Alchemical Magic

Chapter 4-3

I only had theory on Wednesdays, thankfully, so we got a break from practical magic. The theory of PAAM was quite different than the classes I got for my alchemy degree. I thought I had a solid understanding of magical theory in those introductory classes, but turns out Magic 101 for alchemists differs greatly from the one given to mages.

Maybe because alchemists can't visualize magic, so it's all more theoretical to them.

But for actual mages, everything we get is a lot more detailed and a lot more complex. They tell the alchemists the general rules of magic, and how energy flows; mages are told about every exception, about the interaction of magical flows, the interference of flows with fields of opposite polarity, and all kinds of theory. But without math. It was all so handwavy, so inexact, the alchemist in me wanted to scream all the time.

I was starting to understand the reasons. Today, when they made us all sit and draw simple, mass-produced artifacts they handed around the class, I got an inkling of the problem.

I had no issue drawing the object. Although I'm not an artist, I got plenty of experience in drawing orthogonal projections of all kinds of objects, starting from bolts to the most complex engines.

Compared to that, this was easy. In alchemy, we had to draw with an accuracy of scale of a hundredth of an inch; here, I could draw a sketch that just communicated the general tracing. And thank goodness, because if I had to do the calculations to draw the curves, and then produce the right flat spline, it would take me all week. Mostly in bending some piece of wood into the right shape.

And that's the reason magic is much less accurate than alchemy, I realized, as I observed Sid draw something different to my sketch, while I can't even guess what Steve was trying to portray. It looked like a doodle.

Despite the lack of technical drawing skills by both Sid and Steve, I could see that the problem wasn't just in their drawing skills.

When I draw a simple bolt, there are a ton of measurements I have to make: the diameter and angles of the head, both the inner and outer diameter of the thread, the angle it was at, the shape of the thread, its width, length, etc. I would spend a good half an hour to get all the measurements right before I even started drawing (although I would make a quick sketch with all the measurements, so I could get it all right when I started drawing properly).

But here, we started sketching immediately, because there was nothing to measure. They didn't have the rulers, calipers, protractors, or even a standardized unit of measurement alchemists have. It was all done by eye, and it was thus all subjective.

They didn't have an Ecton Conference as we alchemists did, deciding on the standard units…

Yllam wasn't represented at the Conference, because they already had perfect units of measurement designed by the first emperor on the Black Lily throne. Ha! Now, all Yllamese alchemists who want to be known anywhere outside of Yllam had to do everything in accepted international units (because, heavenly empire or no, they're a backwater when it comes to Alchemy). And, since the Republic of Kalmar was the host and patron of the Conference, most units of measurement are based on traditional Kalmari ones. Take that, Yllam!

Yeah, despite being half-Yllamese, and my father being fully Yllamese, I don't like his birth country that much. Don't get me wrong, I love my father, and he is the best man in the world. But Yllam is just wrong.

I can't like a country where everybody lives according to tradition, where all decisions come from the Black Lily Throne, where Alchemy is relegated to stagnation.

Alchemists who invented something considered too disruptive couldn't even run away to Kalmar, like they do from the neighboring Dania, because Yllam binds its people with mind magic and magical oaths.

I don't know how my father escaped, nor do I care; if he had to commit a crime to do it, I won't judge. A country like that does not deserve to exist.

I didn't feel an iota of love or respect for that country. Sure, I knew its language (or at least, I knew how to read ancient Yllamese), and my father convinced me to pay respects to my Yllamese ancestors. I did it out of love to him, not because I really cared; he wanted me to pay my respects to my ancestors, so I did. That was everything I was willing to do for father's birth country.

I was leaning on back my chair, rocking it by pushing the table. When I felt how my chair was dangerously toppling, as I was too engrossed in my thoughts, I quickly rocked forward, making the chair thump loudly on the floor. This seemed to call the attention of Professor Alarch (yes, as our group's tutor, he teaches most of our non-specialized classes).

"Are you finished, Miss Bedwen?" he asked, his tone similar to how he treated everybody else. It seemed that after our encounter yesterday, he was more willing to treat me as a mage. A weak and incompetent mage, but baby steps.

"Yes, sir," I replied, handing him the sketch. "I have a lot of practice in drawing, sir. It's crucial in Alchemy."

"I see," he said, observing the sketch. I had drawn several projections of the artifact, from different angles, with some detail on a smaller scale. "Well, Miss Bedwen, I see you are done here. You can leave."

"But, sir," I asked, confused. "There are still two hours of class left. Shouldn't I stay?"

"It seems like you know everything I will teach you today, Miss Bedwen. Go. Do something more productive," Professor Alarch's voice was becoming testy. "I don't want people to waste time in my classes."

"I will leave then, sir," I mumbled, collecting my things into the bag, and leaving the class under the envious gazes of my classmates.

I certainly didn't gain any friends today.