The Way of the Owl

 The cave had proven larger than Samara had expected and they’d spent much of a third day tramping over wet rock, slipping on green-blue lichen and crawling through narrow tunnels from one room to the next.  Samara had been constantly checking her maps and grumbling about the cartographer; Garrett had tried very hard, and mostly successfully, to refrain from commenting about bad workmen and their tools, and Efimov had been largely silent.  They had finally reached the mouth of the cave and looked out across green countryside below them.  To their left was a large forest that stretched northwards and to their right there were fields and the bright line of a river.

“Blinton near river,” said Efimov, pointing.  There were tiny houses and a smudge of smoke where he was pointing, which Garrett realised meant they were much higher up the mountain than he’d expected.

“Does your map say how high up we are?” he asked Samara.  She snarled, once again reminding him of the cats that his full-ogre father used to keep for food.

“No!”  She edged towards the edge of the path outside the cave and leaned carefully forwards, looking down and over.  There were several seconds of silence.

“Air is cold and thin up here,” said Efimov casually, as though he were commenting on the weather.

Garrett noticed Samara’s hands clench into pale yellow fists and he was sure that her natural claws were trying to unsheathe.  She took a deep breath.

“It’s late afternoon,” she said, trying to match Efimov’s casualness.  “I think we’ll stay here, since we know there’s nothing in the cave behind us, and descend in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Garrett, swinging his pack from his lumpy, grey shoulders.  They were irregular heights and he’d had to have the backpack made especially to fit him.  “Got any wood out there for a fire, Sam?”

“Don’t call me that!  And no, it’s all rock and stone and sno— and more stone out here.  Get Efimov to make another fire; that seems to be all he’s good for.”

Efimov shrugged and started to move stones around into a circle.  “She seems angry,” he said to Garrett.  Unfortunately he didn’t keep his voice quiet enough.

“Of course I’m bloody angry!  This has taken days longer than I expected and we’re running short of food.  Not that you care, since you seem to just live off the moisture in the air, and Garrett thinks it’s just great that there’s more room to carry the looted possessions of the dead instead of food, but I care!  I bloody well care!  Why can’t you be a better mage?”

“What is better mage?” asked Efimov.  Garrett watched him closely, but he seemed genuinely curious.  He finished arranging the stones as he waited for an answer, which didn’t come until after Garrett glanced at Samara and realised she was embarrassed by what she’d said.

“She means one who went to the Bogbones Academy,” he said, knowing she was grimacing behind his back.  “She’s from Fellheim, remember?”

“That’s got nothing to do with it!”

Efimov murmured some words and waved his hands over the stones.  They cracked, glowing red, and gas hissed out.  Then they started to melt into a pool of lava and a heat haze formed above them.  Garrett backed off slightly; the heat was intense but he’d also learned the hard way that the fumes weren’t safe to breathe.

“There are three kinds of mage in this world,” said Efimov.  He crouched back on his heels, squatting in front the ‘fire’ and warming his hands.  “Those who go to Bogbones.  They are not all of mages, nor even most of them.  And they produce only about 2% of powerful mages in world.  Then there are mages who go to one of Atul Schools, which are found here and there, mostly in populations centres, across the Empire.  They produce about 80% of powerful mages in world.  And then there are those who attended the, hah, schools of hard knocks.”

“Bogbones produces lots of mages,” said Samara, drawn to the fire by the warmth.  She shivered. “Lots and lots.  Powerful ones too.”

“About 2%, globally,” said Efimov.  “Is matter of philosophy.”

“What philosophy?” asked Garrett.  He knew that Efimov has not attended any school, though any other information on his upbringing and learning had been difficult to come by.  He suspected that Efimov was from a school of hard knocks, whatever than meant.

“Bogbones believe that all children are born with inherent magic,” said Efimov staring in the fire.  Tiny spots of reflected red seemed to glow in his eyes.  “They encourage and nurture all children they find.  Everyone is praised for any little magical act, and much support is provided.”

“That’s a good thing,” said Samara.  “Before you start criticising it.”

“Maybe,” said Efimov.  “Bogbones has community sports, sociable atmosphere and social clubs.  Is way of learning.  There are four paths in Bogbones too; all children are assigned a path by hat.  There is: Path of the Dragon, Path of the Spider, Path of the Owl and Path of the Gelatinous Cube.  Children specialise early.”

“Wait, did you say hat?” asked Garrett.  “They’re assigned a course of study by a hat?  Or someone called Hat?”

“Actual hat,” said Efimov.  He shrugged and his third eye stared off out of the mouth of the cave where the sun was setting.  “Is strange idea but is hundreds of years old.  In Atul Schools they have mind-flayer instead.  Reads minds, reveals truths.”

“Mind-flayers eat minds!” Samara’s eyes were wide and Garrett noticed that they seemed to take up nearly half of her triangular face.  He couldn’t decide if it was attractive or not.  “You can’t put a mind-flayer in a school!”

“Is effective way of punishing lying,” said Efimov.  “False positive rate is acceptably low.”

Samara looked ready to argue so Garrett quickly intervened.  “Right, that’s a question of pedagogy,” he said, “which none of us is skilled enough to answer.  What was this path thing though?”

“Courses of study, ways of learning,” said Efimov.  “In Atul schools children are yelled at and punished for anything they do wrong.  In Bogbones, children study what they are already strong in; path names reflect that.”

“Atul schools sound horrible,” said Samara.  She sounded combative still and Garrett was waiting to jump in if she returned to the mind-flayers.  “Playing to your strengths is how you get strong mages.”

“2% globally,” said Efimov again.  He seemed to like the statistic.  “Problem is that mage strong in one area is often weak in another, and strong mages need be strong everywhere.”

“So kids who take the path of the dragon study dragons?” asked Garrett.  “And spiders, owls and… gelatinous cubes?”

“Hah!  No, Path of the Dragon is about courage,” said Efimov.  “Spider is subtlety, Owl is wisdom, and Gelatinous Cube is janitors.”

“Janitors?” Samara’s face twisted into a snarl and she sounded thunderous.  Garrett felt like he was standing before the onset of a sandstorm.

“Someone has to clean up after everyone else.”  Efimov shrugged again.  “Path of Owl produces strongest Bogbones mages.  They see the wisdom in studying what they do not know.”

“Who produces the most evil mages?” said Samara with a tight little smile that suggested she thought she knew the answer.

“Good question,” said Efimov closing all three eyes at once, which was unusual.  He opened them all again.  “Curiously statistic is very balance.  All three schools produce roughly 33%.”