Oracle (Book I)

The Arena

They weren't the only ones in high spirits. Karrigan was altogether too pleased about something as she sauntered up to their table.

Bossa was liking this little bird less and less. If liking her less was possible. Picking up her bowl, she stuck her hand inside to scooped up mashed sweet cornbread and peas. Nezzle opened her book. Caprice stirred her tea, head bowed.

"Oh, Cappy. I was just meeting Alice for luncheon. After that display in the hall this morning, I'm surprised you haven't thought of your apology yet." She looked down at Bossa's hand which was covered in moist crumbs and mashed peas. "Someone is lacking in table manners," she laughed lightly, playfully. "Use this." Karrigan reached across Bossa's bowl and picked up the spoon lying there and held it in front of Bossa's face as if she was doing the most helpful and courteous thing imaginable for a child. Or a mannerless savage, which was likely the white witch's thinking.

Nezzle was shaking her head, eyes on the page of the book in her hands. Bossa gave a brief, dark chuckle.

"You gone be missing a hand if you reach across my food like that again."

Karrigan quickly put the spoon down and took a step back.

"Your threats grow tiresome."

Bossa calmly continued eating from her bowl, saying--

"What do you want now? Do us a favor: Go and sit somewhere else. Get your own damn juice or tea or what have you while you're at it."

"Your idle chatter does not bother me," Karrigan sniffed. "You people have absolutely no manners."

Nezzle turned a page in the book she held up to her face. "Whitehare, what on earth makes you think that you and your people are better than anyone else?"

"Because we have wands and have last names," Karrigan chortled. "By the way: Another letter from father arrived this afternoon."

"We don't care about your mail, Whitehare. Go away."

"My father has written to the Headmaster demanding the return of our property."

Bossa, Caprice, and Nezzle stilled.

"What the hell are you on about?" Nezzle said.

"Our servants. They are property of the Whitehare Estate and he demands that they be returned. I'd give it to you to read for yourself, but you can't read, can you, Cappy. I doubt your friends can either. That book is for show, yes?"

Caprice stood, shoving out her chair. Pivoting around to face Karrigan, she slapped the scroll of parchment out of her hand. The letter burst into flames, raining embers and ash. Karrigan gasped loudly and snatched her hand back.

"H-How did you do that?" Her eyes flashed from the burning paper and Caprice as she edged backwards again.

Nezzle stood between them.

"It was just a jitter. You'll get worse if you don't get out of here, I mean it."

Karrigan smoothed her blond hair.

"Father will be present at the test. Mind your manners, Cappy. And pack your new bag, too."

Casting a disparaging glance at the three of them, Karrigan strode away down the dining hall.

~

The crystal sconces in the dining hall chimed and the same voice from the message in Caprice's canceled History lesson sounded through the halls.

"The placement examination will begin shortly. All first-year students report to the dungeons."

"The school has dungeons?"

"It does," Nezzle said, going to pick up her things. "Let's go."

Caprice followed her as a few other students stood from their tables or swung around for the door with nervous expressions that likely mirrored her own. Suddenly, they were set apart from the other students. They looked younger. Awkward. More inexperienced. Caprice wondered if she looked the same.

In the Main Hall, the foot of the grand staircase was a square pit of near darkness. Staircases lead down on all four sides—the entrance to the dungeons.

Silly me, thinking one of the Main Hall doors here led to the dungeons. No, that was too tame. Going to a underground dungeon for an exam provided all the intimidation necessary.

"Its not exactly as scary as it looks," Bossa said.

"Not 'exactly'?" Caprice balked as they began their descent. No one has told me anything about this test. Professor Earithean did say there wouldn't be anything on the test that I couldn't handle... There's no reason for the professor to lie. Taking a deep breath as they descended the stairs into the darkness, Caprice wondered why she wasn't more comforted by that.

At the foot of the stairs, they walked into the space around the staircases and then into a wide, crystal-lit passage that looked like the ones that led into the dormitory. It was rather disappointing until they passed a pair of doors overlaid in pale gold and silver gates.

But the crowd passed right by, propelling them along.

"What's in there?" Caprice asked.

"Night Class for...light-sensitive students. They have their own domain and some lessons that they come upstairs for in the evening."

"Witches aren't the only students here, so what kind of courses do other students have?" Caprice remembered Ripley of the Wolves, who had openly introduced himself as a skin changer, and the girl she had seen in the corridor withe head of flaming hair.

"There's plenty for everyone to do. You'll be seeing some of the non-witch students soon. You probably met one or two already."

At last, they turned into the open entrance of an arena. Raised stone stands lined the walls around a dirt field. Dozens of feet above their heads, chunks of raw crystal protruded from the rugged stone ceiling, emanating a soft light along with the many torches in brackets on the lower walls.

"Students taking the test, please come to the front row here," Professor Earithean called.

Amidst shuffling and chatter from the growing crowd pouring in through the entrance, the new students assembled on the front row at the professor's right side. Another professor was with Earithean. He had white hair, a goatee, and coppery, tan skin, standing an inch or so shorter than her. He was looking at a dark-haired young man in the line who was swathed in a black cloak.

"A third one. This thing is getting too big..."

"We'll talk later, Fahim. Let's finish the test first."

"Who is that talking to Professor Earithean?" Caprice asked, glad to be distracted.

Nezzle looked over at him. "Professor Volkorn. He teaches History. I don't know why he wasn't in class today, but you'll meet him later."

Alastair and Karrigan entered the arena and in their wake was a tall distinguished sorcerer in a fine garments and tailored robes. She knew his shiny black shoes because she'd been polishing them since after she could walk. She knew his garments and robes because her hands had laundered them too many times to count. That was the face of the man she and her family had been forced to call master for over three generations.