Aki

The Architect district was further up the hill and beside the Alchemy district, the two making up the eastern edge of both The Academy and the city. The area was filled with the unremitting clangs you’d expect from the crafting of metal and stone, the air perpetually covered in a haze of collateral mist as if the rumblings of creation and destruction fought within. Our first true lesson was here, on its western boundary, in, like so many in the district, a single-story, roofless building.

My friends and I arrived early, hurried by my enthusiasm. I forced them to the front of the yet empty room, seating us in the middle of the front row of reinforced-stone workbenches.

“We’ve covered all they’ll teach us this season,” Dako said. “I won't begrudge you your diligence, but I don’t much understand your zeal. Why are we here half a turn before class starts?”

“To find the closest seats,” I answered. “I was limited for much of my earlier training on the use of matrixes. Those limitations had, in the past, limited my ability to learn from the instructions I was given. I’m hoping I can remedy that here.”

“Limited?” Sil asked.

I shook my head. “A long tale I myself do not fully understand. Suffice to say that for most of my life, a large portion of my sensus was locked from me.”

“So, you know what to do, just not how?” Dako asked.

I shrugged. “I won't make such a claim. Many a commoner knows how to recite the sacrificial prayer. It doesn’t make them priests, does it?”

Dako laughed. “No, no, no. I’ll not be trapped in another never-ending semantic debate with you.”

Sil shook her head. “That’s because the sacrifice requires the mark of a god.”

“True enough,” I said.

Dako chuckled. “And why is it she never warrants one of your waggish disputes?”

We waited, idly conversing and watching the class fill with students, many, including a majority of the Leaves, electing to attend. Vignil and Linus were among them, the former eyeing us with conserved anger, the latter with open disdain. Last to arrive, carrying a plain wooden box, was our assessor, long and thin and robed in the green of Architects.

“Settle down,” he commanded, earning every student’s obedience; we all knew he was a Master, a Named, a man worthy of respect from even those who’d been born with it. He came to stand behind the workbench at the front of the room, the box he carried thudding against the stone as he placed it down. “I am your educator for this class. You may refer to me as Master Ackhart. Today, we shall cover the basics of architecture.” He pointed at Dako who sat beside me. “Define the two architectural classifications if you will.”

Dako stood sharply, rigid, almost as though by reflex. Without preamble, he said, “Golems are masters of stone and earth, Armorers of metal and gem.” He sat back down just as sharply, offering me a rueful smile when he noticed my quizzical stare.

“Accurate if a little terse,” Ackhart said. “In essence, Golems manipulate stone, rock, soil, and a few other less common telluric substances, allowing them to forge all manner of things. Generally, most of the more successful Golems specialize in the construction of buildings, bridges, and city walls. Those with less skill—commonly known as brownsmiths—tend to work in conjunction with lesser Alchemists in the production and maintenance of crops and livestock.

“Armorers manipulate metals and gems, allowing them to forge items as complex as matrix-carved weapons to items as simple as common horseshoes. Naturally, the more accomplished pursue the former and those less so—also known as dullsmiths—the latter.”

Ackhart nodded at someone behind me. I looked back to see a sharp-faced boy I recognized as one of the Leaves, standing, his posture slack, his derision clear. He was the one Dako had recognized and nodded a greeting to during our confrontation in the dorm’s courtyard. What took my eye, however, was the boy who sat beside him, his usually despotic bearing subdued beyond recognition, a two-inch scar running down from the lower part of his left eye and curving around his cheekbone.

“Must we start with so basic an introduction, Master?” the rat-faced boy asked. “Can we not move to the study of matrixes? I would think even the lowliest of us”—he looked pointedly at me—“is confident enough for you to start there.”

A few students around him snickered—including the boy I had not cared to notice.

“Sit,” Ackhart ordered. The ratlike Leaf made a show of complying, but comply he did. “I do not need your advice on how to go about my duties, Samiel.”

Crack! Samiel’s arm jolted from his shoulder, dislocated from its socket. The boy snapped it back in place with a smile.

“No one may ask a question beyond the topic of architecture,” Ackhart said, paying no mind to the injury he so enigmatically caused. “Especially in regards to my conduct or method. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” the room chimed, including the less than chagrined Samiel.

“Good.” Ackhart nodded, pleased with the unanimous accord. “Now, who can explain to me why the architectural arts are not categorized under the Vapor classification?” He ran his dark blue eyes, bright against his gaunt face, across the room at a sea of raised hands, stopping and nodding at one I knew.

Froxil stood from his seat beside Samiel. “The intrinsic nature of architectural components are different to those of the more fugacious elements of fire and air. Consequently, since their natures are fundamentally different, to the degree that the souls or spirits of such elements are distinctly separate, so is the sensus derived or expended from or through them.”

Ackhart nodded. “A shame. I would've enjoyed teaching someone as thorough as you. Alas, you shall likely fail before your first cycle at The Academy is done.”

Froxil frowned. “May I ask you to mind your discretion, Master, no matter your thoughts on my aptitude.”

Ackhart narrowed his eyes and smirked at the boy. Two simultaneous pops and a shrill scream rang out. Both Froxils arms hung loose as he stiffened in an attempt to avoid any movement that would aggravate the pain.

“My thoughts are not based on your aptitude,” Ackhart said. “Do not think I’d not noticed the disrespect you’d shown me in your pursuit to indulge your Fiora’s behavior, and all for the ignoble quest to curry favor—which he spotted by the by.” He turned to Samiel. “You did, did you not?”

“Yes,” Samiel answered, comfortably unconcerned.

Ackhart’s gaze fell back on Froxil. “If you had accepted my punishment in silence, you’d have passed my test and concluded the matter. Unfortunately, you have clearly not understood my earlier assertions. I repeat, do not question my method or conduct.” He turned to Samiel. “If you will?”

Samiel sighed, stood, and popped Froxil’s shoulders back in, the snaping of bone into bone drowned by the boy’s shrill scream.

Ackhart ran a casual look over the class. “As to those who made the same mistake as Froxil, I am not unjust. You will get yours in due time.”

The class resumed and Ackhart continued his lecture on the basics of architecture, asking questions and elaborating or correcting answers, all while managing to do as he promised. The first boy got an undeserved insult for an incomplete answer he gave. He was smart enough to take it without complaint. Next was a Branch girl who got a flick to her forehead for not ‘sitting straight like nobles ought to.’ That seemed too obvious a provocation to me. Still, all the fingers on her left hand went crooked and she spent the rest of class snapping them straight.

When the sky showed the first signs of dimming, Master Ackhart put his hands on the box he’d brought to class. “Before you all leave, I must first grade your abilities to use architectural matrixes.”

Ackhart opened his box and took out a crystal orb streaked with wavy lines of dull green. He tossed it to Sil. The next came my way. Glass-like and the size of an eye, the ord was deceptively heavy, its load slapping into my palm.

“I assume most if not all of you know what a harmony stone is,” Ackhart said, continuing to distribute the orbs. “For those who do not, it is the measuring tool for detecting how efficiently your sensus can deal with particular brands of spirits.”

A hand was raised. Ackhart nodded at the plain Roots girl who raised it.

“We’ve all been tested, Master,” she said. “Another would be redundant.”

Ackhart scoffed. “If those tests were accurate, I will verify them. If they were not, I will correct them. Whatever the case, each of you will take the test with my stones and in my presence.”

Ackhart returned his attention to the class. “Inject your sensus into the stone. There is no need to expend much. The result will be the same.”

Brightness inched into the room, many of the orbs emitting a faint sheen of light as students followed Ackhart’s instruction and injected their sensus. I looked down at mine, simultaneously hesitant and excited, wondering the zeniths or nadirs the discovery may take me to. I turned to my friends to watch their results, conveniently delaying my own.

I tapped Sil on the shoulder and nodded at her orb. She angled the orb towards me, careful to keep it from any watchful eyes but my own. It lightened my heart to see how readily she showed it to me. Three lines glowed. Seven remained dull and lifeless. She shrugged. Her disinterest did nothing for my own.

I turned to Dako. He was smiling at the eight glowing lines he’d brought into being and doing nothing about hiding it.

“Impressive,” I said.

Dako turned to me, his smile growing at the praise. “They never tested our harmony with the other soul arts in the compound. As long as we had enough skill and knowledge to pass the foundation cycle, nothing else mattered. ‘Talent in lesser arts is nothing to be proud of,’ they said. I have to say I disagree.”

He looked down at my orb, seeing it unlit and untested. His gaze rose, fixing onto mine in a show of support. “It's best to know.”

I sighed, steeled my nerve, then wrapped my hands around the orb before calling on my sensus. As I expected, it responded in a tidal wave of force. I opened my eyes and slowly parted my thumbs. Sil and Dako leaned closer and watched over my shoulders.

We gasped in unison.

Ten. All ten lines blazed to life. It was unheard of for anyone less than a Seculor to achieve pinnacle harmony. I did, and I wasn’t a descendant of House Grono. I had hoped my Auger test would show this result—‘hoped’ being the operative word. Knowing I was a Fiora of House Lorail—a fact I knew and understood despite my denials—I still held no certainty my harmony would reach such heights in the arts of the House that’d birthed me. Finding myself so sympathetic to the architectural classification was far more than a mere surprise.

“You’re a Cast-off,” Sil whispered.

“Of House Grono,” Dako added.

I looked at them in turn, unsure of what they meant.

“Sometimes,” Sil explained, “rare as it may be, a Fiora is disowned. Rarer still, some survive their renouncement, disappearing into the expanse of the southern or eastern empires. Their children are known as Cast-offs.”

I shook my head. “I can’t be.”

“Why?” Sil asked. “Cast-offs are often allowed back into the folds of royalty, dangerous as it may be.”

“Why would it be dangerous?” Dako asked.

“Without the support and protection of parents, they are often eliminated by cousins. You, Dako, don’t need me to tell you the price of ambition.” She turned to me. “Still, amidst Branches and Leaves, it’s safer to be a cast-off than a Mud-turned-Heartwood.”

“I can't be,” I repeated. “It's not possible.”

“There’s no other way, Aki,” Sil said. “Only Fioras and Seculors have pinnacle harmony.”

“It’s just not possible.” An idea came to me. “Could a Fiora from one House achieve the pinnacle in the art of another?”

Slow smiles grew on Sil and Dako’s faces. I felt the urge to beat myself across the head. My question had answered far more than it had asked.

“Maybe,” Sil answered, choosing not to speak on my implied confession. “But I’ve never heard of it happening.”

Someone cleared their throat. I tightened my hold on the orb.

Master Ackhart looming over us, the box held up to his modest chest. “Your stones.”

Sil placed hers into the box without hesitation. Ackhart glanced down and nodded before his gaze shifted to my hands. My heart was pounding. I wasn’t ready for the attention this would bring me.

“I would advise against expending the effort,” the Master explained. “As time passes, others will have all they need to estimate your harmony to a fair degree of accuracy.”

A hand came to lay on my shoulder. Dako’s. Firm and heavy and comforting like I imagined armor would be. I kept my hand around the stone as I placed it into the box. My fellow students might figure it out in time, but I would not help them on their way.

“Hm,” Ackhart said, looking down and smiling. “Interesting.”

Dako threw his stone into the box without a care for who saw.

Ackhart looked up at the tall Fiora, his smile growing. “I look forward to instructing you both.”

The Master Architect continued about the room. Once he’d collected all the stones, he returned to the front of the room. “For the next lesson, expect to be assigned a seat. We will be starting on the practical side of matrixes and splitting the class in two, those with a harmony of five and above moving towards the front of the class where I will be teaching them personally, those below moving to the back to be instructed by my assistant, who might not be a Named, but is assuredly more than capable of teaching you. I believe the same will be done for your other classes. Please note that the examination will be the same, regardless of the group you are assigned to. This arrangement is only to help advance those more suited for the art to higher tiers so that they might more easily acclimate to the elective classes that follow the preliminary examinations.

“That is all. You may leave.”