The Test

by Todd Fahnestock

  But he couldn’t. If he left the academy now, his Soulblocks would collapse, and he’d become a normal. His magic would be stripped from him because he hadn’t completed the final ceremony where The Four themselves would give their blessing and strengthen his Soulblocks so he could use them outside these walls. Royal, Oriana, and Vale were actually going to meet The Four.

  And that would be the official end of Quad Brilliant.

  In a few short hours, Royal, Oriana, and Vale would be Quadrons. They’d likely never see each other again, save at opposite ends of a battlefield. They would be more powerful than anyone else, save other Quadrons and The Four themselves.

  Royal watched the wagon as it got smaller and smaller.

  “This way,” The Collector said, gesturing down the road. Royal paused one last, long moment, then turned and followed the line of masters. The students lining the road had already started back to the Dome and they slowly filed inside.

  Royal, Oriana, and Vale followed the masters at the back of the procession until every single student in the academy had entered the Dome.

  The Collector led them up the shallow steps and through one of the archways, a different one than they’d entered for their Test. He took them to a room with a round table and three chairs.

  “Wait here,” he said, then closed the door.

  The room was circular, unlike their testing room, and everything within was made of white marble. The table, the walls, the floor and ceiling. Even the chairs were marble, and they looked like they had been carved directly from the floor, more sculpture than furniture. There were no adornments on the walls, no windows, and only one thick wooden door—the one through which they’d entered.

  Oriana lowered herself onto one of the hard chairs, crossed her legs, and put her hands on her knees like she was posing for a portrait. Vale stood, distracted, behind a second marble chair, gripping its back with her small hands.

  Royal looked from Oriana to Vale, then back. Neither of them would meet his gaze.

  “What happened?” he finally asked.

  Vale looked up with red-rimmed eyes. She began crying again and looked away.

  “Brom died,” Oriana said matter-of-factly.

  “That part I know,” Royal growled. “How?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked.

  “It matters to me.”

  “What was promised has been delivered. We came to the Champions Academy to be Quadrons. We did. They said one of us would die before it was over. One of us did.” Her voice dropped to a near-silent whisper, and only because of his Impetu-enhanced ears did he hear her repeat, “What was promised has been delivered...”

  “How did he die?” Royal repeated.

  She shook her head.

  “I want to know.”

  “Be glad, Royal. Cherish your ignorance. It is a gift.”

  Vale turned her back to the chair and slid down the length of it to the floor, vanishing from sight, and sobbed.

  “Tell me,” he insisted.

  Oriana’s gaze became unfocused, looking past him like she didn’t see him, and her chin lifted. He clenched his fist. He’d never wanted to throttle Oriana more than he did at this moment. Arrogant Keltovari!

  “HOW!” he yelled so loudly it hurt his own ears. Oriana actually startled. Vale leapt to her feet, her eyes wide and her tears forgotten.

  Oriana glared at him, her eyes wild for the first time since he’d known her. Her silver eyebrows crouched angrily. And, by Fendra, he saw tears there.

  “We betrayed him,” she stated.

  The rage drained from Royal, and he felt cold, like his blood was draining away too. His fists fell to his sides, nerveless. “You didn’t...”

  “We did,” she said, “what was necessary. The Test became progressively harder for each of us when one succeeded. Brom was the first to emerge. He... It is possible he saved my life. I’d spent my Soulblocks. I’d escaped my mirror, but I was being drawn back in, and he stopped it. And you barely emerged with your life. Vale was the last. Once all three of us emerged, her Test became impossible. She was doomed.”

  Royal looked at Vale, and she looked back at him through welling tears. In her gaze, he saw regret and terrible sorrow. He saw self-loathing.

  “He saved Vale,” Royal whispered.

  “He took her place, pushed her out of her Test,” Oriana said. “Her Test became his, and it killed him.”

  “It was going to be me,” Vale whispered. “It was going to be me.”

  Confused, Royal said, “Then how did you betray him?”

  “We didn’t,” Vale said. “There was nothing we could do for him.”

  “He wants to know the truth, then let him hear the truth,” Oriana said, and her haughty sneer returned. “Royal wants to be a leader of the people. Let him bear the burden of knowledge.”

  “What are you talking about?” Royal said.

  “We could have thrown our lot in with him, Fendiran,” she said. “He asked us for help. He reached out to us. There was a brief moment we could have followed him through that portal.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he growled.

  “Because we would have died. We could choose to become Quadrons or die together with Brom. We chose to become Quadrons.”

  “What?” Royal roared.

  “You bitch,” Vale growled.

  Oriana leveled her glare on Vale. “You could have stayed with him, Vale. You could have run back to him. You didn’t. You didn’t believe he was right, just as I didn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” Royal demanded.

  She turned her gaze back to him. “Brom saw something. His Anima wisdom showed him something none of the rest of us could see. I think if we’d followed him into his Test, the three of us might have had some kind of chance. If Vale and I had stepped through that portal, Brom felt there was a chance we’d have all emerged alive.”

  “Why didn’t you do it!” Royal roared.

  Her indigo gaze pierced him like fishhooks. “Because there were two seconds to decide. Because it was impossible. From what I could see, we would only have died, but Brom...” She shook her head. “My Soulblocks were spent. Vale’s were spent. We might have elevated his Soulblocks...a little,” she said. “Who can say if it would have been enough? I calculated we could not give him enough to make a difference.”

  “You calculated?” Royal growled.

  “You wanted the truth,” Oriana said. “That is the truth. Now bear its bitter sting.”

  “You calculated!” he roared. He lunged at her so fast she barely had time to flinch. He clenched her neck in his hand and lifted her up, slammed her against the wall.

  Her whole body tensed, but she didn’t struggle.

  “Royal!” Vale screamed. “Stop it!”

  But this was his moment. He could kill her now. His people would applaud him. One quick twist and the heir to the Keltovari throne would die. She’d never have time to mind stab him before he snapped her neck.

  He should do it for all the crimes her people had committed against Fendir, but most of all he should kill her for her betrayal of Brom. She had calculated his death!

  She twisted her head to the side so she could breathe. “Kill me,” she rasped. “Do it. But know that you damned Brom every bit as much as I. I simply have the courage...to face it.”

  “I damned him?” he roared incredulously. “I was unconscious!”

  “Exactly,” she choked.

  The fire left Royal’s breast. He held onto her a moment longer, but there was suddenly no strength in his arm. He dropped her, and she collapsed to the floor, coughing vigorously. He backed away.

  “You...” she coughed. “If we’d had you, I would have taken that risk. Our chances would have doubled. That I would have tried.”

  “Liar!”

  “No.” She slapped a hand against the ground and pushed herself to her knees. Her shimmering white dress was scuffed, wrinkled. She rose on shaky legs. “I spent one precious moment hoping
you’d rise in time. I even looked for you, but you were unconscious. And that was the end of it.”

  “Because you calculated...” He spat.

  “Someone had to,” she said.

  “I hate you...” he whispered. “I hate you and everything you stand for.”

  “Well,” she said icily, “I shall endeavor to live with the disappointment.” She rubbed the angry red marks on her throat, left by his hand. “You got what you came for. We all did. In a few short moments, we’ll be Quadrons. Take your prize and be grateful, Fendiran. Take your righteousness and return to Fendir. But stop pretending that Brom’s life meant more to you than becoming a Quadron, because it didn’t.” She turned her fiery gaze on Vale. “And don’t you pretend, either, urchin.”

  “If I had a knife—” Vale began.

  “You’d fling your steel and your emotions around with reckless abandon,” Oriana interrupted. “We know. But you wouldn’t have traded places with Brom. I was there. You had a chance and you didn’t. That is the truth. It’s true for all of us and it always was.”

  “I hate you!” Vale screamed, clenching her little fists.

  “And so here we are,” Oriana said. “Precisely where we began. Let Quad Brilliant die here. It has served its purpose.”

  She paused a long moment, as though waiting for Royal or Vale to say anything else. When they didn’t, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Now...” she said in her arrogant princess voice. “If either of you try to touch me again, I will burn your minds out.”

  Royal clenched his fists. He almost went for her but he held his rage in check long enough for his reason to save him. If he attacked her, he might have the chance to kill her, but this time she would be ready. She’d definitely kill him. And then he’d never be able to use his new powers to help his people.

  “I will see you on the battlefield,” he growled.

  “No,” she said through her teeth. “I have soldiers who do that sort of thing for me.”

  “I don’t want to see either of you ever again,” Vale swore. “The best of this fucking Quad was Brom.”

  “Indeed,” Oriana agreed coldly, and then she ignored both of them and stared at the wall.

  Vale looked as if she might leap on Oriana like a feral cat and finish the job Royal had started, but she stayed where she was, red in the face, fists clenched.

  They’d all recovered enough to have at least some magic to use, and Oriana didn’t make idle threats. That was the last time Royal or Vale would ever put their hands on the Keltovari princess.

  The door opened. As a group, they turned.

  The Collector entered, sliding his hands into the dagged sleeves of his black robe. There was a smile on the mouth that peeked out from underneath his cowl as he surveyed the tense scene. He waited a long moment, watching them, as if he was too polite to interrupt.

  “Well,” he said, “if you aren’t going to kill each other, then let us begin the ceremony. Shall we?” He gave the barest of nods toward the open door. “Today, your dreams come true.”

  Oriana strode out without a word. Vale gave one rough swipe across her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve, then followed.

  Royal wanted to destroy something. He wanted to hurt someone. He’d longed for this moment for as long as he could remember, but now that it was here, all he felt was frustration and anger. All he tasted was bitter bile.

  He’d come here to be stronger, to gain power to protect his people, to start a new life where he could fight the Keltovari. But it all seemed hollow now.

  Oriana’s words burned inside him because she was right. And he hated it. Royal had failed. He was the Impetu. The protector. He was supposed to be the last man standing, not the first man down. If he’d been the protector he thought himself to be, he would have been on his feet at that final moment. He would have persevered until he could come to the aid of his Quad mates. And had he been there when Brom made his heroic choice, Royal would have stood with him. He’d have made the difference. He could have given Vale the spine she lacked. He could have given Oriana the correct numbers to complete her “calculations.” He could have brought them all to Brom’s aid, and they would have prevailed.

  Or if they had died, at least they’d have died as Quad Brilliant.

  “Come,” The Collector said in a soft voice, breaking Royal’s reverie. “It is time for you to receive what you deserve.”

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  The kiss was a dream. It had to be, because what it told him was a lie.

  Vale’s lips pressed against his lips. Then she moved further back, her cheek sliding against his, and she whispered in his ear.

  “I love you...”

  Except Vale had never told him that. She didn’t believe in love.

  Still, he drank in the sight of her: her liquid brown eyes, her tumbling hair, her mischievous smile. He wished it could be real. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, and he almost didn’t care if it was a lie—

  Vale’s eyes widened and her hair pulled tight, yanking her head back. She flew away from Brom into the arms of a tall thin man in white robes. Olivaard!

  The Mentis’s elongated face looked like it had been melted down to his chest. He drew a knife and held it to Vale’s throat.

  “He is going to feast on that feisty little Motus of yours....”

  “Vale!”

  “You’ve made that a certainty.”

  Brom reached for her, but the dream popped like a soap bubble. Darkness rushed in, surrounding him so absolutely he thought he’d gone blind. His hands thumped against hard wood, bending at the wrists. His arms fell weakly to his sides, and he sucked in a cold, stale breath. The air smelled of wet earth.

  Above him, there was a muffled digging sound.

  scratch scrape, scratch scrape, scratch scrape

  Disoriented, he felt around. His numb fingers groped in the blackness, hitting walls on all sides. Wood beneath him. Wood above. Wood below. Panic blossomed in his chest. Gods, he was in a coffin!

  I failed the Test. I’m dead. I died at the hands of The Four, and now Vale is at their mercy. Brom’s entire Quad was in danger.

  Above him, the rhythmic digging continued.

  scratch scrape, scratch scrape, scratch scrape

  His awareness expanded excruciatingly. It was as though he were made of ice, and hot water had been poured over him. His mind twisted, cracked, and popped as memory after memory returned. His muscles seized. His bones seemed about to snap.

  He moaned, clenching his fists in pain.

  scratch scrape, scratch...

  The rhythmic digging stopped. Whatever was up there had heard him moan.

  The digging began faster, frantic, like a badger trying to reach its prey.

  scrapescrapescrapescrape!

  Brom’s heart beat faster.

  scrapescrapescrapescrape THUMP...

  The noise boomed on the coffin lid. There was a pause, then claws tore into the wood, rending and cracking. A single claw broke through, creating a hole. Green fire lit the claw, and Brom saw the sea-green skin of the hand. Brom had only seen that color of skin once before—during his Test of Separation. This wasn’t a friend coming to dig him out. It was Linza, the Anima of The Four, still wearing that horrible disguise.

  He twisted away, and his elbow hit something hard and metal. He groped with it and held it up against the penetrating light. It was a wide-bladed dagger with a wicked hook at the end, a knife-fighter’s weapon. He touched the razor-sharp blade. This was his ceremonial weapon for the afterlife.

  He grabbed the cold bone handle and yanked the sheath off. The green fire from the claw lit up the confining space. He was in a coffin. They had buried him.

  The dead in the kingdom of Keltovar were given three things for their harrowing journey to the afterlife: a blanket to keep them warm, a pomegranate to consume—one seed for each day of the journey—and a weapon to fight the Ragged Man, the guardian of the wastelands, the last challenge that st
ood between a soul and Kelto’s promised paradise. The Ragged Man was said to have no face and was wrapped head-to-toe in tattered, multi-colored rags, each torn from the clothing of his victims.

  A wealthy man might be buried with the finest sword, the poor sometimes with no more than a sharpened stick. Brom’s parents, gods bless them, had given him a fine weapon, had sharpened and oiled it.

  Everyone knew about the Ragged Man, knew about the wastelands, but Brom wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.

  The frantic claw broke through again, making a second hole. Now a thumb and a finger thrust in. They were the same sea-green color, gnarled and incredibly strong-looking. They pinched the stubborn shard of wood and ripped it away.

  Moonlight spilled into the coffin, silver-blue and ghostly. Fendra’s moonlight. Now Brom could see everything—the withered knot of the pomegranate and the half-shredded blanket. The claw thrust back in to the elbow, slicing about, blind. Brom shrank away, just out of reach. His panicked mind screamed at him to stab the thing.

  But he waited.

  A frustrated growl came from above as the claw groped again. Linza grunted, breathing hard. She withdrew and began tearing at the lid, widening the hole, ripping great chunks away.

  Heart hammering, muscles tense, Brom gripped the smooth bone hilt of the dagger.

  This time a greenish, human-shaped head thrust through, looking, searching.

  Now!

  Brom stabbed the disguised Linza in the neck. She howled like a beast, vanishing back through the hole.

  He hastily wiped the blood from his eyes. This wasn’t finished. She was still alive. Or if he’d killed her, she could come back to life. She’d done it before. He’d seen it. And Brom was trapped in a coffin with nowhere to go. He had to get into the open air quickly.

  With a roar, he pushed up through the jagged hole. Splintered wood tore at his tunic, stabbed into his back.