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“I will not fear evil, for where I go, God’s Light goes also. In the presence of God, I will not turn my gaze, though Light burn me. For Light will show the Truth of the world, and all the world’s Truth is of Feryn the Father.”

A S

SUMMER

RACED toward winter at train speeds, Thomil advanced just as fast. The days were still long when they moved from Trethellyn Hall back into the Main Magistry, and Sciona told him to leave the introductory children’s books behind.

A month into their time together, the days had noticeably shortened, and Sciona had brought him to a grade school level of competence. Two months in,

snowfall turned to vapor as it hit the warming barrier, shrouding the university in mist that fogged the new windows of Sciona’s lab, and Thomil had moved on from copying elementary spells to copying Sciona’s.

At three months, the sun lasted only a few hours each day, and, in the red haze of an early afternoon sunset, there was a bang that made them both jump.

“I did it!” Thomil exclaimed, eyes wide in a rare display of unmasked emotion. “I made a conduit!”

“Well, don’t look so surprised,” Sciona said, though she was unable to hold back a grin. “You’ve been studying the formulas long enough.”

Drifting over to examine his work, she found that he had executed one of her harmless smoke cylinders to perfection. This was the first step to magic: memorizing the spells of greater mages and replicating them.

“Well done,” she said earnestly. “Next, you can try training it on a unique voice command. I’m glad one of us has made a breakthrough.”

“Still stuck on the same problem, ma’am?”

At this point, Thomil knew Sciona well enough to take her sullen grumble as a ‘yes.’ Three months of research, and she hadn’t come up with a mapping spell better than the hybrid composition she’d used back in the exam.

This shouldn’t have surprised her. Even with the extra resources of the High Magistry available to her, this kind of research took time.

Trial and error. But she was starting to get nervous about the utter lack of forward movement.

She should have had something to show for her work by now.

“Anything for me to test?” Thomil offered, looking over the smoking aftermath of the fire spells Sciona had been using to test her mapping composition.

Whenever she made an adjustment, she would try siphoning through the new composition twenty times herself, documenting the results, then have Thomil siphon through it twenty more.

This gave her data from an experienced siphoner as well as an inexperienced one.

So far, none of her tweaks had measurably improved siphoning accuracy for either of them.

Sciona’s precision hovered stubbornly around ninety-four percent, and Thomil’s hovered around seventy-three.

Today’s modifications, she could already tell, would be no different.

“There’s nothing to test,” she said crossly. “We’re exactly where we were yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.”

“Alright.” Thomil glanced at the tomes and testing bowls of burnt twigs covering every surface in the vast laboratory. “I can tidy up some of these books and dishes unless you’re still—”

“I’m still using them,” she snapped.

“I’ll put on some tea, then.”

“Please.”

As Thomil went to the cupboard and produced the crockery he had somehow found time to clean in between rounds of caffeination, Sciona realized that he had learned her rhythm almost troublingly well.

He glanced up at her as he filled the pot, expectant.

This was where she usually started ranting at him about the day’s impediments.

Feryn, was she really that predictable? No, she thought after another moment.

No one had ever read her subtle shifts in mood quite like this Kwen.

Not even Alba. Thomil was just that perceptive, that perfect an assistant.

He would absorb all of Sciona’s frustration without complaint and gently bounce ideas back at her when he could tell she needed to work them harder.

Without looking at his coloring or registering his accent, one might have mistaken him for an exceptionally skilled and patient schoolteacher.

“I think I may have come to a dead-end,” she confessed to that patiently listening expression.

“I can already make a marginally clearer mapping visual than any mage ever has. It’s what got me into the High Magistry.

But after all my modifications, it’s still not perfect.

It’s still difficult to read energy potency based on brightness.

There’s still that little blur at the edge of each energy source, leaving a margin for error in siphoning.

My purpose here is to eliminate that margin, and I’ve barely managed to reduce it with the lines I’m given. ”

“With the lines you’re given?” Thomil repeated. “Aren’t you composing the spell yourself?”

“Not all of it,” Sciona sighed. “That’s the wall I’m hitting.

All mapping methods use the same few lines to generate the visual itself.

” She hauled over Norwith’s Analysis of Leonic Principles and flipped through to point to his transcription of the Leonic Method.

“These lines, to be specific. They create the form in which we see the energy sources of the Otherrealm, with energy equaling light and the absence of energy equaling darkness.”

“But isn’t that the best way for a mapping spell to work, ma’am?” Thomil asked. “For it to show you where the energy is and where it isn’t?”

“The best way?” Sciona repeated, intrigued by his wording. “How would you know the best way to map for energy?”

“I don’t, ma’am. But speaking as a simple Kwen, it’s easier to spot a deer on a snowy plain than in the summer woods.”

“Is it?” Sciona said, having never seen a snowy plain except in historical artists’ renderings.

“Dark on light or light on dark. In my mind, that’s the best way to reduce distraction and hit a target.”

“Sure,” she conceded, “a black and white visual might be best for hitting a target, but what about seeing the details of your prey? Some energy pools are more potent than others, even though they display at identical size and brightness—like I assume some animals are better for meat than others. There must be a way to display the differences between those sources the same way a hunter sees the characteristics of his mark. There must be a way to actually see the Otherrealm in all its detail.”

“Didn’t your Founding Mage Leon claim that the Otherrealm was beyond human understanding?”

“Faene said it was beyond human understanding. Not Leon. And anyway, when did you get so smart about Tiranish religious texts?” she said with a sharp look at her assistant.

A wary shadow crossed Thomil’s expression. “If I’ve spoken out of turn, ma’am, I—”

“No, no. You’re not out of…” Well, they were both speaking out of turn by speaking ill of Faene’s teachings.

“They’re good questions,” she amended. The type she usually had to sit around asking herself for hours until her brain burned itself out running in circles.

The run was easier with someone at her side. “Your questions are always good.”

“May I ask another, then?”

“Please.”

“Could it be that looking on the Otherrealm is dangerous?” Thomil suggested.

“Like using the Forbidden Coordinates? Maybe the unobstructed sight of it is too much for a human mage, like looking into the summer sun? Maybe the fog protects the eyes, like… well, like actual clouds protect from the sun.”

Sciona scrunched her nose in distaste. She liked to think of herself as a good, devout girl, but on the other hand, she despised the idea that anything was unknowable.

If that was true, then divinity was truly untouchable, and what was the point of knowledge seeking? What was her purpose on this Earth?

“I’ve completely run out of adjustments I can make within Faene’s restrictions,” she said in frustration.

“As far as I can tell, there is no way to generate a mapping visual any more informative than what I already have without altering Leon’s unalterable lines in some fashion.

As it stands, I’m just an idiot sitting here with a rag, polishing a window made of clouded glass.

It’s not going to get any more transparent. ”

“And altering the glass itself—changing those lines—is against your religious edicts?” Thomil asked.

“It’s against Tirasian religious edicts.”

“But you’re a Leonite, ma’am.”

“Working in a Tirasian institution for Tirasian employers,” Sciona said darkly.

“My colleagues would be horrified if I threw Faene the First’s laws of magic out the window—and not without cause.

I mean, I may not worship Faene’s texts as gospel.

I may not give his restrictions the same reverence I do Leon’s, but he was arguably the most important father of our magic system after Leon.

The guidelines he put in place effectively made magic into the workable instrument of progress it is today, and his laws are not to be disregarded lightly. ”

“But if you had a good weighty reason to break one of his laws?” Thomil prompted. “You could do it and still be right with your god?”

“I could… ”

Thomil’s smile was faintly conspiratorial as he set a steaming cup of tea before Sciona. “I won’t tell, Highmage.”

Sciona let out a half-hearted laugh. “Well, there’s only a week before I have to present my ‘progress’ to the Council.

” The yearly convening of the Council traditionally took place on Feryn’s Feast, the last day before the Deep Night, when the sun would set and not return for two months.

“If we don’t find some way forward, we may as well give up and go work for Cleon Renthorn right now. ”

“No!”

Sciona looked up, startled by the intensity and volume of Thomil’s voice. “Pardon?”