Chapter VI #2
A booming crack came from beside them, and Vic’s hands flew in front of her face on instinct as a small cloud of dust consumed the two recruits at the nearest table.
“Show-off,” Sarah muttered, still staring at the page in front of her.
“Was that supposed to happen?” Vic whispered. As the dust cloud cleared, Vic saw that one of the recruits’ egg-sized rocks lay shattered on the table. The recruit, a young blond woman, beamed at the brown-haired girl beside her, who wore a sour expression.
“ ‘Transport and structure of inanimate objects,’ ” Sarah said, repeating Elder Thompson’s earlier description of Level One in a mocking soprano. “You’re supposed to destroy it.”
“That’s the first level, then. Destroying rocks?”
Sarah laughed. “That’s like step one of Level One. Next week we’ll have to chuck them across the room.”
“Are all the levels rocks-based?”
Sarah shot Vic a look. “Of course not.”
Vic really wished Max had left her more helpful instructions.
Two of the shrouded figures hurried over to the table to clean up the debris.
“Who are they?” Vic whispered.
“Servants,” Sarah replied, almost spitting the word. “Non-magic humans employed by the Order.”
“And that’s their uniform?” Vic asked, eyeing the bottom half of the hooded woman’s face, the only part of her skin Vic could see.
“For secrecy, they say. So the servants can only see what’s right in front of them, what needs cleaning. But really I’d guess it’s more of an exercise in humiliation. Reminds them of their place.”
Vic made a disgusted face.
“Unfortunately, you will get used to it,” Sarah muttered.
The servant closest to Vic finished clearing the shattered rock and bustled to a nearby table when a crashing sound signaled another recruit’s success.
“They got the shrouds reduced for the summer months a few years back,” Sarah went on. “More breathable fabric, you understand. That’s what amounts to social progress in the Order, I guess.” Sarah didn’t bother to keep her voice down, and a few of the surrounding recruits glared at her.
“Are they the only non-magic humans in the castle?” Vic asked, and she felt a pit in her stomach at the thought.
Sarah looked at Vic and raised her eyebrows. “Not anymore.”
Comforting.
The recruits at the table nearest them were watching Vic and Sarah. Both women were white and thin and looked to be about twenty, and both wore identical expressions of high-minded offense.
“Do you mind?” the blond one asked. “We’re trying to concentrate.”
But the brown-haired girl was watching Vic with a curious expression, like she’d finally been given permission to stare.
“If you can’t concentrate with me talking, you’ll never make it—” Sarah said, but the brown-haired recruit interrupted her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Vic in a haughty voice, and Vic felt her hackles rise. She cast a look at Sarah, who was frowning at the recruit.
“Right now I’m watching y’all break rocks,” Vic replied.
“No, what are you doing here?” she repeated, slow and emphatic like Vic was hard of hearing. Or an idiot.
“Are you stupid?” Sarah asked. “She’s watching you guys break rocks.”
Vic huffed a laugh at the shocked indignation on the two recruits’ faces.
“Ignore them,” Sarah said to Vic. “Dipshit and Pipshit over here are just surprised by the new animal in their enclosure.”
“Lily and Claire,” the blond one corrected, like Sarah’s failure to refer to them properly was the insulting part of her statement.
“I wouldn’t bother learning their names,” Sarah said, still addressing Vic. “A lot of the recruits don’t make it past Level Four.”
“Why is that?” Vic asked, ignoring the other two.
“Eh, it’s the first time in training you have to go from the concrete to the abstract. Instead of using spells other people have written, you have to think of your own. Some just can’t hack it.”
“But I thought all witches had to be trained. That they’re dangerous if they can’t control themselves.” Vic remembered Nathaniel’s threat, that if Henry endangered the Order they would put him down like a rabid dog.
“Sounds like fearmongering to me,” Sarah said, shrewd eyes on Vic. “You really only need to know the basics to not be dangerous.”
So Nathaniel had lied. Vic had known he was slimy. She leaned forward as another suspicion occurred to her.
“What about these kinds of markings?” Vic asked, pointing at the unreadable writing in the spell book Sarah held. “Would you ever cut them into your skin? What would that do?”
Sarah looked confused, but answered, “Some witches will mark themselves with a spell if they want to draw on it quickly. Most use ink or charcoal, but some believe blood makes the spell more potent.”
“Do you?”
Sarah gave a half-hearted shrug. “It wouldn’t work for me anyway, but I guess I can understand the reasoning.”
“Miss Garza,” came a stern voice from behind them, and Sarah swore under her breath. Elder Thompson glared down at Sarah, his mouth a thin, disapproving line. “Do I need to remind you why you’re here?”
The two recruits next to them turned back to their spell books, looking smug.
“I am being punished,” Sarah replied.
“You are undergoing remedial classes, Miss Garza, because of your failure to perform in the field.”
“It’s punishment,” she said to Vic. “Cruel and unusual, if you ask me.”
“It’s mandatory,” the old man corrected. “The Chief Sentinel believes you would benefit from a reminder as to the basics of your training.”
“I mouthed off,” Sarah told Vic. “And I’m stuck here until Xan stops feeling sadistic.”
“Miss Garza!” the Elder snapped. “If you are so confident about your abilities, I welcome you to demonstrate.” With a wrinkled hand, he gestured to the basket in front of her.
“Do I have to do it with the book?” Sarah asked.
“Yes.”
“Suit yourself,” Sarah said, sounding resigned.
She stared at the basket of stones, frowning as she concentrated. She held the spell book aloft in one palm, and her eyes flashed to it before returning to the rocks. When she spoke, her voice fell into the strange language, low and lilting and hardly human.
Vic jumped out of her seat when the entire basket went off like a bomb. She coughed against a cloud of misted stone and waved it away from her face. As the scene cleared, Vic stared, agog, at the two-foot-wide hole Sarah had blown through the table.
The entire room went quiet as all the recruits turned to stare at Sarah and, by extension, Vic.
Sarah leaned back in her chair and smiled up at Elder Thompson, who looked furious.
“This is precisely the problem with you Mades,” he hissed. “You have no control. You have no appreciation for the art.”
Two shrouded servants hurried to the Elder’s side to clean up the mess of wood and rock shavings.
“No,” he snapped at the pair of them. “Let her do it herself.”
Vic thought one of the servants was laughing under her breath. Though she couldn’t be sure, she caught a hint of a repressed smile as they stepped back. Sarah was still beaming at Elder Thompson, though the grin didn’t reach her eyes.
“Clean this up,” he demanded, and turned to address Vic. “And you…you should be wearing a shroud like the rest of them.” A wizened finger pointed toward the servants, and Vic felt the muscles in her back tense, preparing her to fight.
“Don’t speak to my sister that way,” Henry said, on his feet. “Elder Shepherd said she’s allowed to be here.”
Thompson made a frustrated sound, his hand curling into a fist at his side.
“My tolerance for Shepherd’s eccentricity,” he replied in a choked voice, “grows thin.”
He turned on his heel and swept out of the room.
Vic felt the eyes of the recruits on her back. Thank you, she mouthed to Henry, who nodded, looking dazed, and turned away.
“The wise old Elder Thompson,” Sarah said, no longer smiling. “Cheery, isn’t he?”
Vic sat back down as the female servant she’d caught laughing approached with a brush and a dustpan.
This close, Vic realized the veil over her face was slightly sheer, and she caught the woman’s eye.
She was pretty and young, and Vic had no idea how she had ended up here, with her eyes covered so she could see little more than the floor.
The woman winked. Then she turned and left.
The rest of the recruits returned to their work, their voices carrying on hushed conversations about what had just happened. Henry was grinning at his tablemate, looking sheepish.
Vic and Sarah cleaned up the mess as best they could. With no Elder to supervise, the recruits’ voices grew louder and louder, until the room spoke in a dull roar.
“How did you do that?” Vic asked Sarah, eyeing the hole in the table.
“Magic, my friend,” Sarah said, eyes wide in mock theatrics. “You should try it.”
“I can’t.”
“Come on, give it a shot.” She walked over to the table beside them, with its still-intact basket of stones, and plucked one the size of her fist. Lily/Claire shot her an offended look but said nothing. Evidently, Sarah’s demonstration had spooked them out of talking back to her again.
“You’re not a recruit, I gather,” Vic said.
“Nope,” Sarah said. “Graduated from the Order’s academy three years ago. I’m a Sentinel.”
“You’re being punished,” Vic said, “with lessons.”
“Xan’s an asshole,” Sarah said. “Sometimes I point this out. He doesn’t always take it well.”
Vic didn’t know who Xan was, but she smiled.
Sarah plopped the rock on the edge of the table in front of Vic. “Try it.”
“I literally can’t,” Vic said. She gestured to herself. “No magic.”
“I know that,” Sarah said. “Try it anyway.”
“How?” Vic asked. She couldn’t read the spell book, and she couldn’t remember the sounds Sarah had made well enough to repeat them.
“The first witches learned the Universal Language by paying attention to the world around them. It’s supposed to be a naturally derived way of communicating the connections between states of matter.”
Vic frowned. “You lost me.”
“Focus on the stone. Think about how it’s formed. What its component parts look like, what the structure is on an atomic level. Stones are the easiest for beginner witches to work with, because they’re simple.”
Vic leaned forward until her eyes were almost level with the table. She stared at the stone, imagining its parts like Sarah had suggested. It just sat there, staring back at her.
“It’s not working,” Vic said, feeling stupid.
Sarah made a noncommittal hmm.
“What did the Elder call you?” Vic asked.
“Made,” Sarah said, and she spread her arms wide like she meant to bow. “I wasn’t born a witch like your brother and everyone else in this room. I was Made one.”
Vic shook her head, confused.
“It’s a different kind of magic,” Sarah said. “Born witches commune with the natural world through spells and rituals.” She tapped the spell book in front of her. “I don’t need any of that.”
Before Vic could ask how Sarah knew her brother, or how a witch could be Made, or any of a dozen other questions rattling through her mind, a heavy chime sounded throughout the room, and the students began to stand.
“School’s out,” Sarah announced as she stood and stretched and headed for the door. After a few steps, Sarah stopped. “Actually.” She turned to Vic with a wicked smile, and Vic could almost see an idea forming behind Sarah’s eyes. “Come with me.”
“I think I’m afraid to,” Vic said.
Sarah laughed and sauntered toward the back exit.
Vic cast a look around for her brother. She watched Henry disappear into the hall with the other students.
Though many of them looked at Vic as she stood, no one spoke to her, and they filtered out in quick succession, until Vic stood alone in the back of the classroom.
She looked at the rock on the table in front of her, frowning, and hurried after Sarah.