Breath frosted in Professor Ashsprocket’s classroom, made cold by clumsily channeled magic that wicked the heat from the air. Recruits, bundled up in the warm white robes from the closet, were scattered about, doing last minute practice and review before the checkpoint exam. Professor Ashsprocket hadn’t told them anything about the exam, other than mentioning to Reg that he’d need to be able to hold a handful of sparks, but that hadn’t stopped the class’ gossip.
Reg recreated the now-familiar feeling of leeching strength from his heart and body and letting it flow into slow chanted words as he conjured a handful of dancing, burning sparks. His breath was heavy with effort and his body trembled, but seeing the sparks’ cheery yellow glow still brought a smile to his face—just a few weeks ago, he had been convinced that he’d never be able to do anything like this. It was magic. After thirty seconds, he let the sparks dissipate with a gasp. Evoking a full handful still made him feel as if he’d sprinted a mile pulling one of the weighted sleds that the Instructor of Arms was so fond of.
Elsewhere in the classroom, other recruits were reviewing their own spells. Most were focusing on holding handfuls of sparks or imbuing staves or balls, but a few people were tackling more complex challenges. Yeva had conjured a shimmering silver shield that flowed out like liquid from one of her palms. It rippled as it hung in the air. Cracic was imbuing his clothes with green fire. It wasn’t totally even, the flames leaping from one sleeve to the other and then down a pant leg before flickering out, and frost limned the floor all around Cracic from the magical pull before being sizzling into steam from the heat of the flames.
Professor Ashsprocket came in a few minutes late, lugging a large woven basket. With a large grin on his face, he announced, “Congratulations to everyone on passing your checkpoint exam for evocation! I’ve brought in redberry scones, pecan muffins, and some Tree-syrup cake. Ooo, and there are a few carmel twists.”
“But Professor,” Cracic objected, “What do you mean? We haven’t had our exam yet.” He gave a significant glance at Reg, “And you can’t tell me that everyone in this class has actually passed the bar.”
“Everyone can hold a handful of sparks, which means you’re on track to imbuing your weapons when it’s necessary.” He opened up his basket, “Now, this is one the last orders from Mrs. Barkheart’s Bakery before she closes down her shop and heads uptrunk, so you all should get over here and enjoy the treats. Don’t make me eat all of it myself!”
Reg hadn’t heard of the bakery before, but judging from the speed that Belladonna, Jashal, and a few others moved to get close to the basket of baked goods, it was a tasty spot.
He lingered for a bit at the back of the class before getting in line to grab a baked treat or two. He felt relief that he’d passed the bar, but it was tinged by a bit of disappointment—he’d been working hard at conjuring sparks, and he’d wanted the chance to prove that he belonged here. But at least the redberry scone was delicious.
----------------------------------------
The hardest part of Instructor Silliuk’s checkpoint exam for The World Below had been staying awake long enough to write the essay. By this point, he’d figured out that if he memorized passages that Instructor Silliuk liked and copied them out verbatim and tacked on a few sentences in between about their “wisdom,” Instructor Silliuk would mark it well. The higher the ratio of copied passages to your own words, the better you’d do.
Instructor Silliuk’s grading maddened Val. She’d write thoughtful responses to the instructor’s prompts that clarified, disagreed, and built on some of the works that they’d read in class, and she’d do little better than Reg’s mindless copying.
Val had been ranting all morning. “So, just because Professor Harpsigh was clearly wrong about the prevalence of river-borne trade, I get marked down? Just because Professor Harpsigh can’t picture people dealing with the obvious dangers of river-borne transit, doesn’t mean that nobody would. Think of the moss-farmers and spider-herders!”
Reg nodded along, “I’m with you. I don’t know why Harpsigh was so convinced that nobody would be willing to float on rivers. Standing on wood sounds strata better than standing on the ground, even if the wood is rolling about on the water.”
“Exactly!” Val nodded. “Every society has madmen.”
They were slowly walking over to Archery. Today was the day of the checkpoint exam. Val’s complaints about Instructor Silliuk’s grading were a comforting thing that seemed to distract her. She’d had several days of archery where she’d been able to use the bow they’d planted. She’d been doing well now that she was able to bend and control the bow as if it were a part of herself. Reg would never admit this, but it was a little frustrating how quickly she’d surpassed him now that she had a bow she could use. He was a solid shot, but the bow had still never felt at home in his hands the way a sling or a spear did.
Instructor Brilleyes stood by the bows. As always, her expression was instructable, only her mouth showing beneath her melting horned-owl mask. Reg was surprised to see Captain Merrin standing next to her—the captain hadn’t come to any of their other non-walking-the-branch exams. Captain Merrin was scowling, but that was her default expression, so it didn’t mean much.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Once the recruits had all arrived, Instructor Brilleyes cleared her throat to get their attention, before gesturing at the target butts and saying “You will shoot, one at a time. Each of you will have three chances to land three arrows in the beetle’s eye in under a minute.”
One by one, recruits took their turn in front of the butts. One by one, they picked out a bow, chose their arrows, and then sent their shots winging downrange. Most passed on their first attempt, but nerves stymied some, and it took until the second attempt for their arrows to fly true. This wasn’t a testament to Instructor Brilleye’s instruction. For all of them, it had been long hours of practice coupled with advice from more skilled recruits. That, and the checkpoint bar was lower than Instructor Brilleyes had threatened. Perhaps Instructor Brilleye had been misleading them to spur them on to more practice? Or perhaps Captain Merrin had intervened? The Captain was still there, watching from one side as the recruits took their turns.
Reg’s turn came. It took six arrows to get his three beetle’s eyes, but he still got it on the first attempt. He smiled at Val as he walked back—he was excited for her to show off what she could now do.
Val’s turn came. She walked up to find her bow. She looked through the bows on their racks once. And then looked through them again, more slowly. And again a third time. Reg could see her back trembling from where he stood. Val looked back at Reg and Yeva with panic on her face. She mouthed, “It’s not here.”
Rot and canker. Reg looked at Instructor Brilleyes. Her mouth looked like it was curled up in a small smile. The instructor must have realized what they’d done and waited until now to remove the bow.
Instructor Brilleyes’ voice sounded self-satisfied as she said, “Well? Take your turn. You have all of the equipment that you’d have on a mission down below right here.”
Val grabbed one of the bows. She held it sideways to keep it from dragging on the barky ground as she took her place. Reg couldn’t tell if the trembling of the bow was from Val’s nerves or her difficulty pulling the bowstring fully back. The first arrow thunked into the butt, surprisingly close to the beetle’s eye. Reg and a few others cheered at the sight. These were the only sounds that the watching recruits had made for any attempts, but they were shushed by a hissed “Quiet!” from Instructor Brilleyes.
Almost all of Val’s next shots were woefully off target. Several arced off at high angles and disappeared into the brush behind the butts. A few didn’t even make it to the butts. Only one more of her shots actually hit the butt.
“That’s attempt one.” Instructor Brilleyes said.
Reg ground his teeth. Instructors shouldn’t sound happy when recruits seemed like they were going to fail. There was nothing he could do to help Val.
Val paused before her next attempt. “Instructor, just to clarify, I’m able to use anything here?”
“Yes.” Instructor Brilleyes answered. “All your weapons are right here. You can grab any bow from the racks.”
Val smiled, walked over to the bow racks, unstrung her bow, and left it leaning on one of the racks. Crouching next to it, she pulled a seed out of her pocket, planted it in the bark-dust, and whispered to it. A healthy green shoot immediately shot up.
Instructor Brilleyes yelled, “Stop that! You must use the bow provided. These are the weapons of the guard.”
“No.” Captain Merrin’s voice was sharp. “Instructor Brilleyes, while Commander Pompadon believes as you do that standardizing weaponry offers tactical benefits, there should be no problem with a guard carrying a seed to ensure tactical flexibility. Her equipment is all right here, just as you said. And technically, it looks like she’ll be grabbing it from the bow rack, just as you said.”
The sapling continued to grow, and Reg watched Val form it like she had the previous bow she’d made. She moved with more confidence this time, but it was still a slow process. It took about thirty minutes for her to finish forming the bow, and Captain Merrin stood by Instructor Brilleyes the entire time, ensuring that she wouldn’t interfere.
Once the bow sapling shed its branches and was strung, Val took her next attempt. This bow was sized for her, and glowed with verdant energy that distorted the air around it. Three shots. Three arrows thunked home in the beetle’s eye, all in the innermost ring.
She skipped back to the rest of them, bow clutched possessively in her hands. Reg hugged her, “You did it!”
None of the recruits failed the checkpoint exams. Reg wondered whether failing was even a possibility, or if that was that was a mist-twist that the instructors had been scaring them with. Regardless, after walking the branch, dealing with a more boring than normal The World Below essay, and worries about archery, the whole recruit class was in the mood for celebrations and groups headed to Ithilia..
----------------------------------------
Reg entered his room, singing the last song from the Spicy Spider under his breath. He hadn’t caught most of the lyrics, just bits of the refrain, “Darling, why are you so cute / want you more than the lost fruit / something something crown to root.” The post-checkpoint exam celebrations in the city had been raucous and energetic. Ithilia itself had felt empty, with quite a few boarded up storefronts, but that hadn’t stopped any of them from celebrating.
“Reg.” someone hissed from behind his door. He jumped and fumbled for his sling before seeing in the dim moonlight streaming through the window that it was Jashal.
“Jashal? Mist and madness, what are you doing in my room? It’s almost midnight.”
“Quiet. Keep your voice down.” Reg couldn’t see Jashal’s face clearly, but his voice was full of concern. “I need to talk to you. Close that door.”
Reg closed the door and sat down on his bed. Like all recruits’ rooms, his was narrow, so the space felt tight with Jashal in the room too. “So, what couldn’t wait until morning?”
“Captain Merrin wants to kill the Tree.”