by Edun, Terah
As their group moved forward through the crowd, Allorna could see a veritable feast laid out on one long buffet table situated horizontally along the far wall, with enough space for students to form a line along each side. As they came closer, she took note of the dates stuffed with nuts and dripping with honey: her favorite dish. She smiled wryly and thought, At least dinner will be good.
With a smile and a nod, Candis left them to fend for themselves.
They each took a plate and walked along the table gathering food, while commenting on the generosity of the dishes lying on the table. The magical exertions and long night had taken a lot out of Allorna, and she was sure that the same was true of Maride and Sidimo as well.
When they finished gathering their respective meals, they beelined for an alcove where they could talk in private. A small round table with brown cushions snuggled around it was the perfect choice. It was in a secluded corner far enough away from the students sitting on the central tables to leave them feeling comfortable, but close enough that the room attendants had no cause for alarm.
Maride, of course, dug right in. Sidimo followed suit with a shrug, and Allorna people-watched for a while as she settled on the corner cushion facing the student diners. As they were cleaning the last morsels from their plates a few moments later, Sidimo asked suddenly, “Since when are we here to study?”
“If you had a better idea, you could have spoken up,” Allorna said tartly. “I did the best I could under the circumstances.”
He nodded. “I agree. So we test for this, we decline enrollment when we pass, and we return home. Right?”
Scowling, Maride retorted, “You may be returning, but I didn’t particularly like my accommodations…as snazzy as it was to have a whole tower to myself.”
“Why the hell were you in there in the first place?” snapped Sidimo.
Maride slumped, the abject picture of a kicked puppy. “It wasn’t my fault…” he began, just as the blonde Probate walked up to their nook.
“If you’re all finished,” Candis said, “I’ll be happy to escort you to the temporary guest dorms.” Belying the friendless in her voice, she didn’t wait for an answer; she simply turned and began walking towards the entrance. They scrambled up to follow her, grabbing their bags and empty plates. With a backward glance she said, “Leave the plates there. They’ll be picked up by the student workers.”
Vedaris:
He was awake again. This time he was alone in the room, except for a person two beds down on the opposite side.
He winced as he pushed himself up in the bed, then looked around, calculating his next move. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, he could smell illness. He frowned. As a Sahelian, his sense of smell was generally better than a Human’s. But the illness was…wrong somehow. It stank not of death, but of malaise.
He realized that the scent was wafting from the immobile form between him and the door. As he approached the cot he saw that it, she, wore breeches and a breast band with bandages around her middle. The stink came from the bandages. But they were unstained, by blood or any other fluid.
His curiosity getting the better of him, he leaned over—not close enough to get whacked on the head, just in case, but enough to more clearly see what was invisible to the naked eye. It was almost if a haze hovered over her wound. With a glance at the girl’s face—kind of a sweet face, actually—he inhaled the smog. That was what his kind did when they encountered something unknown: they tasted it, sniffed it, savored it. The complex chemistry of the saliva in their mouths allowed Sahelians to identify the unusual and even the toxic, which is why it was impossible to poison a Sahelian. Orally, at least.
He didn’t know why or how, but as soon as the molecules hit his lips, the smell went from malaise to…nothing. Tasteless, clear air; quite the disappointment, actually. He’d been hoping for something more dramatic, or at least something that allowed him to figure out what it was.
Sitara:
She felt deathly ill, floating in a miasma of uncleanness. It surrounded her, suffocating her. Then she felt an intense pull, a tugging at her core—like something was pulling on her essence, demanding a piece of her.
She woke, surging upward and smacking straight in the face of a sharp-faced boy with brown eyes. “Ow!” he howled, along with a few choice words as he stumbled back.
Sitara looked around wide-eyed, in shock and ready to spring from the bed.
The brown-eyed boy stood a few steps back from the bed, a scowl on his face, staring at her. “Who are you?” they both shouted at once.
Sitara frowned and bit her lip. “I asked first!”
“Not really,” he snapped back.
“Sitara, then.”
He frowned. “What? What’d you call me?”
“My name is Sitara,” she growled, thinking, Idiot. “And you?”
“Vedaris.” After a long moment, he demanded, “Well, where’d you come from?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
He frowned. “No, I meant, how did you get here?”
She cocked an eyebrow; but before she could formulate an answer, the door opened. They both turned to see that the female healer was back. She strode toward them, frowning upon seeing Vedaris standing far from his bed and Sitara sitting up. “You two should both be resting,” she scolded.
Vedaris rolled his eyes as she stopped in front of him. “How’d I get here?” he demanded.
With a sharp look at him, Sitara muttered, “Looks like you should answer your own question before asking me.” Vedaris favored her with a frown, and the healer held up a hand to forestall any further argument.
“We’ve yet to figure that out,” the young woman said, “but I will continue to search for an answer with my Research colleagues. I’m sure they’ll find your case very interesting.”
“Yeah, well, send me a letter when they finally figure it out, will you?”
The healer looked quizzical.”There’s no need. I’ll just find you in your School and tell you myself.”
Vedaris:
He blinked at the lady healer. He had no idea what she was talking about. But he was among the sharper swords in the arsenal— had to be to survive as he had—and saw no need to dissuade her of any notion she might have before he found out what in the world she meant. “Ah yes, of course. My School.”
“We’re so excited! We haven’t had a Sahelian candidate in quite some time,” the healer gushed.
No dreck, he thought. His people didn’t have the highest regard for Humans, who had once been considered meals and were now viewed as reluctant allies at best.
“But of course,” she continued, “you’ll still have to test for School placement alongside your friend here. Not that I have any doubt you’ll be placed,” she added cheerfully.
Vedaris frowned, both at the reference to a “friend” and at the thought that he would once more have to face and fail a magical exam. Stuff that.
At this point, Sitara interjected something into the conversation—but to his surprise, it was not a denial of the friend comment. “We haven’t been introduced. My name is Sitara.”
The healer bowed slightly. “My apologies for referring to you out of turn,” she replied. “My name is Roble. I’m sure you and your other friends will do well here.”
Vedaris just stood looking at the healer. Only his eyes, which had darkened to a murky olive brown, showed how quickly thoughts were flying through his head, and only a Sahelian would pick up on that.
With a sigh, Roble clapped her hands. “Well, that’s enough talking for tonight. You both should rest up for the testing tomorrow.”
Chapter 5
The day dawned bright and early—far too early. Sidimo, whose internal clock was always correct, was still snuggled under the covers, ruing the day he’d initiated a friendship bond with Allorna. The irritating noises echoing in the small room didn’t help. Maride’s snores ripped
down from the bunk bed above. Birds chirped outside the window. He normally wasn’t a morning person, today even more so. Deathkeepers usually kept late hours. Not many people would risk being seen with one in the light of day, even a mere trainee.
He rolled over and sat up, looking around at his clean but boring surroundings. The whole length of the room could be traversed from door to window in three steps. Their bunk beds took up the entire right wall. A desk and chair sat facing the left wall.
Sighing, he got out of bed, climbed up the bunk ladder to shake Maride awake, and then dropped down to the floor. “Wake up,” he said loudly. “The day is upon us!”
A muffled grunt was Maride’s only reply.
Just then, a knock sounded on the wooden door. Grumbling, Sidimo stumbled to the door to open it.
Allorna stood in the doorway with a cloth napkin in hand, looking annoyingly chipper. As Sidimo stepped back to let her in, Maride poked his head out of his nest of covers, nose first. “Do I smell meat?” he asked hopefully.
In answer, she unwrapped her napkin, upon which rested three golden beef patties. By then, Sidimo had moved into the corner with their knapsacks, where he shrugged his tunic on over his bare chest. Maride, still clad in yesterday’s clothes, scooted over to the bearer of his breakfast with a smile on his face.
“Well,” she said quietly, “Today’s the day.”
Maride and Sidimo just looked at her, and she grimaced. Then they all turned and headed out the door. They had ten minutes to get to the atrium where their guide would meet them for the test.
On the other side of the Madrassa, Vedaris and Sitara were getting dressed for their own tests.
The healers had reapplied salve to Sitara’s burn, determined that she should rest for at least another hour; and now she sat in a wooden wheelchair, pushed by a young male student maintaining a steady stream of one-sided conversation as they exited the healing facilities together. All these Madrassans talked too much, it seemed. Neither Sitara nor Vedaris contributed much to his ramblings; their thoughts were over-filled with the previous day’s events.
They found three youths, two male and one female, already waiting in the atrium. All three wore what looked like stained travel clothes…not that Sitara or Vedaris were clothed any better. The two groups glanced at each other and then away, as if the checkered white-and-black marble rolling beneath the wheels of Sitara’s chair was the most fascinating design in the world.
After a few minutes of awkward silence and sneaked side glances, an older man dressed in ornate formal robes entered. He strode to the center of the chamber, and gestured for the five young adults to gather round.
“I am Masadi,” he said gravely. “Some of you have met me before. For those who have not, I am the Headmaster of the Healing Hall. You may address me as Healer Masadi.” He looked at each of them in turn. “I welcome you all to the halls of the Madrassa—an academy intended not merely for learning the skills of a practicum, but also a practitioner’s academy, where those far advanced in their fields come to strengthen their skills, test their magic, and further the knowledge of the various Schools. This morning you five will face the admissions test for entrance.”
Vedaris twitched when Masadi caught his eye, thinking, Why’s he looking at me?
“I don’t have to tell you that hundreds of students of all backgrounds come to these halls hoping for a place among the Schools,” Masadi continued. “We are very fortunate in the aptitude and quality of our students, and hope they take the knowledge and responsibility of what they’ve learned here seriously.”
His eyes wandered over each of the candidates to emphasize his point. Again with the looking at me! Vedaris exclaimed in his head. And what’s her problem? This time he cast a glance at the female stranger, who stood ramrod straight in front of Masadi—almost as if she were at attention.
“Sir,” Sitara said with a polite wave of her hand. “Could you perhaps explain a little more about the Schools themselves?”
“Ah yes, excellent question. Miss Sitara, isn’t it?”
Sitara nodded as she slowly twisted her loose braid on her shoulder.
Masadi began in a pedantic tone, “There are eight Schools here at the Madrassa. Four correspond to the natural elements: Air, Fire, Earth, and Water. Within the four elemental Schools, there are many sub-specialties and even cross-specialties. For instance, we have initiates in the School of Earth who focus on Metallurgy, and thus take classes in the School of Fire as well.
“In addition to the four elemental schools, there are the Schools of Healing, Politics, Research, and the Unknown. Again, all have sub-specialties, with the School of Research bearing the distinction of having two primary tracks—Magical Research and Dormant Research. Should you pass the entrance exam and the Probate qualifying exams in your second year, you will be able to declare a sub-specialty in your School.
“As I have said, I have the honor of serving as the Headmaster of the Healing School; and in the course of this test you will meet some of the other Headmasters, as well as several of the Initiates who teach the classes. Nothing further about the Schools or the academy will be discussed until you pass your tests.” Nodding pleasantly, Masadi commanded, “Now please follow me.”
He turned around and walked through the tall glass doors leading to the inner courtyard, the five young people following obediently.
They crossed the courtyard to a larger domed room, where they found seven representatives waiting for them, one for each of the other Schools. Each of the seven stood in front of a glowing pool of light rippling on the floor: horizontal portalways, apparently.
Masadi walked forward, to stand in front of the portalway to the left of the Fire Headmaster, who wore an orange ceramic badge resembling a flame on his breast. Off to the side, a figure cloaked in shadow—heretofore unnoticed—gestured the five young people forward. “Each of you must confront the test alone,” a soft voice hissed. “Enter the first empty portalway you come to.”
They stepped forward in unison, Maride clutching a pagan symbol to his chest and Sidimo mouthing a silent prayer.
At first, there was darkness.
As Allorna looked up, the very air began to glow with waves of rippling fire. Soon, it flickered all around her.
The colors flashed in the corners of her eyes; first purple, then she would turn and it would be red; yellow would appear mid-flow; and orange would crackle along the seams. The flame cycled repeatedly through the visible spectrum, sometimes in sequence, more often randomly. The only constant was the milky portal below her feet.
The waves were pretty for a while; but then the room began to grow warmer, and eventually, unbearably hot. The air began to shimmer and ripple with the compacted heat.
She could barely breathe. Her vision began to blur; in seconds, she could see nothing but intertwining ribbons of flame, throbbing with every color of the rainbow and beyond. She turned and turned, hoping to see the room she’d entered by…but nothing was visible through the brilliant curtain.
Licks of heat tore along her arms. Her hair felt like it might melt from her skull. Sweat poured down her body. “Please!” she screamed, “Let me out! Release me!” Then, “I demand it,” she insisted, “In the name of the Emperor!” Her last shout ended in a cough as she doubled over to escape the searing flames.
She stumbled off the portalway, but found no surcease, saw no clear ground. The flagstones of the chamber were gone, leaving nothing but a living flame; and as her desperation grew, the flames grew as well. She would perish in this godsforsaken hellhole!
She fell, and her breathing became labored and deep as she lay curled on the floor, which she could feel but still not see. Her fists clenched into her stomach, Allorna began the breathing exercise taught to all gardis recruits, the one that helped in water rescues and long thief chases.
She sucked the air between her teeth, trying to cool it down before it reached her throat. Breathe in, breathe out, she
chanted in her head. It’s only an illusion, a dream!
Then she felt it: a sensation as if the very air were throbbing, keeping time with her breaths. She began to take longer breaths, inhaling and exhaling while monitoring the pulse of the heat along her skin. Each time she exhaled, she felt calmer—and the heat lessened. She rose from her protective stance and crouched, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.
When she looked up, a man stood near her: a tall bearded Human, handsome, with fine, muscular arms. He gestured for Allorna to come forward. As she approached, he said, “Know that the Initiate or Headmaster you test with today will not necessarily represent the School that you may be chosen to attend. I am Locus, Headmaster of the School of Fire. Today, I will test you.”
“What?!” she cried, dumbfounded. “If that wasn’t the test, then pray tell exactly what I just endured!”
“You may call it the pre-test,” said Locus, “to ensure that you even have magical abilities in the first place. The breathing exercise can be performed by most young children to calm latent magical abilities.”
With a cheeky grin he continued, “Now the real fun begins.”
The frown on Allorna’s face spelled trouble of another sort.
Maride’s trial by fire was of a different sort.
As he stepped through the portal, he was met with the vision of a long stone corridor, stretching into the distance with no end in sight. As he looked around, seeing nothing but unbroken stone, noises began to echo all around him—horrible noises, the stuff of nightmares. He tried not to cower in fear.
He remembered from his long stretches in the library a book that spoke of the Citadel’s test within a test. That’s all this was, he told himself firmly, and he had to pass it. If he didn’t gain admittance, he’d have to return to the city, and certain death.
He began to step forward, shaking, but knowing he had no other choice.