Chapter Text
Virgil Smith was an infamous legend in his little Oxfordshire town, but not in a good way. Famous for driving off substitute teachers, that didn’t meet his fancy, with sarcastic remarks, he also specialised in annoying neighbours, principals and pretty much anyone else who dared to stray too close. His school’s best attempts at guidance councillors, who always started off wanting to help ended up begging that he’d never darken the doors of their offices again.
He was the sort of local personality that was always a failsafe topic to discuss while with neighbours.
This being said there was a great deal about Virgil that his neighbours would never have been able to fathom in their wildest dreams.
The prime example being magic.
The first time his brother had said anything about magic and the monsters that used it, he’d sat Virgil down in one of the big leather chairs in his study- not the study, study, the study in the basement Virgil hadn’t been allowed in before. Virgil’s elbow had been bandaged and his lip was split so, he’d been in no mood for a lecture, but his brother looked uncharacteristically serious, so he had bitten back any complaints. He had spoken weirdly as well, the same voice he had used when explaining to Virgil that their Aunt Josephine had been very sick and they would have to live on their own from then on.
This time the sickness was magic.
The then-ten-year-old boy was used to getting picked on; when you grew up in such a interconnected community it was hard to break a cycle and Virgil had never been able to click with the other kids. His isolation and avoidance of well, people in general made him look, at first glance, like an easy target, usually he could convince them that he wasn’t. This time, however, he’d bumped into a group of older kids walking home from school. They’d pushed him around a bit, thrown his bag in a bin, dolled out some usual insults but is was when dragged him into an alley that Virgil realised he didn’t know how far they where going to go.
He had been terrified.
Most people backed down when they realised, he was capable of putting up a half-decent fight so, when the tallest of the boys went to push him to the ground Virgil bit his hand then pushed him away while he was still in shock. That had been his first mistake, his second was taunting them when they started to try to force an apology out of him to the point that he blacked out. It might've been from pain or from the overwhelming fear that had been threatening to spill out.
He couldn’t have been out for long because when he opened his eyes and limped out of the alley, he could just see the retreating figures of the boys in the distance. They were running away! Virgil didn’t know what he had done but he had naively assumed it must’ve been something pretty cool and badass.
‘That’s right,’ he half-whispered to himself as he retrieved his bag with the intention of calling his brother to pick him up. ‘You better run.’
That’s when he registered it, that the concrete of the pavement had cracked open. An improbably precise, impossibly deep, fissure ran from where Virgil had woken up to the road. At it’s largest, dead in the centre, one of the boy’s shoes seemed to be wedge in, abandoned by its owner, no doubt, when they freed themselves. Then, it spat the shoe out and closed up once again, any trace of it's appearance eradicated.
He thought it was the coolest thing to ever happen to him, his brother disagreed.
‘Magic runs in families,’ he’d said. ‘Not everyone in a family necessarily has it, I had hope that you… Wll, you do. I’m so sorry, Virge.’
‘So, the split in the ground — you’re saying I did that?’ Virgil felt slightly torn between extreme horror and glee. He could feel the corners of his mouth turn up despite his brothers disapproving look. ‘Is that what mages do?’
‘Mages draw on the elements. They use magic for many terrible things, including ripping apart the earth like you did. Though, I doubt a mage would let the boy that lost a shoe escape,’ he seemed to hesitate, as if wondering how much to share with Virgil who already looked considerably less pleased with himself. ‘Magic is hard to control, Virgil but I need you to try your best to never use it again. If you do the mages will take you away to their tunnels.’
‘Is that where their school is,’ Virgil had asked. ‘Is the Magesteri—’
‘Magisterium.’
‘Is it underground?’ Virgil shivered, he’d never done well with the idea of caves, not since he’d accidentally watched one of his Aunts grown-up movies with a particularly nasty scene where a mine collapsed on top of all the workers, none of which could get out in time.
‘Buried within the earth where no-one can find it,’ his brother confirmed grimly. ‘There’s no natural light down there. No windows. The place is a maze. You could get lost and die before anyone even notices your missing.’
Virgil licked his suddenly dry lips, he’d never like the idea of mazes either. ‘But you’re a mage.’
‘I haven’t used it since mum and dad died. I’ll never use it again if I can help it.’
‘Our parents went there, to the tunnels? Really?’ Virgil asked, starved of any kind of information surrounding his mother and father. He didn’t have much, just a couple of yellowed photographs and a few offhand comments made in passing. He knew better than to directly ask his brother about them, it just made him sad. And when his Aunt was alive... well, Virgil always avoided interacting with her.
‘Yes, they did…’ His brother told him. ‘And it’s because of magic they both died, Auntie too. When mages fight, which is often, they don’t care who dies because if it. Virgil,’ his brother had gripped both of his shoulders. ‘I need you to promise me you won’t attract their attention. They'll kidnap you, Virge. They'll kidnap you, they'll take you away and never give you back. Promise me you won't let them, please. Please, Virgil.’
'I-I... I promise.'
That night, Virgil woke up his brother up screaming, convinced he was trapped underground, earth filling his lungs. No matter what his brother did to try to calm him, Virgil couldn’t rid his mind of the thought of being weighed down by miles of clay, dirt and stone, unable to move of breath no matter how hard he tried. The next night he dreamed he was running away from a monster that breathed fire and had eyes of a thousand colours… only he couldn't get himself to run fast enough. In the dream Virgil eventually snapped and the ground opened up in response, swallowing up, filling his lungs and never letting him out. He woke up to a room with a smashed lightbulb and a million fresh cracks on the stone floor.
Other kids in Virgil’s class where afraid of spiders, the dark, the monster under the bed or murders with giant axes. They loved superhero comics, loved shows where the main character had a flashy power and could do things others could not. Virgil wasn’t scared of the dark, but he was terrified of those characters, terrified that he might be like them.
Now he was going to meet them, the mages that had haunted Virgil for so long, the mages that where the reason his parents where dead and that his brother never seemed to laugh or smile in a way that reached his eyes.
It occurred to Virgil, as they drove out of their little town, that if he didn’t mess up this test then he might never see his brother again. His stomach lurched and a cold shiver made its way up his spine. The advice his brother had given him echoing in his head: Make your mind totally blank. Focus on something that’s the opposite to what they want. Focus on someone else’s test rather than your own.
He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been keeping. His brother’s nerves where just getting to him, it was going to be fine, after all it was easy to mess up tests.
What could only be described as the longest hour of Virgil’s life later his brother’s car swerved onto a narrow road. The only sign of the several they passed while making their way up the winding road he had time to read displayed the words: AIRFIELD CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
‘Are we flying somewhere?’ Virgil asked.
‘Let’s just hope not.’ his brother muttered.
Suddenly, the lane widened and the tree’s parted to reveal a huge, cleared space. In the middle was an enormous hangar which appeared to be made from steel. Parked around it where maybe a hundred cars, from beat-up pickup trucks to one’s that looked like they cost twice as much as Virgil’s house. He just caught sight of a family hurrying towards the entrance before they slipped out of sight.
‘I think we’re late.’ He observed.
‘Good.’ His brother sounded rather pleased with himself.
He pulled up as far from the hanger as possible and got out, gesturing for Virgil to follow. It was the first properly hot day of the summer and the sun beat down onto the back of Virgil MCR shirt. He wiped his sweaty palm against his jeans as they walked through the cars and into the open space that was the hangar entrance. It was… discomforting to not be able to hide away in his favourite hoodie but hopefully it would be cooler inside so, he could put it on.
Everything was busy to say the least. Kids milled around; their exited voices being carried via echoes throughout the vast space. Rows of wooden benches were set up along wall, though few had settled down enough to find a place on one.
Across the other side of the room, in front of a set of hanger doors, were the mages.
There weren’t as many mages as Virgil had anticipated, no more than half a dozen. He’d been expecting them to practically line the walls, to block off any means of escape.
He wasn’t sure what he’d thought they were going to look like, their appearance tended to differ in his nightmares a lot, he knew his brother was a mage and he seemed pretty ordinary. But he figured most of the other magicians would look much weirder. Maybe pointy hats. Or robes with silver stars on them. He’d hoped, rather morbidly, that at least one would be green skinned.
But there was no getting around that they looked completely normal. If you lined up a wall of innocent people and a mage Virgil wouldn’t be able to tells who was who.
There were three women and three men, each wearing loose-fitting, long-sleeved belted black tunics over trousers of the same material. There were leather-and-metal cuffs embedded with jewels around their wrists, but Virgil couldn’t tell if there was anything special about those or if they were just a questionable fashion statement.
The tallest of the mages, a big, wide-shouldered man with a hawkish nose and brown hair with streaks of grey, stepped forward and addressed the families who had finally settled.
‘Welcome, aspirants, and welcome, families of aspirants, to one of the most significant afternoons of your child’s life.’
Right, Virgil thought, playing with the frayed end of his hoodie. So, no pressure or anything.
The mage went on, explaining how the afternoon was going to go, how long it would take, what refreshments where going to be provided. ‘—some of you have travelled a great distance to give your child this opportunity. Once I have finished speaking, I would ask for you to say your goodbyes—’
Yeah, because some of you won’t see your families again.
‘And follow me through the left door.’
Virgil could still hear him, but he heard another voice, too, one that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
When Master North finishes speaking, all those hearing this voice should follow him until you get past the doors. Then take a left so we may separate you legacy aspirants to those who will need more orientation.
‘Do they all know they’re here to try to get into magic school?” he had once asked his brother.
His brother had shaken his head. ‘The parents believe whatever they want to believe and hear whatever they want to hear. If they want their child to be a famous athlete, they believe they’re getting into an exclusive training program. They call the people whose families do know legacies. That’s what you are, unfortunately.’
‘Did you hear that?’ Virgil asked his brother, who nodded. Virgil looked around at the faces all turned to the mages, some apprehensive, some smiling, some blank. ‘What about the kids?’
The mage —Virgil guessed he must be Master North, according to the disembodied voice — was finishing up his speech and an increasing hum of farewells and “good lucks” could be heard, even some quiet sobbing.
‘All those registered as a legacy will have. It requires potential for magic for you to hear it, they use it as a kind of mini first trial to make sure they’ve weeded out any kids of mages who may not have any power themselves.’
There was a shuffling as kids got to their feet. Virgil didn’t want to join them yet, he wanted to stay with his brother.
‘So that’s the first test? Whether we hear it?’
His brother barely seemed to register what he was saying. He looked distracted, his eyes fixed on a tall, dark mage that, in turn, was staring straight at him.
‘I suppose. But the other tests will be much worse. Just remember what I said, and it will all be over soon.’
‘Can’t I just… y’know, pretend I didn’t hear it?’
His brother turned to look at him, his eyes occasionally darting back to the mage.
‘I don’t think so, no.’
He caught Virgil’s wrist and pull him into a quick hug, startling him — he knew his brother cared about him, but he wasn’t touchy-feely most of the time. The moment was over almost as quickly as it had started and he pushed Virgil away, not looking him in the eyes.
‘Now go.’
Feeling numb Virgil followed Master North through the double doors at the end of the building then trailed after the other legacy kids who were being corralled into groups. One of the female magicians waved him toward a group at the end.
Virgil, at the back, hurried a little bit to catch up. He knew that being late was probably an advantage if he wanted them to think that he didn’t care about the tests or didn’t know what he was doing, but he hated stares that you got when you lag behind. In fact, he hurried ahead so quickly that he accidentally banged into the shoulder of a tall, serious looking boy with glasses.
‘Sorry.’ Virgil muttered automatically.
‘We’re all nervous.’ the boy said, which was funny, because he didn’t look nervous at all. In fact, he looked completely composed.
His eyebrows were perfectly arched, there wasn’t a speck of dust on his navy sweater or expensive-looking black jeans. The golden earrings that decorated his left ear looked like they had once belonged to royalty. Virgil immediately felt self-conscious, as if he were covered in dirt.
‘Hey, Logan!’ another boy with auburn hair and a red jacket made his presence known as he pushed past Virgil and moved to the boy’s side.
The boy said something else that Virgil didn’t bother to try to hear, sneering as he said it. Resentment bubbled in his brain but manged to cool himself down when he reminded himself that as soon as he failed the exams, he’d never have to see any of these people again.
Also, they were going to die horrible deaths underground.
‘I am Master Milagros,’ the female mage who’d directed Virgil was now saying as she herded her group expertly out of the big room and down a long, blandly painted hallway. ‘For this first test, you will all be together. Please follow behind me in an orderly fashion.’
They trudged down an endless series of halls and into a big white room where rows of desks were laid out in lines. It looked more like the sort of place that you might take your GSCE’s than anything Virgil had pictured. Then again, it was to be expected the mages would put up a front.
The desks were plain and wooden, attached to rickety chairs. Each desk had a blue book labelled with a kid’s name and a pen laid on top. With permission from the mage, everyone went from desk to desk, searching for their place card.
Virgil managed to find his relatively quickly, in the third row and slid into the seat, next to a wall and a kid with light, curly hair, round glasses and a jacket decorated by sewn-on cat and dog badges. He looked more like someone who held funerals for the bugs they accidently stepped on than a candidate for an evil mage school.
The boy smiled at Virgil as though he was genuinely happy to be seated near him.
He didn’t bother smiling back. He opened his blue book, glancing at the pages with questions and empty squares for A, B, C, D, or E. He had been expecting the tests to be scary, but the only apparent danger was the danger of being bored to death.
‘Please keep your books closed until the test has started,’ Master Milagros said as she paced among the desks. She was a tall, young-looking Mage who reminded Virgil a little of his newest science teacher. She had the same sense of awkward nervousness, as if she wasn’t used to spending a lot of time around kids. Her hair was black and short, with a streak of pink in it.
Virgil closed his book and then looked around, realizing he’d been the only person to open it. He decided he wasn’t going to tell his brother just how easy it had been to avoid fitting in.
‘First of all, I want to welcome you all to the Iron Trial,’ Master Milagros went on, clearing her throat. ‘As I’m sure you all know, you are actually here to be evaluated for acceptance into the Magisterium.’
She raised her arms, and the walls seemed to fall away. In their place was rough-hewn stone. The kids remained at their desks, but the ground beneath them had changed to mica-flecked rock, which sparkled like strewn glitter. Shimmering stalactites hung from the ceiling like icicles, thin ropes, or perhaps a form of underground vine, of some sort of glowing nature went from stalactite to stalactite, bathing the room in multicoloured yet gentle light.
The blond boy drew in his breath. All across the room, Virgil could hear low exclamations of awe. It was as if they were already inside the caves of the Magisterium. Deep, deep in the cave of the magisterium and there was no getting out.
‘So cool.’ said a boy with a large, plastic ladybug clip keeping half of a fringe from falling onto his face.
Virgil dug his nails into his palm as the shock wore of and the awe started to sink in. He thought of his brother’s words and warded off the positive thoughts: The magicians will tempt you with pretty illusions and elaborate lies. Don’t be drawn in.
Master Milagros went on, her voice gaining in confidence. ‘You are legacy students, with parents or other family members who have attended the Magisterium. But none of you are assured a place. Only the master’s know what makes a perfect candidate.’
In an unusual flash of braveness, Virgil stuck his hand up and, without waiting to be called on, asked, ‘What if you don’t want to go?’
‘Why wouldn’t anyone want to go?’ wondered a boy with a mop of brown hair, seated diagonally from Virgil. He was small and pale, with scrawny long legs and arms sticking out of a black T-shirt with the faded picture of a horse on it. For some reason he shot Virgil a nervous, almost knowing looking before morphing back into awe in the time it took between blinks.
‘You are being tested to see if you possess the qualities that will lead you to be chosen as an apprentice, and to accompany your teacher, called your Master, to the Magisterium. And if you possess sufficient magic, attendance is not optional.’ She glared at Virgil. ‘The Trial is for your own safety. As a legacy you should know the dangers untrained mages pose to themselves and others.’
A murmur ran around the room. Several of the kids, Virgil realized, kept on glancing at Logan, then turning as if that could stop them from being seen. He was sitting very straight in his chair, his eyes fixed ahead of him, his chin jutting out.
‘So, what happens if you don’t get into the Magisterium?’ asked the boy with the ladybug clip.
‘Good question, Emile Mason,’ said Master Milagros, though she didn’t sound very happy at having to explain further. ‘To be a successful mage, you must possess three things. One is the potential for the power of magic. That you all have, to some degree. The second is the knowledge of how to use it. That, we can give you. The third is control — and that, for magic, at least, that must come instinctively from inside of you. Now, in your first year, as untaught mages, you are reaching the peak of your power, but you have no knowledge and no control. If you seem to possess neither an aptitude for learning nor one for control, then you will not find a place at the Magisterium. In that case, we will make sure that you — and your families — are permanently safe from magic or any danger of succumbing to the elements.’
Succumbing to the elements? What does that mean? Virgil wondered. It sounded like other people weren’t as confused, a mask of fear covering each of their faces the second the statement was uttered. It was probably some kind of mage threat.
Master Milagros ignored all this. The images of the cavern slowly faded away. They were in the same white room they’d always been in.
They weren’t going to die underground just yet.
‘The pens in front of you are special,’ she said, looking as if she’d remembered to be nervous again. Virgil briefly wondered how old she was. She seemed young, even younger because of the pink hair, but he guessed you had to be a pretty accomplished magician to be a Master. Maybe she was some kind of flesh puppet. Did mages have flesh puppets? Flesh puppets sounded like something they’d have. ‘If you don’t use your pen, we won’t be able to take your test. Shake it to activate the ink. And remember that if you wish to change your answer put a single, straight line through your previous answer. You may begin.’
Virgil opened the book again. He stared at the first question:
- A dragon and a wyvern set out at 2 P.M. from the same cavern, headed in the same direction. The average speed of the dragon is 30 mph slower than twice the speed of the wyvern. In 2 hours, the dragon is 20 miles ahead of the wyvern. Find the flight speed of the dragon, factoring in that the wyvern is bent on revenge.
Revenge? Virgil blinked at the page, then flipped it. The next one was no better.
- Lucretia is preparing to plant a crop of deadly nightshade this autumn. She will plant 4 patches of common nightshade with 15 plants in each patch. She estimates that 20 percent of the field will be planted with a test crop of woody nightshade. How many nightshade plants are there in all? How many woody nightshade plants were planted? If Lucretia is an earth mage who has crossed three of the gates, how many people can she poison with the deadly nightshade before she is caught and beheaded?
Beheaded? Was that common event in mage community?
Virgil blinked at the test. Did he have to actually put effort into figuring out which answers were wrong, so that he didn’t accidentally get them right? Should he just put down the same thing over and over, figuring that had to get a low score? By the, probably made-up just then in his head, law of averages, he’d still get about twenty percent right, and that was higher than he wanted.
As he furiously pondered what to do, he picked up the pen, shook it, and tried to mark the paper.
It didn’t work.
He tried again, pressing harder. Still nothing. He looked around and it seemed that most of the other kids were writing fine, although a few were struggling with their pens, too. The boy next to him, the one that had smiled made eye contact with Virgil and noticed his struggle. He shook his hand that was holding his pen in a slow, deliberate motion then turned back to the test as Master Milagros walked past them.
It figured that he wasn’t going to fail the test— he wasn’t even going to be able to take it. Because even when Virgil tried to fail, he manged to fail more.
What if the mages made you take the test over again if you left it blank? Wasn’t that like refusing to show up in the first place?
Scowling, he tried to remember what Milagros had said about the pen. Something about shaking it to get the ink to work. That must’ve been what the boy was trying to remind him, he felt like an idiot. Maybe he just hadn’t shaken it enough.
He tightened his fist around the pen and shook it hard, his annoyance putting extra force into the snap of his wrist. Come on, he thought. Come on, you stupid thing, WORK!
Black ink exploded from the tip of the pen. He tried to stop the flow, pressing his finger against the nib but that just made the ink shoot harder. It splattered against the back of the chair in front of him; the curly-haired blond boy, sensing the inky storm that had just been unleashed, ducked to get out of range of the mess. More ink than seemed possible to come from such a small pen was spurting all over the place, and everyone’s eyes seemed to be on his with varying levels of annoyance and confusion.
In a panic and at loss as to what else to do, Virgil dropped the pen, which immediately stopped spraying. But the damage was done.
His hands and desk, his test book and hair, were covered in ink. He tried to wipe it off his fingers, only succeeding in leaving blue handprints all over his shirt. He was pretty sure he’d swallowed some. It was probably poisonous, as well.
Everyone in the class was still staring. He felt the tips of his ears pinking and his throat began to dry up. All their eyes were glued to him, even Master Milagros was watching him in what looked alarmingly like amazement. Everyone was silent except the guy who’d been talking to Logan before. He leaned over to whisper to the taller one again. Logan didn’t crack a matching smirk, but from the superior glint in his eyes, Virgil could tell what they were saying.
‘Virgil Smith,’ said Master Milagros after a few beats of awkward silence. ‘Please — please leave the room, go across the hall to the toilets and clean yourself up, then wait in the hallway until the group re-joins you.’
Virgil swallowed down any retort and staggered to his feet, barely registering lone look of sympathy coming from the curly haired boy who’d just barely dodged the ink. He could still hear someone giggling as he banged out through the door. He leaned against one of the sinks in the toilet, splashing water into his hair. Who cared what they thought?
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. By tonight this will all seem like a dream. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.
He did his best to scrub off the ink with powdered soap and rough paper towels. He wondered if the ink was magical. It sure wanted to stick, but at least he had been wearing dark clothing, you couldn’t really tell it was anywhere but his skin if you didn’t squint.
When he emerged from the bathroom and found the other aspirants waiting for him in the hallway. He heard some of them muttering to one another about “the freak with the ink”.
‘Nice look with the ink,’ the boy with the auburn hair said. He looked rich, rich like Logan. He couldn’t place exactly what is was that gave off the feeling, but his clothes were the kind of tailored casual-fancy that cost a lot of money. ‘For your sake, I hope the next test doesn’t involve explosions. Or, oh, wait — I hope it does.’
‘Shut up.’ Virgil muttered, all too aware that it was hardly the greatest comeback of all time.
He slouched against the wall until Master Milagros, reappearing, called them all to order.
Silence fell as she called out their names one by one, directing them down one of three corridors and telling them to wait at the other end. Virgil had no idea how the airplane hangar managed to house such a network of passageway. He suspected it was one of those things his father would say he was better off not thinking about.
‘Virgil Smith!’ she called, looking up.
He shuffled along to join his group, which also contained, to his dismay, the auburn-haired boy, whose name turned out to be Roman deWinter, which was a stupid name, and the blond boy he’d spattered ink on earlier, who was called Patton Stewart. Roman made a big show of hugging an irked Logan and wishing him luck before he sauntered over to join the group. Once there, he immediately started talking to Patton and someone else, joining the rest of the group in their act of pretending Virgil didn’t exist.
The other three kids in Virgil’s new group were Kylie Myles and the nervous-looking boy named Emile something, who was the one with the ladybug clip. There was another kid, one that was wearing sunglasses despite being inside, but Virgil hadn’t caught there name.
They had started moving off down the hall, and Virgil began to limp, his ankle deciding now would be the perfect time to draw more attention to himself.
Master Milagros led them around a last corner, into a huge room that was set up like a gymnasium. There was a high ceiling, and from the centre of it dangled a big red, metal ball, suspended high over their heads. Next to the ball was a long rope ladder with wooden rungs that reached from the roof to brush the floor, which was carpeted with a mat.
He couldn’t climb with his ankle the way it was. This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be throwing these tests on purpose, not being so terrible at them that he’d never have been able to get into magic school in the first place.
‘I leave you now to Master Rockmaple,’ Master Milagros said, indicating a short magician with a bristling red beard and a ruddy nose.
He was carrying a clipboard and had a whistle around his neck, sort of like a P.E teacher, although he was wearing the same weird robes the other magicians were in. A group of aspirants Virgil didn’t recognise, probably non-legacy or whatever, where already gathered around him with an air of skittishness that mirrored how Virgil felt inside.
‘This test is deceptively simple,’ said Master Rockmaple, stroking his beard in a way that seemed designed to look ominous. He probably got a kick out of scaring non-legacy aspirants or something. ‘Simply climb the rope ladder and touch the ball. Who would like to go first?’
Several kids shot up their hands while other attempted to back up, hiding behind those more eager.
Master Rockmaple pointed to Roman. He bounded up to the rope but not before shooting a smirk back to the crowd, as though being selected first were some kind of indication of how awesome he was, instead of just a measure of how eagerly he’d waggled his hand. Instead of climbing right on, he circled the apparatus, looking up at the ball thoughtfully, tapping his lower lip.
He looked stupid.
‘Are you quite ready?’ Master Rockmaple asked making it clear by his tone they shared the same sentiment as Virgil. A few of the other kids snickered.
Roman, clearly not enjoying at being laughed at when he was taking the whole thing so seriously, launched himself at the dangling rope ladder. As soon as he’d climbed from one rung to another, however, the ladder seemed to lengthen, so that no matter how fast he seemed to climb he never got much further. Finally, it got the better of him and he toppled to the mat, surrounded by coils and coils of rope and steps of wood.
Now that, that was funny.
‘Very good,’ said Master Rockmaple. ‘Who would like to go next?’
A sea of arms considerably smaller than last time answered his question.
‘Wait! Let me try it again,’ said Roman, a whine coating his voice. ‘I know how to do it now.’
‘We have a lot of aspirants waiting for their turn.’ Master Rockmaple said, looking as if he was not so secretly enjoying himself.
‘But it’s not fair. Someone will get it right and then everyone will know how to do it. I’m being punished for going first.’
‘It looked to me like you wanted to go first,’ he paused, allowing another small round of sniggering to settle down. ‘But very well, deWinter. If there’s time after everyone else is done, and you’d still like to try again, you may.’
It just figured that Roman or “deWinter” or however he was supposed to be addressed would get another chance. Virgil assumed that from the way he was acting, his dad was probably somebody important.
Most of the other kids didn’t do any better, some making it halfway up and then sliding back down, one never even hauling themselves off the ground. Patton got the farthest before losing his grip and falling onto a practice mat. Although he didn’t want to show he was upset, Virgil could tell he was by the way he frantically readjusted his glasses and put on a too large smile, refusing to meet anyone's eye.
Master Rockmaple looked back down at his list. ‘Remington Stokes.’
Remi, as he corrected the mage, stood in front of the rope ladder, flexing his fingers like he was about to jog onto a basketball court. He looked sporty and confident, and Virgil felt an ache of jealousy in his stomach that he got whenever his brother was late to pick him up and he got stuck watching the after-school clubs.
Sports where never really an option for Virgil; the opportunity for embarrassment was far too great, even if his brother had let him join any, which, of course, he hadn’t, his reasoning being ankle might act up or get worse and that there where too many emotions at play. Too many opportunities to slip up and uses magic in the frustration of defeat or joy of a well earned victory.
Remi took three, large steps back then jogged toward the rope ladder and flung himself onto it. He climbed fast, his feet pushing as his arms pulled him upward in what looked like a single, fluid motion. He was moving so quickly that he was going faster than the rope was falling. Higher and higher he went.
Virgil held his breath, a sudden spark of adrenaline taking hold, which was stupid, this test should mean nothing to him.
Remi, grinning in a cocky fashion, reached the top. He hit the ball with the side of one hand, knocking it free, before slithering back down the ladder and landing on his feet like a gymnast.
Some of the other kids burst into spontaneous applause. Even Roman seemed to be caught up in the atmosphere, going over to clap Remi on the back.
‘Very good,’ Master Rockmaple said, using the same tone he’d used with everyone else. The grumpy old mage was probably just annoyed that someone had beaten his stupid test.
‘Virgil Smith.’ the mage said next, after causing the ball to fly back up to his original position.
Virgil felt his throat go dry, wishing that he’d thought to bring a doctor’s note.
‘I can’t.’
Master Rockmaple gave him a once him over.
‘Why ever not?’
Virgil raised his head and stared defiantly at the mage.
‘My leg. I’m not supposed to do sports stuff.’ he said.
The mage shrugged.
‘So, then don’t.’
Virgil fought down a blaze of anger. He could tell the other kids were looking at him, some with pity and others with annoyance. The worst part was that, normally, he’d have jumped at the chance to do something physical. He was just trying to do what he was supposed to and fail.
‘It’s not an excuse.’ He wasn’t sure why he said it.
Master Rockmaple, who had been holding his whistle in one hand, twirled it thoughtfully.
‘These tests aren’t all obvious,’ he said, being crypt and shit. ‘At least try, Virgil. If you fail, we move on to the next one.’
Virgil threw up his hands.
‘Fine. Fine.’ He stalked toward the rope ladder and put one hand on it. He deliberately put his left leg on the lowest rung and braced his weight on it, reaching up.
A sharp pain shot up his calf and he dropped back down to the floor, still gripping the ladder. He could hear what probably Roman laughing behind him.
His foot ached and his stomach felt light. He looked up the ladder again, toward the ball at the very top, and felt his head start to throb with pain. He glared furiously at the ball that he knew he couldn’t reach, thinking, I hate you, I hate you, I hate —
Virgil felt his ears pop, and saw that the red ball caught on fire, the metal bubbling and beginning to drip down where it was caught by an imaginary force halfway down. He turned to see Master Rockmaple holding out an outstretched palm, a shocked sort of blank look on their face.
Everyone’s eyes where on him, some where giggling, other where smirking, other where just staring, staring, staring, staring…
This time he recognised a pressure building up inside him before his ears popped and the plastic mat he was lying on exploded. Gloops (was that a real word? Gloop?) of lukewarm and yet liquid plastic soured in every direction.
Someone shrieked — it sounded like a girl, but Virgil seriously hoped it was Roman. Everyone, including Master Rockmaple, was staring as the mat kept on spitting out gloops. The stench of burning chemical filled the air, and Virgil came to his senses jumped back as a big lump of melting plastic hit the floor by his feet, splattering his combat boots. He scrambled away as more of the goop began to relentlessly explode, a little of it splattering the shoulder of his hoodie.
Ink and goop. This was a great fashion day for him.
‘Get out!’ Master Rockmaple said, coming to their senses as the kids started to choke and cough on smoke. ‘Everyone, get out of the room.’
‘But my turn!’ Roman protested. ‘How am I going to get my second turn now that the freak has totally destroyed the ball? Master Rockmaple —'
‘I SAID GET OUT,’ the mage roared, his voice doubling as if he had a personal echo and the kids surged from the room, Virgil bringing up the rear, intensely conscious of the fact that both Roman and Master Rockmaple were glaring at him with what looked a lot like hatred.
Like the smell of burning, the word freak carried through the air.
Master Rockmaple marched angrily, leading the whole group down a hallway, away from the testing room. Everyone was moving so fast there was no way for Virgil to keep up. His leg hurt more than ever, and he smelled like a burning tire factory. He limped along behind them, wondering if anyone had ever messed up this badly in the history of the Magisterium. Maybe they’d let him go home early, for his sake and for the sake of everyone else.
‘Hey, you okay?’ Patton asked him, dropping back so he could walk alongside Virgil. He smiled widely, like there was nothing strange about talking to Virgil after that little display.
‘Fine,’ Virgil said, gritting his teeth. ‘Never better, in fact. I was going for this look; do you think I pull it off? Is the ink handprint on my face too much or just enough?’
A small chuckle answered his half-hearted joking, to his surprise it didn’t come from Patton, who was simply smiling in an amused way, but from another person who had decided to fall back to walk with them.
‘I have no idea how you did that, but it was epic. The look on Master Rockmaple’s face was like —' Remy tried to mimic it, furrowing his eyebrows, widening his eyes, and making his mouth gape.
Virgil started to laugh, like, properly laugh, but stifled it quickly. He didn’t want to like any of the other kids, especially not super-competent ones.
They turned the corner. The rest of the class was waiting. Master Rockmaple cleared his throat, apparently about to scold Virgil for being late, before realising that he was alone. Biting back whatever he was going to say the mage opened the door to a new room.
Virgil scrambled into the room along with the rest of the group. It was a boring industrial space like the one they’d been in for the first test, with rows of desks and a single sheet of paper resting atop each one.
How many written tests are there going to be? Not… not that he’d completed the first one by any means. Maybe they where retaking now because of that whole pen incident?
Virgil wanted to ask, but he didn’t think that Master Rockmaple was in the mood to answer him. None of these desks had names, so he sat at one and folded his arms over his chest.
‘Master Rockmaple!’ called out Emile, sitting down. ‘Master Rockmaple, I don’t have a pen.’
‘Nor will you need one,’ said the mage. ‘This is a test of your ability to control your magic. You will be using the element of air. Concentrate on the paper in front of you until you are able to lift it off the desk, using only the energy of your thoughts. Lift it straight up, without allowing it to wobble or fall. Once that is accomplished, please rise and join me at the front of the room.’
Relief washed through Virgil. All he had to do was make sure the paper didn’t fly up into the air, which seemed simple enough. His whole life, he had not once managed not to make pieces of paper fly around classrooms. Then again, he’d never melted balls of metal of exploded mats or pens before either.
Patton was sitting across the aisle from him. He had his hand on his chin, his eyes narrowed. The paper on his desk rose into the air, perfectly level. It hovered for a moment before fluttering back to the desk. With a grin, Patton got up to join Master Rockmaple at the front of the room, looking as if he was seriously trying to fight a giddy grin.
Virgil heard a condescending chuckle to his left. He glanced over and saw Roman take out what looked like a sewing pin or snapped safety clip and prick his finger. A drop of blood appeared which he stared at proudly before shoving his finger into his mouth, sucking on it.
What an absolute weirdo.
Roman slumped back in his chair, in a casual, I-can-do-magic-with-my-eyes-closed-and-my-hands-tied-behind-my-back kind of way. And it seemed like he could, since the paper on his desk was folding and crumpling — rolling itself into a new shape. With a few more folds and tucks, it became a paper airplane, which zoomed off Roman’s desk and flew across the room, hitting Virgil directly in the forehead. He swatted it away and it dropped to the ground.
‘I hope the eyeless fish eat you.’ He hissed.
In response, the other stuck out his tongue, his paper rising to hit Virgil over the head a few more times.
‘Roman, that’s enough,’ Master Rockmaple said, though he didn’t sound as annoyed as he could have. ‘Get up here.’
Virgil returned his attention to his paper as Roman sauntered up to the front of the room, acting as if there should be a spotlight on him. All around him, kids were staring and whispering at the papers on their desks, willing them to move. Virgil’s stomach tightened uneasily. What if a gust of air came along and picked up his paper? What if someone else accidently made his move? They were supposed to be using air magic right, was it possible someone might accidently make a wind strong enough to move his as well? What if it just … fluttered on its own? Would he get points for that?
Stay put, he thought glaring daggers at the paper on his desk. Don’t you move.
He pictured himself holding it down against the wood, fingers splayed, preventing it from twitching.
Fuck, this is stupid, he thought. What a thing to do with your day. But he stayed where he was, concentrating. This time, he wasn’t alone. Several other kids were unable to move their papers.
‘Virgil?’ said Master Rockmaple, sounding weary.
Virgil sat back; confident that the paper wasn’t going to move. ‘Can’t do it.’
‘If he can’t, he really can’t,’ put in Roman. ‘Just give him a zero and let’s go before he creates a blizzard and we all die from paper cuts.’
A few noises of agreement and some more giggling. Stands to reason even among mages he’d be the class weirdo.
‘All right, that’s enough of that,’ scolded the mage. ‘Everyone bring me your papers and I’ll give you your marks. Come on, let’s get this room cleaned up for the next group.’
Relieved, Virgil reached for the paper on his desk — and froze. Desperately, he scrabbled at the edges of it with his fingernails, but somehow, he didn’t know how, the paper had sunk into the wood of the desk and he couldn’t get a grip on it. ‘Uh— Master—Master Rockmaple — there’s something wrong with my paper.’
‘Everyone under the desks!’ called Roman, clearly enjoying the attention he was getting.
Master Rockmaple stalked over to Virgil and stared down at the paper, even attempting to pick it up themself. It had well and truly become fused to the desk.
‘Who did this?’ demanded Master Rockmaple. He was staring at Roman. ‘Is this someone’s idea of a prank?’
The class was silent.
‘Did you do this?’ Master Rockmaple asked Virgil, whirling around.
I was just trying to keep it from moving, Virgil thought miserably, but he couldn’t say that. So, he shrugged instead.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You,’ he took a deep breath and steadied his voice. ‘You don’t know if you did this?’
‘That’s what I said, isn’t it? Maybe the paper is defective. What sort of quality control tests do you do on your equipment? You know, serious accidents can occur when—'
‘It’s just paper!’ the mage shouted, and then seemed to get control of himself. ‘Paper can’t be defective!’
‘Are you sure about that? You know it's a common misconception to have but paper defection causes millions of deaths every year.'
Remy looked extremely amused from his place behind the teacher, he shot Virgil an impressed look. Yeah, this was what Virgil was used to. They weren’t a terrifying mage who might hurt him, they where just a supply teacher who snapped. Just a normal, regular supply teacher.
‘All right… All right! Fine. You get a zero. No, wait, you are going to be the first aspirant in Magisterium history to get a negative score on one of the Iron Trial tests. You get a minus ten,’ He shook his head. ‘I think we can all be grateful that the final test is one you do alone.’
This time, the aspirants stood in the hallway outside a double door and waited to be called inside. Roman was speaking to Patton, looking over at Virgil like he was the subject they were discussing.
Virgil sighed. This was the last test. Some of the tension drained out of him at the thought. No matter how well he did, one last test wasn’t going to make that much of a difference to his terrible score. In less than an hour, he’d be heading home with his brother and the biggest concern on his mind would be that homework he had been putting off.
‘Virgil Smith,’ called a mage who hadn’t introduced herself before. She had an elaborate necklace wound around her throat and was reading off a clipboard. ‘Master Rufus is waiting for you inside.’
He pushed off the wall and followed her through the double doors.