AKI:

It was the first day of assessments. Students milled about the courtyard, waiting for Headmaster Pakur to give his speech and proclaim the assessments underway. I hated him for the wait. Worry had taken over my appetite and decided I’d go hungry until the evaluation was complete and my fate decided.

Edon nudged me with his shoulder, drawing me out of my hunger-and-anxiety-fueled daze. “Find your spirits, Aki. Our freedom is nigh. Imagine it. We’ll finally be rid of our meddlesome parents, be given the right to make decisions as we see fit, eat what and when we want, shop, study, visit brothels, train, gamble, all whenever we wish to. Imagine.”

“Not everyone can busy themselves with such trivialities,” I said, hunger and worry compounding into a foul mood. “Not like you, who’s guaranteed success even in the face of failure. Besides, if we attain a place in The Royal Academy, we’d be locked inside until our second cycle.”

Edon took a step back, surprised by the hostility in my tone. He was not used to my ire. He was not used to anyone showing him any ire at all—the gift and curse of being an unwanted scion.

I sighed. “Sorry, Edon. I’ve not been able to keep down any food and…” I shook my head. “Whatever the reason, it does not excuse my lashing out at you.”

Edon accepted my apology with a smile. “I won’t deny the truth, but I see no reason to dwell on it. Besides, you have nothing to worry over. Just as I have been bestowed my status, you have been gifted a sharp mind and heaps of talent. I’m unsure I got the better end of that deal—many of our classmates agree. They are covetous of your prospects, especially after your rise to a Heartwood and the explosive growth of your sensus. Are you ever going to tell me how that came to be?”

“Attention,” A voice boomed across the courtyard, carried by more than air. Pakur stood at the top of the academy steps, hands clasped behind his back. I was impressed. I hadn't known his plump arms could reach that far around his considerable girth. “As you all well know, today is your penultimate day as unassessed. After these two days of assessments have concluded, whatever your results, you will become men and women no longer chained or upheld by the limitations or successes of your sponsors. By the end of tomorrow, you and your efforts alone will determine your standings.”

I shook my head at his words. Not long ago, I respected the godlings for allowing common folk to ascend beyond their station. My hate for Kalin was all-consuming, dragging me through life with dreams of revenge. Work hard, excel, and you will be awarded, they said. I believed them, for that was the only thing keeping my fantasies alive, and thus, me alive. How blind was I to be thankful to those who offered me a solution even as they caused the very problem they purported to solve? Leahne had said it was Lorail’s way to drown with one hand and offer help with the other. I suspected the whole city, the entire rotten Queendom, from The Old Queen herself to the lowliest of her believers, did the same.

“I am sure you’re all keen to proceed,” Pakur said, loud without needing to shout. “And so I will leave you all with this: ‘Freedom is bought with power, and power is earned with strength.’” It was a quote from the first of Merkusian’s speeches, the words that birthed Evergreen. He should have followed it with, ‘And it is up to the strong to buy freedom for the weak, for strength may elude them regardless of an iron will and an inordinate effort.’ T was telling that, while many could recite the first half, few knew of the second.

Pakur pinned the thick scroll he carried to the academy door. The order of assessments unfurled until the end dangled a handsbreadth from the ground.

Edon gently squeezed my shoulder. “Time to become men.”

“I’d wish you luck, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

“Then wish me expedience.”

“I doubt my wishes mean much to anyone.”

Edon shook his head before moving towards the academy doors, the crowd parting before him. Everyone knew he’d be the first name on the list.

***

I stood on a pedestal in a room too old to be part of the newly built academy. I do not know how I got there. No, I knew how I got there, just not how it was possible. The main doors of the academy, rather than leading me to the academy hallway, led me to an unfamiliar room of dark wood. At the center of the room was a long table. The assessors sat in a row, tired and irritable. Being a Mud, the only Mud, I was, as expected, the last to be assessed.

Leahne stood to address me. “What are the advantages and disadvantages of a dense sensus?”

The question was elementary. Still, knowing the answer calmed my nerves. “The density of sensus has one major influence. Potency. Whether for extracting or assimulating alchemical solutions, building or forging objects, casting or implanting illusions, or fortifying or expelling energy, the denser the sensus, the stronger its effects. It is said that density is determined by age, experience, and heritage.”

Leahne nodded. “A definitive answer. You almost precisely recited the passage from ‘The Fundamentals of Soul Energy.’” To the word, I thought. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were reading from it.” I was, in a matter of speaking.

The assessor for sciences, Master Joccol, who sat beside Leahne, leaned forward, his bloodshot eyes digging into me. “I have a problem I’d like your opinion on. Do not fret; I don’t expect you to know the answer. Asking you basic assessment questions would be a waste of time. I thought I’d risk a fresh perspective on a problem of mine instead.” He smiled then, impish as ever. “Also, I’ve always wondered if your genius went beyond your talent for memorization. Care to prove it does?”

I nodded weakly.

“Good,” Joccol said. He rubbed at his bald head—a self-inflicted and preemptive practice against what his hazardous experiments would’ve likely done for him. “Consider this, if you will. Imagine you are trying to combine a hot and cold solution before performing an extraction. Mixing them beforehand diminishes the effects of each, the sharing of heat lessening their efficacy. My question is, how, if possible, would you combine the mixtures without letting this happen.”

My voice was small when I spoke. “Does assimilation amplify the effects of each, or is it a case of building a more… specific result?”

Joccol laughed. “Good, you are considering the question in earnest. I was afraid you would spout some convoluted matrix or other in the hope I’d be awed by your knowledge of the niche. Good. No, it is simply an amplification of complementary effects. I have no qualms with admitting that questions of creating new formulas for specialized effects are beyond my expertise.”

“And may I ask if you’ve already investigated the possibility of changing the temperature of the base solutions in a manner that wouldn’t affect their efficacy?”

“Yes.” Joccol looked downcast, almost ashamed. “I was unable to do so.”

“I can only think of one possible solution, and I highly doubt it would work.”

“Well, go on then. Do not keep me in suspense.”

“Forgive me if this is an absurd proposition, but what if you changed the physical properties so they would remain somewhat separate when mixed, much like water and oil? In doing so, both may retain more of their thermal properties before assimilation.”

“Mm, I doubt that would work. Even partially mixed, such close contact—” Joccol shot from his chair, eyes wide. “Of course.”

Pakur, who sat in the middle, seemingly asleep, rapped his knuckles on the long table. “Sit down, Master Joccol.”

Joccol eased back into his seat, his gaze stretching further than the confines of the room. “Of course,” he whispered. “Why had I not considered that.”

I smiled to myself, confident I’d passed his question.

The following four assessors asked simple questions. Master Delz, the assessor for mathematics, asked a question about percentages. Master Kleo, who taught languages, invited me to translate a common proverb from Golodanian, a language close to our own—some would say a bastardized version they’d stolen from us. The penultimate question was the easiest, given by Master Juner, the assessor for history. He asked me to name the seven gods of Evergreen. An uneducated Mud would’ve known the answer.

Only Master Leonak’s question remained. The assessor who taught us the art of crafting was a hairy man, grizzly and thick and all too fond of himself for it. His humungous arms lay before him on the table as he leaned on his elbows, fingers interlaced into a double-handed fist.

“You are far too scrawny for my liking,” he said. “A man ought to have some meat on him before he can call himself a man.”

Pakur, still with his eyes closed, rapped his knuckles on the table once more. “Spare us your comments, Leonak, and ask your question.”

The Golem snorted but complied. “What is the most important attribute of any structure, and how do you achieve and maintain it?”

The question was broad. Too broad. Any answer I gave was likely to be incomplete. My mind raced. I wondered why he’d trapped me with an impossible problem. I took a deep breath and pushed my worries aside.

Leonak gave me a toothless smile and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking in protest. “If you can’t answer the question, just say so. We have been here too long for you to squander what little remains of this day.”

I looked back at him. I was usually good with details. It served me well. Panic and fear had always tried to take that from me. Anger, when I could muster it, had always given it back.

“Balance,” I said.

Leonak waited for me to continue. When I didn't, he boomed with laughter. “That’s not even half an answer.”

“I believe that was the answer to your first question,” I said.

His amusement gave way to confusion, then to anger as realization dawned. He surged from his chair. “Do not play a game of rhetoric with me, boy!”

Pakur cracked open an eye and looked at the lumbering assessor sideways. “Whatever the case may be, he is right. You’ve asked your question.”

Leonak turned to Pakur. “Then I’ll rephrase it.”

“No,” Pakur said. “The question has been asked, the answer given, the assessment completed.”

“I say he failed.”

Pakur cracked open his other eye, throwing Leonak a look of mild irritation. “I will overrule you. If and then you press the matter, broaching it to the council, my ruling will stand. Are you willing to proceed?” Though asked casually, the question simmered with murderous intent.

Leonak sat back down. Slow. As though he was using the time to think his way out. When time ran out, and he retook his seat, he grumbled, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Pakur asked.

“I retract my verdict.”

“And?” Pakur pushed.

Leonak’s temples twitched. “I concede to your judgment.”

Pakur stood, rubbing at his swollen gut and ignoring Leonak’s glare. “Good. Now, if I’m not mistaken, we are done with this year's assessments.” He turned his languid gaze on me. “Congratulations, young Aki. You’ve passed the stage of theory. You may go.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Though my boneless legs seemed determined to hinder my leaving, I did so without hesitation.

***

In much the same way as the day before, I found myself in a circular room of grey stone, the faint tang of blood and sweat in the air. To my left were racks of weapons. They lacked the dullness of wood, reflecting light from the various matrix lanterns that hung about the room. All manner of weaponry—from thin daggers to bulky maces to elbow-length gauntlets—were cataloged on the rack, all shining with a polished brilliance. On the other side, opposite the weapons, lay a table stacked with sensus tools: tablets for ingraining matrixes, runners for quantifying streams, and pendulums for weighing density.

Pakur cleared their throat. Leahne and Kurash stood deferentially behind him.

“You may choose which of them you undergo first,” Pakur said. “Soul or combat?”

“Combat,” I said. It was an easy choice—the easier choice.

Kurash stepped forward. He’d exchanged his usual robes for form-fitting leather and the stiff whip he punished us with for two naked daggers strapped flat to his outer thighs. I stared at his weapons, entranced by their gleaming beauty and intimidated by their lethal luster.

“Blunted,” he said, watching me. “Choose your weapon and prepare yourself.”

A fortnight had gone by since my return to the academy as a Heartwood, the time almost entirely lost to the practice of sensus and sword. My fitness improved monstrously—more than time and effort ordinarily allowed—but I knew it wasn’t enough. My only hope was to let my technique and tactics shine past my physical deficiencies.

I picked out the smallest shortsword I could find. The fishskin hilt felt cold against my palm. Though well balanced, its weight took getting used to. I hadn't known we would be using weapons of metal. Another facet of the test, I thought.

“The rules are simple,” Kurash said. “I will start slow, increasing my speed, power, and skill in increments, each by a factor higher than the last. I will do so five times if you survive long enough. If you score a hit, I will pause and increase the difficulty. Otherwise, I will do so every ten exchanges. Any questions?”

“And if you score a hit?”

“We stop.”

“And when you score a hit…?”

“Trust I have enough skill not to injure you,” Kurash said. “Any more questions?”

“No.”

“Then we begin.”

Without ceremony, he took out his daggers and rushed at me. A backhanded swipe at my sword arm forced me to dodge back. He stepped forward and reversed his swing. I ducked and dashed in low and fast, aiming to dig the tip of my blade into the center of his chest before his sword met my neck. He stopped his attack as soon as mine landed. I’d cheated, in a way. If this were a real fight, I’d have paid for the victory with a grievous injury. Maybe my life.

Kurash stepped back. “Next phase. Ready?”

“Yes.”

He rushed at me again. Faster. A little faster than me. I didn’t panic. Panic was fear escaping your thoughts and infesting your limbs. Panic was failure preparing to attack you. I evaded what I could and blocked the rest. We’d clashed eight times before the blow I beat him with landed. I’d raised my elbow and held my sword downwards, swiping left to deflect his thrust wide. Then I twisted with the force, dashed past his guard, and landed a punch to his side. Weak as it was, it still counted as a blow.

“Next phase,” he said.

I shuffled back into position. My breathing was coming hard now. I tried to keep it even, but my hunger for air spoiled my rhythm.

“Ready?” he asked.

My answer came in pieces. “Would I… be granted… a break…if I…said no?”

He shook his head and came at me. His speed was on par with Froxil now. Not good. He came in hard and swung at my neck. I dipped under the sword. An uppercut nearly punished me for the evasion. I stumbled back. He pushed forward. I leaned left, weaved right, then flicked a half-hearted blow at him to keep him at bay. He slapped my sword aside and kept closing. I forced strength into my limbs. The pain doubled. My vision darkened. I gritted my teeth and fought through the weakness.

Kurash fainted a slash to my thigh, then whipped a fist at my ribs with his free hand. A blend of luck and skill helped me evade, half dodging and half stumbling away from the blow. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. Kurash stood over me, flat-footed. A sweep of my leg caught him on his ankle. My shin pulsed in pain.

I lay there, my chest rising and falling like the wings of a hummingbird. Kurash loomed over me. He was unfazed by my kick, but just for a moment, just for an almost imperceptible upward turn of just the corner of his mouth, the stone-faced assessor smiled at me.

“Next phase,” he said.

I remained where I was.

“Next phase,” he repeated.

I clambered to my feet, swayed, and nearly crumpled back to the ground. The wheezing had stopped, but I still gasped for air, rushing lungfuls in and out. I took my time getting back into position, stealing moments. It barely helped.

“Ready?” Kurash asked.

I wasn’t. Not in any way that mattered.

Given you had the requisite results in the other stages, passing the second phase won you the right to reside in The Roots, where you could find apprenticeships in whatever your proficiencies allowed. The third qualified you for any but the most prestigious of Evergreen’s academies. For that, and for me, the fourth stage was a must. The fifth was reserved for those too good to find themselves in the preparatory academy in the first place. During its long and impressive history, no graduate had reached such heights.

“Ready?” Kurash asked again, pulling out his second dagger.

I realized his asking was a favor. I didn’t know why he offered me his aid. I stayed quiet, abusing the gift. I had to. He might’ve given me time to catch my breath, but he would not go easy on me once we clashed; stepping outside the lines of duty was beyond him.

“I will not ask again,” he said. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Kurash circled me slowly, his movements methodical. I wondered if he was granting me another favor or just imitating the caution of a more accomplished fighter. Either way, it helped. Pain throbbed in my leg, but my breathing had improved. Not much, but enough. Enough to think. Hopefully, enough to win, I thought.

I lunged forward, hoping to catch him off guard. He flinched. It wasn’t enough. He wrenched his torso to the side, and my sword slid harmlessly under his arm. I tried to push the blade toward his chest in a bid to score a touch. He dashed back, and I missed again. My feet should have carried me forward, should have followed my command to chase him down. They didn’t.

I fell.

The stone was cold against the side of my face. I wanted it so much. Needed it. Years of hate, of patience, just for a chance, and when my legs and arms deserted me, it’d all crumbled to ash. I had failed. I had—

“Next phase.”

Surprise took me, then relief. At some point, I’d scored a hit so faint and insubstantial that I’d not felt or seen it happen.

I looked up.

“Ready?” Kurash asked. There was no mistaking the smile he wore now.

Newfound strength pushed me up from the ground, sword in hand. “Ready,” I said, matching his smile. It was a strange sight; we were usually men of stoic dispositions.

Kurash laid me out with a swift blow to my shoulder. I was laughing. Footsteps approached to remind me all was not done.

Leahne stood over my prone form. “First is the test of purity.”

There was no rest between the stages. Yet another facet of the test. I shuddered. Despite my practice, my sensus still came like an angry flood, gushing forth without care for my wishes. I'd never failed without improvement before I faced its unruly and wild defiance. This shortcoming gnawed at me. I found failure tasted far more bitter without the sweetness of progress.

I clambered to my feet and staggered behind Leahne to the table. The first tool she picked out was the pendulum: a hollow, metallic ball of mesh hanging down from a three-legged structure by a thin wire.

“Inject sensus into the ball,” Leahne ordered.

I did as she asked, putting a finger on the outer mesh and trying to restrain myself.

My efforts were in vain.

Sensus poured into the sphere, the excess bleeding over the surface. I jerked my hand back as if burned.

“This is not the test for control,” Leahne reminded. “You needn't worry about oversaturation.”

I looked away in embarrassment, noticing Kurash behind me. He watched the pendulum with interest. Pakur had not moved. He hadn't even bothered to open his eyes, but where once I’d have seen an incompetent man dozing on his feet, I now saw an aloof master who need not see to be aware.

I turned my eyes back to the pendulum. Leahne had cut off the excess sensus clinging to the outside of the mesh, letting it dissolve away. Then, with the barest of touches, she tapped the sphere.

The measure of the test lay in how many times the pendulum could swing back and forth without losing momentum. Mine came to ten. It was above average, and it would be superb if my goal was one of the private or city academies, but for The Royal Academy, it was barely adequate.

Next came the runner, a simple circular enclosure with a grooved track about its perimeter. The test measured speed. An opaque marble ball the size of an eye was placed on the track. All I had to do was provide a burst of sensus to propel it around the indented course. Small obstacles would hinder its progress. The more barriers the marble conquered, the larger the streams.

Mine did not stop.

“Oh my,” Pakur said. He approached and plucked the marble from the enclosure. “A welcome surprise. You are but the third in this cycle's graduates to achieve the highest mark for this test—and in a more spectacular fashion than the other two, if I do say so myself.” The praise was welcome, but something about his words and manner of speaking seemed dubious. With the examination still underway, I let my doubts recede behind the task at hand; I would need all of me for what followed.

The third and final part of the sensus stage. A test of control. Without control, however great your density, however wide your stream, you might just as well have no sensus at all. The Named few, the most remarkable figures of The Island besides those heralded for their royal purity, are the men and women who'd achieved exquisite mastery over their sensus. The division between the common rabbles and lauded champions of Evergreen lay decidedly on the vast plains of control.

The test itself was simple. Leahne would imprint a matrix on a clay tablet. My task was to fill said matrix without letting my sensus go beyond.

Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. My heart pounded. My fists refused to unclench. This was it. All my efforts, all my anger, and all my dreams rested on this moment.

Leahne chose the Ignis matrix for heat. It was a favorite among soldiers, commonly used to warm cold food, slowly bleed moisture out of wet clothes, or help resist the colds of the lands outside Evergreen.

Leahne lay the finished imprint on the table in front of me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My heart did not calm. The sweat on my brow redoubled. I ignored both as best I could. My hand hovered over the clay tablet. I touched my pool of sensus, and it roiled in excitement, rushing down the streams of my arm. I blocked it as it came to my hand. It burned in protest. I gritted my teeth. Real control came from the source, not the outlet. What I was doing was akin to a layer of logs trying to stop a raging river. Sooner or later, the logs would be crushed and pushed aside.

Someone seized my wrist, the grip an iron vise. My eyes flew open. Pakur stood beside me.

“You will not make a mockery out of the assessment!” Anger colored him crimson. “I will not have a student of mine be so reckless!”

“I-I was merely trying to pass,” I said. The admission sounded weak. It made me sound weak.

“Imbecile! Do you mean to tell me that you’d cripple yourself to delay your failure? That you’d sacrifice your lasting potential for the hollow and fleeting power of sacrifice?” He shook his head.

He was right. I let my trepidation push me into desperation and then into lunacy. I remembered Kalin begging for mercy, wearing his weakness like armor. Was I more like him than I realized? The question terrified me—enough for me to shy away from the answer.

Pakur released my wrist. “Do not shame me and this school with your recklessness. Fail if you must, but take the test as it was meant to be taken.”

I clenched and unclenched my hand, trying to work out the numbness. Do not dwell on failure, I told myself. Forge onwards, towards success and away from anything like… him.

I closed my eyes again and held my open palm over the tablet. A gentle whisper and my sensus rippled at my quiet call. That was the easy part. I tried to lure the sensus at a gentle pace, easing it forth. At first, it came calm, taking my lead and lulling my concerns to sleep. Then it pounced, hurrying down my stream as though it were a wild animal trying to escape captivity. I attempted to keep calm and extend my calm to it. I failed. It exploded forth and pushed the soft clay thin beneath my hand.

“Stop,” Leahne ordered.

I pulled my hand back and cut off the connection to my pool.

“Given the stress you’d put your streams under, I will grant you one more try,” she said. “Let us count this attempt as a recalibration of a sort. Now concentrate. You will not get another chance.”

As much as Leahne mocked me, I recognized she was on my side. More accurately, I knew she was on Knite’s side. With her soul injured, her loyalty broken, and her life in danger, she had little choice but to align her interests with his and, in turn, mine.

A whisper entered my ear. “Do not fight your nature,” it said.

I whipped my head around and found Kurash, impassive as ever. “Did you say something, Master?”

“No,” he said. “Keep your mind on the task at hand.”

Again, the unfamiliar voice spoke, whispering in my other ear. “You are not calm. You are anger. You are pride.”

I swung back. Leahne placed a new clay tablet on the table in front of me. Pakur stood beside her. Both were silent. Both gave no sign they heard the soft, genderless voice. Leahne placed her hand on the tablet. A moment later, it came away, an imprint of the heat matrix left on the clay.

“You are your sensus,” the voice continued. “Your sensus is you. Serenity is not in your nature, and so it cannot be a catalyst for your sensus.”

“We were already behind schedule when you came,” Pakur said. “It is getting late.”

My hand lay gently on the tablet. The clay was cold and soft to the touch. ‘You are anger,’ the voice had said. ‘You are pride.’ I wasn’t so sure.

Kalin came to mind. His hunching form. His cowardice. His malice. For him, I thought, I am anger. Something in me stirred. Unbidden, my mother came to mind, a figureless form of dark intent. For her too, I thought, I am anger. Memories flashed: the time urchins broke my leg and pulled my arm from its socket, nearly gouged out my left eye, and chased me as I’d limped half-blind into the library; the long and hungry days I spent absorbing all the knowledge Diloni and the library books could give me; the harassment I suffered every morning from the bored guards before the sun even touched the sky; the shunning from all the student, which hurt me more than I cared to admit; the tortures that awaited me when I got home. I remembered it all.

A fury consumed me. I am anger, my thoughts screamed. I will escape my troubles. No, I will transcend them. I will make it so no other can reach high enough to cause me any. Not my father, not those scoundrels from The Branches, and not my mother and her fellow gods.

The sensus came out in a rush. I made no move to slow it; instead, I let it move me. My mind sped. Time slowed. My control, though shaky and erratic, came to be. The sensus sloshed across the grooves Leahne had made, a controlled pouring of energy so quick the entire pattern took half a breath to trace. I pulled my hand away and clenched my fingers into a fist as my sensus retreated.

For what felt like an eternity, I watched the assessors stare at the clay tablet, all three silently scoring the nooks and chinks I’d added to Leahne’s imprint.

After a torturous silence, Leahne spoke. “By my estimation… you’ve passed.”

Her words doused me in relief, and I slumped to the ground.