Qualification Day – Part II

I am suspended as a vortex of air streams about me. Gestures spill from my hands as I fight to stabilise myself. Vaguely, I hear the gong that symbolises the end of the minute, but the air does not abate. I add the words of the spells in my head, leaving ritual communication far behind as I fight for my life. Now I am glad that I practised casting spells without the verbal component. I’m not certain if speaking aloud after the gong has sounded is acceptable, but I don’t want to find out.
I manage to calm the raging vortex and my feet touch the ground again, only to have a pillar of fire spill over me, melting the ground out from under me. I calm this too, only to find myself encased in a torrent of water. I am ready now for this, and when I am done, for the earth to rise beneath me, and I calm them before they can smother me.

There is a hand on my shoulder, and a voice cries in my ear. “You’re done. Open your eyes. Let it go.” But I can feel the swelling of something else, coming down at me like an avalanche. I know that if I open my eyes now, I will be safe, I can avoid the coming danger, but I will never again be able to claim it. The pause gives me a chance to think again, and the full impact of my situation hits me. The gong only sounded once, so I know that no god has chosen me. I’ve failed. My heart sinks.

If I open my eyes now, if I let go of the experience, I will go home, a failed mage candidate. If I keep going and fail, succumbing to the impending doom, I will die. If I stay and face the challenge and win, I will still be forced to go home as a failed mage candidate. There is no other option. I was not chosen, and I will have to bear that for the rest of my days. The best path for me is to open my eyes and retreat to safety. But I can’t bear to face this kind of challenge and run.
I wait, screwing my eyes closed against someone trying to force them open. I hear a whisper at the back of my mind, like the caress of a feather. Tricksters luck be with you, little one.

And then it hits and I’m conscious of nothing but the great weight of the world upon me. I can hear every person in the arena as if they were in my head all at once. Some are terrified for me, some are avidly hoping I die, that something more interesting happens, some that I just snap out of it so that they can go on with their big day. Someone is still trying to force my eyes open, not realising that it’s too late.

The elders are up and talking and gesticulating wildly. The entire amphitheatre is in an uproar, drowning each other out in sound. And in the midst of it, a spot of quiet. Two gypsies sit still, in the centre of a ring of protectors. The old woman looks inwards at me and smiles. ‘How’re ya doing, dearie? I be thinkin you need a little help, na?’ I can’t think how to respond, to let her know that it’s part of my test, that I can’t be helped. She smiles again ‘I be thinkin you jest forgot how to ground. That ain’t helping nothing.’ I think desperately that I can’t possibly ground with all that’s happening in my head. How do I shut everyone out? How do I focus on a spot of quiet when there isn’t any?

Then my attention is drawn by the man next to her. Somehow, I can’t hear his thoughts. I can’t hear anything from him, and the harder I try, the quieter it gets. It clicks in my head that I can use that to ground, and slowly, slowly, I begin to regain my composure. I focus harder to block out more of the ambient static, and for a moment I can see how he has created his shield, and then with a pop, I am free of the noise inside my head. The stadium is still overflowing with noise, but the only thoughts in my head are my own.

Success.

I open my eyes. Behind the heads of the people hanging over me, I can see faint glowing shapes in the air. One of them drifts forward and I hear her whisper.

Well done little one. You’ll find your place yet.

She raises an indistinct hand at me in a gesture of honour.

Until we meet again.

The whisper is repeated again and again as the rest of them fade out. There is a divine chuckle and I turn my head to see a noble leaning idly against a pillar nearby. “I’m dying to see what you do next.” No-one else responds to his words, so I ignore him for the moment as I try to sit up. I feel like I should hurt, but the aches are in my mind alone. I push away the hovering official. “I’m fine, really.”

The laugh graces my airspace again and I slash a repressive frown at the noble, who I’m pretty sure is actually the Trickster in disguise. “I’m fine.” He strolls over, barely veiled amusement leaking out of his eyes. “Yes dearie, you’re fine. You just had the full force of the immortals running through you and you’re still alive. That’s pretty fine by any standards.” He winks at me and pulls me to my feet. “Now go pretend to be a quiet little mouse so we can move on to the next part of the game.”

The officials pull me away and I go quietly, walking into the elders’ circle with a feeling of growing dread. I know what’s coming and I try to brace myself.

“You have been rejected by the gods. You are not fit to be a mage.”

It hurts more than I thought it would, and I can feel myself start to tear up. “However, you have also shown yourself to have a dangerous aptitude for magic, and you have learnt more of the craft than any other student here. What say you others? How shall we proceed?” Hope sparks in my heart, in equal parts with fear. What madness is this?

An elder steps forward. “It would be prudent for us to discuss other methods to limit her influence. I suggest that the elders consider her death or exile.” My mind goes blank in shock for a moment before the disbelief kicks in. What is this? Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a movement – the variations for quiet and for good, both quick and concealed – and do my best to follow the hasty suggestion.

Another elder steps into the middle to face my aggressor. “She has studied hard and should not be punished for her error in judgement. Let her go home.” I want to scream and shout and rail at them. I didn’t make any mistake! But I would rather be sent home than killed or exiled. I hold my tongue and bow my head slightly, trying to look for any other signs.

Help comes from an unexpected quarter as one of the onlookers pipes up. “Isn’t there any other choice? You say she’s worked hard at her studies and learnt more than any other student. Maybe she can stay at the school and tutor the others?”

The chief elder raises his hands for silence and the conversations stop. “My dear, you have been silent while we discuss your fate. What say you?” I look up at him, hardly daring to believe that he’s giving me a choice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my secret advisor giving me the gestures for safe and house. I’m assuming he’s trying to tell me to ask to go home. Which is what I want to do anyway. But I want to make sure they can see I’ve thought this through. It doesn’t hurt for them to see that I am rational and obedient.

“It is not my place to choose my fate. But if I had the choice, I would prefer not to be killed or exiled.” There is a little chuckle at this and a few people relax at my subservient tone. “Home has little appeal to me after studying to be a mage. But staying at the school to teach – while giving my life purpose – would be too much of a reminder of what I might have had. Right now, in this moment, all I would like is to go home and grieve the end of a dream with my family.”

He deliberates for a moment and then gestures around at those gathered. “What say you? Let us send her home to recover gracefully and make the most of her life.” There are a couple grumbles from those who seemed to think I deserved a harsher punishment, but on the whole it’s a positive response. “Are any opposed?” I assume that my critics will step up here, but all of them step back into place in the circle, and as far as I can see, accede to his decision.

“Very well then, my dear. Take your place in the stands with the others who have been passed over, and we will continue. I am sure your family will be glad to have such a dutiful daughter returned to them. Blessings be upon you.” With that, he turns and heads back to his seat. One of the officials standing next to me gestures towards the stand and I follow him mindlessly, reflecting on the signs from my secret ally as I left. Good again, and the sign for warding off danger. Was that a signal that I had done well, or a warning that I was still in danger?

The rest of the ceremony goes without a hitch, after everyone finally settles down. I look for the gypsies, but they are gone from their seats. I sit in a daze until we are released and wait for the seneschal and the cook to find me. Cook fusses over me, checking that I’m still ok, as the seneschal watches. But while my mind had been open, I had felt the strength of his emotion, seeing me struggle, looking for ways to help me regardless of the risk to himself. As Cook leads us away to find a cart to take us home, I briefly catch him in a hug and whisper “thank you” to him. He tenses, but makes no comment.
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Finally, we are stowed in a cart bound for home, and I can sink back and let the day roll through my thoughts. Well. Qualification Day. Not at all how I’d planned this day to go. But my heart is lighter than I would have expected for the events of the day. I have failed my heart’s dream. My life is possibly in danger, and I’ve dishonoured the family – who will not soon let me forget it. But I have felt the flow of true magic. And maybe, just maybe, I will get to feel it again. An ethereal kiss brushes my cheek and I slip into dreams to the sound of laughter.