“No.”
I grunt. Unsurprising, albeit annoying; in typical Catenan fashion, they’re more interested in the flair of natural ability than seeing someone succeed through trial and error. There’s some logic to it, I suppose—they’re assessing aptitude and thus potential, as opposed to work ethic or common sense—but that entire approach is unbalanced. Shortsighted. Talent, as my father used to remind me constantly, matters only when it’s married to effort.
No point in grumbling, though. I walk over to stand in front of the smallest of the three boulders; better to apportion the least amounts of Will first, and then pour everything I have left into the biggest one.
I crouch, resting my hand against the rock. Lock it in my mind, but this time, carefully envisage the strength I imagine I’ll need to manipulate it, too. It’s nebulous, feels awfully imprecise. Akin to asking someone to apply a quarter of their strength to a task—possible, certainly, but it’s on instinct rather than careful calculation. “Can I go back and adjust the amount of Will in each one before trying to lift them?”
“No.”
Of course not. The first stone done, I move on to the second and then the third boulder in slow, scrupulous succession. It’s not overly difficult to keeptheir images firmly in my mind—I’ve had that ability well and truly honed in me—but the added pressure of the stakes makes the process feel far more intense. The sun bakes the sand underfoot. Droplets of sweat form on my brow, threaten to trickle into my eyes. I refuse to allow the distraction of wiping them away.
As soon as I’m done, I step back. Feel all three connections. Three extra limbs, only this time each one is a different size, a different strength.
I lift.
The three boulders rise in unison, a little slower than last time but still smoothly. The heaviest one is at fault: I was too generous with my Will for the smaller two, almost didn’t leave enough in reserve. The struggle to make it rise is a strange sensation. I can feel the strain of lifting it—canfeelthat the Will in it is almost not enough. But it’s not a physical or mental pressure on me, not an effort in any sense of the word. Just a limitation that I’m aware of.
I stop the boulders at the same height as previously and then, at an acknowledging word from Tullius, let them down again.
“Now blindfolded.” Tullius is already moving to stand in front of me, strip of white cloth at the ready. I close my eyes as they’re covered, fiercely holding on to the image of the three stones. It’s not as difficult as I thought it would be—again undoubtedly in part due to my training, but also because the Will already in the boulders makes the mental picture easier to maintain. Their details remain sharp in my mind, even as everything around them fades to grey haze.
There’s a smattering of applause from the hill this time as I command the three boulders to elevate, hover, then settle to the ground again. I remain outwardly unaffected as Tullius removes the blindfold, but I’m relieved. Pleased, even. A Totius Sextus should certainly be able to imbue three objects at once, but doing so with minimal loss of Will is difficult—and doing it without having visual contact with the imbued objects even more so. From what I understand, even an experienced Sextus might struggle with what I just did.
I look around once I can see again, spotting Aequa still sitting where I left her. The raven-haired girl makes a face and waves a hand noncommittally at my performance, even as the clapping dies down. I snort and grin back.
The tests continue after that, but none prove any more challenging than the ones I’ve already faced. I imbue several smaller objects at once; my limit is a dozen before I start to lose significant Will to the maintenance of the connections. I imbue three identically carved rocks and manipulate them blindfoldedto prove I can keep them mentally separate. I thread an imbued stone pyramid through a gauntlet of three barely wide-enough stone triangles, then imbue the triangles as well and do the same thing while making them hover. Then imbue a second pyramid and have both pass through the triangles from opposite directions simultaneously.
None of my successes are unheard of for a Totius Sextus, but I’m confident that it’s an excellent result. And whatever Veridius’s falsehoods surrounding the Academy, I realise that he was right about at least one thing. Learning to run the Labyrinth has trained me to use Will in a way no other task ever could.
The attention from the hillside continues to focus on me throughout; there are more spectators now, too, with the majority of those who have already finished their tests augmenting the crowd. I spot Indol and Iro after a while, sitting with a group of senators under a temporary awning. Indol seems to be arguing vehemently with a man who bears such a strong resemblance to Iro—down to his dark, brooding expression and prominently hooked nose—that there’s no doubting the lineage. I spot Praeceptor Nequias next to him. Strange, that he would be here.
“That was the last one.” Tullius has continued to scratch away on his wax tablet for the duration of my tests, never indicating what he thinks of my results, but after almost an hour he’s finally tucking his stylus away.
“We’re not testing Conditionals or Relationals?” The two hardest, and most powerful, types of imbuing. The types applied to the great machinery of Caten, like the Transvects.
Tullius chuckles. “Not today.” He glances around at the smattering of other assessments still being conducted on the sand. “These others will be done soon, too. Someone should be along shortly to give you your results. I imagine you will be pleased. It was a good showing, Catenicus.” Delivered without emotion, but he’s sincere.
With an acknowledging dip of the head and nothing further, he wanders off in the direction of the main building.
I head for the shade at the side of the track, conscious enough of the eyes still on me to conceal my relief, and locate Aequa. She’s sitting with Felix, who looks like he’s had time to change clothes and wash since his assessment.
“Vis.” Felix scrambles to his feet at my approach, holds out a hand. I clasp his wrist; he catches me off-guard by going further and pulling me in for a back-thumping embrace, despite my sweat-stained tunic. “Gods’ graves, it wasgood to see you out there today. When we left the Academy, they weren’t sure you were going to live.”
I smile at the honest emotion in his voice, despite my surprise. We were never close—friendly enough acquaintances during our time together in Class Four, I suppose, but he was also on Iro and Belli’s team in the Iudicium. “I’m glad you’re alright, too. Eidhin said you made it out, but that’s all I’d heard.”
He nods soberly as we part again, mass of unkempt black hair bobbing with the motion. “We got eliminated before the Anguis hit our safety team. Or, Iro and I did. Belli …” His expression explains her fate, even if I didn’t already know. “Veridius found her body a couple of days after it all happened.”
I grimace and pretend to accept the statement. There’s no way Veridius retrieved Belli’s corpse from where I saw it pinned to the walls of the Labyrinth—but between the presence of alupi on Solivagus and the way the Anguis massacred those they killed, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to sell the lie.
“I’m sorry about what happened out there, too. When we caught you. I should have said something.” Felix is awkward. Genuine in his apology.
I shrug; given everything else that’s happened since, our being bound and roughed up a little by a vindictive Belli seems almost trivial. And Felix has always been a follower; I can’t say his silence endeared him to me, but he was part of their team, not mine. Technically under Iro’s command. “It was hardly the worst thing to happen out there. It’s behind us.”
Felix ducks his head, relieved. He’s not the type to ignore unresolved conflict. I’m glad to see he and Aequa sitting here companionably, too; Aequa was the one to eliminate him, and I wasn’t sure whether grudges from the Iudicium would spill over into life after the Academy. Perhaps it’s just Felix’s nature, or perhaps the attack has overshadowed any potential resentment between the survivors. Given us a bond stronger than the competition. I hope it’s the latter. Some small light to take from the darkness of that time.
I gaze absently at the heat reflecting off the white sand, creating a wavering haze as the last of those still out there complete their tests. “Any word on your assignments yet?” As Domitor, I’m the only one able to request a specific position; everyone else from the Academy has to accept whatever their respective factions dictate.
“My father’s been told Caten. The rest was going to depend on today,” says Aequa. Felix indicates he’s the same.
