The question seemed to unstitch a deep wound inside Berthal, and his green eyes flickered as they struggled to keep the memory from biting too deeply again. Tythonnia fell silent, embarrassed she caused him such pain yet terribly curious. He answered, though he never looked at Tythonnia when he did. She suspected he was pretending he was alone, speaking his tale to the stars.
“His name was Joss, and he was the brightest, most capable student I ever taught. He was like a son to me. And the test killed him … savagely. I thought he could pass. He was strong and able, quick-witted, and a natural with magic. He spoke the language of magic as fluidly as his mother tongue. He never had to grasp for words or struggle through the gestures and intonations. They just came to him. Like breathing.
“He didn’t fail,” Berthal continued. “I failed him. I sent him to die-”
“But you didn’t know,” Tythonnia said.
“But I did,” Berthal said as he turned to face her. His expression was grave, furious, stricken. It didn’t know where to settle. “I knew the test didn’t reward the most able, only the most suicidal. It rewards anyone who forsakes love, happiness, passion. It rewards cold, calculating ambition above all else. Where is the strength in that? Where is our hope in that? Ambition doesn’t console you, love you. It is unforgiving.”
“I-” Tythonnia felt as though she should defend the test, somehow, but her thoughts drifted to her own ordeal.
“The test divorces us from everything that makes us who we are. It strips away our father’s strength and our mother’s love. All that remains is a blind loyalty to the moons. We swear an oath to three fickle lovers who never love us back-not in any way that matters. They give us power, yes, but there’s nothing of substance. And to ensure we never love anyone other than them, their so-called test leaves us with a scar that never heals. A scar that forever cleaves us from other people and reminds us just how alone we truly are.
“The test divorces us from life. But why should it be this way, when the arcane is a part of life, as certain in the earth as it is in the trees and in the blood? Sorcery … Wyldling magic is the magic of passion, of living. Life isn’t regimented or ordered! Why should magic be so disciplined as to cripple? Let it flow like the river and dance like the wind. Let it stand tall as the mountains and warm our souls like fire!”
Berthal was breathing heavily, his rant far from spent, but his lungs were winded. Tythonnia couldn’t help but stare and marvel at his passion.
“I despise the test,” Berthal said with a whisper. “It deprives the freedom, the natural right of those gifted to practice what comes naturally to them.”
“But …” Tythonnia hesitated. “The test is only there to stop people from learning magic beyond their ability. From hurting others. Or themselves.”
“Really?” Berthal asked. “So to prevent one or two miscreants from practicing the arcane, we kill some and censure others? Tythonnia, anyone with the ambition to hurt or kill will find a way to do so. Anyone can pick up a sword and kill with it. Anyone can take any of the basic spells and use it to do harm. Those trying to learn magics beyond their means will hurt themselves. It’s inevitable. Magic doesn’t suffer fools lightly. Anyone who is capable of wielding stronger spells and crafts will find a way to do so with or without the wizards. The test is nothing more than a mechanism of control. It doesn’t regulate or enforce. So why is it there? It’s there to fill the coffers of the three moons with worshipers.
“I’m not saying the wizards don’t serve a purpose. Perhaps enforcement is necessary to stop some spellcasters who hurt others. But the wizards are depriving the rights of everyone when no crime is committed, when no wrongdoing has taken place.”
“They’re trying to stop it from happening in the first place,” Tythonnia said. “Before anyone gets hurt.”
“Conditional liberty is the language of tyrants,” Berthal said.
Tythonnia was only vaguely aware her companions were gone, their bedrolls empty. Berthal’s words continued to echo in her thoughts, and his gentle kiss good night still tickled her cheek.
There was too much going on in her head to think clearly, so she did what she always did in those situations and compartmentalized her thoughts. She went over the debates in her head as a way of distraction.
She disagreed with Berthal on a couple of points; she thought some regulations were needed to ensure evil men and women were deprived the magic that would allow them to hurt others. Then she thought about the Black Robes and realized that the test didn’t stop evil from happening; it only gave it the air of respectability-evil by sanction.
Berthal’s words resonated with her concerns and fears, and she studied the components of her own test. They lived in vivid echos in her thoughts, the test remembered with such clarity it might be transpiring at that moment. So consumed was she with the thoughts of it she sat there while the burning wood disintegrated into glowing nuggets. Only when she felt cold did she distract herself long enough to throw more branches onto the fire. Her thoughts overtook her again, and she thought about her test.
What would she sacrifice to practice the arcane, the test asked of her. Who would she sacrifice? Then it showed her who she loved and asked her to choose between them and the craft. The only surprise was the one she loved-not who she expected. She saw the women of her life and few men. She recognized them for who they were, as father, as grandmother, as mentor, as friend. She saw Elisa. But she saw others in a new light and was forced to choose between their love and the love of magic.
Amma Batros was there, as mentor and more. Though Tythonnia had never shared anything intimate with her teacher, the visions in her test had been specific and embarrassingly erotic. She never thought of Amma in that way, but when she saw her now, all her previous actions and thoughts suddenly carried a different nuance. Suddenly, it wasn’t Elisa she kissed in the high grass of the fields, but Amma Batros and a handful of other women she’d unknowingly gravitated toward. And it wasn’t her mother who caught her, but slavering monsters of shadow and web.
The test was forcing her to reveal her true self, for nobody could maintain a lie and practice magic. Perhaps that was the true meaning of the test. It wasn’t choosing between the arcane and those she loved. It was choosing whether to hold on to a lie so perfect she believed it herself, or to burn away the deceit and practice magic without the proxy of masks. So Tythonnia immolated herself instead of the monstrosities threatening her loved ones. She set herself ablaze with her own magic and screamed through the fire.
When Tythonnia had emerged from the test, there were no burn scars, though the heat blossomed from her skin for days after. There were no marks on her, but the sense of pain remained. Her skin felt uncomfortably tight, as though still healing, and she could remember her anguish in perfect detail. Still, despite all that, she could still feel the kiss on her lips and the heat of Elisa’s breath in her mouth. That burned worse than anything else.
Amma Batros proclaimed her success a miracle, not a single blemish showing, but Tythonnia knew better. She knew the fire that burned her was on the inside and that if she ever cut herself open, her organs, not her skin, would bear the scars.
So Tythonnia sat there, considering how much was too much and trying desperately to ignore the phantom tickle of a beard against her cheek.
The grass was comfortable beneath their backs, the sky their beautiful ceiling. Par-Salian’s head rested on Ladonna’s naked stomach, and she tousled his brown hair absently.
“I’m not too heavy, am I?” Par-Salian asked.
“No,” Ladonna said.
They fell back into calm silence, each one lost in the nothingness of their thoughts. Lovemaking had a way of clearing the mind of all its woes and securing people in the moment. And what a moment it was, thought Par-Salian. The wind lightly caressing their bodies and cooling their skin, the campfires distant. Like the world was made for them and untouched by anyone else.