Miraclist

by P B Hughes

  Gregory nodded, afraid to speak for fear of what might come out. Jude gave them a nod and they walked back down the tunnel and into the circular hallway where the students stood waiting for what came next. Shortly, Ms. Fussin came by and led them out of the stadium and several blocks down the road to Brightcastle Hall.

  The campus was gated, built in a wide circle amidst an urban forest of enormous trees and neatly manicured shrubbery. White stone buildings with high front pillars lined the side of the oval shaped road that passed through the center of campus. Sidewalks ran up from the road to the front doors of dormitories, classrooms, and a very impressive library. Ms. Fussin marched down the lane until they came upon a colossal building at the very back of campus. It looked like the rest except for a great copper dome at the top, turned green from the weather. She led them up the stairs, through the front door, and into and immense circular auditorium. Hundreds of benches littered the room. Each student was handed a scroll and quill as they walked in. A clock ticked at the front of the room—it was five minutes until three o’clock. Above their heads in the middle of the room, a silver orb hovered, whirring quietly.

  “When the clock strikes three, you will begin,” said Ms. Fussin. “When it strikes four, raise your quills or you will face immediate disqualification.”

  Gregory was drenched in sweat and shaking profusely. A strange feeling overtook him, as though the entire room was peering down at him through a magnifying glass. He looked across the room at Jude who gripped his scroll with the confidence of an eagle holding a fish in its talons. He then searched for Daniel. There he sat, quill raised, ready to start. Neither of them looked nervous, he thought. Beside him, another Ruby Miraclist boy clinched at his wrist, his eyes darting to his sleeve and back up to where Ms. Fussin stood.

  “My professor used to tell me that no one ever died from taking a test,” Gregory said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Think he was lying?”

  The boy frowned and looked at Gregory from the corner of his eye. “Keep your eyes to yourself, Littleton,” he threatened.

  Spurned, Gregory stared back down at the scroll and tried to swallow. His throat was nothing more than desert sands.

  A whistle blew and Ms. Fussin announced, “Begin!”

  Gregory broke the seal and stared down at the paper. The words looked foreign to him—he could not comprehend. But he did know what to do. He did. As if in a dream, Gregory picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

  * * *

  “Quills down!” shouted Mrs. Fussin as Gregory scribbled his last answer.

  Suddenly, the scrolls rolled themselves up, and flew to the front of the room where they began to glow a steady green.

  “Your scores are being tallied as we speak,” she said, though none of the students knew how or who was doing the tallying.

  Gregory slammed his head on his desk, defeated. There was no way he passed, much having scored in the twentieth percentile. All of a sudden, the scrolls whizzed through the air like a flock of white birds. Gregory’s lay neatly in front of him.

  “Your scores are inside,” said Mrs. Fussin.

  Gregory stared down at the scroll for a moment, his future written within. Slowly, he unrolled it. At the top of the page in luminescent ink was a ninety-one percent. Around the room, the sound of clinking was heard as hundreds of bracelets fell off the wrists of the students. Gregory stared at his wrist, waiting. His bracelet snapped and fell to the floor. Cries of joy and woeful laments filled the air. Gregory would not compete.

  A stampede of students rushed by him to Caden Baine, who was sitting near the front holding up a perfect score. Gregory felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Jude, smiling smugly as he showed off his score—a perfect one hundred percent. Daniel stood beside him, a ninety-nine percent.

  “You didn’t make it, then,” said Jude, his smile dipping into a frown. “The cutoff was ninety-two.”

  Gregory stared back to his score in disbelief. This couldn’t be the way things ended. Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s still a fine score, Gregory,” said Daniel sympathetically. “It’s very close.”

  “Well,” said Jude, “it’s not as if you thought you would make it through this round. So you really shouldn’t be disappointed.”

  Gregory hid his face in the crook of his arm.

  “You’re not helping, Jude,” said Daniel.

  “Hold everything!” shouted Ms. Fussin suddenly. An Emerald Miraclist cloaked in green had slipped in through a side door and whispered something in her ear.

  The room fell silent. She marched down the aisle, her footsteps echoing as she made her way over to the boy sitting next to Gregory. “You!” she said, taking him by the ear and pulling him to the front of the room.

  “You cheated!” she shouted in the boy’s face.

  “I didn’t!” exclaimed the boy with a terrified expression.

  “We have proof!” replied Ms. Fussin, pointing to the Emerald Miraclist.

  The Emerald Miraclist held up his hand and the silver ball near the ceiling flew down into it. “This is a Spyball—it watches everything—every movement a person makes. It captures moments of time and allows us to review them later on. According to our records, you used an answer sheet hidden in your sleeve.”

  A beam of light shot out from the Spyball. A picture of where they were, the entire room just twenty minutes before, flashed on the wall. Unmistakably, there was a clear picture of the boy, peeking inside his sleeve and scribbling answers.

  “Disqualified!” Ms. Fussin barked. “Get out! The spot goes to the student with the next highest score!”

  The student’s metallic wristband flashed yellow and popped from his arm to the floor. He turned and fled the condemning stares of his peers.

  “A costly mistake,” said Ms. Fussin, shaking her head. “Now, who will take his place?”

  Gregory had not moved during the entire ordeal. His face was kept on the floor, holding back disappointed tears. Then, something strange happened. The bracelet next to him began to glow—then shot back onto his wrist where it fused together. Gregory stared down at his arm, dumbfounded. Daniel gave an excited yell and raised a fist to the sky. Even Jude was smiling. Gregory jumped to his feet, stood on top of his desk and thrust his arm into the air for all of the seven hundred-plus students to see.

  “It’s me!” he shouted with a triumphant smile. “I made it—I’m going to compete!”

  Chapter 20

  Daniel’s morale was nothing short of electric. The three boys raced out of the Auditorium together, Gregory leading the way. A crowd of professors and friends were waiting outside for the students at the bottom of the steps. Mordecai was near the front, a look of anxious expectation on his lined face. Next to him stood Martha, her sandy brown hair brushed and down behind her.

  “There they are!” she exclaimed, pointing toward them.

  Gregory waltzed down the stairs in front of Daniel and Jude, arm outstretched, a look of triumph on his face. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the shiny silver bracelet.

  Mordecai’s eyes lit up, and then looked to Daniel and Jude, who showed him their own bracelets. Martha clapped her hands together and gave a cheer. She embraced Jude, then Daniel, and lastly gave a slightly longer and tighter hug to Gregory. “I knew you could do it,” she murmured before letting go.

  Mordecai’s flashed an enormous white-toothed smile. His chest puffed out and he spoke loudly for the other professors to hear. “Well done, lads! I never doubted you for an instant.”

  “Congratulations, Littleton,” said a voice from behind them. They turned to see Ari standing with a faint smile on her face as her eyes darted from Gregory to Jude. She too wore a silver bracelet.

  “Why, thank you,” said Mordecai, slightly puzzled. “And who might you be?”

  “Ari,” she replied holding out her hand. “Ari Celeste.”

  “Mordecai.” He reached out and shook, his large hand completely engulfing he
rs. “It’s a pleasure, Ari Celeste.”

  “Congratulations to you too, Ari,” said Daniel, leaning out behind Mordecai.

  Gregory and Jude exchanged glances and turned to her with sour expressions.

  “She’s an Apex student, Mordecai,” said Jude. “She can’t be trusted.”

  “Jude!” said Mordecai, taken aback. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mordecai,” then she turned to Jude, blue eyes narrowing fiercely. “Jude, you seem to be intelligent enough. Unfortunately, it would appear intelligence does not translate into discernment.” She turned around and marched through the crowd back toward her peers.

  “She has got a point,” said Gregory.

  “Shut up, Gregory,” snapped Jude.

  “I don’t know why you dislike her so much, Jude,” said Martha. “I think she’s nice.”

  Daniel watched as Ari walked back through the crowd. She was met by Caden, who appeared to be pleading with her. A feeling of satisfaction filled Daniel as she walled herself off, folding her arms in front of her. He showed her his silver bracelet and reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. The two of them spoke in hushed voices as they walked away. Mordecai’s voice brought Daniel back to reality.

  “So there’s been a dinner planned for the remaining students in the competition, and you’re required to attend. We’ll drop Martha off and make our way there.”

  They left Martha at the inn, and arrived back at the hotel behind a crowd of students, waiting to be let inside. On the steps before them stood Ms. Prim, wearing multicolored robes that made her look like a parakeet, a polite smile plastered on her mouth.

  “Tonight is a special night,” she crooned, spreading her arms in welcome, “for you and for me, as you are the remaining one hundred and forty-four Miraclists remaining in the competition, and I no longer have to deal with such massive a mob of—” her smile melted into a contemptuous frown as she surveyed the students, then flickered back into a grin—“children.” Her smile widened. “And by the end of tomorrow, I’ll only have to deal with forty-eight of you.” She clapped her hands together. “A feast has been prepared for all of you and your professors—but first,” she held up a finger, “you must know that a very special guest will be in attendance. The honorable senator, Specula Greavus, has graced us with his presence!” A wave of excitement ran through the crowd, and Ms. Prim squirmed like a giddy school-girl. “Oh, and also, one of the judges will be here as well. Now, if any of you make a mockery of this establishment with inappropriate behavior, I’ll have you removed from the hotel for good.” She cleared her throat lightly. “You may enter.”

  Ms. Prim stepped away from the entrance, allowing the students to file inside.

  Daniel felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see a very serious-looking Mordecai. “Boys,” he whispered. Jude and Gregory turned to face him. “No pranks, no tricks, no jokes. I’m not exactly on Greavus’ good side, and if you do anything to disrupt this evening, he could have you thrown out of the competition. So no tomfoolery—understood?”

  The three of them nodded. Daniel wondered what Mordecai could possibly have done to anger the man.

  They were led down a long hallway that ended in front of two massive doors. Ms. Prim knocked lightly. The doors swung open, revealing a glowing room with two parallel tables and another set adjacent to those near the back of the room. Pompous servants with upturned noses lined the walls, adorned in tuxedos, making them look like primped penguins. Seated at the head of the room was Greavus, a pile of chicken bones on a porcelain plate in front of him. Behind him was his servant, garbed in black, standing at attention. To Greavus’ right sat a diminutive man with flushed cheeks, hands folded in his lap. It took a moment, but Daniel finally recognized him as Judge Marriott, dressed in purple silk robes that looked slightly too big for him. Ms. Prim took a place next to Greavus, swooning with admiration.

  “Find the section labeled with your school name—that’s where you’ll be sitting,” she called out.

  The students found their seats—Daniel, Gregory, Jude and Mordecai all next to each other. To Daniel’s joy, he was in front of Ari, one table away. His joy quickly turned sour when he saw Caden take a seat next to her.

  “First,” said Ms. Prim with a dry expression, “Judge Marriott would like to say a few words.”

  The tiny judge nodded and stood atop his chair, smiling kindly. “Greetings, children,” he chirped. “So honored to be able to dine with such a bright group of youngsters.” Suddenly his eyes twitched and he placed a hand over his mouth. “Oh, oh of course, of course—but you really aren’t youngsters anymore—not after today. I’d say you’ve successfully entered adulthood!” He raised a stubby finger into the air. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations. I look forward to watching each of you compete.” With that he took his seat, looking like a cheery boy more than a distinguished judge.

  “Thank you, Judge Marriott,” Ms. Prim droned. “And now,” she grew visibly excited as she motioned to Greavus, who picked the last bit of meat from a chicken leg, “Senator Greavus.”

  The room filled with applause and cheers. Caden was the first to rise to his feet, followed by a few other Apex students, and then the rest of the room. When Daniel didn’t stand, Mordecai gave him a nudge.

  “Just play along,” he whispered.

  Daniel stood begrudgingly along with Gregory. Jude, however, remained seated.

  Greavus licked his fingers clean, dabbed his face with a cloth napkin, and rose to his feet, soaking in the adoration with fond waves. Then his gaze fell on Jude, and his face contorted into a sour expression.

  “Stand!” Mordecai commanded through gritted teeth.

  Jude jerked to his feet, staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

  “Thank you, thank you; your praise means so much to me,” Greavus said with slippery warmth. “Now, let’s get this feast underway!”

  Servants bustled through swinging doors at the side of the room, placing before them piping hot plates of roasted turkey and cranberry sauce, steaming dinner rolls, vegetables, colorful fruit and custards, and goblets full of warm cider. Every time Daniel drained his cup, it was quickly refilled by an ever-attentive servant, bowing over him.

  “Gregory,” snapped Mordecai, “eat like a normal human being! They’re going to think I starve you.”

  Daniel looked up to see Gregory shoveling food into his mouth, then pull up, his ears turned a bright shade of red.

  About halfway through the meal, a tinkling sound filled the room. Caden stood, glass in hand, and cleared his throat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I just wanted to say what an honor it is to be competing with such wonderful Miraclists.”

  There was a murmur of approval from the crowd, except for Gregory, who snorted and squirted milk from his nose.

  “I know we’ve all put a lot of practice and studying in to get to where we are,” Caden continued, “especially those of us at Apex Academy. And I just thought I’d say—here’s a toast to you all; here’s to hard work and a bit of luck!”

  Cheers echoed through the room, followed by the clinking of glasses.

  “I’d also like to thank Ms. Prim for putting on such a marvelous feast—you’ve really outdone yourself,” he gave her a wink, and she nearly fainted with delight. “Lastly, here’s to Specula Greavus—the protector of our beloved way of life!”

  More boisterous applause and ringing glasses.

  “That dirty liar,” growled Daniel. “Who does he think he’s fooling?”

  Caden sat, and Greavus rose in response.

  “Your kind words warm my heart,” he said, folding his hands across his breast. “It’s hard to believe only six of you will be selected when I see so many promising individuals,” he said, stepping out from behind the table. He walked down the end of a table where a red haired girl sat and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alas, that is how it must be. But remember, even if you are not selecte
d,” he said, walking down the aisle, placing a hand on each student’s shoulder, “you still have a responsibility—nay duty—” he stopped at the end of the table and turned, sauntering back up the aisle “—a duty to serve the empire with every ounce of energy you have, to advance her interests for the good of mankind.” He wove his way around until he neared Ari, placed a hand on her shoulder, and then stopped at Caden.

  “Ah, the charismatic one,” said Greavus as he reached out a hand and took hold of Caden’s shoulder. A smile spread across his flabby face. “I thought so.”

  “Thought what?” replied Caden, returning his smile.

  Greavus ignored the question. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Caden Baine.”

  Greavus slid his sweaty palm across the top of Caden’s shoulders. “Ah, Herman Baine’s son?”

  Caden nodded. “That’s me.”

  Greavus raised his eyebrows. “Good luck to you, my boy—though I doubt you’ll need it.”

  Caden was pleased with the praise, as was his headmaster, Professor Beelzy, who sat across from the boy with a smug expression.

  Greavus continued on. Suddenly, Daniel felt uneasy. His discomfort grew with each step that Greavus took. He looked at Jude, beads of sweat dampening his brow. Jude’s eyes were locked on the plate in front of him.

  Greavus reached and touched Jude’s shoulder. He gave it a jerk and peered into Jude’s face. He inhaled deeply, as if taking in a breath of salty sea air. “I know you,” he said with serpentine smoothness. His eyes scanned Jude up and down. “You’re that Emerald Miraclist from Littleton.”

  Jude did not respond, cringing beneath the grasp of Greavus’ hand.

  “I’d like to become,” he gripped Jude’s shoulder even tighter, “better acquainted with you…what did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” said Jude curtly.

  “His name is Jude,” Mordecai broke in, giving Jude a look that told him to cooperate.

  “Jude,” replied Greavus, releasing his grip. “Jude,” he muttered under his breath.