CHAPTER 102: 102: THE ACADEMY TEST XII

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Master Venn moved. He did not run. He did not shout. He made a shape with his fingers and flicked his wrist. A chalk stub appeared like a magic trick, but it was no trick. Chalk went everywhere with him. He jumped off the last step and hit the ground in two quiet strides.

Master Hale lifted her right hand, palm down. The guard at her side was already moving. The other guard along the rope had sped up. The brown-haired proctor near Fizz was one step away now. He reached out a hand.

"Stop," the proctor said to Fartray, and his voice was not loud, but it had the weight of a rule inside it.

Fartray did not stop. Pride had its hands on his ears now. He lifted his water shield higher and pulled his right hand back to throw.

John’s dark ball sank a little. It pulled a breath. Pebbles near his boot rasped on the path. The football-sized shadow rolled forward in the air like a slow, heavy cat about to pounce.

"John," Fizz whispered. "Do not break the rules for me." But he did not say it out loud. He did not try to pull John’s arm. He knew the line in John’s chest was doing the work now.

"HO—LD," Master Venn barked, and the yard felt the word like a rope thrown across it.

He skidded to a stop three paces from John, slammed the chalk to the stone, and drew a quick, tight mark that looked like a corner of a square and a hook. He snapped the chalk to the left and right. White lines jumped up from the ground like strings and made a low arch between John’s palm and Fartray’s chest.

The dark ball hit the arch and pressed in. It did not pass. It dimpled the air like a thumb presses bread dough. The white lines buzzed like bees. The black ball drank at them. The arch dimmed, brightened, held.

"Master Hale," Master Venn said, his voice even again, "if you please."

Master Hale did not leave the stage. She said a word that was not a word and did not teach itself to ears. The flagstones under the grass answered her. A low silver ring rose under John’s boots and under Fartray’s boots, tight as a collar, one under each. The rings were not big. They did not show off. They did their job.

John felt it, a firm hand on the muscle just behind his right shoulder blade. The dark ball wobbled. It did not vanish, but it thinned at the edges and shrank to a size more like a melon. He could have fought it. He did not. He let it settle. He breathed out through his nose.

Fartray felt it too. The water on his palm had been ready to leap. It drooped and puddled and fell into a small splash at his shoe. His eyes went wide again. He looked down, then up at Master Hale with a look people use when they meet a wall that is invisible and stronger than their name.

"Hands down," Master Hale said from the stage.

Calm. Firm. Done.

John lowered his hand. The dark ball sank to his palm, rolled like a bubble, then popped without sound and was gone. Dust floated where it had been. For a second, the air tasted like cold iron and rain.

A long breath went through the yard as if one person had exhaled and everyone borrowed it.

The brown-haired proctor put a flat hand on Fartray’s shoulder and moved him a half step back. The other guard reached the rope and stood there, watching hands, not faces.

Someone near the back, who had never held their tongue in a market and would not start now, said, "I told you it was black magic." The word "black" had old fear in it.

The teachers listen to everything.

Master Hale spoke again, still without raising her voice. "Void aspected work is not illegal here," she said. "It is rare. It is hard to teach. It is not black by our law or by our books. But it is not for use in the yard. Nor is water whipping. Nor are mud pies." Her gaze, cool and exact, slid over Fartray, over Fizz, and touched John last. "All three break the rule."

Fizz lifted a paw. "Mine was small," he said, sheepish and brave at once.

"It was," Master Hale said. "It was still a throw."

Crowd noise changed shape again. Some faces let go of fear and picked up interest. A few held onto fear because it is a good coat in bad weather. Fartray’s two friends found important things to stare at on the ground. The boy near the hedge inspected his cuff to hide a grin that would get him in trouble with his mother later.

Master Venn blew chalk dust off his fingers and looked at John. His eyes were kind and sharp at the same time. "Circle," he said. "Two?"

John could have lied. He did not. "Yes," he said, simple.

Master Venn flicked a glance at the stage as if to say, you saw the same thing I did. "Hidden at the crystal this morning," he said, not angry, not smiling.

John’s jaw worked once. "I did not want to talk," he answered. "I did not want eyes. I only wanted to sit the test."

"Bad choice," Master Hale said. The words were plain. They did not carry heat. "You put the clerk in a false book. We do not like bad books."

John bowed his head an inch. "Yes," he said. "I am sorry."

Master Venn’s mouth bent. "You told the truth now," he said. "We count that too."

Fartray found his voice. It came back sharp and high. "Master," he said, and it had the old noble ring again, the ring that thinks orders are prayer, "he attacked me with dark magic. He tried to kill a student in the yard. He used forbidden—"