The Mage Tower
The Test
By the time every slave in the domain aged twenty or under had been gathered, Chris was thinking of the wood-pigeon eggs he had hidden in the forest. Punch a hole in the shell and suck, and a rich, savory taste flooded the mouth.
Then it struck him that a weasel might already have stolen them, and anxiety prickled under his skin. He wanted to run there and eat them at once.
Thwack.
Someone struck the back of his head. Chris rubbed the spot and turned. Jack the Lump, who played the boss among the boys their age, was grinning at him. One front tooth was missing, which made him look a little dim, but there was a cunning streak in him that his face did not advertise.
"Idiot. What are you thinking about?"
Tell the truth, and Jack would take the hidden eggs. He might even throw them at Chris's face for the fun of it.
Chris fumbled together an excuse.
"I was trying to work out why the steward called us."
"Work it out? What's a nobody like you got to work out?"
He flicked a knuckle against Chris's forehead.
"Ow."
Afraid of being hit again, Chris rubbed his brow and made a show of how much it hurt. Jack let out a coarse laugh.
"Your great and glorious brother will tell you why the steward summoned us. Fool. Wash out your ears and listen."
They were the same age.
"Okay."
Chris put a shine in his eyes, as if he cared.
"In our village..."
Jack glanced around and dropped his voice. Chris had not been especially interested, but the uncharacteristic caution stirred his curiosity.
"Did something happen?"
Jack's voice sank lower still.
"Not that. They say a mage is coming."
That was an answer he had not expected at all.
"Really?"
Jack narrowed his eyes and nodded hard.
"Yeah. For real. I heard it from Sandy."
"Who's Sandy?"
"You know. The one who does the laundry at the lord's manor."
"Laundry?"
"The freckly one."
He clicked his tongue and added, "You really don't know a damn thing."
Being looked down on was nothing new. Chris swallowed and asked with a vacant look plastered on his face.
"Why's he coming?"
"Secret."
Jack pushed his lips out, then gave Chris's temple a light slap with his palm.
Thwack.
"An idiot like you doesn't get to know."
Chris grumbled to himself. You're a slave too, and you still strut around like you're somebody.
Smith, standing at Jack's left, spoke up.
"You can tell me, though, right?"
From morning until night Smith trailed after Jack and played the lackey, together with Robert, who stood on the right.
About five years ago, Chris had found it ridiculous that slaves in the same miserable position as himself should cluster together and play at rank. He no longer thought so. Not every slave was the same kind of slave. Where possessions differed and the work differed, classes split even among slaves.
Unfortunately, Chris sat at the very bottom of that order. No parents, no property, no talent worth mentioning.
The neighborhood grandmother's words came back to him. Chris, learn a trade. He should have taken the old woman's advice.
Jack kept his mouth clamped shut, and Smith pressed him.
"I'll be the only one who knows."
Robert seemed curious as well.
"What is it? Come on, what?"
He kept asking. Jack still would not open his mouth. He only folded his arms and wore an arrogant smile.
Chris studied that expression and understood. You don't know the reason either.
All Jack had overheard, it seemed, was that a mage was visiting. Pointing that out would obviously earn him a beating, so Chris kept quiet. As the silence dragged on, his thoughts drifted back to the wood-pigeon eggs.
Time passed slowly. An hour of standing with nothing to do left his legs aching. Chris shifted his weight and muttered.
"My legs hurt. How long are we supposed to wait?"
Around him, discontented murmuring began to leak out little by little.
Then the manor door opened, and the steward came out with careful steps. Chris had never seen him with his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, and his feet scurrying. The man always threw his shoulders back and clasped his hands behind him. The sight was so strange that Chris rubbed his eyes and watched only the steward, and so he missed the lord coming out.
"It's the lord."
Only after the young man in front of him spoke did Chris turn his gaze. He was seeing the lord for the first time in his life.
Baron Javier, ruler of the land Chris lived on, was exactly as Chris had imagined him. His belly swelled like a pregnant woman's, and his chin sagged in a double fold. Several rings were crammed onto his plump fingers.
Chris brushed a hand over his own stomach, sucked tight against his spine. He envied, fiercely, the luxury of eating until one grew fat.
The baron rubbed his hands together as he spoke.
"I couldn't say whether these lowborn wretches have any talent."
Only then did Chris focus on the man the lord was addressing. He wore a red robe.
A mage!
A white beard reached to the middle of his chest, and a staff rested in his right hand. He looked like a mage at a glance. Show him to a child and ask what sort of man he seemed, and nine out of ten would say a mage.
The red-robed mage gave an order with a jerk of his chin. The yellow-robed youth who had been standing respectfully behind him stepped forward and set five stones down in the yard.
The steward hurried out.
"I'll see to the menial work."
The moment he reached for the stones, the yellow-robed youth spoke.
"Don't touch them."
The words were so cold it seemed a blizzard might come tearing after them. The steward froze, quite literally.
"Step back."
He could not even squeak. He retreated, his face gone white.
After the mage appeared, the people who had been buzzing with excitement shut their mouths as if by prior agreement. A chill settled over the yard.
The yellow-robed youth snapped his fingers hard enough to crack. The yard was so quiet that the sound rang like a bell.
Three young men—yellow sashes tied at their waists—came out carrying a cauldron and set it atop the stones.
Chris took stock of their ranks. Red robe at the top, yellow robe beneath him, yellow sash at the bottom. But why put a cauldron on the stones?
They were even pouring water into it.
Boil water with stones?
He could not make sense of it.
Smith seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
"Will water actually boil like that?"
Jack clicked his tongue as if the question were pathetic.
"Must be stones that burn."
"Where in the world are there stones that burn?"
"There are."
When the two of them kept on, the yellow robe glared. They flinched and shut their mouths.
A short while later the water began to boil, and the crowd murmured.
"No fire, and the water boiled."
"That's impossible."
As the noise swelled, the lord bellowed.
"Quiet!"
The commotion cut off at once, and the lord clicked his tongue.
"Morons! It's magic!"
Heads nodded all together.
"Ah. Right."
"Magic, yeah."
"So it was magic."
The red robe let out a short, scoffing breath. He might have been laughing at the lord. He might have been laughing at the slaves gathered there.
Chris watched the lord's face. It did not change, which suggested the mage had been laughing at the slaves. Either that, or he had laughed at the lord and the lord was too dull to notice.
"Master."
The yellow robe offered a blue bottle with a respectful hand. The red-robed mage took it and muttered something difficult to catch.
Chris said, "Sounds like a foreign language."
Jack snapped back at him.
"He's chanting a spell, idiot."
Spell or not, blue smoke poured from the bottle.
Someone said, "It's like watching a conjurer's show."
The red-robed mage tipped the blue bottle over the cauldron. Blue liquid ran from it and mingled with the water.
"Holy water!"
The rebuttal came at once.
"How would a mage make holy water? Priests make holy water."
Smith ducked his head, abashed.
The red-robed mage peered into the cauldron, drew a pouch from his robe, untied the cord cinching its mouth, and upended it. Black soil spilled from the pouch and settled across the bottom.
"Done."
The old mage nodded, satisfied, then looked at the slave standing nearest the cauldron and beckoned.
"Put your hand in."
The youth he had singled out answered in a vacant voice.
"Yes? Into where?"
"The cauldron, obviously."
The young slave startled and hid his hands behind his back.
The yellow-robed mage clicked his tongue.
"We're checking whether you have talent. Don't be afraid. Put your hand in the liquid."
The youth only grew more frightened and backed away. Then the lord stepped forward.
"Mage David, these are ignorant clods with nothing but shit packed in their skulls. Speak to them briefly and they don't understand. I'll explain."
He came out in front of the cauldron, glared at the slaves, and raised his voice.
"You pathetic little wretches, crawling on the ground like worms every time it rains. This cauldron is a magic cauldron. It tells whether you have talent for magic or not. It will not harm you. If the result is favorable, you can become mages. Mages! So stop standing there like idiots, come forward, and be tested. The chance of a lifetime is right in front of you!"
The baron's words struck the slaves like a blow. Chris felt it too, thunder cracking beside his ear.
Become a mage, and he could escape slavery. His whole life, overturned at a stroke.
Jack was the first to move. He shoved people aside and thrust his hand straight into the cauldron.
"Is this right?"
The yellow robe gave a short laugh.
"I'll explain it once. Remember it."
He did not shout, as the lord had. He spoke calmly, and yet, strangely, his voice spread across the entire yard.
"Sink your hand deep into the water. Set your palm against the soil on the bottom, and quiet your mind. You must not get excited. With a calm heart, breathe in deep and breathe out slow, and feel it—the good energy spread through the air. When you feel that energy, absorb it, soak your body in it, and then release it."
Chris fixed the words in his mind.
Feel. Absorb. Soak. Release.
He turned the gist over and over while he breathed deep. Jack, meanwhile, had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly.
"I feel it!"
He shouted again.
"I feel it."
The yellow robe asked, "Feel what?"
"The air is fresh."
The yellow robe clicked his tongue.
"Next."
"What?"
"You have no talent. Get out."
Jack clutched the soil.
"No. I feel it."
The yellow robe glanced into the cauldron and shook his head.
"You're hopeless."
"No!"
"This is not something to be stubborn about."
The yellow robe did not bend. Jack could not let go.
"I'm special. I'm the best of the slaves here!"
"Best or not, you're still a slave."
Contempt had seeped into his voice.
"Be grateful you were given a chance at all."
When Jack still could not abandon his hope, the red robe clicked his tongue.
"Javier Barony educates its slaves like a pigsty."
The baron's face flushed red.
"Steward!"
At the irritable shout, the steward ran in and dragged Jack off by force. The yellow robe said, "Next."
While Jack was being read for talent, the slaves had been turning the yellow mage's words over in their mouths.
"Become a mage, and I can throw off this sickening slave's yoke."
"Freedom!"
They rushed the cauldron all at once. The disorder only stoked the lord's anger.
"Order! Order! Soldiers! Soldiers!"
The soldiers ringed the cauldron and leveled their spears. Fear took the slaves, and they stopped where they stood.