Aptitude Test

  In the middle of one of the Warden Academy’s spacious courtyards, ten boys and girls stood in a circle, their eyes tracing a flying ball of pure water. They wore blue shorts and shirts, with golden bracelets clamped around their biceps, each encrusted with tiny azure aquanturine stones. A girl—perhaps two years Skye’s senior—rushed to intercept the descending ball, clasping her hands into a flat fist and striking it upward with straight elbows. The sphere compressed like a water balloon under pressure, then bounced like a spring, shooting two stories high.

  The aim of the game—as Skye understood—was to keep the ball from touching the ground. Or breaking apart. Or even splashing, as water normally would. Yet despite the girl’s powerful strike, not a single droplet escaped. When the ball reached the apex of its arc and fell, a boy on the opposite side leaped up and launched it back into the air.

  Skye circled the courtyard, eyes fixed on the rebounding orb. Other children sat on benches nearby, wiping sweat from their brows or sipping from water skins. A mustached, balding man with a round stomach paced along the ring, shouting encouragement and instructions. With a flurry of his hands, he summoned a ribbon of water from a nearby bucket and fed it into the airborne sphere, enlarging it.

  Located in the Radethyst District, the academy’s courtyard flourished with tall green trees, flowering pots, and glowing gemstones. The surrounding columns and walls were patterned with interlocking aquanturine stones, marking this sector as the tidebreakers’ faculty.

  Casting his curse as he noticed eyes turning toward him, Skye slipped into the next sector, which felt like the inside of an oven. Here, crimson pyrpphires adorned the walls and columns like burning necklaces, signifying the firedancers’ domain.

  Twenty students stood in a perfect square at the center of the sandy courtyard, dressed in black uniforms belted in red. They punched the air and shouted, twisted, kicked, and shouted, their movements synchronized like oiled machinery. Sweat steamed from their bodies, though none conjured flame. A muscular red-haired woman strode through the formation, barking orders and slapping wrists or ankles that lagged by a millisecond or misstepped by a hair. Skye wondered if this was a charging kata, or they were simply practicing attacks.

  The Warden Academy wasn’t the only school in Troqua, but it was the largest and strictest. Future constables and wardens trained here, alongside barons’ children and other gifted individuals whose talents lay outside of channeling. Many of them studied in classrooms that overlooked the courtyards, the muttering of their teachers leaking through the windows.

  “Where is your uniform, recruit?” the red-haired instructor barked, snapping Skye out of his gawking.

  Behind her, the students didn’t pause in their battle against the air. They let out a fierce yell and executed a coordinated back-kick.

  Skye darted away, ringing his bell.

  He knew the academy’s corridors well; he’d visited its library often enough. Eventually, he reached a pair of grand double doors marked with a sign that read: Aptitude Testing Arena. Next to it stood a single guard.

  Skye approached the man. “Hello,” he began, swallowing. “I’m here to see the administrator responsible for the channeling exam. Do you know where I can find them?”

  The man examined Skye with a bored expression. “Aren’t you a bit late?” he asked, frowning.

  Skye smiled, hiding his shaky hands behind his back. The last round of tests had been held four months ago, with the next scheduled in two more. It was a long shot, but he believed he could secure an exception. He had to.

  Before he could respond, the guard turned and said, “This way. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Skye blinked. He must’ve been mistaken for someone else, but he wasn’t about to correct the man.

  They walked in silence, passing through the doors, around a corner, and down a long hallway.

  Strapped to the guard’s back was an aerober-tipped staff that looked oddly familiar. Skye tried to glimpse the man’s face, but before he could get a good look, they arrived at a door marked with a psychosite stone.

  The guard knocked.

  “Welcome!” a bull-shaped man boomed as he flung the door open, a wide, toothy grin on his face. Then, upon seeing Skye, his smile curdled into a glower.

  There wasn’t a soul in Troqua less suited to teaching than this man. And that windrider must be the one who’d bloodied Skye’s face when he’d asked them for help a long time ago.

  “Who is this?” Varick barked, not giving Skye the chance to speak. “This is not who I’m waiting for.”

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  “Erm…” the guard started. “You said a kid would come and I should bring him to you.”

  “Yes, a baron’s son. Not some Coals’ rat,” Varick snapped, jabbing a finger at Skye’s gemstone-starved clothes.

  A baron’s son?

  “Shall I throw him out?” the guard asked, tightening a fist around his astrum.

  “No, wait!” Skye said quickly. “I have an important package for you, sir.”

  From his jacket, he retrieved a large brown pouch and gave it a shake. The gems inside clinked like windchimes. Varick raised an eyebrow, his objections taking a backseat to his greed.

  He waved Skye inside and ordered the guard to return to his post.

  His office looked like a mix of a foyer and library. Bookshelves lined every wall, stuffed with tomes on countless topics, interspaced by several doors, some lacking handles or keyholes. A handful of photrines stuck to the ceiling for illumination, and a few pyrpphires kept the room warm.

  Seated behind a large desk, Varick gestured for Skye to approach.

  ‘You’re lucky this hog’s in charge of the tests,’ Redeyes said. “Last we met him, he offered his services for sale like a streetworker. Only an incompetent fool could blow this chance.’

  “Why are you here?” Varick asked, drumming at the table, gray psychosite rings gleaming with each motion.

  Skye took the seat opposite him and slid the pouch across the desk. “I want to take the channeling exam. Today.”

  Varick licked his lips. With fake hesitation, he opened the pouch, eyes widening when the glow of photrine coins painted his face a ghostly white. He nodded, impressed. The coins jingled as he shook the bag, feeling its weight.

  “This pouch exceeds my paycheck for three months,” he said, plucking out a single glowing coin and turning it between his fingers. “A kid like you couldn’t scrape this much together unless you’d been supplying half the Coals with shrooms since birth. How’d you get all this money?”

  Skye swallowed hard. Varick’s gaze made him feel like a mosquito about to be swatted. He’d intended for a sum that would leave the administrator no choice except to accept, but it seemed he’d overdone it.

  “I’m a prospector,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I found a gemcache and decided to become a channeler.”

  “Ah, yes. The mythical photrine caches scattered across the Mines, just waiting to be stumbled upon by wandering children,” Varick said with a sneer.

  Skye’s blood flared. “Prospectors search the Deeps, not the Mines,” he corrected sharply. “But I won’t hold it against you, because you’ve obviously never been down there.”

  “Cheeky, aren’t you?” Varick gave a grin so wide and toothy, it gave the impression he wanted to take a bite out of Skye. His hand snapped forward, the insect-eye-like psychosites flaring brightly. “I’ll see the truth for myself.”

  A strange sensation tickled Skye’s brain. He leaped back, toppling the chair behind him, backing away from the mentalist. He couldn’t allow him to mess with his head again.

  ‘Quick, the bell!’ Redeyes yelled.

  Not without the pouch. It had taken him four hours of sneaking and climbing to collect from Baron Meadrix’s mansion.

  He lunged for the pouch on the table, but it flew backward, yanked as if by an invisible cord. At the same time, a book flew from the shelf behind Varick and slammed into Skye’s forehead, knocking him back. He crashed onto his rear with a thud, a jolt of pain shooting up his spine. As he tried to stand, a hundred or so books jumped from the surrounding shelves and buried him in a heavy pile, pinning him to the floor.

  “I don’t know how you’re able to block my mindmanipulation,” Varick said, stepping around his desk, “but I’ll get to the bottom of it soon enough.”

  Skye cursed, squirming under the weight of dozens of tomes. He had no clue what Varick talked about.

  “Being the director of the channeling exams gives me special powers,” Varick continued, looking down at him like he’d stepped in something foul. “I can smell liars and thieves, and you reek like an open sewer.” He marched toward Skye, holding a pair of manacles.

  ‘Now what, coalbrains?’ Redeyes asked.

  “Void take you, Varick!” Skye screamed.

  Dong!

  The books not directly touching him vanished and reappeared neatly on their shelves. Skye shoved the remaining few aside and leaped to his feet. He dashed for the door, making Varick stumble back, cursing in shock. Outside, he rang his bell again and sprinted away, heart pounding.

  ‘Masterful performance!’ Redeyes mocked as Skye slowed, panting. ‘You’ve got quite the talent for wasting effort.’

  “Shut up.” Skye leaned forward, bracing hands on knees. “I mean it.”

  ‘Or what? What will you do?’ Redeyes sneered, his burning eyes gleaming from the window of a nearby classroom. ‘Drill another hole in your messed-up head?’

  “I said shut up!” Skye shouted. He grabbed a pebble from a nearby flowerpot and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass. Students inside screamed, then stared in confusion. Skye didn’t care. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, his bell chiming.

  “I hate that stupid, arrogant, self-glorifying piece of filth,” he mumbled to himself. “You hear me, Varick? I hate you!”

  Ding!

  Redeyes clicked his tongue, peeking through another window. His face was not that of the deepbat, but the burning mien of the pyroxos that’d killed his team. ‘You realize how childish you look right now?’

  “I don’t give a rat’s tail,” Skye snapped.

  He didn’t notice the group of girls in green uniforms until he walked right past them. They turned their heads, giggling and whispering.

  ‘Trying to convince everyone you’re insane? Not a hard sell.’

  “No one will remember a thing,” Skye said as he rang his bell again. “No one cares.”

  For a while, he wandered the various faculties of the academy, watching channelers practice, and students flit in and out of their classrooms. Many a time he wanted to storm back and beat Varick bloody, and it took every ounce of willpower to hold back. He really needed to punch someone’s face in.

  ‘Are you done sulking about?’ Redeyes asked. ‘Haven’t you wasted enough time at the library?’

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” Skye yelled. “Everything I try fails. Every time I open my stupid mouth, I say something dumb and mess everything up!”

  ‘Ha! Finally, something we agree on,’ Redeyes said.

  Skye paused in his track, watching a twin line of firedancing students return to their class. The world flashed black, and the students were scattered across the ground, gory pieces of their intestines and brains strewn across the broken pillars and shattered walls of the academy, blood gushing everywhere. Screams echoed as explosions sounded in the distance.

  He blinked again, and the students rounded a corner, the academy whole, the corridors clean.

  “I won’t leave it to them,” Skye said. “I can’t.”

  ‘What are we doing then?’

  “We try again.”

  **********