The Last Red Year

NINE: Fall Brawl

 "All right, y'all," Kizlane says, standing on a pile of haybales in front of the crowd of students gathered in the gym. "Tonight, we pay homage to a time-honored tradition of the Magescourt. A test of the skills y'all have been practicin'. A summation of everything you've learned thus far. All two hundred fifty-two students of the Magescourt shall be separated into equal teams and set loose in the woods like a pack of rabid animals to demonstrate unto their instructors and each other the efficacy of the magical trainin' they have received thus far. Well, that's what High Mage Mirei told me to tell you. Minus the rabid animals part. But you all know what's goin' on already." They smile, flourishing their hands and taking a bow for dramatic effect. "It's time for the Fall Brawl."

The older student mages, past Group Five, erupt in clamorous cheers, jumping up and down and play-wrestling with each other and making far too much noise for Kizlane to get a word in edgewise. It takes a while for the Group Five kids to acclimate to the excitement--the older years have all done this before, but it's brand new to everyone else. Kas looks around, taking in all the jumping and tussling, trying to figure out what's so fun about a mock battle.

"Settle down! Settle down!" Kizlane calls over the noise of the crowd, cupping their hands in front of their face to be better heard. "It ain't nothin' new! Y'all knew it was comin'!" They clap their hands as loudly as they possibly can, waiting for the attention to be turned back to them. "All right. Group Five, I know this is all new to you. But I hope that this year's Brawl is as positive of an experience as it's been every year in the past. Don't put too much pressure on yourselves. It's just another trainin' exercise, and y'all've been doin' great thus far. Keep yer heads up and yer wits about you. Y'all're gonna do just fine." They hop down from their makeshift haybale stage, beckoning for everyone to follow them out the doors.

Kizlane hands them off to Brittleith, who has a brass horn strapped to their back--the two of them have seemed the most excited about this all week. It makes sense--they're the kind of people who get really into this kind of thing. Kas is pretty sure they've heard Kizlane making bets on horse-racing and jousting before, and Brittleith has a routine of throwing kids into the pool for seemingly no reason. They're both a little bit...unhinged. Kas watches Kizlane duck behind a bush as Brittleith riles up the crowd--they're pretty sure they're the only one who noticed. They doubt anybody will notice if they sneak after them just for a second.

They plant themself by the bush, peering through the leaves until they can see two figures, shielded between the topiaries and the wall of the Hall of Mages. One in green, and, of course, Kizlane in yellow. Is that Mage Hadling?

"I don't like what they're doin' to that kid," Kizlane whispers, voice barely more than a breath. "Ain't this just what Ashira was tryin' to fix?"

"Twelve is still far too young," comes a hushed voice that is still unmistakably Hadling's. "They did all they could, but...this place uses people up. It would be wrong of me to say I'm glad they're dead, but...at least they're at rest now, aren't they?" Hadling's voice breaks a little at that, and Kizlane moves to comfort them, taking both their hands.

"It takes a special kind of monster to kill someone like that," they say, voice low. Kas is a little disappointed to hear the anger in their voice talking of monsters, but they suppose they get it, in a way. All the mages loved Ashira--even if Kizlane specifically had never met them. "I hope...I hope they're at peace."

Hadling leans against Kizlane, then pulls ever so slightly away. "How long can we keep doing this?" they say softly. "They'll find out someday."

"Ain't nobody has a problem with Britt and Claret." Kizlane reaches up, cupping Hadling's face in their hands. Kas can barely believe what they're seeing.