A Researcher's Conundrum

Nestled between the buildings for the Ancient Magic department and the much larger Archaeological Studies department is a modest neglected courtyard. Neither department felt a need to divert funds to the upkeep of what was ultimately a couple weedy flowerbeds, a half-dead tree, a trampled dirt lot, and some cracked lopsided stone benches. It was utterly dilapidated compared to the Horticultural department’s rose gardens, and that was without including the showcase garden where they only planted clones of the most successful projects. They let first year students manage the general gardens; some of them can’t even keep a plant alive and still it was leaps and bounds better. Even so, the little courtyard had an artful kind of stillness to it. It was the peacefulness of a fresh spun spiderweb catching dew in the early morning light; the steadiness of a curious fish peering up through the water’s surface. A place where even a storm would feel compelled to gentleness.

It was, quite possibly, Yew’s favorite place to think. Although, ruminate might be the more accurate way to describe her current state of mind.

She lay across the least cracked portion of the benches that encircled the tree, on a piece that was only a little tilted, staring up into the scraggly branches with her hands folded across her middle. Pale flax-colored eyes traced along the ragged splits in the bark along the trunk up to the smaller smoother branches that must be new growth from the last year or two. Every time she looked she found some new feature, a knot she hadn’t noticed before or an especially large curl of wood peeling off. It was a good distraction as she pondered her latest snafu.

Over the past year she had gathered an abundance of data from the various ruins she visited. Cross referencing archeology records of the ruins could help her reasonably divide the cultures of origin for all the better known and studied sites, which is useful for sorting her own data. Naturally, comparing the enchantments used across different ruins would turn up consistencies on any ruins that were built or renovated in the same eras, a result of the natural evolution of magical studies through time. Organized chronologically, you could follow the development and history of the more common spells by comparing the changes that appear. Most of the pre-unification cultures would only display one or two concurrent styles in any given era, likely different schools of magic. Except for one outlier set which had five different styles in a single era.

The discovery of the outlier, nicknamed the paradox era, had made the career of the researcher that published it, at least within the broader field of Ancient Magic. It wasn’t the man’s only claim to fame, but it was certainly the crowning jewel of his achievements. In the decades since, it had become a widely accepted truth and was the foundation of several other studies, projects, and discoveries. A conclusion with an extensive lineage in both directions.

And Yew was considering tearing it all down.

New archeology findings had been toying with reclassifying the eras they believed certain ruins were from. They once believed that all the ruins within the paradox era were created by the same architect, but closer inspection with newer tools had turned up... discrepancies. It just so happened that when one separated the newly proposed sets the spell styles also split neatly into separate eras; one group of three and the other with two. Publishing her findings would be revolutionary, but if she wasn’t careful it would also be insurrection. Despite being true, if it turned back on her badly it could completely destroy her credibility in academic circles. And if she lost that, she may as well clean out her desk now and go home.

In some ways, academia could be just as fierce in its social structuring as high society. The competition for grants and donors was cut-throat; even, or perhaps especially, amongst people within the same departments. Everyone had heard of at least one story of sabotage or subterfuge occurring, without including incidents of external threats. And just like high society, if you were disgraced for any reason you may as well not show your face at any symposiums going forward. Not that you were banned from the venue, but the blatant exclusion was deafening. Yew recalled an incident when she was still a dewy eyed student ready to follow in her sister’s footsteps and take the world by storm; she attended an event where a previously outcast researcher attempted to present his latest work.

She would never forget the eerie hush that had fallen over the audience when he came on stage. To the man’s credit, he managed to push through it and finish his short lecture. Yew was uncomfortable as just a member of the stoney faced crowed, eyes swiveling around to look at the many closed-off expressions, she could only imagine how much worse being on stage would have been. It was also the first time she had ever seen a large scale shunning, although not the worst or only; that dubious honor belonged to a ladies’ salon event she was invited to by a classmate. Disconcerting… would be putting it mildly.

Even so, it’s not like she had to be the one to kick the ant hill over. It wasn’t even her area of study per se, just something she found in passing after hearing about the reclassification discourse from Astilbe. She could let someone else take the metaphorical fall for it after they realized the same thing she did. Then again, the paradox era, interesting as it is, isn’t really that high up on the topics most discussed among Ancient Magic researchers. So maybe it wouldn’t be discovered as quickly as she hoped. Sure, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but doesn’t she have a duty to the truth? Even if it’s inconvenient for her or others?

Yew was also bothered by the idea that her own work, on the emergence and disappearance of different schools of runic magic, would knowingly contain inaccuracies if she didn’t address it. This would be her debut work, and part of it would be wrong. She imagined most of her cohorts would tell her not to rock the boat; to just exclude that particular data if it bothered her so much. But- that felt wrong too. Dishonest, or maybe inconsiderate, like knowingly letting someone else make a fool of themselves when you could stop it.

She frowned up at the tree, as if it could give her the answer. The leaves swayed impassively in the breeze, unconcerned with her issues and unburdened by thought. ‘Must be nice,’ she thought, rolling onto her side. It wasn’t very comfortable; the layer provided by her cloak didn’t offer much in the way of padding. She rearranged her hood into a half-hearted pillow and closed her eyes. An afternoon nap might not bring her any closer to a decision, but it would bring her a moment of peace.

She rested undisturbed until the sun had traveled just a little closer to the horizon before she was woken up by the whistle of a messenger spell.

The folded missive fluttered around her head on wings made of softly glowing magic. It changed its pitch lower then higher trying to attract her notice. Rolling stiffly to her back, she decided that stone benches are terrible places to sleep, and then snatched the message through bleary eyes. The whistle immediately died out, but it continued to flutter its false wings slowly, waiting to be opened before the spell would fully disperse. Must be urgent then, to use a variant spell so energy intensive. Yew couldn’t help the yawn that forced its way out, stretching briefly.

Finally, she opened the message unfolding it from its knot shape. The glow puttered out, but she couldn’t be bothered to notice. There was work to do.

A death knight has appeared.