The Iron Trial(7)

The flame didn't waver. If anything, it shone a little more brightly.

"Wasn't it girls who did that?" Call asked.

"Did what?" Master Rufus frowned.

"Walked around with books on their heads."

The mage gave him a look that made Callum feel as if he'd said something disappointing. "Take the bowl," he said.

"But the flame will go out," Call protested.

"That is the test," said Rufus. "See if you can keep the flame burning, and for how long." He held out the bowl to Call.

So far, none of the tests had been what Call expected. Still, he'd managed to fail each one - either because he'd tried to or because he just wasn't cut out to be a magician. There was something about Master Rufus that made him want to do better, but that didn't matter. There was no way he was going to the Magisterium.

Call took the bowl.

Almost immediately, the flame inside leaped up, as though Call had turned the knob on a gas lamp too high. He jumped and deliberately tilted the bowl to the side, trying to slosh water over the flame. But instead of going out, it burned through the water. Panicking, Call shook the bowl, sending more small waves over the fire. It began to sputter.

"Callum Hunt." It was Master Rufus looking down at him, his face impassive, his arms crossed over his wide chest. "I'm surprised at you."

Call said nothing. He held the bowl with its sloshing water and sputtering flame.



       
         
       
        

"I taught both your parents at the Magisterium," Master Rufus said. He looked serious and sad. The flame made dark shadows under his eyes. "They were my apprentices. Top of their class, the best marks in the Trial. Your mother would have been disappointed to have seen her son so obviously trying to fail a test simply because -"

Master Rufus never got to finish the sentence, because at the mention of Call's mother, the wooden bowl cracked - not in half, but into a dozen splintered pieces, each sharp enough to stab into Call's palms. He dropped what he was holding, only to see that each part of the bowl had caught fire and was burning steadily, little pyres scattered at his feet. As he looked at the flames, though, he wasn't afraid. It seemed to him, in that moment, as though the fire were beckoning for him to step inside it, to drown his rage and fear in its light.

The flames leaped up as he looked around the room, shooting along the spilled water like it was gasoline. All Call felt was a terrible sweeping anger that this mage had known his mother, that the man right in front of him might have had something to do with her death.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" Master Rufus shouted, grabbing both of Call's hands and slamming them together. The slap of them made the fresh cuts hurt.

Abruptly, all the fires went out.

"Let me go!" Call yanked his hands away from Master Rufus and wiped his bloody palms on his pants, adding another layer of stains. "I didn't mean to do that. I don't even know what happened."

"What happened is that you failed another test," said Master Rufus, his anger replaced by what seemed like cold curiosity. He was considering Call the way a scientist considered a bug pinned to a board. "You may go back out and join your father on the bleachers to await your final score."

Thankfully, there was a door on the other side of the room, so Call could slink through that and not have to face any of the other aspirants. He could just picture the expression on Jasper's face if he saw the blood on his clothes.

His hands were trembling.

The bleachers were full of bored-looking parents and a few younger siblings toddling around. The low buzz of conversation echoed in the hangar, and Call realized how strangely quiet the corridors had been - it was a shock to hear the noise of people again. Aspirants were exiting through five different doors in a slow trickle and joining their families. Three whiteboards had been set up at the base of the bleachers, where mages were recording scores as they came in. Call didn't look at them. He headed straight for his dad.

Alastair had a book sitting on his lap, closed, as though he'd meant to read it but had never begun. Call noticed the relief that started on his father's face as he got close, immediately replaced by concern once he got a true look at his son. 

Alastair jumped to his feet, the book falling to the ground. "Callum! You're covered in blood and ink and you smell like burned plastic. What happened?"

"I messed up. I - I think I really messed up." Call could hear his voice shaking. He kept seeing the burning remains of the bowl and the look on Master Rufus's face.

His dad put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Call, it's okay. You were supposed to mess up."

"I know, but I thought I'd be -" He jammed his hands in his pockets, remembering all the lectures his father had given him about how he was going to have to try to fail. But he hadn't had to try at all. He'd failed at everything because he didn't know what he was doing, because he was bad at magic. "I thought everything would be different."

His father dropped his voice low. "I know it doesn't feel good to fail at anything, Call, but this is for the best. You did really well."

"If by 'really well' you mean 'sucking,' " Call muttered.

His dad grinned. "I was worried for a minute when you got full points for the first test, but then they took them away. I've never seen anyone lose points before."

Call scowled. He knew his father meant this as a compliment, but it didn't feel like one.

"You're in last place. There are kids without any magic who did better than you. I think you deserve an ice-cream sundae - the biggest one we can get - on the way home. Your favorite kind, with butterscotch, peanut butter, and Gummi Bears. Okay?"

"Yeah," Call said, sitting down. He was too bummed even for the thought of peanut-butter-and-butterscotch-covered Gummi Bears to cheer him up. "Okay."

His father sat again, too. He was nodding to himself now, looking pleased. He looked even more pleased as more scores came in.

Call let himself look at the whiteboards. Aaron and Tamara were at the very top, their total scores exactly identical. Annoyingly, Jasper was three points beneath them, in second place.

Oh, well, Call thought. What did he expect? Mages were jerks, just like his dad said, and the jerkiest jerks of all got the best scores. It figured.

Although it wasn't all jerks on top. Kylie had done badly while Aaron had done well. That was good, Call supposed. It seemed like Aaron had really wanted to do well. Except of course that doing well meant you went to the Magisterium, and Call's father had always said that was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Call wasn't sure whether to be happy for Aaron, who had at least been nice to him, or sad for him. All he knew was that he was getting a headache thinking about it.

Master Rufus strode out of one of the doors. He didn't say anything out loud, but the whole crowd fell silent as if he had. Scanning the room, Call could see a few familiar faces - Kylie looking anxious, Aaron biting his lip. Jasper looked pale and strained, while Tamara appeared cool and collected, not worried at all. She sat between an elegant dark-haired couple, whose cream-colored clothes set off their brown skin. Her mother wore an ivory dress and gloves, her father an entirely cream-colored suit.

"Aspirants for this year," said Master Rufus, and everyone leaned forward at once, "thank you for being with us today and for working so hard in the Trial. The thanks of the Magisterium also go out to all of the families who brought children and waited for them to finish."

He put his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the bleachers.

"There are nine mages here, and each of them is authorized to choose up to six applicants. Those applicants will be their apprentices for the five years they will spend at the Magisterium, so this is not a choice that a Master undertakes lightly. You must also understand that there are more children here than will qualify for places at the Magisterium. If you are not selected, it is because you are not suitable for this kind of training - please understand there are many possible reasons you might not be suitable, and further exploration of your powers could be deadly. Before you leave, a mage will explain your obligations of secrecy and give you the means to protect yourself and your family."



       
         
       
        

Hurry up and get this over with, Call thought, barely paying attention to what Rufus was saying. The other students were shuffling uncomfortably, too. Jasper, seated between his Asian mom and white dad, both sporting fancy haircuts, drummed his fingers against his knees. Call glanced at his father, who was staring at Rufus with an expression Call had never seen on his face before. He looked as if he was thinking about running the mage over with the remodeled Rolls, even if it would break the transmission again.

"Does anyone have questions?" Rufus asked.

The room was silent. His dad spoke to Call in a whisper. "It's okay," he said, though Call hadn't done anything to indicate he thought it wasn't okay. His father's grip on Call grew firmer, fingers digging into his shoulder. "You won't get picked."