Continued, The Arcane Arts
From: Rawlins DAA
To: Storer.Ellsbeth
Subject: On Second Thought
Ms. Storer,
After our last encounter, I had not planned on emailing you, or (to be frank) even thinking about you, ever again.
But since I have been compelled to do the latter, I find myself doing the former.
As such, let the record show, I have at least gotten your name right this time, and can assure you that the error will not be repeated.
You are many things—impolitic, insistent, and infuriating come to mind—but forgettable you are not. For better or worse.
The story you shared regarding the events of your Arcanus exam are indeed rather singular, and I am sorry the scrying you undertook revealed such devastating personal news.
Arcane mechanical practice is often frustrating in its limitations; while it is incredible to be able to see at such a distance, what is the point, if you cannot avert the events you witness?
When someone in my life was endangered (not a sister, but a person equally dear), I learned of the tragedy as most do—when it was too late to do anything.
As a diviner of fortunes, I tormented myself for years wondering what I might have done to save him, if only I had been practicing the right ritual at the right time.
Alas, one arena in which the arcane holds no sway is upon the past. And the past, indeed, is where my mind has gone, ironically, as I’ve pondered your future.
The downside of age is that memories—particularly the painful ones we keep at bay—accumulate like water behind a dam.
It can be dangerous to open the floodgate even a little, for the deluge may prove unstoppable.
Last night, while struggling to focus on the Herbanicum Journal editorial work I foolishly agreed to, I found myself distracted by thoughts of your situation, and stepped out onto the veranda to enjoy my last taboo pleasure (tobacco, gloriously perfected in its cheapest form, the cigarette).
From my home on Partridge Hill, the entire town is visible, and in the wee hours of Saturday morning it hums with the festivities of undergraduates, as they set aside their studies and lose themselves in the restless pursuit of excitement and human collision.
I am normally energized by proximity to that natural force.
But lately I have felt estranged from it, and alienated from the thrum of human vitality.
Perhaps it is middle age; perhaps the silence of the home I now occupy alone; perhaps the weight of those damn memories.
When I review the last few years of students I have taught, and the diminished state of our field—increasingly regarded as an Ivory Tower relic, with limited innovation to offer the world—I am compelled to consider that I may, in my tenure, have become a rusty cog in a creaky machine.
The invigoration of that device may require not only the same grease we’ve put to it for ages, but new parts with clever design.
And as your emails and your academic record have made abundantly clear, you are nothing if not clever.
Thus it is with some trepidation that I am willing to reverse my earlier course, and offer a different, albeit qualified, response to your request:
Yes, with provisions, for now.
Your syllabi, course schedule, and reading lists are attached. I expect you to be fully caught up by the time class starts on Monday.
Do not make me regret this.
Sincerely,
T. M. Rawlins, DAA