Pyramus

Chapter 1: Rock, Meet Hard Place

I was quite shocked when Phineas told me to accompany him on a mining expedition. I suppose it took me by surprise since all our meetings had taken place in ivory towers, marble halls or old libraries. It would be a while until I discovered how rare it really was to find him in places like those, and how he had made a point of running into me as often as possible.

I cannot be mad at him, though; I was, actually, really relieved to meet him each time. Those high, ancient places are supposed to be wholly dedicated to knowledge and discovery, yet I often found myself disappointed by how dead and static and dry that knowledge seemed to be, plucked out of context and suspended in the vacuum of cold academia. And the people of wisdom that roam those corridors and halls have often drifted so far from the living world in their pursuit of objectivity that I could not help but squirm under their empty eyes and despair whenever I would find myself crashing hopelessly against the wall of their callousness. But Phineas… I suppose it was stupid on my side to ever think that he belonged in any of those places: he was refreshing like a gust of wind, and I welcomed him like a sip of clear, cold water on a summer’s day.

On this day, I had spent five mighty unrewarding hours in the Pyramus Library, under the close supervision of a bitter old wizard, pushing my way through dusty volumes about Constellation Paths and Spectral Horizons until my eyes started screaming for sunlight and I had had enough of the old man’s muttered comments about “wild dark warlocks” and “reckless use of body spells”. I mean, I am not going to argue with an old man about looks, especially when he is clearly going for a “backwards, bitter and petulant prick” look, but I am not about to take fashion advice from him either. And I know my glammourie so, if I want to make my skin gleam in the dark, I will. Especially since these uptight scholars seem to be too theatrical, or just straight-up stingy, to properly light up their reading rooms.

I took one last hopeless look through the books I had piled on my table and set aside two thick volumes on lunar plants and volcanic geology. Then, I picked up the rest and took them to the archival assistant. I was pleased to find Anne behind the desk. She is a short dark-skinned brilliant galvanic witch with thick curly hair and witty mischievous brown eyes. She is one of the few people in this old building that seems to go unscathed by the deafening silence and the quiet decay of the place, always smiling and planning the next field trip for the students of the first ring.

She had not seen me approach her, and I saw she was elbow-deep in a huge codex that seemed to be filled with invocation arranges and demonic linguistics charts. I remembered telling her about an encounter I had had with a wind spirit a while back, and smiled seeing her so invested on the subject now. I looked around myself and saw that the old wizard was still napping in his chair. So, I clasped the books against my chest with my right arm and did a sweeping movement with my left hand, muttering a spell. Suddenly, the space was filled with a quicksilver-fast rush of wind that picked up papers, quills, and ruffled Anne’s hair on its way up the towering shelves.

Anne gasped and put both her hands on top of her book while she looked around wide-eyed. When she saw me, shaking with laughter in front of her, instead of the wind demon she was expecting, her brow furrowed in a fake scowl and she threw a filing card at me. I ducked and laughed under my breath, approaching her. “Salem Gray,” she said, “what an unpleasant surprise.” I put my books on the desk with a thud and smiled fondly at her. “Come on, it is no surprise. I practically live here lately,” I answered. She shot me a shit-eating grin and said: “That is true. Are you perchance waiting for someone? I wonder…” I frowned at that, and when I understood her look I must have blushed, because she snorted.

She then took the pile of books I had brought her and put them on the return shelf. While she was not looking, I snapped my fingers and the books I had left on my reading table materialised in my arms. I had to take a bit of the speed of the light for that small spell and the room got slightly darker for a couple of seconds. At that, Anne turned swiftly towards me and raised an eyebrow at the two new volumes I was holding. Without saying a word, she pointed to a sign on the wall behind her that read: “no teleportation spells in the archives”. I smiled sheepishly and made my way to the exit, waving a hand over my shoulder noncommittally, and signing off my books on the loan register by the door. I heard her mumble something that sounded close to “shiny idiot”. I laughed because it was true; the fluctuation on the light of the room had thrown my body spell off balance and I was positively shining now. I tore the illusion from my skin by pinching the bare skin of my cuffed forearm and pulling, just like taking off a glove.

I pushed the heavy oak door with my shoulder and blinked like an idiot when the sun that entered through the tall windows of the hall hit my face. I looked around while the door closed behind me and was surprised to find the space, normally buzzing with students, relatively empty. I saw a small group of second-rings in their blue tunics talking near the farthest wall of the room, and professor Merrythought near the stairs, walking straight… to me.

She is one of the few teachers I actually like, but that did not mean I was any less terrified by her. She is a powerful green witch, built like the trunk of a strong oak, and with a stronger personality. She was my tutor when I was in the First Ring, learning my earth magic, and she had taught me most of what I know about plants… and how to fall from trees. She has a peculiar way of teaching. And the expression she was wearing right now was the one I had seen her make when she was determined to solve a particularly annoying mystery.

“Salem Gray,” she started, her deep voice easily covering the 10 good strides still between us, “Is it true what I’ve heard?”. I grimaced; it was too early for this. “Good morning, professor. That would depend on what you have heard, wouldn’t it?”. I did not notice I had taken a step back until my back pressed against the wooden doors of the archives, effectively trapping me in place. I needed to stop putting myself in this kind of situation; why is it so difficult sometimes to stay out of trouble?

Of course, I knew why she was mad. Well, I knew what she was mad about, but I did not get the why. Professor Hox must had told her I had been looking into vacuum worlds and Space Manipulation, and I can see how someone may find that worrying. But she also knew me well; I did not think she had any reason to fear I would do anything reckless. Although I suppose our idea of what constitutes a reckless behaviour might be different.

“Very clever,” she said, stepping even closer. “You know I normally encourage curiosity and that I would never chastise well-intended private projects.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned even more. “But in order to do that I need to know the motivation of that curiosity, and, since we’ve been acquainted for a long time, I’ll give you the opportunity to explain yourself.” She looked at me with a stern expression, “Salem Gray, are you tinkering with dark magic?” she asked. Oh my, here we go. “Yes?” I said, trying to look calm.

I was not calm.

“And why, may I ask?” What was I going to tell her? every lie that came to mind would sound extremely suspicious to her; I could tell her I was just curious, but that was not really an answer, and it may be even more unsettling. Unguided curiosity can be dangerous. I knew that, I am not an idiot. I could tell her I wanted to learn how to avoid any dangerous practices I may stumble upon out of ignorance, but she would not swallow that lie even if I coated it with honey. She knew my views on ignorance, and I could not make her believe I was weary of it anymore that I was when she was my teacher. She knew I love mistakes. So, I resorted to the last resource: truth.

So I said: “you know I’ve been using the rooftop greenhouse for my botanic experiments, right? Professor Hox told me I could use it since no one wanted to go there after the bees took over the place.” She raised an eyebrow, patient. “well… It has been really sunny lately and the diurnal plants are doing fine. But the roots of the lunar plants are drying out because the soil is so shallow…” I waited to see if she understood where I was going, but she apparently wanted me to explain it and did not say a word. So, I continued, “it occurred to me that maybe I could create different environmental conditions in the same space to better accommodate different species.” She looked puzzled, and before she could say anything, I added: “And the bees seem to enjoy the variety.”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. Apparently, I had surprised her. “Are you trying to make me believe,” she started “that you’ve created micro ecosystems… because you wanted to spoil some bees?” I tripped over my next words, “wh-what? That’s not really…” but was it? I frowned; I had surprised myself too. “And here I was, worrying you may be trying to play god and create a new world.” She looked so relieved it was almost funny. I could not really be mad, just sad. “That’s always the problem, isn’t it?” I said, clasping the books against my chest, “we have all this knowledge that we assign ideas to. Certain magics are deemed bad or dangerous because we always expect the worst of people. Power and knowledge are as far from cruelty or hubris as we are from being cruel or despotic. It’s all a matter of decisions.” I was disappointed and I did not want to have this conversation again, not with her. “You are more than welcome to come see my work in the greenhouse whenever you want,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, the bees must be wondering where I am.” I snuck around her and darted across the hall toward the stairs. She did not try to follow me, and I was relieved. I was sure the scene had been dramatic enough for the other students to start whispering, and I did not want any more rumours going around. Sometimes I thought I could really hate this place if I did not love it so much. I shook my head to vanish the dark thoughts as I climbed the first steps. When I looked up, I almost fell face down on the stairs. Suddenly my brain did not know what to do with my feet and I had to recoil a step back to recover my balance.

There was someone standing on the top of the stairs, their silhouette dark against the sunlight that poured through the windows. They were tall and broad, and their cape blurred their shape. Still, I could have recognised those shoulders even in total darkness, in the middle of a storm, just by the way the air moved around them. I suddenly felt the weariness slip away and I smiled up at him. He was smiling back.

Chapter 2: A respite of curiosity

I started again up the stairs and shielded my eyes from the light with a hand. He stepped away from the sunlight and I saw his hair flair red as he moved. He looked like he had just stepped out of a fire, bright and warm; and when he spoke, his voice warmed up my chest. “Salem, I didn’t expect to see you here this early in the day. I thought you’d be on the roof.” I reached the top of the stairs and gestured to the books in my arms, “I wanted to spend some time in the library before the third-rings took over; professor Hox has them terrified of their finals.” I stepped closer and asked, “What brings you here this early?” He nodded towards the hall and said, “I am afraid I am the reason of professor Merrythought’s anger,” he smiled apologetically at me. “I asked her for permission to take another sabbatical year off my studies. I hope she did not take it out on you.” I swallowed through a sudden knot in my throat and said: “I am afraid she was already angry at me. She heard about my latest inquiries and was weary of my intentions. I was expecting that, but I was also hoping I would be able to avoid her a little longer.” He stepped closer and laid a hand on my arm. “Is that why you seem so tired? In your last letter you told me the experiments were going well.” I looked down at were his hand rested, put my free hand on top of his and squeezed it reassuringly; “They are! And the greenhouse is so full of life!” I looked down at the hall to where the professor was ushering some students out of the way, and felt my mood darken again. “I could not see any bad in it… but now that I know that is the only thing she saw, it feels… wrong, somehow.” I looked up at him again and gave him a tired smile, “But it will pass. I am far more interested in the project that has pulled you away from your studies again.” He let go of my arm and readjusted his cape on his shoulders, leaving me strangely cold under the sun. “It is not really a new project; I have decided to write a guide of my previous studies on the energetic conductivity of volcanic ionic crystals. But that is only an excuse to avoid the college a little longer,” he said.

Suddenly the space between us felt bigger and my chest tightened. I could feel the expectations of my teachers pulling me away from him. There had to be a limit to how much comfort I could find in my experiments while surrounded by judgement, and I thought I was close to finding it. “I will not pretend I do not understand the impulse,” I said. “Can I ask for some of your time? I could show you the greenhouse.”