The Final Test

I bowed before the Grandmaster, sweat dripping down my neck underneath my robes.

“Do you understand what you have to do?” His voice was booming.

Yes. No. I didn’t know. But maybe I did. It was the way of mages, after all, to root out weakness.

To walk down the path of magic, one must understand a few things:

1. Magic is not for the weak willed. Without the proper strength of will, a mage is unable to handle magic and will burn up from the inside out.

2. Learning magic is a lonely endeavor. Those without the capacity to wield it will forever be envious of you, and those who can will always regard you with suspicion, wondering if you would be the next person to stab them in the back.

3. Anything is possible with magic. That’s why it calls to so many with its beauty and causes so much strife in equal measure.

4. There is always a cost, but not always what you expect.

5. Those with the most power dictate the rules for everyone else. There are no exceptions.

I had come so far—taken so many tests—to prove that I was capable of wielding this gift despite all the odds stacked against me. Since I was little, I knew that it was the only path forward in life for me. I would either learn magic or I would die trying.

So few remained in the program for long enough to become true apprentices, but that was the purpose of the tests. It flushed the weak willed from its numbers. At the end of the grueling tests, the Grandmasters presented a final trial to each disciple privately.

I rose from my knees, forcing myself not to wince as sharp pain lanced through them from the hard, stone floor. The room was cramped and dark, only lit by a single floating candle. These trials were held in the bowels of the earth—the deepest pits of the abyss meant to drain one’s spirit. Those who survived it came out changed. They came out stronger.

I held my head high and looked at the Grandmaster in front of me whose face was shrouded in darkness by the hood of his cloak. “I understand.”

The Grandmaster turned and glided out of the room without a word of acknowledgment.

The walk back to my dorm was not a long one, but my knees, ankles, and back ached unbearably regardless. The braces were all but useless to me now with how badly I’d progressed. On my worst days, I chose to use a cane, though that sent pain spiking through my shoulder and wrist. But I would not allow myself the use of my cane—a show of weakness—when facing the Grandmaster, so I entered my dorm feeling weak, shaky, and unpleasantly lightheaded.

My grip tightened around the knife hidden up the sleeve of my robe.

My roommate was there, just as I had suspected she would be. Emily turned and smiled at me. “Did you pass the test?”

“Not yet,” I said, my hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

“You got one of the longer ones, didn’t you.” She slumped. “That’s unfortunate given your constitution.”

My jaw clenched at the insinuation. I knew Emily didn’t mean it as an insult, and that she was right, but it still stung. Out of everyone in the program, she was the one who knew the most about my… condition. It was hard to avoid when we shared the same space, but it made her somewhat sympathetic toward me—somewhat willing to help. Outside of her, everyone else just thought I was weak.

When I didn’t respond, Emily looked up. “I’d be happy to help.”

I resisted the urge to scoff and kept my face carefully neutral. Accepting help was against the rules of the test. If anyone was caught cheating, both they and their partner in crime would be kicked out of the program with all their memories erased. Something told me that, as much as Emily was sympathetic toward me, she wouldn’t be willing to throw away her chances at success.

In that moment, I doubted the validity of Emily’s words—that she had, indeed, passed her test.

The tests presented by the Grandmasters were often simple, yet they were the place where most failed. There was only one rule when it came to these tests: no one could know what it was or what you had to do. Deception was expected, encouraged even, because these tests were meant to root out those without the highest level of conviction.

The first thing I did before joining the program was ensure I had the knowledge—however limited—to do whatever it took to make it to the end. I took a shuddering breath. Whatever it takes, I repeated in my mind like a mantra. I have to be willing to do whatever it takes. I didn’t have many friends before coming here to the bowels of the mages’ headquarters because of my constitution, and I didn’t make many friends in the program because I knew that friendships didn’t last here.

I steeled my resolve and took a step toward Emily. Then another. And another, until I loomed over her where she lounged on her bed.

“Amber, what are you doing?” she asked warily.

I let the knife drop into my hand and lunged. The knife pierced Emily’s neck and she choked on a warbled cry.

It was easier than I thought it would be—to watch the life drain from her eyes.

Root out your weakness. Those had been the Grandmaster’s words to me in that chamber when he presented me with my test, and I knew it could only mean one thing. My condition could be managed with magic, but magic was not permitted until the official apprenticeship started. The only other thing it could be was my roommate—the only one who I’d confided in during my two grueling years here.

“Whatever it takes,” I whispered to myself as I cradled the bloody knife in my palms, and walked into the hallway.

I would present the knife to the Grandmaster, and if I was right, I would pass the test and finally be free to do anything I pleased. If I was wrong… well, I couldn’t be wrong.