“Apparently, I’m not allowed to offer an unqualified assistant the same rate as a university graduate or student, but it should be more than you made as a janitor. And the jacket is actually required if you’re going to be assisting with lab work, so go on. It’s yours.”
After another moment of hesitation, Thomil took the coat from the hook and slipped it on over his work clothes. They’d have to talk about changing the rest of his ensemble later. For now, he took a seat next to Sciona—and the previous day hadn’t been a fluke; he still smelled of herbs.
“Highmage Freynan?” he said after a moment, and Sciona realized she had been staring at the line of his shoulders in that coat. She shook herself.
“Sorry.” Turning to the spellograph, Sciona refocused. “We discussed the nature of mapping yesterday. What I’m going to show you first is something called a Kaedor mapping spell. There are subtle differences between the main mapping methods—Leon, Kaedor, and Erafin—but for now, let’s cover what a mapping spell is. All known mapping spells show the user a rough representation of the Otherrealm in gray and white—dark gray reflecting the dead zones, where there is no energy, white reflecting energy sources.”
“That’s the thing that happens up here,” Thomil said, pointing to the copper hoop over Sciona’s spellograph, “when the mages hit a key, and the space inside this wire thing lights up?”
“That wire thing is a mapping coil,” Sciona said, “and yes.”
“So, does the coil help generate the image somehow?”
“No. It just helps mages who don’t know what they’re doing find their numbers. That’s what the little marks along the wire are for. Sort of like a sight on a rifle. A good sniper doesn’t need one.”
“He doesn’t?”
“I actually have no idea,” Sciona confessed. “Never fired a rifle, but you get the metaphor.”
“I’ve never fired a rifle either, but yes, I think so.”
“Before we activate any mapping spell, we have to select our coordinates, which will determine which part of the Otherrealm the spellograph displays in the coil. Since this is just a demonstration, why don’t you choose for me? Pick any two numbers between one and three thousand.”
“One and three thousand?” Thomil said. “It’s a big garden of bounty, then?”
“Quite big. When I’m mapping to source a spell, I’ll include up to five decimal points for precision, but whole numbers will do fine for now. Pick any two you’d like.”
“Alright, ma’am. Three hundred and six hundred?”
“Ah, alright, but we might not find that much energy there. It’s a known dead zone.”
“You know that off the top of your head, Highmage?”
“Of course,” Sciona said. “After years of manual siphoning, your mental map is pretty well formed—at least mine is.” There were mages, Sciona knew, who had to consult a coordinates index for potential potency every time they manually siphoned, but those didn’t typically end up in the High Magistry. “So, different numbers, please?”
“Um… one thousand five hundred by one thousand five hundred?”
“Oh.” Sciona winced. “I should have mentioned: the center of the grid is no good either.”
“The center, ma’am?”
“Yes. Well, the center and approximately fifty-two numbers out in any direction. That whole circle is off limits.”
“Why?”
“The outer rim of the circle is set aside as one of several Reserve sourcing zones. This means it’s siphoned continuously to stock the Reserve towers. Manually siphoning those coordinates can compromise the Reserve, so we don’t do that. Then, in the inside of the circle, you have the Forbidden Coordinates, which are off limits for any siphoning ever. That rule is written into the Leonid—so not just in Faene the First’s supplemental religious guidelines but in the Founding Texts by Leon himself.”
“The preachers are always saying your god gifted Tiran all the fruits of his garden,” Thomil said. “Isn’t it odd, then, for some of the ‘all’ to be withheld?”
“The unbreakable rules of magic are unbreakable for a reason.”
“You know the reason, then?” Thomil asked.
“God’s reasons aren’t really up for questioning. But that said, when it comes to the Forbidden Coordinates, I think Tiran learned everything it needed to know—arguably more than anyone wanted to know—from Highmage Sabernyn.”
“The traitor mage?” Thomil said, and when Sciona looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “The Kwen like a melodramatic tragedy as much as anyone. Sabernyn is the one who murdered his rivals using dark magic, right?”
“That’s the one. And ‘dark magic,’ in Sabernyn’s case, meant siphoning energy from the Forbidden Coordinates.”
“How did people know it was dark magic and not—I don’t know—regular magic used violently?” Thomil asked.
“To defy Leon’s edicts is dark magic.” Sciona had to remind herself not to be impatient with her assistant’s ignorance. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been educated properly. “That’s how it’s defined—as in the darkness outside the light of Leon’s teachings—and for good reason. God makes the zone within the Forbidden Coordinates look especially enticing and rich with energy, but the consequences of using that energy are… let’s just say that the magic Sabernyn practiced was singularly gruesome in Tiranish history. I won’t sicken you with the details, but—Is something funny?” she asked when Thomil smothered a laugh.
“No, ma’am.” Thomil blinked, seeming to remember himself, and schooled his features. “Apologies.”
“What is it?” Sciona demanded, wishing she wasn’t quite so good at squashing Thomil’s smiles whenever they came up, wishing she could hit the keys to seize on them before they faded like light into the Otherrealm.
“Nothing, ma’am. Just that you must think me a bit delicate if you assume I can’t handle a little gruesome history.”
“I don’t—it’s not that.” Sciona sighed. “If you must know, I don’t like to talk about it. Not because my sensibilities are delicate,” she rushed to add, realizing how girlish the confession had sounded. “It’s just… I’ve devoted my entire life to magical research. I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t believe that magic was a uniquely powerful force for good and progress. The idea that a great mage used this knowledge for something as petty as murdering his colleagues… It disgusts me.”
And damn it, now Sciona had gone and displayed more emotion than was comfortable or indeed appropriate. “Anyway.” She shook her head. “It’s all resolved now and has been for decades.”
“Resolved?”
“When the other mages uncovered Sabernyn’s activities, he was tried before God and sentenced to death.” The High Magistry had executed him by poison in the Hall of Leon, on the same spot where Sciona had tested for the rank of highmage.