Teaching a Magus a New Trick

This was a request from one of my first editors, for me to make something about a magic wielder in a hard magic system learning about soft magic. Here you go, Misain.

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I slowly paced back and forth in the lecture hall as the students listened attentively or took notes. "—In some ways, magic is like a chemical reaction, notably in that you can only get out what you put in. You can't create a flower out of a brick. Another analogy is that magic is like heat in an oven. By itself, it doesn't do much, but if you put bread dough in, you'll end up with bread. And much like in cooking and chemistry, you must be very meticulous and specific, or you'll end up with something you never wish to repeat again. Your ability to—"

The words continued rolling off my tongue. After so many years, I knew them by heart. As per my recommendation, many students had brought their cell phones. The devices were useful for recording my words, but they were clearly in their first few classes or they would have known that cell phones couldn't record the energy they had the rare ability to see.

Just because I provided all the tools didn't mean I was going to give them every detail upfront. They'd learn that shortly. They'd have to learn to think ahead and prepare for possible unanticipated events once they started wielding their own magics.

Presuming they got that far. Just because someone had natural talent and ability, that didn't mean they had the brains to go with it.

This class was designed to weed out the ones who wouldn't survive. There was fierce competition to get into this classroom—I was the only Prime Magus willing to teach students in their first three years—but I also knew that half of the snot-nosed brats in this class had rich parents who had bribed their way in.

Money didn't equal brains either.

My robes flowed to a gentle stop as I finished reciting the hour-long lecture. My eyes scanned the mixed group of teenagers and young adults as I asked, "What is magic good for?"

Had this been one of my senior classes, the clever ones would have asked why I thought the question was important. Instead, I got standard responses.

"Healing."

"Building."

"Repairing things."

A woman in the back raised her voice, "If magic is closer to transmutation than alchemy or fantasy magic, is there anything it can't be used for if one can understand the methods?"

I raised an eyebrow. Someone asking a question in response to a question on their first day? This was rather promising.

"Excellent point," I replied. "Even though some nimrod decided to call it magic—why the name stuck is beyond me—it is truly a transmutation force. We use precise calculations and it follows a set of strict rules. We have fifteen minutes left. Does anyone have any questions regarding what we've discussed so far?"

The same woman raised a hand, and at my nod, she asked, "If I can go back to your oven analogy, where does the energy come from? In a real oven, we use electricity to heat it, but when a Magus turns a pile of bricks and wires into a building, that's a lot of energy. None of the theories online gave a solid answer."

Ah, she was sharp. I was already looking forward to the extended debates in several years when she was a senior.

"Maguses amplify their strength with special crystals. Ever wonder why we order building supplies to be doused in water and never work on the coldest days? Heat is energy. We use the heat around us as initial fuel, then use it to split the water atoms like a hydrogen power plant, creating vast amounts of energy to power our workings. But"—I paused to give every student in the room a glare—"it also uses your strength. Burnout will be your greatest enemy. It's why you have classes on pacing yourself and mental welfare every week."

Someone else raised their hand. "What happens if you burn out?"

A few of her classmates winced. She clearly hadn't watched the introductory videos or even done any preliminary research.

My glare turned into a scowl. I didn't mind teaching people who were truly interested in learning, but I had no patience for those who hadn't so much as opened the ten-page Magic Basics booklet that had been sent with their acceptance letter. I made those things for a reason, dammit!

"Because it will take you years or decades to recover. And take my advice and don't get saddled in a team effort with a buffoon who thought he was running hot when he was on his last dredges. You can't stop halfway, and the cost will slide onto you. And there is a chance the energies will sear your mind beyond the point where you can ever do magic again."

There was a reason I was here and not out making millions every month. No student of mine was going to get burnt out once they went through all my classes. Every single graduate knew their boundaries and self-care techniques. They all got invitations to work on the most prestigious mega projects or into equally distinguished roles like healing.

No more hands were raised, so I said, "Class dismissed. Be certain to read that Magic Basics booklet by tomorrow. Videos one and two are optional but recommended."

With a turn that made my robes flare out behind me, I exited through the private exit on the dias. My access card opened the elevator and took me to the level that housed the Prime Maguses who wished rooms onsite.

I had an hour to prepare for my next class. Not that the third-year class was any less familiar than the one I'd just done. I could talk theory and methodology for hours. The exactness required in magic easily transferred into keeping track of exactly what I was teaching in each class and what they'd learned before.

As I opened the door, I leaned over to scoop up the orange furball that tried to dart down the hallway. "Not this time, Jack."

With his escape attempt thwarted, the cat clambered up the elaborate cat post that took up an entire wall. I went into one of my study rooms and gazed at the bookshelf, eventually pulling one down and skimming the pages I knew by heart.

Diagrams, calculations, the proper heights to hold focusing crystals, and the wrinkled spots on the pages where tears had fallen. I knew every detail but couldn't do anything with it. Not anymore. The energy that had once hummed through my mind was gone.

The Friedrodien Bridge had seared my magical abilities beyond recovery, but even worse, Oliver hadn't survived. His wasn't the first death, but I made damn sure every student who came through my door knew the forces they tangled with were stone-cold mathematical equations that didn't care about them. It would balance itself one way or another.

The robes around my feet swirled as Jack rubbed against my legs then tried to bite my ankles.

"You have food and water. I was only gone an hour," I reminded the feline, who meowed and jumped onto my chair, then onto the desk.

He gazed out the open window and yawned. After batting a couple of pens around, he grabbed a light turquoise crystal by the attached thrice-braided silk string and took off with it.

"Bring that back, you dolt," I said halfheartedly.

Not that it mattered. It wasn't like I could use the elongated twelve-sided gem anyway. He might as well turn it into a toy. It wasn't something a regular Magus could use, and it had been eight years since we'd found someone with Prime Magus level powers.

Jack rolled around on the carpet with it like the half-grown cat he was. As I put the book back on the shelf, I heard the sound of feathers then Jack crying out in pain. I whirled around to see a falcon grappling with the cat.

I darted forward and slid onto my knees beside them. "Jack!"

The falcon screeched and slashed at my hands with its talons, leaving bloody gashes on the back of my hands. Feathers flew around us as it took flight, frantically trying to get out of my study, eventually escaping through the window, but my attention was on the injured cat.

Jack tried to burrow under my robe. He had fought back gallantly—the number of feathers around him proved it. My mind automatically reached for the healing spells and patterns, trying to draw heat out of the sunlit wall outside to jumpstart the process. But of course, nothing happened.

I leaned over as tears fell from my eyes, trying to see how badly he was injured. A tear landed on the crystal near my knee.

A brilliant green flash blinded me and made me cry out in surprise. I blinked the spots away from my vision. Something orange wiggled out from under a fold in my robe and looked around like nothing had ever happened. There was no blood marring the fur on his back, but...

I stared at him. "Jack?"

The falcon head looked up at me. The ear tufts lifted as he gave a shrill whistle instead of the jaunty meow I was used to. My jaw slowly dropped.

Falcon head, falcon wings, cat body, cat tail with an odd tuft of feathers on the end. All in Jack's dappled orange coloration.

A griffin.

I rubbed my eyes. This simply wasn't possible. Apart from healings and color changes, magic didn't work on animals.

In fact, magic as humans currently knew it didn't work this way. Maguses had to hold onto crystals when using them, and that crystal had to be dangled at chest height and swung lightly! Not to mention that my mind had been burned out for over a decade.

Yet...

I ran a hand over Jack's head, back, and tail. His injury had healed, and somehow merged features from the falcon's feathers. Relieved that he was no longer injured, the puzzle at hand claimed my full attention.

I rose to my feet and began pacing. Jack clumsily flew up to the desk and tilted his raptor head while watching me.

Whatever had happened wasn't transmutation magic. No way. I knew all the rules. This broke most of them.

Could there be a second magic out there? With different rules? Furrowing my eyebrows in concentration, I summoned my magesight, the only vestige that had survived the disaster a decade ago.

Like before, many objects had a faint glow, but it was...different. Plants and Jack had a brighter glow, while my desk, books, and floor barely had anything. It had been the other way around before.

Something had changed since I last used my magesight. Could my mind have rewired the neurons and pathways to form new connections capable of sustaining some sort of power? Like a lightning strike survivor?

Another type of magic?

It shouldn't be possible.

As I paced past the desk, a sharp pain on my rump made me yelp.

Impossible had just bit my ass.