Spellwright

Nicodemus nodded. “So then, let’s talk about different magical languages. Three are known to all magical societies and hence are known as the common languages. Jejunus is the first such language you will learn. Common languages are relatively weak but still important. Anyone who is fluent in a common language can teach it to another spellwright.”

He held up a finger. “However, being future wizards, you will spend much more time worrying about the uncommon languages, what we call ‘higher languages.’ All higher languages are controlled by specific magical societies. For instance, we wizards control Numinous and Magnus. Unlike common languages, higher languages cannot be taught by just anyone. I can forge both the Numinous and the Magnus alphabets, but I couldn’t teach them to you without the aid of a magical artifact called a tome.”

Nicodemus began to pace, heading first toward the door. “Tomes are beautiful, massive books. Through contact with them, a powerful author may acquire a higher language. Currently there are only three Magnus tomes and three Numinous tomes. We have a pair of them here in Starhaven. Now, these artifacts are important because…”

Heat spread across Nicodemus’s cheeks. He stopped. It was only then that he noticed a slight shimmer in the air a few paces from the door.

Another subtextualized spellwright? He felt his stomach knot. A second sentinel? Or was someone else spying on him?

He forced these questions from his mind and turned back to the classroom. “Sorry. As I was saying, tomes are important because they protect a magical society’s control of a language. Consider that even if you attain fluency in Numinous or Magnus, you can’t sneak off and teach the hierophants or the hydromancers how to write in our high languages. You’d need a tome to do that. However, you might still write wizardly spells for them; that’s why the Order would hunt you down if you ran away.”

He paused to slip his arms out of his sleeves. “Now for a demonstration. I have begun forging the runes for a simple Magnus sentence. I’m forming the runes here, in my forearm flexor muscles. Now the growing sentence spills into my closed fist. Spells must fold into a proper conformation before they become active. I’m helping the sentence fold now. Who can see the runes? Raise your hands.”

A few hands went up; Derrick’s was one.

Nicodemus smiled and shook his head. “Tsk tsk tsk. Everyone who has raised a hand is lying. It is impossible to see the runes of a magical language unless you are fluent in that language.”

The class laughed, Derrick loudest among them.

When they quieted, Nicodemus began again. “In any case, by flicking my hand open… thusly… I cast the spell into the air. If you were fluent in Magnus, you would see a glowing line of silver runes floating in the air like a ribbon caught in an upward breeze.”

He looked hard at his students. “Now, when I cast the spell, some of you might have heard the ringing of a distant bell or felt slightly sick. Others may feel the room is becoming warmer or brighter. This is not a coincidence. You are sensing my spell but not in any systematic way. This is because the magically sensitive mind displaces perception of unknown or hidden magical text to one of the mundane senses. This phenomenon is known as synaesthesia. It’s a difficult word, two terrible trochees. I want everyone to say it with me: SIN-es-THEE-zhaa.”

The class echoed him in monotone.

He nodded. “Most synaesthetic reactions go unnoticed unless the spellwright is watching for them. They are also unique, meaning everyone has a different synaesthetic sensation.”

The girl with the short hair raised her hand. “What’s your reaction?”

Nicodemus glanced at the window. “Around hidden spells, warmth spreads across my cheeks. It’s a bit like a blush. Now, it takes most students years to identify their synaesthesias. So don’t feel bad if you don’t-”

He stopped. Perhaps because he was talking about his synaesthetic reaction, heat spread across his entire face. His heart began to beat faster as his mind filled with thoughts of subtextualized sentinels.

He looked back at the door and jumped when he saw a man dressed in black. The newcomer nodded at Nicodemus. “I’m to take the students back to their towers when your lecture’s done.”

“Oh,” an embarrassed Nicodemus said as he recognized the man as one of the neophyte preceptors. “Of course, we can end now.”

The warmth was slowly fading from his cheeks and his heart was slowing. He turned to the class. “Well, I congratulate you on surviving my first lecture. Now please form a line heading out the door for your preceptor. Derrick, I will speak with you privately.”

AS THE EXCITEMENT of teaching began to dissipate, Nicodemus rubbed his eyes and again felt the sting of exhaustion. He wondered who had been watching his lecture and what impression he had made.

“Am I in trouble?” a sullen voice asked.