System Lost: My Own Best Friend

"Alright Evie, let's try this—let's say the river is twenty five paces wide and twice as long. How many paces would it take to walk its entire length?"

It's about as simple an algebra question as I can come up with. Now that we've put that awful dungeon and the mountain it's hidden in behind us, I've decided to start catching Evelyn up on her education while we hike through the jungle-like oasis. Unfortunately, the ancient teenager whose ghost now lives in my head is about as obstinate as I'd expect from a seventeen year old learning math.

"That's a stupid question, Miss Allison," she huffs, a disembodied voice in my head. "The river is clearly wider than twenty five paces, and what kind of river is only twice as long as it is wide?"

I rub my temples and sigh, glancing helplessly at Talla. The ranger shrugs—she's a scholar herself, so she sympathizes with my plight, but she doesn't offer me any assistance.

"It's just an exercise, Evie—humor me?"

"Ugh, fine," she grumbles. "The number I don't know is supposed to be...what did you call it?"

"That would be x," I remind her.

"Right, a letter from your language. How am I supposed to remember that?"

"I don't know your language's script," I say. "And neither do you. That's why we're doing this, remember?"

It's a miracle that the magic of our shared class lets us understand each other despite speaking different languages, but that apparently doesn't extend to reading. Not that it would matter, since Evelyn can't read her own language anyway. The educational standards of this world are definitely not the same as mine—especially not two hundred years ago when Evelyn died.

After a moment of silent fuming, Evie goes on.

"X, then. And I'm supposed to figure out what x is just from what you told me? How?"

This is the sticking point. I've told her how to do this already. Evelyn has a good memory, but she seems to struggle to internalize anything that isn't the religious doctrine she was raised on.

"Think about the relationship it has with the number you do know," I nudge her.

"What relationship? You only said that the river is twice as long as it is wide, not how many paces that is."

Don't get frustrated. Don't get frustrated.

"Right, twice as long as twenty five paces. And how far is that?"

"Why didn't you just ask that in the first place?"

Arrgh! No, no, this is fine. This is normal. It would be more normal from a ten year old, but I have to adjust my standards. I'm taking the foundations built by the entirety of grade-school for granted.

"The point of algebra is to reduce complex questions into more simple ones," I explain as patiently as I can. "Part of the lesson here is that they are actually the same question."

Well, no, it's not. That's supposed to be self-evident, but we can adjust on the fly.

"Okay, fine. Then the answer is twice twenty five."

"Good, which is...?" I prompt her.

"I don't know! Why does it matter? I can count to twenty five twice!"

Oh heck! I might have to start smaller if she can't even do that kind of arithmetic. This is harder than I thought.

"Do you not know how to multiply?" I ask nervously.

"I'm not stupid!" Evie insists. "I can multiply all of the numbers together."

I blink and cast another confused glance at Talla. "All of them? What do you mean 'all' of them?"

"From one to ten, of course," Evelyn replies, as if I'm stupid for asking. "But twenty five is too high."

Fricking multiplication tables?! She's just memorized the multiplication table from one to ten? That's actually kind of impressive, but I need to test this.

"Alright, let's try a few—what's seven times eight?"

"Fifty six," she answers without hesitation.

"Three times six?"

"Eighteen."

"Five times five."

"Twenty five."

"Five times two."

"Ten."

"Five times ten."

"Fifty."

I pause. Not a hint of recognition or understanding of how what she just did could apply to the question that had stumped her just a moment ago. She's quick with these answers, too. Most likely because she's not actually doing any calculations—she just knows.

"Okay, how about three times eleven?" I try.

"I don't know."

As expected, but a very troubling thought strikes.

"One times eleven?" I hedge.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"I don't know," she answers just as firmly and immediately.

Crud on toast. I'm going to have to go all the way back. She doesn't even know what multiplication is, apart from a chart of memorized numbers.

"Talla, is this normal?" I ask. "Please tell me it's not normal."

The ranger giggles and runs a hand through her hair to tuck it between her twisted horns. "I can't speak for two hundred years ago, but no. I learned most of what you're trying to teach in the first or second tier of my schooling."

The other ranger, Draga, takes the opportunity to interject from just up ahead. "Not everybody gets fancy private schooling, Talla. I couldn't afford tiered lessons growing up, and I could barely count to ten before I joined the military."

"See?" Evelyn says defensively. "I'm not the only one! The church taught me what I needed. I only agreed to take the [Student] class because you said it would level quickly."

I sigh miserably. That was supposed to be the reason, but it's not really panning out. Partly because Evie is so belligerent, but also because I've obviously been approaching it from the wrong angle.

Draga's comment is actually a lot more helpful than Talla's. It tells me that not only is the standard of education different, but there is no standard. Talla is friendly, and her translation spell makes her easy to talk to, but as a lens through which we hear about the world we're now in she's...biased.

Talla is rich. A noble lady, heiress to her clan, and well-educated even for her social class. What the heck she's doing trudging through the desert as a ranger, she has yet to explain, but I'm slowly seeing just how big the gap between her and Draga—at the other end of the social spectrum—is.

Unfortunately, conversations with Draga are difficult. I can understand him thanks to my mental connection with Evie, but he can't understand me unless Talla translates with her spell or Evelyn is in front. Either way, it involves speaking through a medium.

To make matters worse, while Talla's spell lets her hear my headmates while they aren't in front, Draga has no such advantage. Despite my best efforts, actually getting a good conversation going with the ranger leader has been a challenge.

Speaking of my headmates...

"Is math class over yet?" Maggie yawns. "I wanna blow something up!"

I shudder. Historically, the "something" that Maggie blows up with her magic is us more often than not. The less said about the exception to that rule, the better.

"Shouldn't you be focused on training Nipper to raise your new class?" Violet replies.

"I don't mix work and play," Mags argues. "Training Nipper is my job. Exploding things is just for fun!"

I sigh and give the worm-snake creature hanging from my shoulders a little scratch on the...chin? Nipper nibbles on my fingers affectionately in response. I think I'm getting a feel for his different kinds of bites. You can tell that this one is affectionate because it doesn't break skin and there's plenty of slobber. A scared bite latches on and doesn't let go, while an angry bite will rend and tear to do as much damage as possible.

Thankfully, I've only ever witnessed that last one used on others.

I wipe my hand off on my sash before it starts to itch—Nipper's saliva is slightly venomous.

"I guess we can call it there for now," I relent. "I'm going to have to rethink my lesson plan anyway."

I quickly review my gains from all that effort.

[Level up!]

Teacher is now level 1.

Student is now level 1.

+1 Ego.

+1 Will (E'ava'al'n).

Finally! We leveled up a lot faster back in the convergence point. I really hope that this is just a bit of growing pains and not a sign of things to come.

"Great!" Maggie exclaims with a sinister chuckle. "Now let me in front so I can check out our new skills."

"It's not a bad idea to get some practice with them before it's life or death," Talla remarks. "But target practice will have to wait—I think we're almost there."

"Almost where?" I ask. "We've been trudging through this jungle for over a day."

Talla giggles. "Jungle? Hardly. This is nothing compared to the rainforests in the blessed lands further ringward."

I glance up at the sky, dominated as always by the bright bands of light formed by the rings. We've been moving away from them, following the river north—or, antiringward, I guess. It could be south, but the Fa'aun language doesn't differentiate. You're either moving toward the rings or away from them.

"Okay, fine, I don't know my biomes," I admit. "But where are we going?"

"To the Great Road—which is a really tasteless name, but it wasn't up to me—and more importantly, Kiera's vehicle."

There's that word again. "Vehicle" isn't a perfect translation. The impression I get from the word is more like "some kind of vehicle?" Question mark and everything.

"Evie, what is that word?" I ask. "I know what a vehicle is, but that's not quite what she's saying, is it?"

"I don't know! It just sounds like some kind of carriage."

Talla chuckles and shakes her head. "You could have just asked. It's a relatively new compound word combining 'alchemy' and 'carriage' because 'alchemically motorized carriage' was too much of a mouthful."

I stare at her blankly, realizing that I could have probably realized it myself if I hadn't been subconsciously rejecting the obvious conclusion.

"A car," I deadpan. "We've been hiking through the mountains for two days to get to Kiera's car? You have cars?!"

"They're...not common," Talla hedges. "New even by the alchemist's standards, and both extremely expensive and difficult to operate. Rather finicky, too—Kiera's broke down...was it twice on the way here?"

"Three times," Draga answers. "I told her not to bring it, but she insisted."

"Right. Well, aside from our clan the one thing Kiera and I had in common is an appreciation for the alchemist's work, and between the two of us we were able to figure out how to fix the problem."

I'm still stuck on the fact that there are cars in this world. I'm not surprised to hear it came from this mysterious alchemist either—just who is that guy?

"Why would a priestess be so fascinated by the works of a heretic?" Evelyn grumbles.

"You have to understand that magic hasn't been the exclusive domain of the church for a long time, Eva," Talla responds. "Besides, most of the alchemist's work revolves around preserving the effects of thaumaturgy for common use. Be it tinctures, mana crystals, or any of their derivatives. His work has given the Stebaa empire a huge advantage over our neighbors."

"Any tier three kid with alchemical arms can be a serious threat on the battlefield," Draga adds darkly. "But that doesn't mean they belong there."

"Agreed," Talla sighs. "But you have to admit, the alchemist's inventions are far too useful to ignore. Far from rejecting them, the church is probably his biggest customer."

Without a proper historical context, this discussion is starting to go over my head, but as the canopy above opens up and we enter what looks like a savannah it's impossible to miss the "vehicle" in question.

It's...a car. Mostly constructed of wood and metal, with an open top and no windshield—no glass of any kind, actually. Or doors. No rubber, either. The tires look like some kind of thick leather or hide wrapped around metal wheels. The front only seats one, with a pair of levers rather than a steering wheel for controls.

The thing is a truly bizarre sight. At a glance, it's obviously a car, but the more I look the less right that feels. There's quite a lot of space in the back, and fairly comfortable looking seats, but not a lot of space for...the engine? I don't really know much about cars, but that seems like an important bit.

"Here we are," Talla says. "We'll have to wait until just before dawn tomorrow before we can leave, but if we're careful we should be able to spend the rest of the day loading it up before we make camp."

I look up at her curiously. "Careful of what?"

"Of touching it," she clarifies. "It's been out in the desert sun for weeks. You could probably cook something on that metal, and I'd prefer it not be your hands. Burns are a pain to heal. Literally."