Mother of Learning 1 - Caught in the Web Read online

  "Normally I would be explaining to you in detail what it means to be a third year student at Cyoria's magical academy, but I hear you have a train leaving soon, so why don't we jump straight to the main reason I'm here. Your mentor, and electives. You can ask me anything you wish to know afterwards."

  Zorian perked up on this, especially the mention of 'mentor'. Each third year was given a mentor that they met with once a week, who was supposed to teach students in ways not possible in a standard class format, and otherwise help them reach their maximum potential. A choice of one's mentor could make or break one's magical career and Zorian knew he had to choose carefully. Fortunately, he had asked around among older students to find out which ones were good and which ones were bad, so he figured he would at least be able to get an above-average one.

  "So which mentors can I choose from?" Zorian asked.

  "Well, actually, I'm afraid you can't," Ilsa said apologetically. "Like I said, I was supposed to get to you sooner. Unfortunately, all but one of the mentors have filled their quota of students at this point."

  Zorian had a bad feeling about this… "And this mentor is?"

  "Xvim Chao."

  Zorian groaned, burying his face in his hands. Of all the teachers, Xvim was widely agreed upon as the worst mentor you could possibly get. It just had to be him, didn't it?

  "It's not that bad," Ilsa assured him. "The rumors are mostly exaggerated, and mostly spread by students unwilling to do the kind of work Professor Xvim requires of his charges. I'm sure a talented, hard-working student such as yourself will have no problems with him."

  Zorian snorted. "I don't suppose there is any chance to transfer to another mentor, is there?"

  "Not really. We've had a really good pass rate last year, and all of the mentors are swamped with students as it is. Professor Xvim is the least burdened of the available mentors."

  "My, I wonder why," Zorian mumbled. "Alright, fine. What about electives?"

  Ilsa handed him another scroll, this one unsealed, containing a list of all elective classes offered by the academy. It was long. Very long. You could sign up for practically anything, even things that weren't of strictly magical nature: things like advanced mathematics, classical literature, and architecture. It was to be expected, really, since Ikosian magical tradition had always been inextricably connected to other intellectual pursuits.

  "You can choose up to five, but no less than three electives this year. It would be a lot more convenient for us if you did it now, so that we can finalize the schedules over the weekend before the classes start. Don't be too intimidated by the sheer size of the list. Even if you choose something that doesn't appeal to you, you can switch to a different elective during the first month of school."

  Zorian frowned. There were a lot of electives and he wasn't quite sure which ones he wanted to take. He'd already gotten shafted in the mentor department, so he really couldn't afford to screw up here. This would take a while.

  "Please don't take this the wrong way Miss Zileti, but would you mind if we take a short break before we go any further with this?"

  "Of course not," she said. "Is something the matter?"

  "Not at all," assured Zorian. "It's just that I really need to go to the bathroom."

  Probably not the best way to make a first impression. Kirielle was so going to pay for putting him in this position.

  ✦ ✧ ✦

  Zorian trailed after his family in silence as they entered Cirin's train station, ignoring Fortov's exuberant greeting of some 'friends' of his. He scanned the crowd on the train station for any familiar faces but, predictably, came out empty. He didn't really know all that many people in his home town, as his parents loved reminding him. He felt his mother's gaze on him as he unsuccessfully searched for an empty bench, but refused to look back at her – she would take that as permission to initiate conversation, and he already knew what she would say.

  'Why don't you join Fortov and his friends, Zorian?'

  Because they're immature jackasses, just like Fortov, that's why.

  He sighed, looking at the empty train tracks with annoyance. The train was late. He didn't mind waiting as such, but waiting in the crowds was pure torture. His family would never understand, but Zorian hated crowds. It wasn't any tangible thing, really – it was more like large gatherings of people projected some kind of presence that weighed down on him constantly. Most of the time it was annoying, though it did have its uses – his parents stopped taking him to church when they realized that dragging him into a small hall packed with people resulted in vertigo and fainting in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, the train station wasn't currently crowded enough to produce such intense effects, but Zorian knew prolonged exposure would take its toll. He hoped the train wouldn't take too long, because he didn't relish spending the rest of the day with a headache.

  Fortov's loud laughter broke him out of such gloomy musings. His older brother didn't have such problems, that's for sure. Like always, he was cheerful, sociable, and had a smile that could light up the world. The people he was surrounded with were clearly enthralled with him, and he stood out among them at first glance, despite having the same thin build that Zorian did. He just had that kind of presence around him. He was like Daimen in this way, only Daimen had actual skills to back up his charm.

  He scoffed, shaking his head. Zorian didn't know for sure how Fortov had been accepted into a supposedly elite institution like Cyoria's magical academy, but he strongly suspected Father had greased a few hands to get Fortov in. It wasn't that Fortov was stupid, so much as lazy and completely unable to focus on a task, no matter how critical. Not that most people knew that, of course – the boy was charming as hell, and very adept in sweeping his inadequacies under the metaphorical rug.

  His father always joked that Fortov and Zorian each got a half of Daimen in them: Fortov got his charm, and Zorian his competence.

  Zorian had never liked his father's sense of humor.

  A whistle pierced the air, and the train entered the station with a high-pitched squeal of metal wheels braking against the tracks. The original trains were steam-powered machines that billowed smoke wherever they went and consumed unholy amounts of coal to keep going, but this one was powered by the newer techno-magic engines that consumed crystallized mana instead. Cleaner, cheaper, and required less maintaince. Zorian could actually feel the mana radiating off the train as he approached, though his ability to sense magic was too underdeveloped to tell him any details. He had always wanted to look around the engine room of one of these things but could never figure out a good way to approach the train operators.

  But that was a thought for another time. He gave a brief goodbye to Mother and Kirielle and entered the train to find himself a seat. He intentionally chose an empty compartment, something that was surprisingly easy to find. Apparently, despite the gathered crowd, few of them would be taking this particular train.

  Five minutes later, the train gave another ear-splitting whistle and began its long journey towards Cyoria.

  ✦ ✧ ✦

  There was a sharp crackling sound, following by the sound of a bell ringing.

  "Now stopping in Korsa," a disembodied voice echoed. A crackling sound again. "I repeat, now stopping in Korsa. Thank you."

  The speakers crackled one last time before turning silent.

  Zorian released a long sigh of irritation and opened his eyes. He hated trains. The boredom, the heat, and the rhythmic thumping sounds all conspired to make him sleepy, but every time he finally drifted off to sleep he was rudely awoken by the station announcer. That this was the very purpose of that announcer – to wake up passengers who would sleep through their destination – was not lost on Zorian, but it was no less annoying because of it.

  He looked through the window, only to see a train station like any other. In fact, it was completely identical to the previous five, down to the blue outline on the big white tablet saying 'Korsa'. Apparently the station builders were working
off some kind of template these days. Looking at the station platform they were stopping at, he could see a large crowd of people waiting to get on the train. Korsa was a major trading hub, and a lot of newly minted merchant families lived here, sending their children to Cyoria's prestigious academy to become mages and mingle among children of other influential people. Zorian found himself wishing that none of his fellow students join him in his compartment, but he knew it was an idle dream – there were too many of them and his compartment was completely empty aside from him. He did all he could to make himself comfortable in his seat and closed his eyes again.

  The first person to join him in his compartment was a chubby, glasses-wearing girl in a green turtleneck. She gave him a cursory glance and started reading a book in silence. Zorian would have been ecstatic with such an agreeable traveling companion, but soon enough a group of four other girls came in and took the remaining four seats for themselves. The four newcomers were very loud and prone to giggling fits, and Zorian was sorely tempted to get up and find himself a new compartment to occupy. He spent the rest of the trip alternating between looking through the window at the endless fields they were passing and exchanging annoyed glances with the green-turtleneck girl, who seemed similarly irritated by the other girls' antics.

  He knew they were getting close to Cyoria when he could see trees on the horizon. There was only one city on this route that was this close to the great northern forest, and the trains otherwise avoided getting close to so infamous a place. Zorian picked up his bag and went to stand by the exit. The idea was to be among the first to disembark, and thus avoid the usual crowding that always occurred once they got to Cyoria, but he was too late – there was already a crowd at the exit when he approached. He leaned on the nearby window and waited, listening to animated conversation between three first year students beside him, who were talking excitedly amongst themselves about how they were going to start learning magic and whatnot. Boy, were they going to be disappointed – the first year was all theory, meditation exercises, and learning how to access your mana consistently.

  "Hey, you! You're one of the upperclassmen, aren't you?"

  Zorian looked at the girl talking to him and suppressed a groan of irritation. He so did not want to talk to these people. He had been in the train since early morning, Mother had given him a nasty lecture because he hadn't offered Ilsa something to drink while she was in the house, and he was in no mood for anything.

  "I suppose you could describe me as such," he said cautiously.

  "Can you show us any magic?" she asked eagerly.

  "No," said Zorian flatly. He wasn't even lying. "The train is warded to disrupt mana shaping. They had a problem with people starting fires and vandalizing compartments."

  "Oh," the girl said, clearly disappointed. She frowned, like trying to figure something out. "Mana shaping?" she asked cautiously.

  Zorian raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what mana is?" She was first year, yes, but that was elementary. Anyone who went through elementary school should know at least that much.

  "Magic?" she tried lamely.

  "Ugh," grunted Zorian. "The teachers would so fail you for that. No, it's not magic. It's what powers magic - the energy, the power, that a mage shapes into a magical effect. You'll learn more about it in lectures, I guess. Bottom point is: no mana, no magic. And I can't use any mana at the moment."

  This was misleading, but whatever. There was no way he was explaining things to some random stranger, especially since she should already know this stuff.

  "Um, okay. Sorry to bother you then."

  With a lot of squealing and steam-letting, the train stopped at Cyoria's train station, and Zorian disembarked as fast as he could, pushing past the awed first-years staring at the sight before them.

  Cyoria's train station was huge, a fact made obvious by the fact that it was enclosed, making it look more like a giant tunnel. Actually, the station as a whole was even larger, because there were four more 'tunnels' like this one, plus all the support facilities. There was nothing like it anywhere in the world, and virtually everyone was stupefied the first time they saw it. Zorian was too, when he first disembarked here. The feeling of disorientation was amplified by the sheer amount of people that went through this terminal, whether they were passengers going in and out of Cyoria, workers inspecting the train and unloading luggage, newsboys shouting headlines, or homeless people begging for some change. As far as he knew, this massive flow of people never really ceased, even at night, and this was a particularly busy day.

  He looked at the giant clock hanging from the ceiling and, finding out he had plenty of time, bought himself some bread from the nearby bakery and then set course for Cyoria's central plaza, intending to eat his newly acquired food while sitting on the edge of the fountain there. It was a nice place to relax.

  Cyoria was a curious city. It was one of the most developed and largest cities in the world, which was at first glance strange, as Cyoria was dangerously close to monster-infested wilderness and wasn't in a favorable trade location. What really catapulted its way to prominence was the massive circular hole on the west side of the city – probably the most obvious Dungeon entrance ever and the only Rank 9 mana well known to exist. The absolutely massive quantities of mana gushing out from the underworld had made the spot an irresistible magnet for mages. The presence of such a huge number of mages made Cyoria unlike any other city on the continent, both in the culture of the people living there and, more obviously, in the architecture of the city itself. A lot of things that would be too impractical to build elsewhere were routinely done here, and it made for an inspiring sight if you could find a good spot to watch the city from.

  He froze in his tracks when he noticed a swarm of rats staring at him from the bottom of the stairway he was about to descend. Their behavior was strange enough, but his heartbeat really sped up when he took notice of their heads. Was that… were their brains exposed!? He swallowed heavily and took a step back, slowly retreating from the stairwell before turning around and fleeing in a full sprint. He wasn't sure what they were, but those were definitely not normal rats.

  He supposed he shouldn't be so shocked, though – a place like Cyoria attracted more than mages – magical creatures of all breeds found such places just as irresistible. He was just glad the rats didn't pursue him, because he had nothing in the way of combat spells. The only spell he knew that could be used in a situation like this was the 'spook animals' spell, and he had no idea how effective that would have been against such clearly magical creatures.

  Somewhat shaken but still determined to get to the fountain, he tried to circle the rat gathering by going through the nearby park, but luck just wasn't on his side today. He promptly walked in on a little girl crying her eyes out on a bridge he had to cross, and it took him five minutes just to get her to calm down enough to find out what happened. He supposed he could have just pushed past her and left her there to cry, but not even he was that cold-hearted.

  "T-the b-bike!" she blurted out finally, hiccupping heavily. "It f-fell in!" she wailed.

  Zorian blinked, trying to interpret what she was trying to tell him. Apparently realizing she wasn't making any sense, the girl pointed towards the creek running underneath the bridge. Zorian looked over the edge of the bridge and, sure enough, there was a children's bicycle half-submerged in the muddy waters.

  "Huh," Zorian said. "Wonder how that happened?"

  "It fell in!" the girl repeated, looking as if she was going to cry again.

  "All right, all right, no need for waterworks, I'll get it out okay?" Zorian said, eying the bicycle speculatively.

  "You'll get dirty," she warned quietly. Zorian could tell from her tone of voice that she hoped he would get it out anyway.

  "Don't worry, I have no intention of wading through that mud," Zorian said. "Watch."

  He made a few gestures and cast a 'levitate object' spell, causing the bike to jerkily rise out of the water and into the air. Th
e bike was a lot heavier than the objects he usually practiced with, and he had to levitate the bike a lot higher than he was used to, but it was nothing outside his capabilities. He snatched the bike by its seat when it was close enough and placed it on the bridge.

  "There," Zorian said. "It's all muddy and wet but I can't help you there. Don't know any cleaning spells."

  "O-Okay," she nodded slowly, clutching her bicycle like it was going to fly out of her hand the moment she let go.

  He bid her goodbye and left, deciding his relaxing time at the fountain just wasn't meant to be. The weather seemed to be worsening pretty quickly too – dark clouds were brewing ominously across the horizon, heralding rain. He decided to simply join the diffuse line of students trudging towards the academy and be done with it.

  It was a long way from the train station to the academy, since the station was on the outskirts of the city and the academy was right next to the Hole. Depending on how physically fit you were, and how much luggage you had to drag around, you could get there in an hour or two. Zorian wasn't particularly fit, what with his skinny physique and shut-in ways, but he had purposely packed light in anticipation of this journey. He joined the procession of students that was still streaming from the train station in the direction of the academy, ignoring the occasional first year struggling with excessive baggage. He empathized with them because his asshole brothers didn't warn him to keep the luggage at a minimum either and he was like them the first time he arrived at the train station, but there was nothing he could do to help them.

  The threat of rain and bad luck aside, he felt invigorated as he drew closer to academy grounds. He was drawing on the ambient mana suffusing the area around the Hole, replenishing the mana reserves he spent levitating that girl's bicycle. Mage academies were almost always built on top of mana wells for the express purpose of exploiting this effect – an area with such high ambient mana levels was a perfect place for inexperienced wizards to practice their spellcasting at, since anytime they ran out of mana they could supplement their natural mana regeneration by replenishing their mana reserves from their very surroundings.