Fallen Magic

Elsie and I do work, or we try to. Neither of us are in the right frame of mind for it, so we mostly end up distracting each other. She’s worried, though: we only have theoretical tests left tomorrow, and she’s much better at practical magic. At least Edward isn’t here to hear her say that. The verbal dissection that would inevitably result wouldn’t end well.

We manage to work through a large chunk of the theory behind conjuration in two hours. I understand pretty much everything we discuss. In some ways that’s a good thing, but it also makes me worry that my time would be more usefully spent on other topics I’m less sure on.

“I can’t do this,” says Elsie finally, after spending a good half-minute trying and failing to recall the definition of a partial conjuration (it refers to not fully envisaging the object you’re trying to conjure and letting your subconscious fill in the gaps; it’s not something that’s taught at our level, and Malaina are advised never to attempt it).

“You can,” I say reflexively. “Of course you can. You’re doing well.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” I insist. “You do understand most of this. There’s just a few gaps that need to be filled in.”

She shakes her head. “We don’t have time to fill in these gaps. And what happens if those are what all the questions are asked on?”

“It’s fine. Our grades on these tests don’t matter, not as long as we pass, and you’re going to pass.”

Stars, since when was I the one reassuring people? These might as well be my own fears Elsie is putting into words, and I’m not convinced by my own arguments. What makes me think I’m qualified to help Elsie when I can’t even –

I’m getting better at recognising the kind of thought pattern that marks the beginning of a Malaina episode. I pull the enchanted bead from my pocket and channel magic. It doesn’t surprise me to see it stubbornly remain the same colour. “Sorry,” I say. “Give me a minute?”

Elsie nods mutely.

I close my eyes and breathe. Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. I’m fine. I’m doing better than I think I am; the tests might not have gone quite as well as I hoped, but none of them have been a complete disaster. I can do this. I’ve survived far worse.

Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender. Breathe.

This episode passes swiftly. Less than a minute, maybe. Is that a good thing, or is it a bad thing that I had it in the first place?

I open my eyes to see the glow of the bead and Elsie’s concerned expression.

“Stars,” Elsie says. “What right do I have to suffer through these tests when they’re literally giving you a magical mental breakdown and you’re still doing better than me?”

“What,” I say flatly. “What do you mean.”

I don’t understand. How can she think that? How can she not understand?

“…what I said?” Elsie tries, confused.

Right. Brutal honesty it is, then. “You read the papers. You know why I Fell. You know that it wasn’t traumatic. Not like Falling should be. Not like – “

Oh, stars, I nearly said not like Edward. Granted it wouldn’t have given much away that couldn’t already be guessed, but still. I can’t afford to be that careless.

“That’s not how it works,” she says. “I’m not exactly an expert on Malaina, but I’m pretty sure blaming yourself for it is wrong.”

I force myself to say nothing.

“Just because other people have suffered more than you have doesn’t mean you should be okay.”

“That advice applies equally well to yourself,” I observe.

She laughs awkwardly. “Okay. Fine. I’ll admit it’s okay to be struggling with tests if you admit there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Nothing wrong with me. If I’d heard her say that a month or two ago, I would have laughed in her face. But maybe she does have a point. Maybe Edward was his usual annoyingly right self every time he told me that.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I say experimentally, testing how the words feel and how much I believe them.

“Good,” says Elsie. “It’s okay for me to be struggling with tests.”

“And while we’re pretending to be sensible people,” I continue, “we should probably stop work for tonight.”

So that’s what we do.

I read the True History for what was supposed to be an hour or two. But I made the mistake of not asking anyone to stop me this time, which means I realise just as I’m about to start the last chapter that it’s midnight and thirty. Oops.

It’s only one more chapter, though, and it wouldn’t take me that long… would it?

I snap the book shut before my will to resist temptation is exhausted. Sleep is more important. I won’t do well tomorrow – today, technically, now – without it. At least the combination of the episode earlier in the evening and most of my mind still being lost in history means that I’m not going to have another Malaina episode now.

Small mercies.

Another small mercy is that what sleep I get is good. I wake far too early, but feeling somewhat refreshed. And the good thing about waking far too early is that it means I can read the last chapter of the True History in bed.

It’s seven and thirty when I get the familiar bittersweet feeling of finishing a book. I wish there was another chapter, so I had the excuse of carrying on with it rather than having to get up and face the world. Though if there were another chapter I’d probably end up missing this morning’s first test.

I meet Edward for breakfast as usual. I don’t tell him how I spent yesterday evening. “I finished my book,” I say instead.

“Any good?” he asks.

“Yes. Very.”

He pauses. “It’s probably a bad idea to ask you to tell me about it.”

I didn’t tell him about the part where I accidentally revealed I had the True History to Elsie, Elizabeth, Robin and anyone who happened to be sitting in the café and listening to our conversation. He would be (quite justifiably) far too annoyed at my inadequate precautions.

Which reminds me: I agreed to lend Elsie the True History once I was finished with it. So now I’ll have to explain where I actually obtained it from. I don’t think that secret being told to one more person will hurt anything; it would just be awkward.

I’ll just get through another day’s tests, and I can deal with that problem afterwards. Giving the book to Elsie will prevent me spending precious revision time on rereading it and taking proper notes, though even with just what I’ve remembered there’s dozens of things I’m longing to cross-reference.

The day’s first test is theoretical Conjurations and Transformations. This goes better than the practical test, since whatever problem means I’m still struggling with conjuration doesn’t make a difference to my understanding of the theory. There’s one particularly nasty question about the structure of different materials and the effect that has on their conjuration, which I spend a full ten minutes staring at without making any progress.

I have to leave it blank in the end, and ask Edward about it as we walk to the next test. His explanation is at once absurdly simple and unexpected enough I don’t understand how we mere mortals were ever supposed to guess that was what we were expected to do.

I’m still puzzling over it by the time we reach theoretical Countering Magical Effects. We don’t have quite the same feeling of impending doom as we did before the practical test – how bad can a written test be, even if Electra was the one who wrote it?

I should probably have realised that even thinking that question was tempting fate. Half an hour into the test, I have successfully answered precisely one question. This is impossible – how does she expect me to do this? Half the questions are on topics we’ve only briefly touched on, and the other half present things in such a strange way it takes me a couple of minutes just to work out what’s being asked.

I’m just not good enough to stand a chance against these questions. I probably never will be.

I notice my breathing quickening, my heartbeat speeding up. Lovely. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, now I’m going to have to lose a few precious minutes just to avoid a starry active episode.

It’s far better to fail this test than to have an active episode, I tell myself firmly, and close my eyes. Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. Simon the Drunkard. I get as far as Maria the Seafarer before my breathing and heart rate feel sufficiently normal that I open my eyes and carry on.

The questions have not magically become more comprehensible while I wasn’t looking, not that I expected them to. I do notice a detail in the wording of question four that I missed earlier, though, which lets me make much more progress.

There are seven questions in total, and of the first six I attempt I complete two. The seventh is quite possibly the nastiest of them all, I see as I turn the paper over. It consists of a detailed description of a system of enchantments with multiple levels of redundancy, and we’re asked how we would disrupt the system without being detected.

I cannot see a plausible way, the system is that complex. Each component is designed to be resistant to all forms of purging-spell I know, and the redundancy is such that even destroying one of the components would leave another capable of performing the same function and trip multiple detection enchantments in the process.

Is it a trick? It would be very like Electra to make half the questions tricks. I’m not used to spotting tricks and thinking in unexpected patterns, though. The whole point of revision is to understand exactly what’s expected of you and what patterns the questions will follow before you get into the test.

I glance at the clock. Three minutes left.

There is also the possibility that the questions aren’t tricks, and by trying to answer them as if they are I’m losing out on legitimate answers and quite possibly annoying Electra into the bargain.

I flick back through the paper, trying to think. The emotional dampening that follows the episode earlier is putting me at a disadvantage now, making it harder for me to feel a sense of urgency. It matters, though. It’s important.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know the answers.

This is probably exactly what Electra wants, isn’t it? Stars, I hate her.

Well, sort of. It’s complicated. I almost wish she hadn’t helped me so much so I could just think she was evil.

That’s not relevant right now. I need to focus. I can think of something that might scrape me a few more marks, can’t I?

I write down a few vague ideas that I don’t have time to properly explore, and then dive into a calculation I definitely won’t be able to finish in two minutes. But I might pick up a mark or two along the way, and I can’t bring myself to stop working when I’m so very much not finished.

My prediction is correct: I’m only halfway through a mess of workings when Electra announces time is up. I flop backwards in my chair and close my eyes. I can’t remember the last time any test or exam went quite that badly (not counting Electra’s practical exam). I should be better than that.

It’s just Electra being her usual evil self, isn’t it? Stars, tell me it is, tell me that this test was very much abnormal.

I pack my things away and leave the classroom. The moment we step outside, the conversation bubbles up. “That was awful – “

“I don’t think I answered anything correctly – “

“I swear we hadn’t covered what we needed for that – “

I glance at Edward. “Just so you know, if you say you found that easy I think half the class will probably try and kill you.”

“Try,” he says.

Why does he have to turn my jokes into something darker and more serious than they were intended to be? “Okay, so maybe they’d fail, but the collateral damage would get you into a lot of trouble – “

“Wait, you think I’d deal with them myself? I’d just knock on the classroom door and Electra would come out and solve the problem for me.”

That would probably be an effective strategy, if we could rely on Electra to not just stand and watch. “Anyway,” I say, not wanting to take this kind of half-joking too far in public. “If I ask how it went for you…”

“I’d say that it is definitely not the kind of test anyone who hasn’t been studying magic since they were old enough to read can expect to give a realistic assessment of their abilities. That last question in particular… I have questions for Electra about that.”

I doubt that trying to interrogate Electra would be productive.

“Just forget about it and move on,” Edward says. “If you really want we can go through it together after these tests are done.”

“That… would probably be quite helpful, actually.”

I take his advice, as well, or try to. The break isn’t particularly restful, but I make it to the next test on time and not in the grip of a Malaina episode. I guess that’s about all I can hope for.