Chapter 39
Anticipation mixed with nervous energy thrummed on the wind through the open-air Rosen Holyvere Amphitheater.
The Mandatory Guild Trials promised a spectacle the audience was eager to witness, safe knowing they were not participating in the first trial.
Initiates stomped their feet and shouted in excitement as they passed wax-lined cones of buttered popcorn, salted pretzels, and at least one smuggled bottle of illegal bathtub liquor brewed by an initiate in Echinacea.
Audra thought the ones drinking the contraband liquor were daft as goats.
They would be competing in their own trials in just a few hours—then again, Holyvere Academy initiates had gotten quite skilled at pushing stressors away, relying on their ability to live in the here and now, for what other choice did they have?
They would take what little joy they could and run with it.
However, Audra, sandwiched between Callum and Wilder in the front row of the vast circular raised seating, didn’t have a death wish, and thus, when the liquor came their way, she motioned for the jar to be passed behind them.
The more inebriated the other initiates got, the better chance she had of surviving, and maybe winning, when her own trials came.
Archmagistra Syleste ascended the stage, ringing a handbell. The audience settled down immediately; nobody wanted to miss a moment of this.
On the horseshoe-shaped stage at the center of the amphitheater stood the entire Echinacea Guild and the fifteen or so initiates who’d chosen to compete.
The initiates, their faces a mixture of pure terror and determined focus, stood before their opinantes whose bright, youthful eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and apprehension, depending on their partner.
Some seemed to be fervently praying to their gods.
Audra pitied the opinantes, who didn’t have a choice in this. Their priestesses ordered their participation; they had to follow orders. Cersha’s opinante, Pia, gazed at Cersha with fierce pride. She had complete faith in Cersha’s ability to keep herself alive.
Cersha, eyes closed, however, looked a tad green, her freckles stood out starkly against her pale complexion. Her lips moved as she recited something, maybe a list of herbs and their healing properties.
“Initiates,” the Archmagistra’s voice boomed, echoing through the amphitheater. Audra tried to find the incra that must be stenciled on her person somewhere, to allow for the volume, but she couldn’t locate one. “You will now face the Echinacea Guild trials.”
The crowd roared, stomped their feet, some shouting their friends’ names.
“Each of you will be presented with an afflicted opinante.”
A hush fell over the crowd as they were reminded that this trial faced real consequences.
“You must diagnose the ailment, select the appropriate ingredients, and brew a potent antidote. Finally, you must inscribe the correct incra to activate the potion’s efficacy.
Speed and accuracy are paramount. Failure to administer a timely and effective cure may have dire consequences for your young opinante. ”
One opinante wavered, clearly close to fainting. Nerves? Or were they already afflicted?
The Archmagistra paused for effect. Audra felt sick. She couldn’t imagine how Cersha felt.
“Begin!”
The answer became clear, as one by one, all opinantes sank to the stage.
Audra was near enough that she could see their eyes glaze over, their movements turn sluggish as they struggled to remain upright.
The competing initiates exploded into movement.
Most focused on their opinantes to assess their symptoms, easing them into a prone position as they checked temperatures, asking them questions in hushed tones.
Others ignored their opinantes, racing instead toward the shelves that had been erected in the rear of the stage and filled with miniature iron cauldrons, clippers, empty vials for their elixirs, mortars and pestles, an array of herbs, fungi, flowers, leaves, tree barks, and vials of various colored liquids.
Cersha, after examining Pia’s eyes, patted her head affectionately before racing toward the shelves, muttering to herself.
“Remember to breathe, Callum,” Audra reminded her friend, who’d gone absolutely rigid beside her. “She’s top of her class, remember? She’ll be fine.”
“She’ll be fine.” His eyes tracked Cersha as she filled her apron’s massive pockets with ingredients, though he sounded as ill as Cersha had looked waiting for her trial to start. He was completely stiff, but at least he was breathing again.
Cersha, wiping sweat from her brow, rushed back to Pia, who’d gone unnaturally still by this point.
She began to talk to Pia as she upended her apron, all her ingredients tumbling to the stage.
Audra couldn’t hear her, but she would bet the skilled archemist spoke encouraging words, telling Pia that she would be okay.
Which was better than what the initiate to Cersha’s left was doing, holding his opinante’s head to his chest, and wailing in unbridled panic.
Cersha began to grind what looked like a handful of moonstones in the mortar, her motions practiced, efficient.
A vial of green liquid followed. She added a few herbs to the mixture and whisked the concoction before pouring everything into her miniature cauldron.
Then she began inscribing incras on its rim, her expression severe, determined.
“You’ve got this, Cersha,” muttered Callum. The frothy potion began to boil.
Noel, Audra noticed, her mouth twisting with distaste, had forwent a cauldron entirely; instead, he’d grabbed one leaf of a plant, placed it on his opinante’s tongue, and set to inscribing incras on her arms.
“Look, Noel isn’t planning on using any archemical skills for this at all,” remarked Audra. “Besides the leaf, he seems to be relying one hundred percent on his knowledge of incramancy.”
“Seems wrong, somehow,” Wilder said.
“Right?” Audra crossed her arms. “I don’t want his opinante to be harmed, of course—but he better not beat Cersha.”
“He won’t. This is Echinacea’s trial, I’m sure they’re scoring is based on archemical mastery,” said Callum. “Cersha’s got this handled.”
Just then, a girl at the back, Jenella, one of Cersha’s Echinacea friends, uttered an alarmed scream.
Audra, with the rest of the crowd, rose up in her seat to see better.
Jenella’s opinante’s body was contorted in agony, foam bubbling from bluish lips.
“Poor girl,” said Audra, watching in horror as the acolyte’s body racked with violent tremors.
It seemed like Jenella had either misdiagnosed the ailment or mistook the ingredients, accidentally poisoning the acolyte instead.
Jenella frantically flipped the acolyte onto her side and pushed a shaking finger down her opinante’s throat, trying to force the girl to expel the elixir she’d just consumed. The opinante vomited onto the stage before collapsing once more, unconscious.
“Help! Help her!” Jenella cried. She leapt from the stage, stumbling over to a collection of fae mediscribes who plucked the small girl from Jenella’s arms. The opinante, her limbs still spasming, was laid out and strapped down to a stretcher.
A mediscribe began treating her with a vial drawn from a collection of ready-made antidotes.
Jenella watched on, hands folded over her stomach. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she begged them to save the girl. It was awful, to be the first one to fail—but Audra was glad to see that Jenella had chosen to forfeit the trial rather than risk her opinante’s life.
Another cry for help rang through the amphitheater.
Chlove, Noel’s lackey was shouting, red-faced, “She’s stopped breathing, she’s not breathing!
” A few mediscribes rushed onto the stage, crowding around the opinante, while Chlove screeched to anyone who would listen, “It should have worked, it’s not my fault!
” A mediscribe snapped at him, “Shut up, boy, you clearly miscalculated the amount.”
Audra urged Cersha to hurry, hurry, hurry. She didn’t want Noel to win.
Cersha had, in the few moments Audra had been distracted, already transferred her potion to a slender vial and was cradling Pia’s head on her lap. Pia drank the elixir down.
Callum reached out and gripped Audra’s and Wilder’s hands. All three held their breath, their eyes trained on Pia.
Nothing seemed to happen, but then, yes!
A wave of energy seemed to course through the acolyte.
Pia’s eyes opened, and she sat up. Cersha grinned and began checking her pulse, her eyes.
Satisfied that Pia’s health was restored, she opened her mouth to announce her healed, just as Noel’s voice rang out.
“She’s healed, Archmagistra, please have a mediscribe assess my opinante to confirm.”
The crowd roared for Noel, as his opinante jumped to her feet, arms spread wide, turning in a circle, showing that she was completely cured.
Cersha’s smile faltered momentarily, but she kept it plastered on for Pia’s sake, who beamed at her initiate with pride as Cersha privately signaled to a mediscribe to come and check her own opinante.
Noel won first place, Cersha, second.
Thankfully, by the end of the trial, no opinantes were permanently harmed, though many were shaken, and still appeared a little ill by the time the stage was cleared to prepare for the next trial.