Stars Rise

LXXIII. Claudia Solace's Morning

Diluculum to Hora Prima – Claudia Solace

Claudia Solace sometimes sat alone at the Arcanis Cafe on the Magician's College campus for an early breakfast, and the large space, a mixture of modern and rustic, all recycled wood walls and polished stone surfaces, was empty and quiet until she left close to hora prima.

This morning she still sat alone, but most of the wooden benches were full and the chattering broke the usual morning peace she took advantage of for extra study. Potentially the worst part of it was that — completely out of character for her though it was — this morning she wouldn't mind actually hearing what her fellow students had to say.

But then it wasn't every day that the sun rose early.

A large table in front of her was gradually filling up with curious youth gathering into a crowd as some stood behind the others to listen in. They were loud. After one last failed attempt to look at her notes and books, she got up from her table, left her things where they were, and took the last remaining seat at the popular students' table that no one else had wanted to presume to take. Her heart raced.

No one spared her a glance. The conversation took all of the students' attention. It wasn't angry, exactly, or heated, but the usual debate tone taken by most students — the ability for genial responses to even the most potentially radical or harmful assertions — was tempered by anxiety.

It made the least accomplished students nervous that the most advanced ones had no explanations, nor could they say even so much as whether this was harmless or catastrophic.

It seemed they had gotten possible causes out of the way, as well as possible consequences, and had now moved on to the easiest topic of discussion: politics.

Everyone quieted down a bit to listen when the girl at the top of the class spoke.

Lea said, "They should admit more students to Magicians' Colleges. The university needs to grow if we're expected to come up with any answers when something like this happens. I've been taken on at Nausicaa for graduate research and they only take twenty-four applicants. Most other schools accept about the same, some even fewer. And there are so few undergrads. At every level there are restrictions on how many students can learn how much — and the result is that something as staggering as the sun rising early can happen without our being able to see it coming, without us knowing what caused it, and without us having any idea what is going to happen as a result. The research capacity we currently have is abysmal."

When she finished talking, her speech was almost applauded. She looked satisfied, but the atmosphere still crackled.

Lea's friend Martin disagreed, though. "Restrictions are necessary; they're as good a way as any to limit the dangers of magic. Should everyone just be taught magic, and whoever wants to research it should be admitted to the most advanced programs?"

"Everyone who passes the entrance exams, surely," countered Lea. "Right now there's an arbitrary cap on the number of acceptances, and only the top few hundred are accepted to the University of Soliara, even if there are thousands of other applicants whose scores are only an insignificant percentage of a point lower than the bottom accepted score, and even if other applicants scored perfectly competent results. That's not how education works in any other field, by the way. Most schools are perfectly happy to accept tuition fees from anyone who can even close to compete — anyone who can pay. Money. Magic school should be no different."

Again, the group at large was impressed by her argumentation; they nodded, whispered agreement, and made sounds of assent until the next elocutor spoke.