A Ripple of Talent
Once the uproar had been put down, the red robe spoke.
"Start with the children."
The steward put the soldiers to work and restored order. Threatened by spear and blade, the slaves formed up in five columns. The smallest child, prodded forward by the steward, approached the cauldron—and promptly looked ready to cry. He was too short to get a hand inside.
Chris raised his hand and took one step out of the line.
"I'll help."
The steward nodded.
"Do it."
Chris hurried over, scooped the child up, and pressed in close to the cauldron. Tilting the boy toward the water, he spoke gently.
"Put your hand in. It's all right."
He had volunteered so he could study the cauldron from right beside it. When he had first seen it, the water had been boiling hard; up close, it had cooled until only a faint steam rose. The blue liquid from the bottle, or the black soil scattered in afterward, seemed to have brought the temperature down.
Now he understood why Jack had shoved his hand in without a second thought. Had it still been at a rolling boil, even Jack—bold as he was—would have hesitated.
The child couldn't bring himself to do it. He was too young to grasp how extraordinary it was to become a mage, and, by becoming one, to slip the collar of slavery.
A wet, phlegmy rasp sounded in the red-robed mage's throat, as if the delay displeased him. If the man truly lost his temper, every chance would vanish.
Chris coaxed the boy, soft and careful.
"You see the black soil in the water."
"Yeah."
"Put your palm on it and take a long breath."
"Don't wanna."
"Do it and I'll give you an egg."
"Really?"
"Really."
Pleased, the child put his hand in the water.
"Breathing deep?"
"Yeah."
"Feel anything in the air?"
"No."
"Even so, try thinking that you're taking it in, then letting it out."
The yellow robe let out a sound of interest.
"Hoh."
From the reaction, that was the heart of it. The yellow robe allowed a brief moment, flicked a glance at the cauldron, and said coldly,
"Next."
The child had failed. A pang of regret went through Chris, but the boy looked relieved and yanked his hand out at once.
The chance of a lifetime just slipped through your fingers. A chance you'll never catch again. This isn't something to be happy about.
He helped the next child reach into the cauldron as well, straining all the while to sense the good thing that was supposed to be in the air.
Child after child put a hand in the pot, and not one of them passed. Counting the failures, Chris felt anxiety creep in.
Thirty tested, and not a single pass.
It meant a mage's talent was exceedingly rare. By that measure, the odds that he himself lacked it were high—so he hoped someone would pass. Not for their sake. For his own.
He wanted his hope answered in the affirmative: that the gift was rare, yes, but not impossibly so.
The children were tall enough now that he no longer needed to help. Even so, he stayed beside the cauldron and did not leave it.
The slaves being tested from here on were old enough to understand the world, and they knew exactly what the test meant. They plunged their hands in with desperate hearts and refused to pull them free until the yellow robe declared them failures.
Jack stood near the cauldron, just as Chris did. Unlike Chris, he prayed the slaves would keep failing—that not one of them would pass. The longer the procession of rejects went on, the more a smile tugged at his mouth.
I'm the best one here. If even I failed—the very best—there's no way those pathetic wretches pass.
He muttered.
"If luck's going to fall, it ought to fall into the most talented hands. Mine."
Time passed until more people had been tested than remained. Jack took pleasure in everyone else's misfortune. Chris ached for them.
The red robe said,
"The stock here really is poor."
The baron was embarrassed, ashamed, and angry. He was to receive three gold coins for every candidate who passed, and it looked as though he would be left with empty hands.
Just you wait, you little bastards.
Once the mages' party left the domain, a savage beating was sure to fall on the slaves.
At last Smith's turn came. As he approached the cauldron with a set face, Jack spoke.
"Don't bother. You'll fail anyway."
Smith ignored him. Breathing with care, he put his hand in the pot. Hardly any time had passed before Jack spoke again.
"Just as I thought. No talent. Hey—quit wasting your strength and pull your hand out."
Then ripples stirred in the water. It struck the wall of the cauldron like a wave.
The yellow robe said,
"Pass!"
Smith threw both hands in the air and jumped.
"Yeah! I did it!"
The louder he cheered, the more Jack's face twisted.
"No. Something's wrong."
Smith spat the words at him.
"What? I don't have talent? Use your heart right, man. That's why it doesn't work for you."
He was Jack's lackey. He had been since he was eight. On any ordinary day Jack would have flown at him and swung. Now he only scowled.
Jack understood. The situation had changed. Their lives had split onto entirely different roads.
Chris let out a sigh of relief.
Smith passed. So I can pass too.
He felt a vague hope. Robert, thinking something similar, shrugged and stepped forward.
"Smith passed. No way I can't."
Radiating confidence from every inch of him, Robert put his hand in the cauldron. It didn't last. The water stayed still, and he left the pot with his shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon.
Jack, who had been staring at the cauldron as tensely as Robert himself, broke into a bright smile the moment he failed.
"There it is. I knew he'd flop."
Chris had never liked Jack. He hadn't hated him, either—but watching him curse other people's luck and welcome their misery, he could barely hold the disgust down.
"Pathetic."
He had muttered it quietly. Jack seemed to hear.
"What?"
"What?"
"What did you say?"
The way he kept asking, he hadn't quite caught it.
"I said that's a shame."
"Failing's only natural. What's there to feel bad about?"
"Smith passed."
"There must've been some mistake. Yeah! A mistake. A mistake."
After Smith, no one else passed. Chris held back from taking the test, still watching for his chance.
Jack asked,
"You just gonna stand there and watch?"
Chris was not merely watching. He was straining with everything he had to feel the good thing the yellow-robed mage had spoken of. He wanted to ask Smith how he had raised the ripples, but Smith stood among the people in yellow sashes, and it was hard to get near him. In the space of a moment, his station had changed completely.
When Chris kept his mouth shut, Jack spoke again.
"Given up, huh. Smart. The likes of you couldn't possibly have a mage's talent."
Chris didn't answer. Dealing with him was a waste of time in itself. At a moment this important, he had no wish to trade words with a loser.
The line grew shorter until few remained. Chris drew a deep breath and stepped forward.
Jack said,
"Don't waste the effort."
Chris ignored him and reached for the cauldron. Just before his hand touched the water, he stopped and looked at the yellow robe.
"Might I ask for some advice?"
The yellow robe ignored the plea in his voice.
"You want to fail without even taking the test?"
"I apologize."
Chris submerged his hand. Aside from being lukewarm, it was little different from creek water.
Please.
He closed his eyes and drew a long breath in, then out. Inside, he shouted.
Rise, ripples! Rise, waves!
He cracked his eyes open. The surface hadn't changed. He inhaled until his stomach hurt and pressed strength into his palm.
Absorb! Release! Absorb! Release!
In that instant, a faint ripple stirred.
"I did it!"
Chris shouted—then stole a glance at the yellow robe. The yellow robe tilted his head. A ripple had risen, barely, but whether to call it a pass or a fail was ambiguous.
Ah. This is a problem.
In cases like this he usually marked a failure. Even so, this domain's number of passes was far too low.
The quota has to be filled.
The yellow robe nodded.
"Pass."
Had there been even one more successful candidate, he would not have passed him.
"Waaaah!"
Chris clenched his fist and cheered.
In that moment Jack lunged toward the cauldron.
"There's no way Chris passed. No way in hell!"
The yellow robe asked,
"Why do you think that?"
"Chris is a worthless little shit. How could a worthless little shit possibly be fit to become a mage?"
"A worthless little shit can pass. That's what makes life interesting."
Jack stepped up to the cauldron.
"What do you think you're doing!"
The yellow robe snapped, irritated. Jack let the warning go in one ear and out the other.
"I'm taking the test again."
His hand went into the water.
"If even a worthless little shit can pass, there's no way I fail."
In that instant the red-robed mage moved, smooth and sudden. He raised his staff and leveled it at Jack's back. While everyone else looked at the staff and at Jack, Chris was looking at the mage's eyes.
A shudder ran through him without warning. The mage's gaze was cold enough to raise gooseflesh. No—it wasn't the cold that made him tremble. There was something in those eyes beyond coldness.
What is that?
He understood when a fireball formed before the staff. It was indifference. The indifference of a man looking at a stone in the road lived in that gaze. Even the look one gives livestock raised for the slaughter would have been kinder.
"Jack! Move!"
Robert shouted.
"What?"
The moment Jack turned, the fireball slammed into his body. He went up in flames in an instant, as if he had been doused in oil.
"Aaaagh!"
Jack rolled across the yard, screaming.
"Save me!"
The wretched cries kept stabbing at their ears.
"Aaa—ah—agh…"
Little by little the screams and the thrashing died down. In their place, the smell of burning meat filled the air.
A short while later, the thrashing stopped.
The red-robed mage said,
"End the test."
A few people still hadn't had their talent read, but none dared step forward and demand to be tested. With that, the mage-talent examination of Javier Barony—held once every ten years at the soonest, and twenty at the longest—came to an end. Chris left the domain with the mages.
2. Lion Pavilion
The journey to the magic tower was a satisfying one. The mere fact that he could eat three meals a day was enough to make Chris happy. Better still was the chance to see the landscapes of other regions—sights he never would have had if he had stayed in the barony. The subtle differences in accent from place to place were interesting too. But he could not enjoy the journey completely.
Do I really have the talent?
The doubt crouched in his heart the whole way.
The other slaves hadn't known that raising a ripple meant a pass. Chris and Jack, who had been watching the inside of the cauldron when Smith passed, knew the condition.
The slaves who didn't know it had simply put their hands in the water and held still. Chris, in the final moment, had moved his arm—just slightly. He couldn't be sure whether that was what had stirred the ripple, or whether the water had moved because he truly had the talent.