fight her.

“I promised I’d help her with Sirgalese irregular verbs and then forgot about it until she appeared during break. She showed me the work and said she didn’t know what to do, and then – then that was it.”

“What did you think, immediately before?”

“I… it was basic work. She would have understood it on her own if she’d paid attention in class. Not something I should have had to explain.”

“Would you say you’re unusually intolerant of stupidity or laziness?”

“I – what? She – “ I want to say wasn’t stupid or lazy, but that’s not what I really think. I just would never say it aloud the way Electra just did. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“You knew this girl?”

I shrug. “Not well. She’s the younger sister of – “

“You resented her?”

“I – no – “

Electra raises her eyebrows slightly. “You’re a scholarship girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with – “

“And Elizabeth Waterford – “

“Genford,” I correct out of habit. My school’s full name is The General Elizabeth Waterford School for Gifted Young Ladies, but that’s too much of a mouthful to be used for anything other than official purposes.

“Genford, then. It demands a certain level of academic achievement from its scholarship students to continue receiving that scholarship?”

“Yes.” That might have lost me a few hours’ sleep during exam seasons, since there’s not a chance my parents could afford the full fees, but it’s hardly enough to lead to Malaina.

“So if you had exhibited similar stupidity and laziness in her position, you wouldn’t still be a student there.”

“Am I? Still a student there? I can’t imagine they’re eager to take me back after…”

“We’ll get to that later. Is my theory accurate?”

What theory, I almost ask, but then I figure it out. She’s saying I resent the fact that Ruby can afford to not pay attention in class and ask me to help her with things she should already know, because her parents will keep paying her fees regardless of how well she does in exams.

I would never have thought of it that way before, but it makes a concerning amount of sense. Not the fact she has rich parents – not directly – but the security that gives her. The belonging.

“Yes,” I agree. “I suppose so.”

Electra smiles a little and says nothing. The silence extends until it becomes awkward.

“Sleeping for a day,” I ask finally. “That’s normal too?”

“The time period varies, but yes. Active episodes draw deeply on your magic, and sleep is one of few reliable ways to speed up recovery from that.”

I file that away for later. I’ve never learnt any magical theory; it’s not an elective Genford offers, or something I’ve been interested in researching myself. I never thought it would be relevant to me.

I resented Ruby’s security and belonging. Why? Because I never felt like I belonged at Genford. I’m the only black girl in my class. There’s maybe a dozen scholarship students in my year, and half of those could afford the full fees anyway. My classmates are friendly enough, but they make it quite clear that I’m not one of them.

I’m not even sure I want to be one of them.

I’m at Genford to get the best education Rasin has to offer, to make connections with influential and powerful people, and to get the best start possible to follow in my dad’s footsteps as a lawyer.

That’s what I want. Or it’s what I’ve told myself I wanted for the last three years, anyway.

I suddenly feel as if I’ve been lying to myself all that time.

Electra is watching me and smiling to herself. “You asked earlier,” she says finally, “whether you are still a student at Genford.”

“You don’t want to know more about – “

She shrugs. “I will do. But you need a little time to understand yourself better, I think. The answer to your question is yes, technically, but only until bureaucracy catches up with reality. Genford, like many other institutions, does not admit Malaina. You needn’t worry about the property damage, at least: you’re not legally held responsible for anything short of major injury in an initial Malaina episode.”

“That’s good,” I say, “but… I need to get my Certificate of Education, at the very least.” The Certificate of Education is a document declaring that its holder has attended school up until the age of sixteen and passed all of their exams; without one it’s nearly impossible to get a job anywhere. “Are there schools that do admit Malaina?”

“What you need first,” replies Electra, “is a magical education.”

That’s right; my dad mentioned she worked for a magical school. So she’s trying to recruit me as a student, then. That doesn’t seem too bad a thing.

“Quite apart from the legal requirement for all magicians to be trained, and the fact that untaught Malaina typically find controlling their power more difficult… I guarantee you that you won’t have any difficulty making a living as a qualified magician, regardless of your more conventional qualifications.”

I make a mental note to ask my dad about the legal requirements in question. There are probably a lot of laws and regulations that now apply to me, and I should know what they are as soon as I can. “My dad says you work for a magical school.”

“The magical school,” she corrects. “That is, the best in Rasin. By any objective measure.”

“How many magical schools are there in Rasin?” I ask. One thing you do learn from being a lawyer’s daughter and preparing to follow him into the profession is a healthy scepticism.

“Eight. But four of those don’t accept Malaina, and two of those that do are run by dukes who place an obligation of five years’ service to them on all graduates – yes, that practice is legal for magic, though in my opinion it shouldn’t be.”

I would rather not serve a duke for five years. “And there are two others. One of them is yours, presumably, and the other…”

“Was only established a couple of years ago. By people who have the most excellent intentions, but will inevitably see their endeavours in ruins within a decade.”

Something in her tone doesn’t invite further questions on that topic, so I keep them to myself and ask instead “Can’t you learn magic through an apprenticeship?”

She nods. “I can’t recommend it. You’ll inevitably find yourself learning a lot about whichever area of magic your master specialises in and not enough about other areas. And there are very few Malaina I’d trust with the sole teaching of an impressionable young girl.”

She pauses for just long enough to let my heart sink before continuing “I should add I wouldn’t trust myself with that, either. Not that I’m Malaina. And… if you remember nothing else about what I’ve told you, remember this: the majority of Malaina go on to live as normal lives as any other magician, and I see no reason why you cannot.”

I feel a faint flicker of hope for the first time since… well. “Tell me about your school,” I say, and then add hastily “please.”

Her lips twitch in what might be supressed amusement. “It’s not mine, to begin with. It’s the King’s. The Royal Academy of Magical Arts, in Ryk.”

I grimace. “Does he want my service for five years, as well?”

Electra shakes her head. “No. And you might be pleased to know it’s paid for out of the royal treasury, as well.”

That was the other thing I was worried about: money. If my parents can’t afford Genford, they don’t have a chance with a royal school of magic – and that’s even supposing my mother can be persuaded to pay for me. But this… it seems perfect. Too good to be true, in fact.

“What’s the catch?”

She holds her palms out flat to me, showing that she’s not hiding anything in her hands. “No catch.”

My disbelief must show on my face.

“Think about it. One: all the old Siaril families send their children there unless they’re openly quarrelling with the throne, and none of them will stand for sub-quality teaching or their children being ill-used.”

Siaril is one of the Schools of Magic. It’s inherited by blood, and perhaps unsurprisingly a lot of the families that possess it are among the most powerful in the kingdom. It’s taken a lot of political manoeuvring, legal restrictions and a civil war to prevent them taking over the kingdom entirely.

That is slightly reassuring. But just because the children of powerful families aren’t ill-used doesn’t mean others aren’t.

“Two: about half of the magicians in Rasin are Academy graduates. That’s a lot of people with a lot of magical power, and even without a contract having them well-disposed towards the throne is worth a lot of money to the King. Three, it’s good publicity to run the Academy as a charitable foundation. It is definitely a worthwhile investment for His Majesty, no catch required.”

That’s a persuasive argument. Reminds me of history classes, in a way: analysing the motivation of this king or that lord in taking this or that course of action. Just with a King who hasn’t been dead for several centuries.

Also not what I’d expect of a… whatever Electra is. Magician probably, Malaina expert certainly, connected to this Academy… “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?”

“I oversee all of the Malaina students at the Academy. Managing their classes to minimise the chances of provoking active episodes, and dealing with the consequences if they do occur. If you choose to study there, I’ll be teaching you Countering Magical Effects, though I’m not its usual teacher. She’s having a baby.”

“What do you usually teach?”

“Magical Combat.”

That surprises me, I have to admit: she doesn’t look like a fighter, not at all.

She catches the surprise on my face. “I am considerably more dangerous than I look.” She shifts from her casual sprawl to perch neatly on the end of the chair. “I have other duties, if you’ll excuse me. I’m sure I’ve given you plenty to think about – “ she reaches into her robes and pulls out a few sheets of parchment, which she sets down on the table. “The details of each school which accepts Malaina, and a list of all Malaina currently willing to take apprentices.”

“Thank you.”

Electra stands. “You will need to make a decision quickly, though. If you’re to attend the Academy, I’ll want you to start classes tomorrow, which unless you very much enjoy early mornings will involve leaving today. I’ll return at about three after noon; have a decision made by then.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, though it feels inadequate for everything she’s done in this one conversation.

“Don’t thank me,” she replies, “I’m just doing my job.” And she turns and walks away, without looking back.

It takes me a few seconds to notice something strange in her gait: she favours her right leg a little. I wouldn’t have expected a magician to limp.