Once he was on his feet and outside, the grip on his throat released. He could barely see the rope stretching through the air ahead of him, leading him through the Water Gate. It didn’t show the way to Sebo’s hut, but took him instead to the riverbank. Sebo waited for him there, cooling her feet in the water.
“You are a lucky boy,” she informed him when he was within earshot. “Do you know what might have happened, had Enzi not been amused rather than angry? He is capricious! You trusted protective circles—the university’s and your own—to keep you safe from the god of the crocodiles!”
Arram blinked at her. “I thought it was a good circle,” he said mildly, ignoring his own vexation at his failure. The air was damp and chilly, which meant the old woman’s bones were hurting her. “Doesn’t the water make your feet hurt?”
She sighed, her rage seeping into the sand. “It’s warmer than the air,” she explained. “It isn’t just we humans and the big animals who have their own gods. The great things of this world—rivers, mountains, lakes, forests—have their own gods as well. The very large ones have more than one god. Old Zekoi is one, because the rivers and streams that come to him have their own gods. If you deal with one god—as you now have—you will see others. Treat them with respect if they come to you. Most will not say as much, but they are often called to battle against Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos. Our tribute, prayers, and respect give them strength to keep fighting, somehow.”
Arram frowned. “I thought Uusoae was just a tale to frighten children.”
Suddenly Enzi was there on the riverbank. The air shoved away from him, making Sebo and Arram stagger. Arram caught his master by the arm, but she shook him off.
Do not speak so of the Dread Queen. She would devour us all if she had the chance, Enzi said harshly. The gods hold her at bay, but she never stops planning how she will eat the world.
“We fight beside you, in our way,” Sebo told the giant crocodile. “It is our world, too.”
He will be called to the fore of the battle one day, Enzi said, looking at Arram. He had better be ready.
“What do I need to be ready?” Arram asked, but the god had vanished. “I can’t battle any Chaos Queen,” he told Sebo. “I can’t even fight bullies.”
She took him by the arm. “Study your lessons and practice your spells,” she said gently. “That’s all that can be asked of you right now. Come. Let’s walk the river.”
After he left her, he was completely absorbed in thinking about gods that did not take on the faces of human beings. Once he had bathed, he spent the rest of the morning in a library that specialized in books about religion, gods, and nonhuman creatures. He had plenty to turn over in his mind when he left, three books in his hands.
THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF CARTHAK
The School for Mages
The Upper Academy
SCHEDULE OF STUDY, AUTUMN TERM, 437 H.E.
Student: Arram Draper Learning Level: Semi-Independent
Second Morning Bell
Stone Magic—Yadeen
Third Morning Bell
Fire Magic—Cosmas, breakfast supplied
Morning Classes
Advanced Law with Regard to Magecraft—Third-year instructors Tribal Magic—Various instructors Medicines—Ramasu, instructors
Lunch—Noon Bell
Afternoon Classes
Advanced Charms—Fourth-year instructors Illusions: Birds—Dagani Water Magic—Sebo
Plants—Hulak
Supper—Seventh Afternoon Bell
Extra Study at Need
Ozorne returned the day before class began with a pair of slaves carrying a trunk of gifts and new clothes from his mother. Fortunately, Diop and Laman were out, receiving their final schedule for their first term of classes. Arram was reading peacefully on his bed. He was so grateful to see Ozorne that he hugged him.
“Easy, old man!” Ozorne said cheerfully. “You’d think I was gone for an eternity!”
Arram let him go. “It felt like one.”
“Oh?” Ozorne waved off the slaves and flopped onto his bed. “Tell me.”
Arram waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s just boring without you.”
Ozorne pulled up a chair and slouched on it, crossing his legs. “Here’s some cheer. Since Mother was inclined to spend and we even went to a bookseller, I got this for you.” He reached over, opened the trunk, and tossed a book to Arram. It was about shapeshifters.
They were both looking at the many-colored illustrations when the door swung open. Diop and Laman had returned.
“Mithros bless us, another one,” Laman said. “Had I known this place was degenerating into a school for children, I might have tried for the City of the Gods.”
“They say the school in Jindazhen is incredible,” Diop drawled, leaning against the frame. “Bamboo groves, teahouses with singing girls who are happy to keep a fellow company, food better than the slop they serve here…”
“You must be the leftover prince,” Laman taunted Ozorne.
Ozorne looked at Arram. “Great Mithros,” he said. “I thought at least they’d be witty.” Then he smiled at the older boys. “I have a long memory,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m telling you, but there it is. You’d do well to keep it in mind.”
“Is that a threat?” Laman asked with delight. “Are you threatening us, little man?”
“I am explaining,” Ozorne replied. “Isn’t that enough?”
The older boys burst into laughter. Arram burned silently. It was bad enough when they laughed at him. He was used to it. But they had no call to laugh at his friend. They didn’t understand what Ozorne had to live with—a murdered father, a mother who didn’t always live in the real world, and people like these newcomers who jeered because he wasn’t the direct heir to the throne.
“Stop it!” Arram said, getting to his feet. Sweat rolled down his face. “He’s a prince of the realm—you owe him that much respect!”
They only laughed harder. “What can you do, little boy?” Diop managed to say.
“He’ll run and tell his mama!” Laman said, gasping.
Arram clenched his fists. “Shut up!” he cried. “Can’t you ever shut up?” He didn’t realize that bits of smoke were drifting up all around him.
Ozorne lunged to his feet, grabbed the water pitcher from Arram’s desk, and—to the sound of their roommates’ laughter—threw the contents over him. Drenched, his concentration broken, Arram gasped for air and found none. He began to cough.
Diop and Laman stopped laughing. “This is pathetic,” Laman said. “We have to get rid of you two. Mop up that mess when you’re done.” They left, slamming the door behind them. Apparently they didn’t notice that the “mess” was evaporating from the floor in small clouds of steam.
“I almost lost my grip, didn’t I?” Arram asked when he could breathe.
“I was impressed,” Ozorne told him. “I thought you would set the room on fire.”
When Arram moved, they found he had left the outlines of his feet burned into the wood of the floor.