“So, how does one acquire magic language?” he asked, turning to the class. “Really it’s no different from learning a verbal or mathematical language. First, we learn the symbols. Verbal languages use letters, mathematical languages numbers, magical languages runes. However, anyone with a quill and an inkhorn can forge mundane text. Anyone with eyes can see mundane text. But to see or forge magical text, one must be born with a magically receptive mind.”
The boy with brown hair, Derrick, leaned over and whispered loudly to a friend.
Nicodemus walked toward the boys. “Note that when spellwrights speak of ‘literates,’ they are speaking of those who might achieve magical literacy. All of us in this room are literate; we are fortunate enough to be among the few born with magically sensitive minds.”
He stopped before Derrick, who was now forced to stop his whispering.
“Why are most humans born magically illiterate?” he asked rhetorically. “Some authors-sadly a few wizards among them-believe that the Creator has privileged spellwrights, that we are inherently better than the illiterates. Some authors feel we are meant to rule society. I will remind you-as Magister Shannon reminded me when I was a neophyte-that all of our parents are illiterate. Without illiterates we wouldn’t exist. Indeed, we owe them a great debt. We aren’t meant to rule, but to serve-”
Derrick spoke up. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t we exist?”
Nicodemus studied him. “Spellwrights can’t produce children. Moreover, the illiterate life is harder than ours.”
“I’m sorry, Nicodemus, but I still don’t understand.” Derrick’s tone seemed earnest, but the boys around him were snickering.
Nicodemus narrowed his eyes “What don’t you understand?”
“Why we can’t produce children.” This sponsored a wave of nervous tittering.
“Spellwrights are sterile,” Nicodemus answered, keeping the embarrassment from his expression only with supreme effort.
“You mean we’re clean?” Derrick asked, his voice cracking with amusement. His neighbors broke into open laugher.
“No, Derrick,” Nicodemus said, staring straight at the boy. If Derrick was going to force the issue, best to get it over with. “I mean that spellwrights can’t conceive children when they have sex.”
The room now rang with laughter. Nicodemus wondered if he could ever regain the class.
“Sex?” Derrick said with counterfeit shock and raised his hands to his cheeks. “Oh, my virgin ears!”
“Oh, your virgin everything else,” Nicodemus shot back in a deadpan tone.
The laughter rose to a crescendo. Derrick’s pale face flushed scarlet.
Nicodemus hurried to the front of the class. “So back to learning magical language. We’ve established that you all have literate minds. So armed, you can learn to forge runes within your muscles. And, as with any language, you will need to build a vocabulary and understand the grammar governing that vocabulary. After that, you will learn how to move the runes through your bodies, how to string them together in sentences, and finally how to cast them out into the world.”
The laughter had died, and now two dozen smiling faces were fixed on him. Encouraged, Nicodemus pressed on: “That is why you have attended anatomy lectures and why you will perform dissections. Learning the muscles and bones is especially important. You might want to wrap one paragraph around your humerus and another around your ulna, and so forth. Any questions?”
Derrick’s hand shot up.
Nicodemus rolled his eyes. “Let me rephrase: any questions about spellwriting?”
Smiling, the boy dropped his hand, producing another round of laughter.
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.”