First Witch's Tale

I didn’t really worry about it. The first set of exams were coming up and I needed to practice. And practice. And practice some more. The teachers had made it clear that if we failed the exams we would be going back to the start, remaining as junior students even as the rest of us went up a level. Cemburu got mocked, harshly, by students who expected him to fail, pointing out they would soon have the authority to make him fetch and carry for them. I didn’t join in. I didn’t like Cemburu, for obvious reasons, but I knew better than to count my chickens before they had hatched. I knew how easy it was to lose a crop before you could harvest, how easy it was to lose everything in a single catastrophic moment. I hoped I would pass, but I couldn’t count on it. No one could.

But at least I can practice with the others, I thought. It felt good to test my spells against my peers. None of them took me lightly any longer. What happens to those who can’t?

The thought bothered me slightly, as exams neared. I had grown up in a community where helping people who needed it was highly praised. It was self interest as much as anything else. You never knew when you might be knocked down, when you might need help yourself, and helping people who had been knocked down to get back on their feet incentivised them to help you when you needed it. Part of me thought I should reach out to Cemburu and offer assistance; the rest of me thought it was pointless to try. Cemburu was not capable of understanding the importance of helping others, even now. His peers were certainly not trying to build him up again. To them, education was a zero-sum game. For someone to win, everyone else had to lose.

I lost track of what was going on as exams started in earnest. There were no written essays, much to my relief, although the tutors interrogated us thoroughly about why we had cast the spells we had to solve the problems they posed. It was difficult, almost impossible, not to resent the interrogation as they tossed more and more questions at us, each one leading to further questions. I have never been subjected to anything like it in my entire life … and I wasn’t even in trouble! It felt as if I was on the verge of being expelled.

“You have a break tomorrow,” Bernard said, after the interrogation. “Don’t do anything important. Stay in bed, go walking, go down to town … do whatever you like, as long as it isn’t important. You need to rest before the results are announced.”

I nodded, stiffly, and staggered back to the dining hall. The kitchens were working at all hours to ensure we had enough to eat, rather than wait for lunch or dinner. I told myself not to get used to it as I took a plate of food and ate hastily, washing the dinner down with water and juice. It was only for exam season. I wondered, as I took a second plate, just how well I had done. Well enough to pass? Or would I go back to the beginning? I was uneasy aware I might have done well on the practical exams, but I might have flubbed a pair of the verbal questions. I went through it again and again, endlessly revising my answers even though I knew it was too late. There was no helping it now.

A rustle ran through the hall as Cemburu entered. I did my best to look up without making it obvious. I didn’t think he would curse me in the back, not in front of so many eyes, but it was hard to be sure. He had been under a lot of pressure and I knew all too well that such men could easily lash out without thinking of the consequences. And yet … my eyes narrowed. There was a faint, superior, smile on his face as he made his way to the counter, took some stew, and sat down. I met his eyes and tried not to blink in surprise. He looked as if he had got one over me. Ice prickled down my spine. What had he done?

I felt uneasy – and paranoid - as I finished my dinner, put the plate in the pile to be washed, and made by way back to my room. What had he done? I didn’t think Cemburu would dare to break into my room, but I could be wrong. He knew a few tricks, enough – perhaps - to leave a surprise or two on my doorknob or under my sheets. Or … my imagination ran away with me as I tested the door carefully, then pushed it open. There were spells to spy on someone from a distance. Perhaps he had put one in my room, hoping to catch me undressing. It would mean more to him than it did to me. Growing up in a farming village meant almost no privacy.

My unease only deepened as I searched the room from top to bottom. There was nothing, save for the ever-present background magic. It was hard to tell if Cemburu had forced his way inside or if I was just being paranoid. Perhaps the exhaustion was getting to me. I was so tired I could barely force myself to check the bed before I locked the door and went to sleep. But again, there was nothing.