Chapter 11: Chapter 10 - Tests and Opportunities

“What were the four major cults that sprang up after the Great Rise?”

Cliff was sprawled on the floor, arms and legs spread out like a star. He’d hardly moved in the last half hour, and whenever he blinked, streaks of color danced across his eyelids from staring too long at the light fixture. “Uh – there’s the Cult of Divinity, the Ascendants, the Cleansing Path, and, um, the Church of Gaeon.”

“Careful,” Thalos said from the bed, “the fourth cult is Trialism. Don’t call the Church a cult unless you want a lengthy lecture from one of our professors – and we both know how much you like those.” Cliff’s roommate was sitting cross-legged on his bed, quizzing Cliff from their Early Magic History textbook. Their first round of tests were a few days out, and most of the first years were in a frenzy to prepare. Aside from his PMT performance test, Cliff was most worried for this one. Their professor was an expert on the material, and he moved through it with the insistent pace of someone who wasn’t concerned if he left anyone behind.

“Whats the difference between a cult and a church?” Cliff complained, shutting his eyes and watching as the splotches in his vision shifted from red to yellow to green and back. “At the end of the day, they all worship magic.”

“The difference is,” Thalos said pointedly, “our textbook says that those four are cults and the Church isn’t – that’s what’ll be tested, so that’s what you should remember.” He paused. “Do you remember the core idea of each cult?”

“Refresh me,” Cliff said, slipping a hand under his head to get more comfortable.

“Sure, but you better not fall asleep. I’d rather you not get kicked out of the Academy for failing your first test.” He paused and a hint of humor came into his voice. “Just think of how much Loria would scold you if you made our team look bad.”

Cliff snorted, giving his roommate a wry look. “Somehow, that’s the best encouragement you could have given me,” he said. “The Cults’ core ideas?”

Thalos nodded. “You’ve got the Cult of Divinity who saw the rise of magic as a punishment, one that would go away if everyone started acting more ‘godly’. The Ascendants believed that magic was the next step in human evolution – they’re the ones who coined the term ‘Chosen,’ a term for people with Gifts that stuck around until the invention of Magetools.”

“That’s when we started calling them Naturals?” Cliff asked. That fit with what Cliff knew – Naturals had Gifts, Augments could only use magic with PMTs, and Mundanes were those who couldn’t or didn’t bother to use any magic at all.

“Right,” Thalos said with a nod. “Next, there’s the Cleansing Path, who viewed Magic as an aberration that needed to be cleansed from the world.”

Cliff frowned. “Wait, whats the difference between the Cleansing Path and the Cult of Divinity, then? Both didn’t like magic, right?”

“Extremity, I guess,” Thalos said with a shrug, “The Cult of Divinity was all about your own behavior, but the Cleansing Path were more of a ‘kill it with fire’ kind of group, I think.”

“So Divinity – passive aggressive, Cleansing – just aggressive, got it.”

“Sure. Finally, you’ve got the Trialists – that’s the one you forgot – who, as the name might imply, thought of the Great Rise as one big trial – unlike the Ascendants, they thought the trial would end eventually, not be a step forward to a new future.”

“Huh,” Cliff said.

“What?” Thalos asked, flipping through the textbook, spot-checking a few points in his notes.

“I was just thinking – all those cults outline a path forward, a way to solve the ‘problem’ of the Great Rise. The Church of Gaeon is a little more content to just say how things are – the Goddess woke up, magic came, yada yada, here we are.”

“Maybe that’s the difference,” Thalos said idly.

“Hmm?”

“Between a cult and the church – the church gives us a way to understand the world, and those cults give us a problem that needs solving.” Cliff considered the words for a moment, trying to decide whether they were profound or he was just mentally wrung out after hours of studying history.

“That’s basically everything we need for the test,” Thalos said, “but we really should-” A knock on their door cut him off.

With a surge of energy, Cliff bounced to his feet, just about tearing the door off its hinges before Thalos could propose they go over all the material again.

Jenna was standing there, her eyes wide in surprise at his haste. She blinked a few times, and calm returned. “Happy to see me?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Come in, come in – Thalos and I were just finishing reviewing for the history test.”

She stepped in the room with a smile and a wave at Cliff’s roommate, who nodded a greeting in turn. “Sounds like my timing was good, then,” she said, plopping down on Cliff’s bed. “Fancy tutoring me for the Engineering test?” She was a frequent guest of their room, finding Cliff once or twice a week to answer whatever Engineering questions she had. Honestly, they could usually be answered by a thorough reading of the textbook, but he enjoyed her company, and he wasn’t going to complain about having a girl like Jenna rely on him.

“Yes, of course,” Cliff said immediately.

Thalos sighed. “Cliff, I really think we should go over-”

“All of it again,”Cliff said, “yeah, I know, Thalos, but look at Jenna! She needs my help!” She didn’t. “If I don’t tutor her, maybe she’ll fail the test.” She almost certainly wouldn’t – aside from Cliff, she was one of the best students in the class. “I can’t just leave the poor girl out to dry.” Honestly, he wasn’t all that worried about Jenna, he just was really tired of studying history.

“You know, I am capable of studying on my own,” Jenna said dryly. Cliff glared at her, and she smirked. “But, of course,” she continued, turning to Thalos, “It would be nothing like having someone as smart and talented as Cliff teaching me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Thalos said with a wave of his hand, “Cliff doesn’t want to study history anymore, and you’re his convenient excuse. Don’t blame me when your test comes back covered in big fat red X’s.”

“Don’t worry – thanks to all your help, I’ll ace it.” He leaned close to Jenna, whispering loudly in her ear. “Now come on, before he changes his mind.”

Thalos rolled his eyes. “Come on, you two, if you’re gonna flirt at least have the decency to do it where I can’t see.” He threw his notebook across the room. It bounced off Cliff’s shoulder before falling to the floor. “Get out of here or I’ll start reciting historical dates at you.”

“Anything but that!” Cliff cried dramatically, grabbing Jenna by the wrist and dashing out of the room, dragging the giggling girl along with him.

***

Cliff clicked his tongue as he studied the car in front of him. It was an ugly thing, a hunk of mismatched metal bolted together, but there was something industrially beautiful about it. The seat was little more than rack of pipes bent to roughly resemble the contours of the human body, and Iona did not look especially comfortable as she worked her feet into the proper positions.

“And we’re sure I’m not going to just go in circles again?” she asked as she pulled the strap across her chest, fastening herself to the cart. The original design had been rather carefree in its safety precautions, but Paolo had forced them to add a bare minimum of what he considered reasonable safety features – a strap on the seat, basically.

“Should be good,” Cliff replied, handing her a helmet, “I checked the alignment myself when I wired in the power for each of the motors. Might shake a little when you turn, but you should stay relatively straight – unless something goes wrong, of course.”

“Say a prayer that nothing goes wrong, then,” she replied with a fierce smile. “Everyone good?” she yelled. A chorus of confirmations and cheers came from the rest of the club. It was a goofy little setup, a handful of markers thrown down on the grounds to make a rough, elliptical track. With the limited power wired into the thing, it could run for a few minutes before the Prime Stones needed recharging. They hadn’t built a proper feedback loop into the circuit, so when the power ran out, they’d have to swap them out. And that was an hours-long process that required disassembling most of the mass of metal Iona was currently perched in. Needless to say, Cliff was hopeful the test would be successful enough that they wouldn’t have to go through it again.

“Alright, testing the Iona Cart – take 2 – let’s go,” she shouted to another round of cheers.

“Are we set on that name? It’s kind of tacky,” Cliff said as he took a few steps back.

“Shut up, first year – when you make the design, you’ll get to name it.” Iona flipped a switch and the cart started to whir as the systems powered up. He listened for a moment before nodding to himself – his Gift wasn’t sending him any warnings at the sound, and that was a good sign.

“Godspeed,” he called with a wave as the Iona cart took off at a puttering pace forward.

***

“Cheers!”

The glasses came together in a sloppy clink, and liquids of half a dozen colors sloshed around, dripping down on the table. The restaurant in Westholden wasn’t particularly crowded – not too many went out for drinks on a weekday night – but the atmosphere was light and even the relative emptiness couldn’t put a damper on the mood in the air.

Cliff took a sip from his glass – the drink was pleasantly sweet with just enough sourness to keep it from being cloying. Most of the club were drinking alcohol, but his PMT exam was the next day, and the absolute last thing he needed was to be hungover for that.

He was stuck between Iona and Paolo, each with a tall, frothy mug of beer in front of them. “Just think,” Iona said, “In thirty years, you’ll remember this as the birth of the Iona cart, the first step on its journey to revolutionize Magetool vehicles.” Her face was flushed from the atmosphere and alcohol, and she’d hardly stopped smiling since the cart groaned to a stop after its five-minute test run. “Well, Cliff?” she said, leaning into him with her shoulder.

“Hmm?” He took another sip of his drink. “Yeah, it was a success, wasn’t it?” Truth be told, his mind was scattered with concern over his coming reckoning with Lieutenant Ulster. He’d accepted the invitation to the restaurant hoping it might balance his nerves, but instead he was just distracted.

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“She wants you to praise her,” Paolo whispered, pausing to belch around his beer. “This thing was her baby, you know? And she just sent it off to school.” Their faculty advisor had a goofy smile plastered on his face. He was on his third beer and his normal quiet strictness was already loosening up.

Cliff chuckled under his breath before turning to Iona. It wasn’t the first time he’d been sandwiched between two drunks, but the experience was always amusing until it got frustrating. Lucky for her, it was early enough that he still had his humor. He poked her side with his elbow. “It’s a great design,” he said, “of course it would work when you were the one building it!”

She put on a toothy smile and swatted him in the shoulder. “Oh, stop it – yeah, I know it was a good design, but I’m not the only one who made it work! You helped out too, you know.” She brushed a hair off her forehead, going for another sip of her beer and frowning when she realized it was empty. Her eyes glazed over for a second before she suddenly stood up, walking off without another word.

Paolo laughed. “Forgive her, she gets a bit childish when she drinks.” He grabbed some food off the table, dipping it and tossing it into his mouth. The spread was a greasy and salty – battered and fried meats and vegetables served with a smoky sauce.

“I’ve seen worse drunks,” Cliff commented, watching as Iona made her way towards the restaurant’s bathroom. He shook his head. “Can’t say why she wanted praise from me in particular, though.”

“Really?” Paolo said, “you’ve got to have noticed that she’s started seeing you as her assistant.”

Cliff shrugged. It was true that he’d been at her beck and call for most of his time in the club, but he figured that was a symptom of their rocky introduction, a soft revenge for criticizing her beloved design. “I figured she’d want your praise more than mine,” he said, “after all, it’s not me she follows around like a puppy-dog.”

“Oh, she just wants the silver trimming, and she needs my recommendation for it,” Paolo replied with a wave of his hand, “you’re the real hot-shot.”

“How do you figure?” Cliff took a last sip of his juice mix, gesturing to a waiter for a refill. The stuff was addicting.

“Oh, please-” Paolo started, “New kid comes in and immediately pokes a hole in her design – not arrogantly or unnecessarily, mind you. She’s been giving you more and more work, and you’ve done everything and more with a practiced ease. Honestly, if I were her I’d be insecure too – I had to tell her about your Gift when she complained to me about how easy this stuff seemed to you.”

“Huh.” Normally, when people heard about his Gift they responded with either apathy or doubt, but he could see – if your life’s passion was engineering – that it might be a little frustrating that so much of it came naturally to Cliff. “Should I apologize to her?” He thought aloud. “Nah, that’d just be condescending.”

“It’s good that you’re not an ass about it,” Paolo said, “or else it’d be a lot harder to like you, despite your talent.”

Cliff chuckled to himself. “Back home, I had a buddy who was tall. Real tall, mind you, half a head above me. He used to make all sorts of cracks about it – unfunny jabs about how the view was so much better from up high.” He shook his head – they might have been fine, if they were funny jokes, but they weren’t, so it was that much worse. “One too many wisecracks, and someone got wise to cracking him across the face. Taught me a lesson.”

“Clever,” Paolo said with a smirk, “what’s your point?”

“Just that there’s no point in bragging about something you didn’t work for. Bragging about being tall is just about as impressive as bragging about the freckles on your face. My poppa wasn’t proud of a good harvest when the weather was good – no, he was proud of a good harvest when the weather was bad. That’s what separates a good farmer from a bad one, I’d reckon.” He smiled and thanked the waitress for the new cup of juice before taking a sip. Delicious.

Paolo eyed him for a moment, chewing on a thought. “How’d you like to be my research assistant, Cliff?” he asked.

Cliff blinked. “What?”

“We talked about it a bit at breakfast last time – the Academy also has a research division, and I could use someone to bounce ideas off of.” He swirled the mug in his hand. “I’ve wanted to ask you since I heard about your Gift, though I figured I would wait a few months. But why not?”

“What’s the research?” Cliff asked. Truthfully, he wanted to agree outright, but he didn’t want to be stuck sorting old scriptures or something like that.

Paolo grabbed another one of the fried bits on the table. “We’re reverse engineering an artifact that’s capable of lowering the magic level of an area.” He tossed it into his mouth.

Cliff clicked his tongue. “That sounds – how would that even work?”

Paolo smiled. “Now, that’s the point of the research, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “It’s complicated, but our analysis suggests that it isolates an area magically and absorbs the magic in the air – the absorption is easy, of course, a common feedback loop can do it, but the isolation-”

“I can’t even begin to figure how that would work,” Cliff muttered with a frown. Magic permeated everything. Trying to isolate it, well, was like trying to isolate gravity – how do you isolate a force. “I’m in,” he said, “well – tentatively. I’ve got to see how my Gift reacts to a bonafide artifact – you said it’s on lease from the church?”

He nodded. “The Hierophant assigned it to me, personally.”

“Sounds like a big responsibility.”

“It is. One you’ll have the pleasure of sharing,” Paolo replied, raising his mug. Cliff laughed and clinked his own with the priest’s.

“What are we laughing about?” Iona asked, sitting down heavily and immediately going for her newly refilled beer.

“Paolo just asked me to be his research assistant,” Cliff said with a smile. After an instant he blinked, wondering how Iona would react – Paolo had said that she’d been chasing him for a recommendation, after all. Maybe she wanted to be his research assistant? In fact, maybe she already was – he probably should have asked while she was still away from the table.

Thankfully, Iona didn’t appear to be offended. Quite the opposite in fact. “Oh, that?” She said with a snort. “Good luck, Cliff. Paolo just about begged me to help him out last year, but I couldn’t be convinced. He’s made absolutely zero progress on cracking that nut since I got to the academy. Who knows though,” she said with a shrug, “maybe you’ll be the one that finally gets the ball rolling.”

“I… see,” Cliff said with a frown, suddenly less hopeful than he was a moment before. “Well – ah, here’s to hoping!” He could still back out if it seemed completely incomprehensible, though he wouldn’t say no to spending his time on something a bit more difficult than his basic engineering course – that was a snooze-fest.

Paolo looked irked by her description. “Hold on! That’s not true, Cliff! We’ve learned – uh, at least four things that don’t work,” he said, “And that’s Brother Paolo, you two.”

***

“Alright, Cliff, that’s enough, it’s time to move on,” Lieutenant Ulster said neutrally. His pen scribbled on the clipboard as Cliff’s arm fell to his side. He stared dejectedly at the tableau in front of him. He was supposed to summon a wall of earth, but what he saw looked more like a drunk mole had taken an overzealous dig through the testing area.

“Last is, of course, fireballs. Get your PMT tuned and verified, then we’ll move over to the range.” A few more scribbles and he walked off, waiting for Cliff to switch the nodes in his PMT. With a frustrated sigh, Cliff yanked off the gauntlet, walking over to the nearby table, on top of which was the basic fire circuit as well as the diagnostic machine. He unclasped the cover and switched the modules with practiced ease – if this were an exam on anything about a PMT besides actually using it, he’d pass with flying colors. As it stood, he was pretty sure he was about to fail.

It had started off well enough – the water circuit they used was similar to the fire circuit, and he managed to hit his target a passable amount of times. It got worse from there, though. His icicles missed the mark, and when he tried to use the air circuit he couldn’t even get the fan spinning. Finally, of course, he’d built the world’s worst wall with the earth circuit. He only had the fire left, and he was all out of confidence.

A few moments later he found himself in front of one of the dummies, hand extended. “Alright, Cliff,” the Lieutenant said, “give it your best shot. Ten fireballs.”

Cliff was already thinking about the types of backhanded comments he’d get from Loria as he launched the first two. He blinked in mild surprise when they both hit. Still, that wasn’t going to be enough – his mind again drifted to the upcoming Hands-on training, and how much of a liability he would be without his PMT. Three more fireballs, three more hits on the dummy. That was odd.

Cliff clicked his tongue, his focus shifting back to the test. He was doing it, somehow. Five out of five was just what he needed and maybe – maybe – if he kept it up, he might be able to squeak out a pass here. He glared down at the soot-covered dummy and started to launch another fireball. His mind was suddenly racing and – he blinked as the fireball popped like a soap bubble, halfway to its target. He grit his teeth, focusing even harder – he could not let his Gift take over. All he saw was the target, all he felt was the magic, manifesting a ball of flame, spinning out from the prime stone, through the filaments – the exact nature of the conversion from raw energy to fire he did not quite understand, but the process was – the fireball, malformed on its creation, spun off to the side, missing the dummy completely.

He frowned – seven out of ten. He could still manage seven if he could just keep his focus on what he was actually doing. Three more fireballs, but only one managed to connect, barely clipping the shoulder of the dummy.

His arm fell to his side. Six out of ten wasn’t terrible, especially for his standards, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to salvage the test.

“Alright, Cliff,” Lieutenant Ulster said, adding a few more notes to the page before looking up. “That’s the end of the test.” He gave Cliff an odd look, studying, considering, before finally sighing. “Follow me – let’s chat a bit.”

***

Lieutenant Ulster’s knobby fingers bounced heavily off his desk, an austere, solid thing, clear of any clutter aside from Cliff’s exam sheet, a pen, and some kind of medal of achievement that Cliff couldn’t be bothered to read at the moment. They’d been sitting there in silence for a time, Cliff too listless to interrupt whatever pondering the lieutenant was caught in.

“You know, Cliff,” his instructor finally said, “I don’t hate you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Cliff muttered, realizing a split-second too late that this was not the time or place for sarcasm – not when his exam grade was still hanging in the fold.

The big man frowned, sighing as his bouncy fingers came to rest on the exam paper. “I don’t hate you,” he repeated. “You act like a child sometimes, and you seem insistent on breaking every rule I set out – but no, I don’t hate you.” Cliff shifted in his seat, shoving back whatever response was trying to bubble forth – saying anything now would only confirm that he was a child. “I’ve had students like you before – bright but unfocused. Hard to teach, sure, but often high performers.” He glanced down at the exam paper for a moment before continuing. “No matter what kind of student walks through the door, It is my honest goal to get them ready for whatever the world will throw at them – preparation and discipline, that’s what works, so that’s what I teach.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Cliff said, “but I don’t quite understand the point you’re getting at.” He might, if this was some prelude to announcing that Cliff had failed – preempting any protest that it was because of bias. Somehow, though, Cliff doubted the lieutenant would bother with this spiel for a silly reason like that.

“The point is,” Lieutenant Ulster said, leaning forward slightly, bridging his fingers and studying Cliff, “when you hear what I’m about to say – I want you to know it’s not because I hate you, or any other childish reason like that – it’s because I want what’s best for you.”

Cliff clicked his tongue. “I failed?” he guessed.

“Yes,” his instructor replied immediately. Cliff’s stomach dropped out. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at a knot when his fingers got stuck. It wasn’t a surprise, really, that he’d failed, but still, he’d been holding on to some naive hope. “But that’s not why I wanted to chat.”

“Why, then?” Cliff asked numbly.

Lieutenant Ulster studied him a moment. “How set are you on becoming a Courier?”

Cliff blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been teaching here for seven years. This class, believe it or not, is my favorite to teach – few things are more rewarding than watching a beginner take their first few steps towards mastery.” His frown deepened. “In those seven years, every student who has failed this first exam has dropped out by the end of their first year.” Cliff started to respond, but Lieutenant Ulster shot up a hand, cutting him off. “Now normally, the people who fail this test are either completely lacking in motivation to learn or have such a low Magical Rating that they can barely get a PMT to function. You have neither of those problems. But the fact remains that one hundred percent of the students who have failed this test have not gone on to graduate.”

“So, what?” Cliff said, his despondence momentarily forgotten as frustration bubbled. “I should just drop out? Give up at the first setback?”

“Maybe,” Lieutenant Ulster said, “Maybe not – that’s your decision. Normally, when I give this talk, it’s to light a fire under the unmotivated – or prepare the students unsuited to PMT use for the worst. You, though, your problem’s a bit different.” He hummed a moment. “It’s clear to me, watching you in class and in this exam, that your problem isn’t so much competence as consistency. You can do what I ask, at times, if the circumstances are right, but half the time there’s something that gets in your way. Is that right?”

“My Gift,” Cliff muttered, “As soon as I start to use the PMT, my head fills up with images of the circuitry, and it jumbles my focus.”

Lieutenant Ulster nodded slowly. “That’s about what I guessed, listening to your incessant moaning in class. I assume you’ve tried focusing on other things?”

Cliff shrugged. “I have, and it’s worked, kind of – but it has to be genuine. Like today, with the fireballs, I had some success because I was genuinely not paying attention to using my PMT, the threat of failing was occupying my mind, but-”

“As soon as you noticed your success, it brought your focus back, and we’re back to square one,” the Lieutenant muttered with a frown.

“Right,” Cliff said, sighing with resignation. At the very least, he was glad that Lieutenant Ulster seemed somewhat understanding of the problem.

“That’s an odd one – normally a lack of focus is a problem, not a solution. It gives me some ideas, but understanding a problem doesn’t make it magically disappear. The point remains – as it stands, there’s a good chance you won’t be able to pass my class.”

Cliff swallowed. “And there’s nothing I can do?”

Lieutenant Ulster waved a hand. “Of course there is. If you manage to work through this problem of yours, I’m sure you’ll be fine. But if not, well-” He paused, staring Cliff in the eye. “I’m prepared to write you a recommendation for transfer to the Crestfall Engineering Academy.”

“Transfer?” Cliff said breathlessly. He didn’t want to transfer – he wanted to become a Courier.

“Better than getting kicked out, no?” The lieutenant said. “I’ll run it by Templar Roose, but I’m sure he’d agree with me.”

“Transfer…” Cliff said again, still turning over the idea in his head. He’d just started getting used to the academy – he didn’t want to leave.

“I’ll give you a month to think it over,” Lieutenant Ulster continued, “if you can’t fix your problem – well, you’ve got a month to think. That said, I’ve got more students to test. You’re cleared for use of the Martial node on your first hands-on training, but nothing besides that. Dismissed.”