“Gil?”
I look up from my tablet at the half-blind old teacher. “What was the question? Sorry, I was taking notes—”
“Pay attention, please. And name the different kinds of the hazaram.”
“Metal and glass,” I say.
“Yes? And what were their properties?”
“They were earthen forms of matter. Metal was supposed to reflect light, and glass was supposed to let it all through.”
“Very good,” Priestess Matreya says, and shifts her screechy voice to address the mostly sleeping classroom. “As Gil points out, the properties of the forsaken materials involve how they interact with the magical force of light…”
And so on. This is stuff I learned about when I was a little kid. I don’t think we’ve covered anything new about magical theory all year. It’s no wonder the class is asleep. Well, that and the heat.
Ordinarily, I would be dozing off too. But today I’m a nervous wreck. This is because tonight, for the first time in my life, I’m going to break the law.
I go back to my doodling. Sweat from my forearm smears the chalk across the tablet, ruining my careful shading of the serpent’s scales.
I turn beside me to Kiddu, surprised she’s not sleeping. I notice she’s scrawled out a note to me on her tablet.
what’s with the giant penis?
it’s a SERPENT
oh i see
are you excited for our ADVENTURE tonight?
i don’t know. i guess.
you worry too much! i’ll protect you.
BESTIAL LIBERATION!
you should erase that.
it’s evidence if we get caught!
“Kiddu!” says the Priestess.
I kick Kiddu’s foot and she jerks to attention.
“Huh? Yes?” She makes a show of brushing away her hair while she quickly turns off her circlet underneath.
“Was my question not put clearly enough? Why is the hazaram forbidden to us?”
“Oh. Because of the Ancients?”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Um, okay. The Ancients used it to build giant towers, and they scraped the belly of the Ocean-and-Sky Goddess. So, according to legend, the Gods got mad and killed everyone, and now it’s forbidden.”
“According to legend?” Priestess Matreya doesn’t like that. She leans forward and squints at Kiddu through her cataracts, like a lizard about to shoot out her tongue at a fly. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you doubt what the legends say?”
“I just meant that some people don’t take it literally. Like the story is supposed to be a metaphor for hubris. And the savants—”
“I do not care one whit about what the savants say! Do you think you are in an imperial school, young lady?”
“Obviously not.”
“Obviously not indeed!” She’s yelling loud enough that some of kids start waking up. “They can teach whatever they like at the Puzurish School of Magic and Philosophy, but I will not put up with that nonsense in my classroom! Now … your answer is correct. After the ensuing Cataclysm—”
Kiddu’s already turned her circlet back on. When she sees the last thing I wrote, she sighs and gives me this motherly look. It’s infuriating when she looks at me like that, like she thinks she’s more mature than me when it’s so obviously the other way around.
Then, with a grand flourish, she sweeps her brush across her tablet. Particles of chalk stream over the edge of our table.
I discreetly erase my own notes, making sure no trace impressions of the words are left.