The Iron Trial (21 page)

F
INALLY, THE WEATHER
became warm enough for them to start having their classes outside almost daily. One bright afternoon, Call and Tamara were sent to the edge of the woods to study with Master Milagros’s class while Rufus took Aaron for special training.

They didn’t go far from the Magisterium gates, but enough greenery had sprung up to block most of the cave entrance from view. The warm air smelled of the rosemary, valerian, and deadly nightshade that grew on the grounds, and there was a rapidly growing pile of light jackets and coats on the ground as the apprentices dashed around in the sunlight, playing catch with balls of fire, using air to control the way they moved.

Call and Tamara joined in with enthusiasm. It was fun, focusing on lifting a flaming orb, then rocketing it between hands. Call strained to get it close enough to his palms so that it almost touched but didn’t quite. Gwenda had burned herself once and was now being extra careful; her ball of fire hovered more than moved. Although Call and Tamara had come late, the exercise was enough like ones Master Rufus had made them practice — particularly the sand exercises, which were forever burned into their minds — that they were able to get the hang of it quickly.

“Very good,” Master Milagros said, walking between them. She’d taken off her shoes and sloughed off her black uniform shirt, revealing a T-shirt with a rainbow on the front. “Now I want you to create
two
balls. Split your focus.”

Call and Tamara nodded. Splitting their focus was second nature, but some of the others were struggling. Celia managed it, as did Gwenda, but one of Jasper’s orbs popped, singeing his hair.

Call snickered, earning a dark look.

Soon, though, everyone was tossing two and then three balls of fire into the air, not quite juggling but something that might have approximated a slow-motion version of it. After a few minutes of that, Master Milagros stopped them again.

“Please choose a partner,” she said. “The apprentice without a partner will practice with me. We’re going to toss our ball to our partner and catch the ball our partner tosses to us. So extinguish all balls in your hands but one. Ready?”

Celia tapped Call’s sleeve shyly. “Practice with me?” she asked. Tamara sighed and went to practice with Gwenda, leaving Jasper to partner with Master Milagros, since Drew had complained of a sore throat and stayed in his room. Back and forth the fire went, searing through the lazy springtime air.

“You’re really good at this!” Celia said, beaming, as Call made the fire do a loop-the-loop before dropping it just above her hands. Celia was the sort of friendly person who handed out compliments easily, but it was still nice to hear — even if Tamara was rolling her eyes behind Celia’s back.

“All right!” Master Milagros clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. She looked a little disgruntled — there was a burn in her sleeve where Jasper must have thrown a fireball too close. “Now that you all are used to using air and fire together, let’s add something even more difficult. Come this way.”

Master Milagros led them down the hill to a stream that bubbled over rocks. Four thick oak logs bobbed in the water, clearly magicked to stay in place, since the current flowed around them. She pointed to the logs. “You will climb onto one of those,” she said. “I want you to use water and earth to balance yourself there, while keeping at least three fire orbs in the air.”

There was a murmur of protest, and Master Milagros smiled. “I’m sure you can do it,” she said, shooing the students toward a log. As Call moved forward, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Call, I’m sorry, but I think you better stay here. With your leg, I don’t think it’s safe for you to do this exercise,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about a version that could suit you better. Let me get the others started and I’ll tell you about it.”

Jasper, passing by on his way to the stream, looked over his shoulder and smirked.

Call felt a dull red fury bubble up in his stomach. Suddenly, he was back in gym class in sixth grade, sitting on the bleachers while everyone else climbed ropes, or dribbled basketballs, or bounced up and down on the mats.

“I can do it,” he told her.

Master Milagros stepped toward the bank of the stream, her bare feet sinking in the mud. She smiled. “I know, Call, but the exercise is going to be very difficult for all the apprentices and it would be even harder for you. I think it’s more than you’re ready for.”

So Call watched as the other apprentices waded or clumsily levitated to their logs, wobbling as Master Milagros released the magic that had been holding the wood in place. He could see the strain on their faces as they tried to move the log against the current, stay standing, and levitate a ball of fire. Celia fell almost immediately, hitting the stream, soaking her uniform — and laughing all the while. It was a hot day and Call bet splashing in the water felt pretty good.

Jasper, surprisingly, seemed good at the exercise. He managed to lever himself up on his log and stay standing as he conjured his first ball of fire. He tossed it between his hands, smirking at Call, making Call think of what he’d said in the Refectory.

If you could ever learn to levitate yourself, maybe you wouldn’t slow down your teammates so much, limping along after them.

Call was a better mage than Jasper; he knew he was. And he couldn’t stand that Jasper thought otherwise.

Giggling, Celia pulled herself back up onto her log, but her feet were wet, and she slipped off again almost immediately. She plunged back into the water and Call, seized by an impulse he couldn’t control, dashed forward and hopped up onto the abandoned log. After all, he’d skateboarded before — badly, he admitted. But he’d done that and he could do this.

“Call!” cried Master Milagros, but he was already halfway across the stream. It was much harder than it had looked from shore. The log rolled under his feet, and he had to throw his hands out, bracing himself with earth magic, to keep his balance.

Celia surfaced in front of him, tossing back her wet hair. Seeing Call, she gasped. Call was so startled that his magic deserted him. The log rolled forward, Celia dove for the the bank with a little shriek, and Call’s bad leg went out from under him. He pitched forward and landed in the water.

The stream was black, icy cold, and deeper than he’d imagined. Call twisted around, trying to swim for the surface, but his foot was wedged between two stones. He kicked desperately, but his bad leg wasn’t strong enough to free the good one. Pain shot up his side as he tried to pull himself free, and he screamed — silently, underwater, bubbles escaping his lips.

Suddenly, there was a hand circling his upper arm, pulling him up. There was more pain as his foot pulled free from the streambed, and then he was out of the water, gasping. The person who’d grabbed him was splashing through the stream, and Call could hear the other apprentices yelling and calling out as he was tossed onto the bank, coughing and spitting water.

He looked up and saw angry brown eyes and dripping-wet black hair.

“Jasper?” Call said in disbelief, then coughed again, bringing up a mouthful of water. He was about to turn aside and spit it out, when Tamara suddenly appeared, dropping down next to him on her knees.

“Call? Call, are you okay?”

Call swallowed the water, hoping it didn’t have tadpoles in it. “Fine,” he croaked.

“Why did you have to show off like that?” Tamara asked angrily. “Why are boys always so dumb? After Master Milagros specifically told you not to! If it hadn’t been for Jasper —”

“He’d be fish food,” Jasper said, squeezing water out of a corner of his uniform.

“Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far,” said Master Milagros. “But, Call, that was very, very foolish.”

Call looked down at himself. One of his pants legs was torn, his shoe was missing, and blood trickled down his ankle. At least it was his good leg, he thought, so no one could see the twisted-up mess his other one was. “I know,” he said.

Master Milagros sighed. “Can you stand?”

Call tried to rise to his feet. Instantly, Tamara was next to him, offering an arm to lean on. He took it, straightened — and yelped as pain shot through him. His right leg felt as if someone had shoved a knife into his ankle: a hot, sickening pain.

Master Milagros bent down and touched cool fingers to Call’s ankle. “Not broken, but a bad sprain,” she said after a moment. She sighed again. “Class is over for the afternoon. Call, let’s get you to the Infirmary.”

The Infirmary turned out to be a large, high-ceilinged room entirely free of stalagmites, stalactites, or anything that bubbled, dripped, or smoked. There were long lines of beds, made up with white sheets, arranged as though the Masters expected a large quantity of wounded children might be brought there any minute. At the moment, there was nobody but Call.

The mage in charge was a tall red-haired woman who had a snake curled around her shoulders. Its pattern changed as it moved, turning from leopard spots to tiger stripes to wobbly pink dots. “Put him over there,” the woman said, pointing grandly as the apprentices carried Call in on a stretcher made of branches, which Master Milagros had created. If Call’s leg hadn’t hurt so much, it would have been interesting to watch her use earth magic to snap the branches together and bind them with long, flexible roots.

Master Milagros supervised as they deposited Call on a bed. “Thank you, students,” she said as Tamara hovered anxiously. “Now let’s go and let Master Amaranth get to work.”

Call propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the shooting pain in his leg. “Tamara —”

“What?” She turned around, dark eyes wide. Everyone was looking at them. Call tried to communicate with her with his eyes.
Look after Havoc. Make sure he gets enough food.

“He’s going cross-eyed,” Tamara said to Master Amaranth worriedly. “It must be the pain. Can’t you do anything?”

“Not with all of you here. Shoo! Shoo!” Amaranth waved a hand, and the apprentices hurried out with Master Milagros, Tamara pausing in the doorway to shoot another worried look at Call.

Call flopped back onto the bed, his mind on Havoc, as Master Amaranth cut away his uniform, showing purple bruising down the expanse of his leg. His
good
leg. For a moment, panic rose in his chest, making him feel as though he was choking. What if he’d managed to make it so that he couldn’t walk at all?

The Master must have seen some of the fear in his expression because she smiled, taking a roll of moss out of a glass jar. “You’re going to be fine, Callum Hunt. I’ve fixed worse injuries than this.”

“So it’s not as bad as it looks?” Call ventured.

“Oh, no,” she told him. “It’s just as bad as it looks. But I’m very, very good at my job.”

Somewhat comforted and deciding he’d be better off not asking any more questions, Call let her cover his leg in bright green moss and then pack the whole thing with mud. Finally, she gave him a drink of some milky liquid that took away most of the pain and made him feel a bit like he was floating up toward the ceiling of the cave, as though the wyvern breath had hit him after all.

Feeling very foolish, Call slipped off to sleep.