EXAM DAY
Harsh wind battered Makar’s face, stinging his eyes. They were the only parts of his face not completely covered. He trudged after his father through deep snow that came up to his knees. Makar did not walk so much as shuffle, trying hard to stay in the trail of his father, who crushed down a path in the snow with much larger, heavier feet than his.
It was a miserable way to start a morning, and a worse way to start his tenth birthday. “Ten years old already!” Father had exclaimed at the breakfast table that morning. “You can start coming with me to tend the garden!”
Well below freezing, windy, and deep snow. He supposed he should be grateful it was not currently storming as well.
Father’s “garden” was a vast stretch of rocky, uneven land behind their home, filled with orderly lines of tough little plants. Makar had read about other lands in the south where large stretches of flat land existed, and they were full of green plants much taller and more fruitful than these. It was difficult for him to imagine, even looking at photos. His family lived in Gorovetrov, the northernmost city in the Dominion of Light, not to mention the entire known world. It snowed nine months out of the year here, and then rained the other three. The cold was brutal in the north, though he had known nothing else besides what he had read in books.
After walking far down one line of the little plants, Father finally bent down and started plucking up some by the roots and handing them to him. Makar dutifully sorted them into neat stacks in the large basket he was carrying. He was glad Father wanted him to carry the basket and not help him pluck, because he had already lost feeling in his hands.
The little plants themselves were a curiosity. Thin as twigs and only a few inches tall, they were covered in colorful hairs of blue, purple, and red. They reminded Makar of woolly caterpillars, if caterpillars could stand upright on the tips of their toes. He used to think they were furry flowers, like the kinds that bloomed ever so briefly in the summer, but Father insisted they were actually trees.
“What?” Makar had exclaimed in disbelief the first time he picked up one of the furry sticks. “That’s not a tree!”
“Yes, it is,” Father replied with a chuckle. “A dwarf tree. That thin stalk is made of wood.” He plucked one himself and separated the colorful hairs and the twiggy stalk. “It’s not much on its own, but a lot of these in a pile can make a decent fire. And these needles can be used for medicine.”
Makar tried to keep that in mind as he stood there freezing while Father harvested a patch of the dwarf trees. Father was no doctor, but he sold the plants to people who were. It was how they eked out their living up here in the north. Makar would soon be taught how to tend to these arctic plants so that he could help the family business. One day, however, he wanted to travel south and see those green fields he had read about.
They finally collected a basketful and headed back. The cold and the wind did not feel quite so terrible when Makar knew it would not be long before he could heat himself inside with a cozy fire and hot tea. Mother was ready for them with just that already prepared. The fire in their compact house burned night and day during the winter months. Some of the wood from their dwarf trees would go directly into those flames.
The house, of course, was not made from the wood of those little plants. There were still normal-sized trees near Gorovetrov, which was one of the reasons the city had been built in this area. Most, however, were farther south outside the city limits, and barely any besides the dwarfs grew near Makar’s home.
Makar and Father sat down at the dining table to begin pulling apart the dwarf trees as Mother set down hot tea for them. While the fireplace slowly warmed Makar’s outsides, the tea quickly warmed his insides. Feeling returned to his fingers, allowing him to more dexterously pluck apart the plants.
“Will you be taking that into town today?” Mother asked casually as she hung up their deerskin overcoats near the fire.
“I’ll have to,” said Father with a pointed glance.
“Oh, of course,” said Mother with a curt shake of her head. “I almost forgot about the exam.”
“I … I have to get tested, right?” Makar asked nervously.
“Don’t you worry, child,” said Mother nonchalantly as she scratched the back of his head playfully with her fingers. “The dark magic hasn’t been in our family for many generations.”
“Yes, the sun god has truly blessed us,” his father added. “We’re lucky to have been long divorced from the Tenebrian line.” His tone clearly implied that he did not want anything more said about the subject, but Makar did not feel at ease.
“Will you come with us, Mother?” Makar asked.
“It will be alright, son,” said Father brusquely. “It’ll be quick and painless. Then you’re done forever.”
Father and Mother both seemed to think the matter was settled after that, so Makar did not mention the exam again. Once they were done with the plucking, Father grabbed another basket of tree bristles that they had gathered the day before. Then, it was time to venture back outside.
Built into the side of their house was a small stable, where their only two horses were kept. Like many things in the north, they were short and very hairy. Their coats were long and bushy, and they held their heads only a little taller than Father’s full height, who stood at a mere five-and-a-half feet. They took both horses and attached their baskets to Makar’s horse to keep the weight more evenly distributed between the two.
Makar rubbed his legs against the horse’s flanks as they traveled. Its hair was so long that it could partially cover his limbs when riding, helping to insulate him from the cold and the wind. It felt much warmer than walking. The horses were so well insulated that they did not even seem to mind the bitter cold.
It took them an hour to reach the city on horseback. During the summer, when the snow melted, they could trot the whole way with ease and cut that time in half. There were roads underneath the snow, but they were rarely shoveled. Instead, frequent use by people and horses alike had flattened well-traveled paths, enough to tell them apart from the rest of the snow.
Despite the cold, many people were out and about in the heart of the city. Fish booths were a common sight. Their sellers had probably been outside advertising their wares since the crack of dawn that day. Their multiple layers of deerskin coats made them look quite round and immobile. Makar and Father would probably stop by a stall and buy a few fish for dinner on their way back home.
Every building was caked in snow and layers of ice, making them appear bulkier than they really were. It also made them hard to tell apart, although shop owners tried very hard to keep the snow and ice clear from important signage. One building, however, stood out clearly to Makar. It looked almost the same as all the others, except for a small tower with an onion-shaped dome poking out of its roof that easily made it the tallest building in town, though that was not saying much. The thick ice and snow made it almost impossible to see the artful architecture underneath, but spotting the tower sent a shiver through Makar, harsher than any the cold had ever given him.
The building was the local police precinct. Crime was rare out here in Gorovetrov, but examinations took place at least a few times a month. Today, the subject of examination would be Makar.
The Tenebrian Exam, they called it. A Tenebrian was a vile creature in human skin who was cursed by the dark magic of the Moon Demon and wielded it on her behalf. Technically, Makar and his family were Tenebrians, since they were descended from those who had possessed the dark magic long ago. They had the wrist tattoos to prove it—a requirement for all Tenebrians, regardless of their powers. It had been a feature of Makar’s arm for as long as he could remember. The tattoo resembled the face of the Moon Demon herself: a pair of owl eyes and a beak.
The exam was how a child found out whether he or she had inherited that magic or not. Makar had heard from older kids who had gone through the process that it was quick and painless, just like his parents always assured him. He kept trying to tell himself that. Almost everyone in Gorovetrov passed the exam. Nowadays, the dark magic was as sparse as leafy green plants here in the farthest reaches of the north.
There was one child Makar knew of who had not passed the exam—only one. Poor Alexei… Makar had never seen him since. Nobody had. The rest of Alexei’s family had been driven out of town after that incident. Makar tried to convince himself that the same would not happen to him. He knew he was a human being. How could he not be?
Makar paid little attention as he and Father went through the routine of selling their medicinal supplies to the few doctors who lived in the small town. It was all a blur to him as that tower penetrated his mind. He just wanted it over with.
Father’s business concluded all too soon. That left only the exam to take care of before he could head home and forget about it forever. Nobody ever developed Tenebrian powers after age ten.
Without even realizing it, Makar was suddenly through the front door of the precinct. Despite the cold, he was sweating. The lobby of the precinct was small; the building was used for little else except the Tenebrian Exam. Besides some benches for waiting and a reception desk, the room was mostly empty.
“Hello, Mr. Morozov,” greeted the middle-aged woman behind the desk. She glanced at Makar. “Oh! Must be time for Makar’s test. Ten years old already?”
Father nodded and smiled proudly. It maddened Makar how little he seemed to think of the exam, as if he were merely going through his annual physical with the doctor.
The receptionist stood from her seat. “I’ll go get the examiners.”
She left through a door behind her desk, and Makar was alone for a moment with Father. “You’ll be in and out in no time,” Father assured him. Makar nodded, repeating those words in his head over and over.
The receptionist returned with two others following just behind. Makar felt his eyebrows involuntarily rise at the sight of them, and his fears about the exam did not subside. There was one man and one woman. Both were dressed in pure white Dominion police uniforms, sleek and tight-fitting, with gold buckles and cufflinks—a far cry from the bulky deerskin overcoats and woolly underclothes everyone else wore. A pin—a pair of golden wings—rested on their right breasts, the symbol of the sun god, Solgos, as well as the Dominion of Light itself.
Makar had never seen clothing so refined or intimidating. In addition, the man had a stern look about him, and there was a harsh look in his eyes as he gazed upon Makar. He was of southern ethnicity, with light brown skin, dark hair, and tilted eyes. The woman, however, was of the same fair northern skin tone as Makar himself. Uniform aside, she had a soft expression and a small smile. She almost reminded him of Mother.
“Hello, young man,” the woman greeted him kindly. “What’s your name?”
Makar gulped hard but managed to say his name without stuttering.
The woman nodded. “This will only take a minute. We have a room already prepared for you.”
“I’ll be waiting for you right here,” said Father casually as Makar reluctantly allowed himself to be guided through the door behind the receptionist’s desk. The kind woman and the stern man led him down a short, barren corridor and into a small room with little in it besides a thin table and chairs on either side. There were no windows.
“Take a seat,” said the woman gently as she placed herself in one of the chairs. He obeyed and sat down opposite her as the stern man closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, as if guarding it. That made Makar tense up a little, despite his persistent efforts to relax.
“Happy tenth birthday, young man,” said the woman pleasantly. “Now, all I need is for you to hold out your hand.”
Makar obeyed and laid his hand on the table tentatively. The woman took it gently and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, Makar realized what she was doing. The woman was an Aretian, blessed by Solgos and imbued with the powers of light. He had heard of some Aretian women who could use their gifts to tell whether someone was lying or not—a Truthseer.
“I’m using my abilities to touch the light of your soul,” the Truthseeing woman explained. “That will tell me whether you pass or not. But don’t worry; I know already that you’ll be just fine. You come from a good family.”
Makar finally allowed himself to relax upon hearing that. She was the examiner, after all; she would know.
Suddenly, a strange feeling gripped Makar. At first, it was like a thin twig being shoved in between the bones of his hand. It was hardly a pleasant feeling. Then that twig melted into a stream of cool water that seeped into his muscles all the way to his elbow and then to his shoulder before finally making its way to his core. Makar resisted the urge to shiver.
“Tell me your name again,” said the examiner.
“My name is Makar,” he told her, not understanding why she asked. Then the cold stream of water in his body turned warm. Yes, it seemed to say, that is the truth. Everything was in balance. This must be how the Aretian Truthseeing power worked. The warmth of it was making Makar feel confident that he would pass. This stream of water—or perhaps it was light being fed into him by the Aretian woman—would testify to his purity.
Then the stream wavered. Makar felt his chest tighten. The feeling of the stream being more like a twig returned, except now it was jammed all the way through his arm and into his chest. He gasped slightly. His body felt as though it were desperately trying to force the woman’s light out of him.
The woman glanced up at the man guarding the door and gave him a curt nod.
Suddenly, Makar felt his face slam flat against the table, and his free arm was yanked behind his back painfully. The stern man was holding him down, but the woman did not let go of his hand. Her uncomfortable, binding light was still inside him. He made a weak attempt to struggle against them, but it was futile. He wanted to shriek and ask why they were doing this, but he could not with his jaw pressed against the table.
“What kind?” the man prompted. It was the first time Makar had heard him speak. Despite the force with which he was holding him down, he sounded surprisingly calm.
“Not a Shadebinder,” said the woman, the softness in her voice replaced by a clinical tone, like someone mildly curious about the animal she was dissecting. All the kindness in her voice had vanished. “The other two traits, though—they’re both here. Definitely.”
The woman’s light ripped itself free from Makar’s body, and he gasped in shock from the suddenness of it. His body went limp for a moment, but the man did not release him. The woman helped the man bind both of his arms with rope.
“What … what are you doing?” Makar finally managed to sputter.
“Silence, Tenebrian!” the man snarled at him. He put even more pressure on Makar’s head pressed against the table. “If you resist, or if you try to touch anyone, I will beat you senseless. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes!” Makar answered desperately. Then the pressure finally eased up on his head as the man and woman together pulled him up out of the chair, each keeping a firm grip on one of his arms. They dragged him roughly out of the room and down the corridor, but they were going the opposite way than they had come in.
“No…” Makar muttered, realization dawning upon him. “No! Where are you taking me?”
“What did I just tell you?” the man chided as he brought his knee up to bash Makar’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then he felt the man’s hand on his throat. There was an intense heat coming from his skin. The man was Aretian, too. Makar should have guessed—an Endomancer, able to generate intense heat from his body. “Don’t make me burn you, demon! I’ll scorch one of your eyes out next time you slow us down!”
Knowing the man could easily make good on that promise, Makar forced himself to comply as he felt uncontrollable tears running down his face. It took all the restraint he had not to break down sobbing in fear of being struck or burned. “Can’t I say goodbye to my father?” he whimpered.
“You’re never going to see anyone in this town again,” said the woman coldly. “Your filth would taint them. You’re going where you’ll never be able to hurt anyone. That’s the only comfort we will grant you.”
Just like that, Makar knew his life was over. He was going to be just like Alexei. He would be shipped off to the Zima Islands to live out the rest of his days in a frozen hell far worse than the most terrible winters of Gorovetrov. Father—still sitting out there in the lobby, thinking everything was fine—would be told that his son was not coming back, and would have to return home alone to face Mother.
After generations of his family being safe from the ancient Tenebrian curse, it had somehow found its way back through him. He was a demon now.
