The Iron Trial

by Holly Black

  “No.” His father almost twitched a smile. “They don’t, do they?” He sighed again. “I miss you around here, Callum.”

  “I miss you, too.” Call felt his throat narrow.

  “I’ll see you when school’s out,” his dad said.

  Call nodded, not trusting his voice, and passed a hand over the surface of the globe. The image of his father vanished. He sat and stared at the device. Now that there was nothing in it, he could see a little of his reflection in the glass. Same black hair, same gray eyes, same slightly pointed nose and chin. Everything familiar. He didn’t look like Constantine Madden. He looked like Callum Hunt.

  “I’ll take that,” Rufus said, and plucked the globe from his hand. He was smiling. “You should probably stay here for a day or so, to rest your injuries and heal completely. In the meantime, there are two people who’ve been waiting very patiently to see you.”

  Master Rufus strode over to the Infirmary door and threw it open.

  Tamara and Aaron rushed in.

  Being in the Infirmary when you’d gotten injured being awesome was totally different from being in the Infirmary for doing something dumb. Classmates kept coming to visit him. Everyone wanted to hear the story over and over again, everyone wanted to hear how scary the Chaos-ridden were and how Call had fought a chaos elemental. Everyone wanted to hear about the sign crashing through the roof and laugh at the part where Call passed out.

  Gwenda and Celia brought him candy bars from home. Rafe brought a pack of cards and they played Go Fish on top of his blankets. Call had never realized how many people in the Magisterium knew who he was. Even some of the older students came by, like Tamara’s sister, Kimiya, who was super tall and so serious that she scared Call when she told him how glad she was that Tamara had him for a friend, and Alex, who produced a bag of Call’s favorite sour gummies and grinningly warned him about how all this hero stuff was making the rest of the school look bad.

  Even Jasper visited him, which was extremely awkward. He shuffled in, looking nervous as he tugged on the raggedy cashmere scarf he was wearing over his uniform. “I brought you a sandwich from the Gallery,” he said, handing it over to Call. “It’s lichen, of course, but it tastes like tuna. I hate tuna.”

  “Thanks,” Call said, turning the sandwich over. It was oddly warm, which made him think it had probably been in Jasper’s pocket.

  “I just wanted to tell you,” Jasper said, “that everyone’s talking about what you did, rescuing Aaron, and I wanted you to know, that I also thought that it was a good thing. What you did. And that it’s okay. That you got my place with Master Rufus. Because maybe you deserve it. So I’m not mad at you. Anymore.”

  “Way to make it all about you, Jasper,” said Call, who had to admit he was enjoying the moment.

  “Right,” Jasper said, yanking so furiously on his scarf that a piece of it almost came off. “Good talk. Enjoy the sandwich.”

  He staggered out, and Call watched him go with amusement. He realized he was glad it seemed that Jasper didn’t hate him anymore, although he did throw out the sandwich, just to be safe.

  Tamara and Aaron visited as much as they were allowed, throwing themselves on Call’s bed like it was a trampoline, eager to fill him in on everything that was going on while he was laid up. Aaron explained how he’d vouched for Havoc with the Masters, claiming that as the Makar, he needed to study a Chaos-ridden creature. They hadn’t liked it, but they’d allowed it, and Havoc was going to be a permanent fixture in their rooms from now on. Tamara said that the way they let Aaron get away with stuff was going to go to his head and make him even more annoying than Call. They talked and joked so loudly that Master Amaranth released Call early just to get some peace and quiet. Which was probably a good idea, since Call was getting used to the idea of lying around all day and having people bring him things. Another week and he might have never left.

  Five days after coming back from the Enemy’s compound, Call returned to his studies. He got into the boat with Aaron and Tamara a little stiffly; his injured leg was almost healed, but it was still hard to move around. Upon their arrival in front of their classroom, Master Rufus was waiting.

  “Today, we’re going to do something a little different,” he said, gesturing down the hall. “We’re going to visit the Hall of Graduates.”

  “We’ve been there before,” Tamara said, before Call could kick her. If Master Rufus wanted to take them on a field trip instead of teaching them boring exercises, then better to go along with it. Also, Master Rufus didn’t know they’d been in the Hall of Graduates, since they’d been busy being lost and messing up an assignment at the time.

  “Oh, is that so?” Master Rufus said, beginning to walk. “And what did you see there?”

  “The handprints of people who’ve gone to the Magisterium before,” Aaron said, following along. “Some of their relatives. Call’s mother.”

  They walked through a door that Master Rufus opened with his wristband, and down a spiral staircase made of white stone. “Anything else?”

  “The First Gate,” Tamara told him, looking around in confusion. They hadn’t gone this way before. “But it wasn’t on.”

  “Ah.” Master Rufus passed his wristband in front of the solid wall and watched as it shimmered and disappeared, revealing another room beyond it. Rufus was smiling at their surprise. “Yes, there are some routes through the school you don’t know yet.”

  They stepped into a room that Call remembered passing through when he’d thought they were lost, with long stalactites and steaming mud heating the air. He spun around, wondering if he’d be able to retrace his way to the door that Master Rufus just showed them, but even if he could, he wasn’t sure his wristband would open it.

  They ducked through another doorway and found themselves inside the Hall of Graduates. One of the archways seemed to be roiling with some substance, something membranous and alive. The carved words Prima Materia glowed with an odd light, as though illuminated from within the letters’ grooves.

  “Uh,” Call said. “What’s that?”

  The small grin on Master Rufus’s face transformed into a wide smile. “You all see it? Good. I thought so. That means you’re ready to pass through the First Gate, the Gate of Control. After you pass through it, you will be considered a mage in your own right, and I will give you the metal for your wristband that formally confers upon you the status of Copper Year students. How far you go in your studies after this point will be up to you, but I believe that all three of you are some of the best apprentices I have ever had the pleasure to teach. I hope you continue your studies.”

  Call looked at Tamara and Aaron. They were grinning at each other and at him. Then Aaron put up a tentative hand.

  “But I thought — I mean this is great, but aren’t we supposed to pass through the gate at the end of the year? When we graduate?”

  Master Rufus raised both his bushy eyebrows. “You are apprentices. That means you learn what you’re ready to learn and you pass through the gates when you’re ready, not after and certainly not before. If you can see the gate, then you’re ready. Tamara Rajavi, you first.”

  She stepped forward, shoulders back, and walked up to the gate with an awed expression on her face, like she couldn’t quite believe it was happening. Reaching out, she touched the swirling center and made a sharp sound, pulling back her fingers in amazement. She glanced over at Call and Aaron, and then, still grinning, stepped through, disappearing from view.

  “Now you, Aaron Stewart.”

  “Okay,” Aaron said, nodding and looking a little nervous. He wiped his palms against his gray uniform pants, as though they’d become sweaty. Stepping up to the gate, he threw up his arms and hurled himself into whatever was beyond it, like a football player making a touchdown.

  Master Rufus shook his head in amusement, but didn’t otherwise comment on Aaron’s gate-crossing technique. “Callum Hunt, go ahead,” he said.

  Call swallowed and moved across the room tow
ard the gate. He remembered what Master Rufus had said, back when he’d told Call why he took him on. Until a mage passes through the First Gate, his or her magic can be bound by one of the Masters. You would be unable to access the elements, unable to use your power.

  If his magic were bound, then Callum couldn’t become the Enemy of Death. Couldn’t even become like him.

  That was what his father had asked Master Rufus to do, sending along Constantine Madden’s wristband as a warning. Standing there in front of the gate, Call finally admitted it to himself: Tamara had been right when she’d said his father’s warning hadn’t been about keeping Call safe. It had been about keeping other people safe from him.

  This was Call’s last chance — his final chance. If he walked through the Gate of Control, his magic could no longer be bound. There would no longer be any easy way to make the world safe from him. To make sure he could never turn on Aaron. To make sure he would never become Constantine Madden.

  He thought about going back to regular school, where he didn’t have any friends, of spending weekends under the grim eye of his father. He thought of never seeing Aaron and Tamara again and of all the adventures they’d have without him. He thought about Havoc in his bedroom back home and how miserable the wolf would be. He thought of Celia and Gwenda and Rafe and even Master Rufus, thought of the Refectory and the Gallery and all the tunnels he’d never get to explore.

  Maybe if he told, things wouldn’t go like Master Joseph said. Maybe they wouldn’t bind his magic. Maybe they’d help him. Maybe they’d even tell him that the whole soul thing was impossible — that he was only Callum Hunt and there was nothing to be afraid of, because he wasn’t going to become a monster in a silver mask.

  But maybe wasn’t good enough.

  Stepping forward, taking a deep breath and ducking his head, Call walked through the Gate of Control. Magic washed over him, pure and powerful.

  He could hear Tamara and Aaron on the other side, laughing.

  And despite himself, despite the terrible thing he was doing, despite all of it, Call began to grin.

  Holly Black and Cassandra Clare first met over ten years ago at Holly’s first-ever book signing. They have since become good friends, bonding over (among other things) their shared love of fantasy — from the sweeping vistas of The Lord of the Rings to the gritty tales of Batman in Gotham City to the classic sword-and-sorcery epics to Star Wars. With Magisterium, they decided to team up to write their own story about heroes and villains, good and evil, and being chosen for greatness, whether you like it or not.

  Holly is the bestselling author and co-creator of The Spiderwick Chronicles series and won a Newbery Honor for her novel Doll Bones. Cassie is the author of bestselling YA series, including The Mortal Instruments and The Infernal Devices. They both live in Western Massachusetts, about ten minutes away from each other. This is their first collaboration, and marks the start of a five-book series.

  Copyright © 2014 by Holly Black and Cassandra Claire LLC

  Illustrations © 2014 by Scott Fischer

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014937300

  First edition, September 2014

  Cover art by Alexandre Chaudret, © 2014 Scholastic Inc.

  Cover design by Whitney Lyle & Christopher Stengel

  Lettering by Jim Tierny, © 2014 Scholastic Inc.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-52227-4

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.