A Good Deed for the Decade: Intro to World History

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Aajmal Henry

Intro to World History

Hayden’s tie swung around his neck as his toothbrush brushed his teeth and a comb styled his hair.  He himself was reading the curricula that the school had sent him.  To enter the shadow realm requires a sacrifice, though he released the mailman as reward for a job well done.  Over the millennia, Hayden had accrued worlds worth of books and read them all.  Despite this, he had never felt the need to read books on teaching, as they very rarely held secrets of subjugation and forbidden power.   Still, Hayden pursued this task with the same rapt dedication as he did all of his endeavors.  Time did not exist in the shadow realm, and with absolute dominion over this plane, he would arrive in the natural world exactly as he was supposed to.  “Ugh, they really don’t make them like they used to.  When I was sixteen I already had my first undead army,” Hayden said with a sigh.  

“There is and has never been anyone like you, master.  Though perhaps they will not all be crushing disappointments,” Zanrl replied. 

 “None of them will be disappointments.  I have set out to teach and mold these youths, and I never fail!” Hayden declared.  

“The world bends to your will, but you may find some things aren't worth the effort,” Zanrl responded.   

Hayden laughed.  “I have conquered worlds, enslaved demon lords, scoured stars, felled the mightiest the cosmos has to offer.  I am Haa’dal the Soul-Taker!  This will be nothing!”  he exclaimed.  

“‘This will be nothing!’  Famous Last Words: volume 7, chapter 9, 643 recorded occurrences,” Zanrl replied.  Hayden scoffed, and was in his classroom.  

Mr. Emory had tried writing his name on the board in the front of the class but chalk was nearly invisible and his quill’s writing was much too small.  Seeing no other recourse, he decided his writing was bigger, and so the board read “Professor Emory’s Class” in bold black ink.  Mr. Emory was early by about three hours, but as time had little meaning to him, it passed without thought.  As the hour approached, students trickled in, the vast majority arriving moments before the bell rang.  They found seats and continued their conversations from before class.  Mr. Emory waited impatiently for the conversations to cease until he finally had enough.  “Silence!” he yelled.  A deafening wave swept the classroom, knocking several students unconscious.  Those who were still awake gave the professor their full attention.  “I am Professor Emory and I will be your teacher for charms and pixie magic this year.  You may also have me for world history, summoning, and or biology.  My teaching manual says that I should stop for questions after explaining a concept.  I am your teacher.  Are there any questions?”  he asked.  By this point, most of the students who had been knocked out were waking up.  Several hands were raised.  Mr. Emory called on the one closest to him first.  “You!  Boy with perfect hair!” he declared, pointing to him.  The boy was tall, handsome and confident with a stack of notebooks on his desk.  

“You know, we do have names,” he joked.  Mr. Emory looked him dead in the eyes. 

 “Of course I know your name, Kanthla the splendid,” he replied.  The boy grew pale as the power of the name compelled him.  Mr. Emory shook his head.  “Ugh, of course.  What is it that people call you then?”  

“M… Mateo… Mateo Williams,” the boy stuttered.  

Mr. Emory nodded.  “And did you have any purpose in raising your hand besides informing me that you all have names?” he continued.  

“Would you mind telling us about yourself?  Most new teachers do.  Just to get to know you.  It’s cool if you asked us questions too”  Mateo replied.  Mr. Emory stared into the distance.  To know Haa’dal was to know death.  His face was despair and his touch was the emptiness of space.  He was the hungering void which never slept.  The fire that burns and the cold, lifeless ash it leaves behind.  Still, he cast his thoughts back to days long past, and dug up an answer.  

“I used to grow oleanders.  They don’t handle well where I live now though,”  Mr. Emory answered.  

Mateo’s eyes lit up.  “Gardening!  I love gardening, and my girlfriend, and football, and track, and there are some really cool clubs here.  I even run some of them!”  Mateo’s unfettered enthusiasm gave Mr. Emory a headache. 

 “Thank you for sharing,” Mr. Emory hissed.  Within moments, the entire class was filled with chirping students eager to share about themselves, or at least delay class.  “Enough!  I will point at you, you will tell me your name, and something about yourself!”  Mr. Emory said sharply.  Each student, one by one, regaled the class about themselves, some even dragged in their summer.  Mr. Emory waited patiently, carefully taking note of everything that was said.  If he were to concoct a scheme to best teach these whelps, he would need to know them.  As the last student finished, Mr. Emory opened his curriculum of pixie magic.  “With that out of the way, we are able to begin class,” Mr. Emory said.  As soon as the words left his lips, the bell rang, and all of the students rushed out of the classroom.  Mr. Emory closed his book, and with a sigh, waited for the next set of students to arrive.  

The cycle of doing nothing continued until lunch.  Mr. Emory was gravely annoyed by this.  Still, he was almost impressed by the fact that the school provided lunch.  When he was young, his lunch was a singular date per week.  In recent day, he had eaten nothing aside from wheat squares.  As he was sitting at his desk, voraciously scooping cereal into his mouth, another teacher stepped in.  Mr. Emory’s eyes shot over to him.  “Hi, I’m Andrew, Andrew Ross.  I teach English in the class next to yours,” the teacher said.

“I am Hayden Emory.  You are acknowledged, Andrew,”  Hayden replied.  Mr. Ross chuckled. 

 “How’s your first day teaching?” he asked. 

 Hayden shook his head.  “Dreadful.  By the time I get to doing anything, the period is over,” he replied.  

Mr. Ross nodded.  “Sometimes it feels like there aren't enough hours in the day, but what can we do,”  he responded.  A problem solving look washed Hayden’s face.  “I’ve been spending my first day getting to know my students and issuing a pretest.  I’ve had the same routine for the past ten years,”  Mr. Ross said. 

 Hayden cocked his head.  “Pretest?” he asked.  

“Just to see what they know already.  Helps me figure out what I need to put more focus on,”  Mr.  Ross replied. 

 “That is a marvelous idea.  I'll have to write one up,”  Hayden responded.  

“Yeah, I’ve always found them useful.  I’m not sure how much I’d expect though.  District’s been taking money out of the magic department for awhile.  You’ll have your work cut out for you,”  Mr. Ross said.  Hayden was confused. 

 “And putting it where?” he asked.  

“The district spent all of its money on this building, and now, doesn’t have any cash left for anything else,”  Mr. Ross explained.  Hayden looked around.  The building was brightly colored and open.  It was probably new, though most buildings that weren't in ruins looked new to him.  “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your lunch.  Good talking to you!”  Mr. Ross said, walking out the room. 

 “Yes…” Hayden replied, his voice was distant.  

Lunch ended and his last set of students for the day arrived promptly.  This was his summoning class, which Mateo was also in.  “Ah, Mateo, you seem to have all of my classes,”  Mr. Emory noted. 

 “You’re the only pixie magic, summoning and advanced bio teacher.  I guess I just lucked into being in your history class too,” he replied, energetic as ever.  

“I don’t believe in luck,” he replied sharply before turning to the rest of the class.  “I will point at you, you will tell me your name, and some things about yourself.  You are not, and I must stress this, required to share,” Mr. Emory instructed.  There was no one who didn't share.  As the last story carried along, and the class neared its end, Mr. Emory smiled with an idea.  

“Thank you, Andrew Ross, he said to himself.  When the last story finished he grabbed his book and began the lecture.  “This is a beginners' summoning class.  By the end of the year, you will be able to summon lesser elementals and other extra-planar beings.  Once your basis of theoretical knowledge is established, you will provide me with hands-on demonstrations of your aptitude by summoning creatures from the outer stretches of reality.  With that out of the way, we will begin with unit one, the summoning circle.  My book says that some teachers give students a diagram, but I fully expect you to have this memorized,”  Mr. Emory pointed and a circle was inscribed on the board.   A student raised her hand.  “Yes, Nubian,” Mr. Emory called.  

“Professor, that's a smart board.  It's digital,” she said.  Mr. Emory stared at the board.  

“Nothing strikes me about this board to be particularly intelligent, and I’ve never heard the word ‘digital’ in my life, and I’ve been around for a very long time,”  he replied.  Nubian shook her head. 

 “Nevermind, Professor,” she said.  Mr. Emory nodded and continued on with his lecture.  There was a minute until the bell rang, and it stayed that way.  Mr. Emory continued giving his lecture and taking questions.  He had managed to dispense a notebook’s worth of information in this time, speaking slowly and keenly.  After what felt like hours of intense study, Mateo was the only one still sitting at perfect attention.  A boy raised his hand.  

“Yes, Andy,” Mr. Emory called.  

“Professor, can we go now?  It's been five hours!” he exhaled.  A similar sentiment was prevalent throughout the class.  

“It’s a minute till, can you wait a minute?”  Mr. Emory asked in reply.  

“It's been a minute until the bell for five hours!  I’ve been counting!” Andy responded.  

“The clock’s not broken, the bell hasn’t rang, and none of the other classes have been dismissed,” Mr. Emory smirked.  “But since you said something…”  The bell rang suddenly.  “We’ll pick up tomorrow.  Make sure to work on memorizing the summoning circle,” He said.  Students gathered their things and began trudging out the door.  “Sharp, sharp indeed,” Mr. Emory said as Andy walked past.  The overhead speakers blared.  

“Will the following teachers please submit attendance: Emory, Gruber, North…”

Mr. Emory had returned to the shadow realm.  “Zanrl!” he called, and Zanrl was there.  “How was your first day, master?”  Zanrl asked.  

“I have an eclectic set of students.  There's one in particular who has the air of a hero about him,”  Mr. Emory said. 

 “It's a good career path.  There’s wealth and acclaim.  The number of successful evil overlords is on the decline, so it has a very low mortality rate,” Zanrl replied.  

“I could’ve been a hero… but power,” Mr. Emory said, nostalgia covering his face.  

“You’re a hero to us!”  screeched an apparition from the palace’s upper reaches. 

 “I’m glad you think so, dread terror,”  Mr. Emory replied.