“We usually work in village forums,” Theandra tells me as she climbs into the seg-coach too. “But in camps like these, we make do with our coach.”
I follow her, bunching up my stola’s many layers just so I can fit through the seg-coach door.
Now that we’re all inside, Golly invites the children to sit at the table, while Theandra arranges several charts on a clipboard.
“Evaluation forms,” she whispers to me. “It’s best for one person to observe and record, while the other performs the evaluation. I’ll teach you how to fill these out so you can assist Golly after I have the baby.”
I glance at the blank lines and tiny boxes and try not to sigh. Hopefully it won’t take me too long to impress the Great Drae and return to Triumvirate Hall.
Golly doesn’t start by questioning the children or demanding cagic demonstrations. Instead, he offers them a wooden toy, cups of juice, and several snap biscuits.
The children snatch up the food and drinks, hastily mumbling thank-yous between slurps and bites.
“We want our subjects to feel comfortable,” Theandra whispers to me. “The evaluation won’t be accurate if they are frightened or defensive.”
Once the juice and biscuits are gone, the children eye the wooden toy, looking both suspicious and curious. Golly shows them how it works, winding a crank on the side. When he sets the small box back on the table, it plays tinkling music and a sweet-looking shareck figurine appears in an arched opening. The boy tentatively picks the toy up, and as he and his sister inspect it, Golly asks them questions.
The boy, we learn, is not called Bilvy—his name is Vonnet. “Jesper forgets,” he murmurs. “He ain’t our relation, neither. He just wants to live in the city.”
The girl’s name is Rutholyn, and I think both names are too big and unwieldy for such frail-looking children.
They aren’t twins either. Rutholyn is seven years old, while Vonnet is nine. He’s just very short. I wonder if his height has something to do with how skinny he is. I also wonder if Drae Devorla knows how hard life is for laborers. I’ll have to tell her the next time I see her.
Golly talks to the children for nearly an hour, asking them about their diet, health, and the health of the people they live with. He also asks them if they work on the spreadfarms, if they’ve ever had significant injuries, where they were born, and so on. Theandra hastily scribbles down the children’s responses while also whispering additional information to me. “Listen for the truth behind the answers. Youngsters rarely know facts about their early life. Sometimes parents or other family members can give us clear information, but sometimes no one can be trusted. See how Golly asks indirect questions and never pushes for a response? Temperament and personality are also important, so I like to make notes about that in this section on the second page. And see this column? We only fill that in if we’re evaluating children south of the Reed River. Some of them are Ganorine immigrants, therefore the Vazor of Ganorine has primary claim rights on their cagic abilities.” And so on and so on.
Authenticating is far duller than I ever imagined, yet also somehow more complicated. At least all this dreariness is making me feel very motivated to work on my transference. Hopefully, I’ll be able to practice again soon.
Yet the evaluation becomes interesting when the children show us their cagic abilities. It seems they’ve invented a simple game of passing a tiny shimmerlight spark back and forth. The boy creates it, letting the focused, blue energy slide down his finger like a sunlit water drop. He flicks it over to the girl, who catches it in her little hands and then sends it back.
“That’s an interesting pastime.” Golly gives Theandra a meaningful look.
Theandra nods in return, muttering, “Very interesting.”
The children’s shimmerlight isn’t that bright, but they have good control. I’m impressed, and I hope Drae Devorla will be too. Let these siblings be the rare children who become Shimmerlings. Let them leave this terrible place and live happily in the Courtyard of Youth. I smile encouragingly at them.
The girl, Rutholyn, returns my smile, and perhaps feeling more confident, she sends the cagic spark back to her brother along a curling, corkscrew path.
For some reason, though, Vonnet grimaces. He then turns to Golly and softly asks, “Can we have more food, sir?”
“Certainly!” Golly booms. “Let’s take a break.”
Theandra produces a tray of toasted pile-ups—enough for all of us—and I’m pleased to see she’s given them some Kaverlee flair. She’s cut pine-tree-shaped holes in the flatbread and filled them with vibrant green, pickle-pepper sauce.
Rutholyn is staring at me, so I say, “Do you have any questions about the Courtyard of Youth?”
Golly stiffens, and maybe he doesn’t want me speaking to the children. Yet Theandra squeezes his shoulder, and he seems to relax.
“I don’t know if I have something to ask,” Rutholyn says, looking at me with huge gray eyes. She’d be a pretty child if she wasn’t so dirty.
“Would you like to live in Triumvirate Hall?” I ask.
Her eyebrows furrow with concern, and she turns to her brother. “I think I only want to live there if Vonnet’s livin’ there too.”
Vonnet shakes his head. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“It could,” I say. “Your evaluation isn’t finished yet.”
“Actually, he’s probably right,” Golly says. “Boys manifest cagic differently than girls. Their power is rarely stable enough to be palace Shimmerlings.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I say. “But Midnith has male Shimmerlings.”
Golly shrugs. “Midnith processes cagic differently than we do.”
I think about Fifsa’s friend Tury and shudder. Did he have unstable cagic? Is that why he liked being alone? I wish I knew what he looked like when he was alive because thinking about him makes me picture his remains on the beach. I wish I could replace that grisly image with something else.
Rutholyn makes a snuffling noise. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes shine with tears. “But I don’t think…” she says. “I don’t want to go to the city by myself! I want to stay with Vonnet!”
Vonnet takes an angry bite of his pile-up. “You don’t get to choose, Ruthie. If they pick you, you gotta go.”
“Let’s not worry about what hasn’t happened yet and may never happen.” Theandra holds out another tray. “Who likes chocolate foam?”
Nearly everyone it seems, and the decadent treat cheers up Rutholyn. I’m the only one who doesn’t take a small bowl, for I can’t risk staining my stola.
When the children are done eating, Golly pulls three latched, leather cases out from under the cushioned bench. He opens them, revealing metal devices. He then spends the next few hours using the machines to test Rutholyn and Vonnet. He attaches wired cuffs to their wrists, sensors to their temples, and at one point, he even places a mesh helmet on Rutholyn’s black curls.
Theandra stands beside me at the door, softly describing everything Golly does. “Now this is called the Phlebmetric. It measures the passive cagic in a person’s blood. It’s very, very accurate, but only if the test subject sits still—which is of course challenging for little ones.” She also frequently reminds me that, “No machine can ever replace a carefully executed practical examination.”
As the devices click, whir, and hum, Vonnet and Rutholyn sometimes wince and whimper, but they are also clearly doing their best to cooperate. Perhaps they hope Golly and Theandra will give them more food, or perhaps they fear their so-called relative, Jesper, who’s still lurking outside.
While I watch Golly fiddle with the machine’s various knobs and switches, I wonder what my cagic levels are. I certainly hope they aren’t lower than they used to be, and if they are, do I want to know? I might lose faith in my Predrae plan, and I’m not ready to give up on that just yet.
Vonnet and Rutholyn’s evaluation continues late into the lunar evening. Then Theandra sends the tired children o
utside to impatient Jesper so she and Golly can review the test results.
“The girl’s a gem,” Golly says as we sit around the cabdwell table. “Look at these Chromatic Examiner readings. She’s very strong.”
Theandra nods. “She’d be a great asset for Triumvirate Hall.”
“Vonnet scored just as high,” I say, wondering why they aren’t talking about him.
Golly laughs. “I need to keep reminding myself that you’re new to this.”
Theandra chuckles too. “Boys often test well, Xylia, but we have to judge them differently. Their cagic is rarely stable, remember?”
“But…” I stare at the evaluation forms, wishing I’d paid more attention when Theandra explained what each section meant. “Does this mean he’ll be sent somewhere to be downleveled?”
The Shalvos exchange knowing looks, and Golly says, “An Authenticator has many responsibilities, Xylia. They aren’t always pleasant.”
“You mean we downlevel him?” I feel queasy as I think about Vonnet’s joyful-yet-cautious expression as he let the cagic spark slide down his finger. I know that feeling. I know how wonderful it is to have energy bloom on my skin. “But his cagic belongs to him. Taking it away is… stealing.”
“It would be illegal not to take it,” Theandra says gently.
Who made these terrible laws? And why? I wish I wasn’t so far away from Triumvirate Hall. I have so many, many questions for Drae Devorla. “Could we at least bring both Rutholyn and Vonnet to Kaverlee City? See what the Great Drae thinks?” A nervous shiver runs through me. I’m not ready to show off my transference skills, but the fate of these children is more important.
Golly shakes his head. “I already know Her Imbued Eminence won’t be interested in the boy.” He then stands to stretch his over-sized, sloping shoulders. “The Great Drae’s policy is that unless a boy scores a seven, not to present him for review. Were there many boys in the palace when you were there?”
“Only two,” I say, wishing I’d paid more attention to the imbalance.
“Evaluating boys is more of a formality.” Theandra taps her many papers into neat piles and tucks them into moss green folders. “Hopeful parents would be unhappy if we blindly downleveled all boys.”
“It still doesn’t seem fair,” I say. There’s so much I didn’t notice as a young Shimmerling, and when I was on the Grimshore, I should have asked more questions. Instead, I avoided talking about the Courtyard of Youth because it made me homesick.
“Don’t think about Authentication in terms of fair or unfair.” Golly thuds down on the bench so heavily the entire seg-coach sways. “Our job is like a treasure hunt, and some treasure is more valuable than others. Xylia, what do you think would happen if we didn’t downlevel passing summoners? There are bad actors out there—evil people who’d use those children as cheap, vulnerable power sources. You’re used to beautiful gardens and donation ports, but there are other ways to collect cagic, cruel ways.”
“It still doesn’t seem right,” I say.
“I hope you won’t question all of our methods,” Golly says, and there’s a warning in his tone.
“Now dear.” Theandra takes Golly’s hand. “Remember this is a lot of information for Xylia to take in, and some of it may be hard to hear.” She turns to me. “I have a Matreornan evaluation manual I think you should read. It will answer many of your questions.”
She gives me a small, musty-smelling book, and I take it back to my cabin. It’s written in an old-fashioned, overly formal tone, and after struggling through it, I’m still confused. I suppose it’s mildly reassuring, though, that these gender-based theories have been around for a long time.
Yet I’m still angry that Vonnet will be downleveled. It seems unnecessarily final. He’s so young, and his cagic is surely harmless. Why take away something that makes him special—makes him happy?
In the morning, Vonnet doesn’t seem surprised when the Shalvos tell him he’ll be downleveled. He nods in a tired, resigned way.
Rutholyn cries, though, and I think her sobs are mostly because she doesn’t want to travel to Kaverlee City without her brother.
“It’s normal to feel nervous,” Golly tells her, “but this is an exciting opportunity.”
“I think I’m sure I want to stay with Von!” She clings to her brother.
As conflicted as I feel, I try to help. “If you become a Shimmerling, Triumvirate Hall will give Vonnet city justification. They’ll buy his work hours, and he can live in either Topdwell or Crossriver, which are both wonderful neighborhoods. He’ll also have a monthly allowance, and he can visit you on Connection Day.”
“But I don’t know anyone in the city,” Vonnet says.
“That doesn’t matter.” I feel like I’m trying to reassure myself too. “The palace has a special task force dedicated to welcoming—”
“We’ll discuss all that later,” Golly says. “Please remember that I would like you to quietly observe.”
I press my lips together.
“Very well,” Theandra says cheerfully. “Let’s eat before we do anything else. I have a light breakfast ready inside.” She leads the children into the seg-coach.
I’m about to follow them, when Golly holds up a finger. “One more thing, Xylia. From now on, every evening, I’ll approve your outfit for the next day.”
“Is that really necessary?” I ask. He must be saying this because I’m not wearing a frilly stola this morning. But surely he doesn’t expect me to wear the same two gowns over and over and especially not in such a dusty place.
“If I tell you to do something, then yes, it’s necessary.” Golly gives me a stern look before heading into the seg-coach to eat. I stay outside. I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like sharing a table with him right now.
The Shalvos spend the rest of the morning giving Rutholyn transference tests, and then after lunch, it’s time to downlevel Vonnet. Theandra takes Rutholyn for a walk and invites me along, but I ask to stay with a somewhat lame excuse that I’d like to learn about every aspect of Authentication work. I’m not sure why I really want to stay, though. Maybe it’s because I hope the process won’t be as cruel as I expect. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want Vonnet to have to go through something so awful alone.
Golly leads Vonnet into the cabdwell, has him put on a simple gray robe and then tells him to lie down on a thick mat spread across the limited floor space. Vonnet trembles as Golly buckles leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and then fits a metal halo onto his head. Wires connect the cuffs and halos to a machine that looks a lot like the evaluation devices he used yesterday. It’s larger, though, and has two glass cagic reservoirs. One of the reservoirs is already full of bright, swirling cagic energy. The other one is empty.
“How does this work exactly?” I ask.
“Think of it like a cagic rinse.” Golly tilts his head toward the full reservoir. “Cagic is attracted to cagic—so if we flush high amounts of it through a person several times, we draw out their energy. Once there is no longer any residual cagic in Vonnet, he’ll stop generating energy.”
I’d like to hold Vonnet’s hand while he’s being downleveled, but I probably shouldn’t touch him while the machine’s running. What if it rinses away my cagic too? I’m a little nervous that even being in the cabdwell during the procedure will sap my power.
Golly places a wooden rod between Vonnet’s teeth—so that he doesn’t bite his tongue—and tells him to relax. After that, Golly winds a crank on the side of the downleveling machine and flips a switch. The metal box begins to rumble and vibrate, but nothing seems to happen to Vonnet. He is wide-eyed, though, watching the glass reservoirs anxiously. The sound of the machine grows louder and louder until it hurts my ears. Golly shouts something that I can’t hear and then flips another switch. Vonnet’s little body suddenly arches off the mat and his eyes roll backward. Small threads of cagic light skitter across his skin toward the wrist cuffs and the halo of metal strapped to his head. Spit dribbles
out of the corners of his mouth. I also smell the sour combination urine and cagic burns.
I wish I hadn’t asked to stay. I want to leave. It’s as if Golly is cutting a healthy hand or foot off this child. It’s sickening. How can Drae Devorla condone this? Maybe she’s never witnessed a downleveling and doesn’t know how terrible it really is.
I realize Golly’s watching me. He probably expects me to cringe or be sick. I do feel ill, but I try not to let it show.
The machine runs for an agonizingly long fifteen minutes—marked by a slowly rotating dial. When it finally shuts off, Vonnet lies limp and still on the mat with his eyes closed. I see dark scorch marks on his wrists, ankles, and forehead. His hair is singed too and patches of it are missing.
Now I’m desperate to leave, but Golly tells me to stay with Vonnet until he wakes up. “Offer him water and clean him up with that sponge and basin over there. Help him dress, and when he can walk, take him home. Don’t worry if he has trouble speaking. Children often have slurred speech for a week or two after a cagic rinse, but it usually goes away.”
Usually goes away? So it sometimes is permanent? I nearly cry and only my resolve to not look weak in front of Golly stops me.
Vonnet sleeps for an hour. While I wait for him to wake up, I sit quietly at the table and think about Tury. His flight makes more sense now. He didn’t want to be downleveled, and now that I’ve seen a downleveling, I don’t blame him. I also think about my mother—she was a baby when this horrible thing was done to her.
When Vonnet finally opens his eyes, there’s a deep sadness in them. His cagic ability was precious—something I’m sure he cherished—and now it’s gone forever.
In a small way, I can relate. I loved being the Predrae, and that’s not who I am anymore. I still have my cagic powers, but I will wink out soon. Cagic has always sparked and prickled in my lungs, heart, and mind. Even now I feel it humming through my bones.
Soon it won’t be there.
That will be a sort of death.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, steadying Vonnet as he sits up.
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