Children’s story, Chapter 17: (I need help with a chapter title) (Patreon)

Social studies was Dakota’s first class of the day. He pulled on Mr. Vig’s door, muttering when it refused to open. Dakota grabbed the knob and jerked harder, sighing when the door finally came open.

Mr. Vig looked up from his scroll. Dakota still found it weird that all mage news went out on paper scrolls magicked to change every morning, but the fear of prosaics intercepting magical news meant that mages kept their communication separate from anything non-magical. Mr. Vig put his scroll down, and the paper rolled up and then made a loud popping noise before it turned itself into a dumbbell like people in professional gyms used. “Good morning, Mr. Dromos. I saw you were in the news this morning. How are you feeling?”

“I was in the news?” Dakota’s stomach dropped.

“You were. It sounds like you had a frightening experience.”

“I got my dog back, so it was worth it.”

Mr. Vig smiled at him. “Good for you. I’m glad you’re not dwelling on the danger and are instead focused on what you got out of your adventure yesterday. I understand that you and the girls managed to escape on your own.”

Dakota blushed at the praise. “We did.”

“Excellent. I hope that doesn’t mean you skipped your homework.”

“No, sir.” Dakota pulled out his notebook. His brother had thrown two more fits, screaming down the hallway until Sir Knight offered to pee on Ambrose’s door. Instead Dakota and Sir Knight had hidden in their room, which had given him plenty of time for his homework. He handed the paper over.

Mr. Vig read it, a green pen in hand. “What is your obsession with the word ‘very,’ young man?”

“Sir?”

“The leadership is very good, the conflict is very bad, and the treaty is very important. And you absolutely cannot underline words to make them more important. You certainly cannot underline them twice.” He made notes in the margin of Dakota’s paper.

“Then what should I write?”

“Something better. Is the leadership effective? Exceptionally effective? Adequate? Impressive? Say something specific. Use a thesaurus if you cannot find the right word for yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” Dakota agreed. He waited until Mr. Vig finished and handed him his work back. Mr. Vig had infused magic in a few of the notes, so the “o” on “No underlining” pulsed. Big, small, big, small. In art class, Dakota had to put all his effort into the assignments to get a blade of grass to wave even a little bit, so it was impressive that Mr. Vig’s magic transferred so quickly.

“Your facts direct and strong and you have drawn logical conclusions based on those facts. I am impressed with your thinking, even if your penmanship requires work.” Mr. Vig picked up a clear quartz and waved it at the classroom wall. The whole wall turned into a giant television screen that showed a woman standing on an enormous bird made out of flowers. Her dress danced in the wind and the bird flapped his flower-wings in slow motion.

“What’s that?”

“We’re discussing the governments of magical India and how changes in the prosaic government required shifts in the magical government,” Mr. Vig said, which didn’t answer Dakota’s question, but he supposed Mr. Vig didn’t want to give the whole lecture before class started.

“I have a question, but it’s not about class stuff. Do you have time?”

Mr. Vig lowered his crystal, his classroom only two-thirds transformed into what Dakota assumed were the mountains of India. It was beautiful and green and a dark river cut between two mountains. Where Mr. Vig stopped, the image pixilated like a broken computer screen. “I would love to hear your question.”

Dakota chewed on his lower lip. Every time he tried to talk to an adult, he got shushed and sent out of the room, but someone had tried to kidnap him, and he really wanted answers. “What do the Nietzscheans believe?”

“Is that who tried to grab you and the girls?” Mr. Vig came over and sat on one of the student chairs. It was too small for him. Mr. Vig had long arms and legs that made him look like a scarecrow, and he had to fold his limbs to fit.

“I heard my parents say something. My mother said they are getting bolder, but my father said that maybe someone just wanted to rob us. But then my mother made a noise like people make when they don’t believe you. And the social worker said I should know about Nietzscheans. She acted like I wasn’t safe. But no one talks to me. So what do they believe?” The words tumbled out faster and faster. Dakota waited for Mr. Vig to interrupt the way every other adult had, but he watched.

Once Dakota fell silent, Mr. Vig said slowly, “That is a big question.”

Dakota looked at the ground, embarrassed that he had blurted all that out when Mr. Vig didn’t want to spend time explaining what everyone else already knew.

Mr. Vig put a hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “I am happy to answer. I’m just warning that you’ve asked a big, important question and that means you might need to listen more than you expected to.”

Relief washed through Dakota. “I’m fine with listening.”

Mr. Vig smiled. “Then I’m fine with talking. The Nietzscheians follow Nietzsche, and he wanted people to find their own strength by refusing to embrace their weaknesses. For example, he saw magical people investing a lot of resources in helping their prosaic neighbors in times of drought or even helping magical neighbors who had less skill at rain charms. He said they were hurting their neighbors by not allowing them to fail. He said that if those who were less successful failed, then they would know to either work harder to master the skills they needed or move to where they had easier access to resources.”

“But wouldn’t that mean people would starve?” Dakota asked. That sounded mean. Actually, that sounded like the adults at O’Leary Middle School who thought the kids shouldn’t give parts of their meals to Sir Knight because it would encourage him to hang around the school. And Dakota didn’t like those teachers.

“True. But it would also mean that society would advance because hungry people would figure out better ways to irrigate fields or develop stronger rain charms. So everyone would end up being stronger in the end.”

“But some would be dead from starvation. I don’t think they’d care if the world was better.”

Mr. Vig sighed. “You’re right, of course, and that’s the heart of the conflict. Nietzscheians come across as monsters because they would allow some people to starve. Those who follow Nietzsche see those deaths as the price society must pay for freedom and progress. But most people have empathy for their neighbors. Not everyone can develop a better rain charm, and letting someone die because they aren’t magically strong feels cruel.”

Dakota reached into his pocket and touched his wand. “Considering how weak my magic is, I don’t think I like Nietzsche.”

“Your magic can’t be weak. The Ministry identified your magical signature in the middle of a prosaic neighborhood, and according to the news, you pulled a roof down on your head. That’s not the magic of a weak mage.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Dakota protested.

“True, but if you didn’t have the raw power, it wouldn’t have been possible.”

“But my magic is so weak that I have a wand and I can’t even get that to work half the time.”

“Really?” Mr. Vig leaned forward, and Dakota regretted saying anything. History was the only class where he didn’t use magic, so Mr. Vig was the only teacher who didn’t know he was completely useless, even with his wand. Or at least mostly useless. Mr. Vig studied him. “That surprises me.”

Dakota grimaced. “It surprises my parents, too.”

“Don’t worry too much about what other people say or think. You have to make yourself happy.”

“Both me and other people are equally unhappy with my magic.” Dakota picked at the hem of his shirt. It was brilliant yellow, and his brother had made a face when Dakota had come to breakfast, but most of Dakota’s clothes were obnoxious and bright. This wasn’t any worse than the others.

“You’re quite good at schoolwork, but most young people don’t find their talents when writing an essay on magical governments. You should develop your own talents outside of your class assignments.”

“I used to love to draw,” Dakota said softly. He didn’t anymore because now art class required him to learn to animate his drawings using his magic. He had colored pencils with tiny focus gems in the end, and he should be able to push his magic through so his birds flew and the grass waved in the wind and his snakes slithered across the rocks. Instead he could only get an occasional line to wobble back and forth.

“I’m going to assume from your tone that art is no longer a passion. What about music?”

Dakota shrugged.

“Some instruments require magic, but many don’t. You could speak to your parents about a musical tutor to catch up with your age group.”

Dakota scratched the back of his neck as the silence grew heavy. Finally Mr. Vig spoke again.

“The debate club is utterly devoid of magic. If fact, using any mage-aid during a match will disqualify you, and you have an excess of logic. You could prove quite formidable at the task.”

“I don’t like arguing.”

Mr. Vig sighed, and Dakota could almost taste his disapproval on the air. After a second, he continued. “I will assume that carpet racing holds little interest if you can’t access your magic efficiently enough to power the charms, but what about joining a challenge room team? A few tasks would be magical, but with a team to do the magical work, you could focus on the… not prosaic, but perhaps closer to prosaic tasks.”

Dakota looked up. “That’s something else I’ve been wondering about. What are challenge rooms?”

Slowly Mr. Vig smiled. “Oh dear. We do have to catch you up. They are the most interesting and most popular of all the mage sports, and you, my boy, have the makings of a challenge room protege. Have you ever heard of a prosaic entertainment called an escape room?” Mr. Vig’s knee bounced with excitement as he leaned in close enough that Dakota could see the tips of the dark hairs sticking out of his nose.