Chapter 8 #3
“Sure,” she chirps, then stands and turns to face the class.
She’s tall and thin, wearing fitted gray slacks, black heels, and a sleeveless white blouse with a high neckline.
Her features are sharp and angular, and though she’s about the same age as me, she radiates a stern confidence that allows her to easily command the attention of a room.
“As Professor Showen said, I’m Clarissa and I’ll be the TA for this course.
I’m a graduate student pursuing my master’s degree in historical linguistics with a magical specialization in classical spellwork, and my Affinity is Classicism.
I’m also a member of Meridian House, so if you’re interested in being considered as a member, please feel free to speak to me after classes or see me at the extracurriculars fair on Wednesday. ”
She flashes a practiced smile and takes her seat again. I scribble down the words “Meridian House” in my notebook as a reminder to ask someone what that is later.
Ms. Showen distributes the syllabi next.
Each syllabus is a stack of ten pages, detailing rules, grading information, and the schedule.
“Before we go through the syllabus, I’d like to determine what we’re working with in this class,” she states.
“I know that most of you are freshmen, so if you don’t have an answer yet, don’t worry.
Please raise your hand if you are currently unsure of your Affinity.
” Seven hands go up as everyone turns their heads to survey the room.
“Okay, great! It’ll be fun to determine where your skills lie,” she says with a kind smile.
“Now, please raise your hand if you’re a Materialist.”
She goes through each of the Affinities, with multiple students raising their hands for each. I make a mental note of the five other Naturalists in the room.
We go through the syllabus next, and it’s a combination of typical syllabus information alongside concepts that baffle me.
The course grade is determined by fifty percent test scores, twenty percent assignments, and thirty percent in-class demonstration.
Attendance is mandatory, only excused by a note from the infirmary or an administrator, which is apparently the standard for all courses here at Arcadia.
Next, we go through an overview of the curriculum for the course, which includes things like “the foundations of the magical world,” “meditation and mental exercises,” “basic elemental manipulation,” and “beginner spellwork.” It’s exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.
Nobody else in the room seems particularly fazed by the fact that we’ll be doing spells in this class, and it makes me wonder just how uncommon it is for someone to discover their magic by accident.
“It’s important to remember that everyone functions at different levels,” Professor Showen continues, “and higher power comes with practice. Don’t feel discouraged if your power level isn’t what you’d hoped.
Many students start here with the expectation that they’ll be performing large-scale spells after the first semester, but that’s simply not realistic.
The larger the scale of magic is, the more power it requires. ”
“For example,” she says, “If you’re an Illusionist, you may already have the ability to enhance or change something that’s already present—like temporarily changing your hair color through illusion—but it’s exceedingly more difficult to create an illusion of an entirely new person out of thin air.
In the same way, a Materialist may be able to use telepathy to move a book across the room, but it would be impossible for one person to move a house.
It took thirty of the strongest magicians alive working together to create the ward that hides this island. ”
She continues to provide examples, then with twenty minutes left in class, Professor Showen states, “Magic can be profoundly impactful, but it can also be incredibly dangerous. This course, and your program as a whole, is about helping you discover how to safely and responsibly wield your powers. This class will be the foundation upon which you build all future knowledge, so it’s in your best interest to get as much from it as you can.
It will not be easy, but it will be worth it. ”
With that, she dismisses us, and I’m certain I’ll need to ask for some supplemental reading suggestions to build my foundational knowledge.
My next class begins an hour later, so I meander across campus to the smaller building where the course is held, shuffling through the throngs of students.
This room is even larger, a lecture hall with auditorium-style seating that probably fits about one-hundred people. I find a seat somewhere in the middle, a place where I can easily blend into the crowd and watch as the rest of the students filter in.
The professor strides in, writing his name in sharp strikes across the chalkboard. He looks to be in his mid-40s, with brown hair peppered with gray and a short beard to match.
“I’m Dr. Lowry, and this is Magical Law and Ethics.” His voice is deep and his expression stern. “I’ll be passing around the attendance sheet. Sign your name beside where it’s listed, and do not attempt to sign for someone else; I will know. This is how I’ll take attendance for every session.”
He pauses, his gaze roving across the room, then hands the attendance list to a student in the front corner of the room.
“You all are here because you possess abilities that most do not have, and this school has deemed you worthy of an extraordinary education. However, I’m here to tell you that your abilities mean nothing without hard work and an understanding of how and why they should be used.
Your time at Arcadia will be a direct reflection of the amount of work you put in.
Nobody is going to give you participation trophies for trying your hardest.” He says the last sentence with distaste, as if effort without a significant outcome is something to be ashamed of.
He continues, “This is not a hands-on course, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy.
Law and ethics are the foundation of everything we do here, and an understanding of these guiding principles is instrumental in every aspect of magic use.
It’s in your best interest to pass this class the first time around, because if you fail, you’ll be back in the same place with me next semester. ”
After passing out the syllabi, he states, “I’ve taught this course for almost twenty years now, and I’ll tell you now that I won’t hold your hand through it.
It’s your job to take notes, study, and be prepared for exams. This isn’t a class where we do useless projects.
I will talk, and you will listen unless I ask for your opinion.
Questions are encouraged when they’re reasonable. ”
By the time the class is over, I’ve decided that I hate the man.
I’ve had professors like him before, ones who hold themselves in much too high esteem and think they’re impressive because of how cold and ruthless they can be.
I’m already certain the class is going to be tough, and I can only hope that the material isn’t too dense.
With two classes down and one more to go this afternoon, I grab lunch from the dining hall and find my way to the small arboretum I’d stumbled across in my weekend exploration of campus.
It’s not far from the Natural Sciences building, which is where my final course of the day is.
I could go back to my dorm, but the thought of dealing with Max while already stressed about my classes sounds miserable.
I’d much rather enjoy my time in nature.
The arboretum is only a few acres at most, but the variety of trees within it is impressive, and it’s impeccably maintained.
Picnic tables are scattered through the area along the pathways, providing a cool, shaded area for people to congregate.
Multiple tables are occupied with students chatting or hunched over textbooks while scribbling notes.
I scan the area for anyone I recognize, but I’m not surprised to find that I recognize none of these people.
Claiming an empty table, I sit and pull out the syllabi from my first two classes along with my year-long planner, writing the assignment and test dates in neat little boxes in an attempt to feel some semblance of control over my increasing panic.
I lose myself in the repetition, ignoring the occasional movement of people walking near me.
Once I’ve written out all the important dates for the courses, I check my watch and see that I still have an hour and a half until my next class at 2.
Sighing, I look around and breathe in the clean air, reminding myself that this is the opportunity of a lifetime.
Of course it’s going to be difficult, but I’d much rather be here, challenging myself, than back at home living the same day on repeat.
It’s all about perspective. This is my chance to make something of myself, and I’m not about to let a heavy workload get me down when I’m literally learning magic. So what if I’m behind my peers? They wouldn’t have invited me here if they didn’t think I could handle it, right?
Transforming my self-doubt into resolve, I return my items to my backpack and am about to stand when I see him.