Time Flies

A Mattson Academy Tale

Ms. Ramona Ruiz was no one’s favorite teacher. She was stricter than the brutish Seer Brokk, bore little of Professor Skreed’s humor, and more competent than the bumbling Mr. Masters. Ms. Ruiz kept her classroom as she kept herself: practical, serious, and direct. Despite her stern reputation, Ms. Ruiz knew, sooner or later, most of the student body of Mattson Academy would eventually grace her classroom, if only for a little while.

Ms. Ruiz taught Flight Magic. She also flunked a lot of kids.

Ms. Ruiz considered it her job to lift up those with the potential (and more importantly, the discipline) while keeping the unqualified grounded. No one liked having their wings clipped, least of all teenagers, so ultimately, even the students who willingly sought her out mostly left disappointed and sour. The reputation never bothered her much.

On the first day of the semester, she waited for her new students in the gymnasium. The extra space accommodated both the larger-than-normal class size and allowed for the students to get their first taste of flying in a somewhat secure environment—falling from the top of the gym was a lot better than falling from a hundred or more feet in the air. She preferred to dress practically,wearing all black from her turtleneck to her jeans to her shiny leather boots. Her only adornment was a simple silver cross on a long chain around her neck. It swished back and forth as she paced the length of the gym to stay limber while the students filed in. Only seniors were allowed to fly, but she saw faces of all sorts: human, elf, dwarf, goblin, faun, anything that didn’t already have wings.

Once the gym’s bleachers were full of murmuring, fidgeting eighteen-year-olds, Ms. Ruiz strode to the faded circle in the gym’s center and stood unwaveringly straight. “So, you all want to fly, huh?” She gave them a moment to utter their various responses, and a cruel smile played across her lips. “Most of you won’t.”

A few students groaned and many more rolled their eyes or whispered cocky little remarks to their friends. These she watched with particular interest; they were the most likely to fail out first.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “The Headmistress always has plenty of room in her history classes for those who don’t make the cut.”

A faun tentatively raised her hand. Her horns stuck out through holes in her hoody. “If we don’t get it, you’re going to kick us out? You’re not going to teach us?”

Ms. Ruiz crossed her arms and nodded. “I’ll teach anyone who’s willing to learn and willing to take this seriously. One wrong move when you’re in the air can mean a long fall and a longer dirt nap. If I think any of you are a danger to yourselves, you’re out.”

A week later, her class of fifty had already lost ten. Ms. Ruiz sat cross-legged, hovering five feet off the gymnasium floor. The rest of the class sat around her, bobbing up and down. Most struggled to remain in one place, and one or two had trouble remaining upright. One of the boys had given up and contented himself to float upside down.

“Levitation is the easiest but the most essence intensive,” Ms. Ruiz lectured in a flat, even tone. “You’re using telekinesis on yourself. It’s good for a quick jaunt or to dust the cobwebs in the corner, but I wouldn’t plan any long trips with it.”

An elf with a deep tan and her hair in a long braid whispered something to a friend. The two were relatively stable a few feet off the ground, but the first suddenly shot up into the gym rafters. She crashed into a beam in the ceiling with a resounding gong and then careened toward the ground, tumbling head over heels. The class gasped as one; the girl’s friend screamed. The few kids still floating fell hard on their butts as their focus failed them.

Ms. Ruiz held out a hand and suspended the dazed girl a foot before she hit the ground. “A natural consequence, and strike two, Ms. Fenleven. I’ll let you know when you’re cleared for takeoff.”

A month later, the class was down to twenty-five. “Fire and wind are a lot less essence intensive but require even more control and focus. You need to emit the element from your hands and feet and constantly adjust the force to balance and stabilize.” With her feet held together and her hands extended below her waist, she directed her essence downward and gusts of wind burst from her hands and feet, propelling her into the air.

Ms Ruiz was not proficient with fire, but the principle was close enough for her to provide instruction. She’d tried letting Lady Ariel, the dwarven enchanting instructor and resident fire expert, attend as a guest lecturer, but the woman gave the students too much leash and encouraged reckless behavior. Not an option in Ms. Ruiz’s class. In just a few moments, she had the fire and wind adept students up in the air and tentatively zipping around the gym while the others observed from their seats on the laminate wood floors. She paid close attention to which students were watching their flying classmates and, more importantly, which ones weren’t.

Sure enough, just a few weeks later, when they switched to lightning and earth magic, the final two flight-capable elements, it was those same students she noted making obvious mistakes they might have avoided had they been more attentive. To fly with lightning or earth required manipulation of electromagnetic polarities, and while the elements were different, the ideas of propulsion and stabilization were remarkably similar, enough so that she wouldn’t be teaching them again. Those students who weren’t paying enough attention would remain grounded—permanently.

On the final day of the semester, Ms. Ruiz met her much-reduced class outside for their final lesson. The eight remaining students lined up in front of her with mixed looks of excitement and trepidation, and she walked down the line with deliberate, tortuous slowness. When she got to the end, she turned around and looked up at the clear blue, early summer sky.

“You made it. There’s no final. Get up there and enjoy yourselves.”

No one moved. They suspected a trick, some deception or a final culling waiting to be sprung. This was Ms. Ruiz, after all. Then, one student leaped into the air. A streak of red and orange flame launched them skyward. The others watched their strict teacher for some sign of disapproval, but when none came, the rest took off, chasing each other through the sky in a mad aerial dance of spirals and loops.

As she watched them fly through the air, laughing and enjoying the freedom she had bestowed upon them, a rare smile played across her lips. Ms. Ramona Ruiz was no one’s favorite teacher, but for a select, hardworking few, she did teach their favorite class.

And she knew it.