~Chapter Eighteen: The Notebook of a Great Mage~

Eola stared at the sheet of parchment on her desk, then back at her familiar. Then she lunged for the cat, but Atta, despite her sleepy appearance, was faster. She leaped to the desk, arched her back, and hissed.

“This is…what do I even do, Atta!? This is like destroying a holy relic!”

“You relax, sleep it off, find something to eat—that’s what I’d do.” Atta hissed one more time for good measure, then curled up against the wooden wall. “Once you’ve gotten some rest, you’ll realize that the diary in question was from before Varin became someone important. If it wasn’t, it’d be on the first floor, behind crystal glass and chromite locks, being admired by every traveling sightseer who stopped in Varin’s Town for the night.”

“That doesn’t matter. It was the Great Mage’s, and I destroyed it.” Eola sat back down, head in hands and fingers woven in her black hair, and peered at the cat-slimed parchment.

“Technically, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Atta said, “that the monster did, not you.”

Eola growled in annoyance.

“But I do see your point. You feel responsible for destroying a two-and-a-half-thousand-year-old book belonging to someone most people agree is responsible for saving the world—the second-most important figure in history, maybe, behind Y’aer. Looks like there’s only one thing to do, then. You need to put it back together.”

The words on the page blurred, and Eola closed her eyes against tears of frustration. “That’s not realistic.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not realistic, Eola. You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. You weren’t skilled or strong enough to be there without help. Now, you feel like it’s your fault the diary was destroyed. So, whether it’s realistic right now or not, you have a mission. Go back in there, defeat the feral book, and restore Varin’s apprenticehood diary. Now, finish reading that thing. Tomorrow, we’re getting to work.

“And for what it’s worth, I believe you can do it.”

Eola’s eyes snapped open, and she lowered her hands. Her eyes returned to the first line of the diary.

This being the diary of me, Varin, apprentice to Archmage Frelanne, I record my thoughts for my future self here.

I have been apprenticed to Frelanne for two months, and she’s encouraged me to begin documenting my runes and marks in this book. Frelan’s a great spellcrafter. Her runes and marks are leagues better than what I can hope to achieve. However, she’s a harsh mistress to learn from. I don’t have the strength of soul to do what she’s asking of me, so most of our training time is focused on strengthening it. Honestly, I doubt anyone has the strength of soul to keep up with her. She’s been training for two hundred years or something.

One thing, though. I’ve noticed she always, always uses the same mark when she casts. I’ve been spying watching when she casts, and I think I’ve got the mark itself figured out. I just wish I knew what it did.

Eola turned the page over, hoping against hope that the young apprentice Varin had recorded the modifying mark for her. Then she pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”

“What?” Colin asked from the door, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing!” Eola said. She covered the yellowed, faded page with her hand. It wasn’t all there—time had faded the sketch to almost nothing—but enough was. “I was just working on some homework from Instructor Tarik’s independent study.”

“Alright. Good luck with that. I’m heading to bed, but if you need anything, just bang on my door. I’ll be there.”

“What?” Eola asked, echoing Colin’s confused look.

He fidgeted awkwardly and looked at the floor. “I mean, because you’re still recovering. Instructor Clearance asked me to keep an eye on you, since we’re suite mates and she’s teaching me a little about rituals on the side.”

“Oh. Thank you, Colin.”

“Of course, Eola. Night.”

“Night,” Eola said, eyes flicking back to the page.

The symbol was in Forsooth Script. From what she could see, it was also disgustingly simple—a single word, written in a single loop. But that simplicity was only surface level; Eola couldn’t figure out what it did any more than Varin had, apparently, been able to. If she had more of his notes, they’d probably explain it, but as it was…

She glanced up, yawning. Atta’s golden eyes were locked on the page. She watched her familiar for almost fifteen seconds before the cat tore her gaze away from the mark and shook her head. “That’s what I was afraid of. Not enough to go on. We’ll just have to put this aside until we’re ready for the library’s third floor. Luckily, time is on our side. Get some rest. You’re back to your normal schedule tomorrow.”

Eola shook her head slowly and pulled the first piece of parchment from the large stack Colin had haphazardly propped on the side of her desk. It was from Mana Studies, asking for a full page, pen-written, on formal applications for Mana lines.

“Y’aer save me,” Eola said, reaching for her pen and getting to work. The sooner the homework was done, the sooner she could focus on her own goals.

The mountain of homework turned out to be more than a one-night project, and it was a couple of days before Eola found the time to meet with Maestro Yarrowbloom. The elf’s class had changed for the better while she’d been out, and their combat drills were fast-paced, brutal affairs with training swords and a limited spell pool to choose from—but no restrictions on how those spells were used. Eola stood on one end of the practice pitch, breathing hard. On the far side, Catrine pulled off her practice helmet. The two girls had been going at it for almost three minutes, with little to show for it but a few bruises each.

Eola’s helmet was still on. She scowled under the mesh basket; Catrine had gotten a lot better at swordplay. Either that, or—more likely—Eola had gotten out of shape after a week in bed. She unbuckled her own helmet and wiped sweat off her brow.

To her surprise, the noble girl was smiling—and also to her surprise, Catrine looked genuinely happy. Eola’s scowl deepened. “What?”

“Oh, I’m just thinking about what happens when Maestro Yarrowface unbars all the spells, toddler,” Catrine said. Eola winced, but something seemed different about Catrine’s tone. “It’ll be a lot of fun to push my Journeymage soul to the limit. You’ll be my sparring partner for that, won’t you?”

Catrine’s purple-red owl sat on a nearby chair’s back, staring with wide eyes. Atta didn’t make an appearance in Magical Dueling, and Eola felt a little tingle on the back of her neck as the bird familiar’s eyes bored into her. She nodded. “If you want. I’m pretty good with the sword.”

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“I’m sure you are, but House Andrese’s attunement’s a real show-stopper. Now that I think about it, you don’t have what it takes, toddler. I’ll stick with Garreth.”

One by one, the other students pulled off their padded gear and filed out until it was just Catrine, Eola, and the professor. Eola glared at Catrine, who glared back. After almost two minutes, Catrine broke. “Maestro, normal office hours, right?”

“Correct, Miss Andrese.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll be around.” The noble girl left, and Eola breathed a sigh of relief.

It was short-lived.

“Miss Lemiene, if you have questions, they’re best suited for my office—and they’d better not be about Steel Snare or any other ritual magic. You’re far too talented at the dance for that drivel.” Maestro Yarrowbloom started following Catrine out the door.

“Wait, sir,” Eola said. “I was hoping—“

“For private lessons?” the elf asked. “No.”

“No. I’ve got a question about the Taron-Li. What do you do when—“