Better to shun subterfuge, Oliver thought. Farquois was likely far better at that sort of thing—and it wasn’t as if Oliver lacked excuses for a chat. As long as they were a teacher and he a student, interactions were a given.
“May I ask for some Wall Walking pointers, Instructor Farquois?”
Astrology class had ended, and he’d followed them into the hall.
At Oliver’s call, the great sage glanced back at him. “Yes, certainly. Follow me.”
With that, they walked off. Faintly surprised, Oliver followed.
“Now? If it’s not a good time, I can wait…”
“No need. At your level, I’m confident this will not take long.”
As they spoke, Farquois put a leg on a nearby windowsill, walking straight up the wall outside. Realizing the lesson had already begun, Oliver took his wand in hand, gathering himself—and stepped through the window as well. The great sage stopped a few steps above, looking down at Oliver’s approach.
“At your age, merely standing and stopping on a wall is more than enough. Though clearly, that’s hardly unusual at Kimberly.”
“Yes, all the upperclassmen can do that much. If I can ask, when did you acquire the skill?”
“Me? When I emerged from my mother’s womb. I stood right up and walked onto the ceiling—and only then did I let out my birthing cry.”
Farquois spun around, walking off across the wall. Oliver tagged along, matching their pace, suppressing a sigh. Part of him would not be the least surprised, but he could tell that had been a joke. Perhaps sensing his displeasure, the great sage continued:
“Seriously, I doubt it was much different from yourself. I wasn’t in any particular rush to acquire the skill, but Kimberly places undue emphasis on combat ability to begin with. Even though there is so much else worth learning.”
“…Instructor Gilchrist often makes that argument.”
“On that point alone, I agree with her. Despite disagreeing on plenty else.”
As they spoke, they were getting higher up. Farquois was not breaking a sweat, but Oliver definitely was—the more he fought gravity, the more it wore him out, and his breath was growing ragged.
“…Ngh…”
“Getting hard for you? Walking is much more difficult than running, yes?”
“…I’ve been working on slowly improving my time. But that alone…will not get me where you or Instructor Theodore are.”
“You plan to match us? Well, the difference in years is not easily overcome, but the goal itself is a fine one. Try jumping,” Farquois said, pulling ahead and turning to face him.
This order made Oliver’s eyes widen. Jumping while standing on a wall—in his mind, that might as well be throwing yourself off it. They’d left through a third-story window, so they were now very high up.
Eyeing the ground below, Oliver asked, “You want me to fall headfirst?”
“Lord, no. I’m not like your other teachers. I want you to jump and land right where you stand now. Like so.”
Farquois demonstrated a few quick hops. An absurd sight—Oliver’s head hurt just watching them. Still, he took close observations, analyzing the technique.
The wall was providing no gravitation pull to their feet. If they were returning to the same location, that must have meant some force was filling in for gravity. Arguably, just standing here like this employed the same thing, but with this mage, that force was strong enough to pull them back when contact was severed. In other words…
“…You’ve strengthened the suction properties… No, you’ve optimized them.”
“See, you’re quick on the uptake. It’s simply an advanced version of what you’re already doing. You’re adjusting the handling of your mana to match the general composition of the wall, yes? McFarlane and I carry that to its logical extreme. Always aware of the compositional variation, even the ravages of time, and tweaking the suction property to compensate. That minimizes the fatigue.”
Farquois offered a ready explanation, but just imagining how hard that was made Oliver dizzy. Constantly factoring the qualities and condition of the wall, constantly adapting the mana in your feet to match them precisely, and maintaining a false pull between the two—that was the gist of it. Logically sound, but you could find that in the dictionary under the term armchair theory.
“Naturally, your five senses won’t suffice,” said Farquois. “This requires mastery of spatial magic, but you meet that prerequisite. That’s why I said this wouldn’t take much time. If this was somewhere unknown, it would be another matter—however, you’ve long since been familiar with Kimberly’s walls. You need merely take a closer look. And you will soon realize how slapdash your previous walks have been.”
Internally, he was screaming, but here, Oliver’s natural obstinance kicked in.
Certainly, he knew how to employ spatial magic to grasp the condition of his footing. There was a delay while his mind processed that, but they were standing still—he only had to focus on a single point. In that light, the order to jump made sense. He was not being given an insurmountable task, and so he buried himself in his spatial senses. Based on that deepened grasp of his footing, he adjusted the mana of his Wall Walk, and his body felt far lighter.
“……!”
“You got it. Now jump.”
Farquois gave him no further rope. Feeling like he could now, Oliver kicked right off the wall. He felt the pull on his body from the wall and the ground below, but he strengthened his magical output, prioritizing the artificial pull from the wall. He felt it dragging him back, and both feet landed against it.
“…I did it—?!”
Just as he thought he’d succeeded, his feet slipped—and real gravity got its vengeance. Losing all support, Oliver started to fall, but Farquois had already circled around him and caught him in both arms. As Oliver stared up at the sky, stunned, the great sage smiled.
“You relaxed as your feet made contact, yes? Your landing itself made the wall’s properties waver. If you don’t compensate for that, this happens.”
“…Thanks a lot.”
“It was nothing. If you’d fallen, you’d have done something—and I didn’t warn you out of sheer whimsy. I did the same thing my first time. If you actually pulled it off, that would have been most vexing.”
With that, they set Oliver back on the wall’s surface. They shot him a look, demanding another attempt, so he caught his breath and tried again. This time, he made adjustments based on his failure and wavered—but was successful.
Farquois flashed him a grin. “Got it this time. Mm, very good,” they said. “Yes, you’ll be fine. Doesn’t matter how many failures you rack up—you’ll all learn to do it. You’re my students.”
An off-the-cuff remark, and it jogged a memory from Oliver’s mind. Words his mother said when he’d been little, and marveling at the sight of her standing on air. He sensed the same warmth from this mage; his mind filled with fluster and confusion, and before he knew it, he started to speak.
“Are you—?”
“Mm?”
Farquois turned his way, gentle smile unwavering. Oliver managed to swallow his next words.
He could not ask, Did you know Chloe Halford? For that subject to come out of nowhere would be far too incautious—and it terrified him that he’d gotten that close to letting his guard down. Was this mage’s charm responsible?
“…No, never mind,” Oliver said.
“Oh? Then let’s head back. Try to get used to the sensation on the way.”
Farquois seemed unbothered by it and turned to go. Oliver followed without another word, unable to decide what he should make of what he’d felt there.