The Iron Trial

by Holly Black

  “Aaron’s my friend,” Call said, in a hopeless sort of voice. He could hear how he sounded, but he couldn’t stop it.

  “As you say, Call.” Master Joseph had the serene look of a man who knew better. “It seems your friend has some choices ahead of him. As do you.”

  “I choose,” said Call. “I choose to go back to the Magisterium and tell them the truth.”

  Joseph smiled a glittering smile. “Do you?” he said. “It is easy enough to stand here and throw your defiance at me. I would have expected nothing less from Constantine Madden. You were always defiant. But when it comes down to the wire, when the choice must be made, will you really give up everything that matters to you for the sake of an abstract ideal you only partly understand?”

  Call shook his head. “But I’d have to give it up anyway. You’re not exactly going to let me go back to the Magisterium.”

  “Of course I am,” Master Joseph said.

  Call jolted back, slamming his elbow painfully into the wall behind him. “What?”

  “Oh, my Master,” the older mage breathed. “Don’t you see —”

  He never finished his sentence. With an enormous crash, the roof tore itself apart. Call barely had time to look up before everything overhead seemed to explode in a shower of splintered wood and concrete. He heard Master Joseph’s hoarse shout, just before a mountain of rubble poured down between them, obscuring the mage from view. The ground buckled under Call, who fell sideways, throwing out his arm to pin a squirming, panicked Havoc.

  Everything shook for another moment, and Call buried his face in the wolf’s fur, trying not to choke on the thick, swirling dust. Maybe the world was ending. Maybe Master Joseph’s allies had decided to blow the whole place up. He didn’t know, and he almost didn’t care.

  “Call?” Through the ringing in his ears, Call heard the familiar voice. Tamara. He rolled over, one hand still gripped in Havoc’s fur, and saw what had ripped the building apart.

  The huge sign that read MOUNTAIN BOWLING had plunged through the roof, slicing the building in half like an axe plunging through a concrete block. Aaron was crouching on top of the sign as if he had ridden it down through the air, Tamara behind him. The sign was sparking and hissing where electrical wires had been severed and bent.

  Aaron sprang off the sign and ran across the floor to Call, bending down to grab his arm. “Call, come on!”

  In disbelief, Call scrambled up, letting Aaron haul him to his feet. Havoc gave a whine and jumped up, planting his front paws on Aaron’s waist.

  “Aaron!” Tamara yelled. She was pointing behind them. Call spun around and peered down through the clouds of dust and rubble. There was no sign of Master Joseph.

  But that didn’t mean they were alone. Call turned back to Aaron.

  “Chaos-ridden,” Call said grimly. The hallway was full of them, marching over the rubble, their gait eerily regular, their roiling eyes burning like fires.

  “Come on!” Aaron turned and sprinted toward the sign, jumping up onto it and reaching back to haul Call up after him. The sign was still attached to its base: The main part of it had crashed through the building at an angle, like a spoon that had fallen into a pot and was leaning against the side. Tamara was already running up over the words MOUNTAIN BOWLING, Havoc at her heels. Call started to limp after her, when he realized Aaron wasn’t following. He whirled around, sparks springing up from the wires at his feet.

  The room below them was rapidly filling with Chaos-ridden, who were methodically making their way over to the sign. Several of them were already climbing onto it. Aaron stood a few feet above them, looking down.

  Tamara had already made it far enough up the sign to drop onto the roof. “Come on!” he heard her shout as she realized they hadn’t followed her — and that she had no way to get back up onto the sign. “Call! Aaron!”

  But Aaron wasn’t moving. He was balanced on the sign as if it were a surfboard, the expression on his face grim. His hair was white with powdered concrete, his gray uniform torn and bloody. Slowly, he raised his hand, and for the first time, Call saw not just Aaron his friend, but the Makar, the chaos magician, someone who could be as powerful one day as the Enemy of Death.

  Someone who would be the Enemy’s enemy.

  His enemy.

  Darkness spread from Aaron’s hand like a bolt of black lightning: It shot forward, wrapping the Chaos-ridden in shadowy tendrils. As the darkness touched them, the lights in their eyes went out, and they slid to the ground, limp and unresisting.

  That’s what they’ve been looking for all this time. Your destruction. That’s what Aaron is.

  “Aaron!” Call shouted, sliding down the sign toward him. Aaron didn’t turn, didn’t even seem to hear him. He stood where he was, black light exploding from his hand, searing a path across the sky. He looked terrifying. “Aaron,” Call gasped, and tripped over a knot of torn wires. Excruciating pain shot through his leg as his body twisted and he fell, knocking Aaron to the ground, half pinning the other boy under him. The black light vanished as Aaron’s back hit the metal of the sign, his hands jammed between himself and Call.

  “Leave me alone!” Aaron shouted. He looked out of his mind, as though maybe he’d even forgotten who Call and Tamara were in his rage. He twisted under Call, trying to get his hands free. “I need to — I need to —”

  “You need to stop,” Call said, grabbing Aaron by the front of his uniform. “Aaron, you can’t do this without a counterweight. You’ll die.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aaron said, struggling to get away from Call.

  Call wouldn’t let him go. “Tamara’s waiting. We can’t leave her. You have to. Come on. You have to.”

  Slowly, Aaron’s breathing calmed, his eyes focusing on Call. Behind him, more Chaos-ridden were creeping toward them, crawling over the bodies of their dead companions, their eyes coruscating in the dark.

  “Okay,” Call said, easing himself off Aaron, pushing himself to stand upright on his aching leg. “Okay, Aaron.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Aaron hesitated — then reached his hand up and let Call haul him to his feet. Call let go and turned, started to climb the sign again. This time Aaron followed him. They scrambled high enough to drop down beside Tamara and Havoc on the roof. Call felt the impact of hitting the asphalt tiles through his legs, all the way to his teeth.

  Tamara nodded in relief at seeing them, but her face was tight — the Chaos-ridden were still behind them. She spun and was already running for the edge of the sloped roof and another leap — this one onto a Dumpster. Call staggered after her.

  Down he went, over the side of the building, his heart drumming half with fear of what was chasing them and half with a fear that no amount of running could escape. His feet slammed down on the metal lid of the Dumpster and he fell to his knees, his legs feeling as though they were made of bags of sand, heavy and numb and not quite solid. He managed to roll his way off the edge and stayed upright by leaning against the metal side, trying to catch his breath.

  A second later, he heard Aaron drop down next to him. “You okay?” Aaron asked, and Call felt a wave of relief even in the middle of everything else — Aaron sounded like Aaron again.

  There was the sound of clattering metal. Call and Aaron spun to see that Tamara had sent the Dumpster rolling away from the buildings. The Chaos-ridden, with nothing to jump down onto, were milling around at the edge of the roof above.

  “I — I’m fine.” Call glanced from Aaron to Tamara, both of whom were looking at him with identical expressions of concern. “I can’t believe you came back for me,” Call added. He felt dizzy and sick and was sure that if he took a single step farther, he was going to fall again. He thought about telling them that they ought to leave him and run, but he didn’t want to be left behind.

  “Of course we did,” Aaron said, frowning. “I mean, you and Tamara came all this way to get me, didn’t you? Why wouldn’t we do the same thing for you?”

 
“You matter, Call,” Tamara said.

  Call wanted to say that saving Aaron was different, except he couldn’t quite work out how to explain why. His head was spinning. “Well, it was pretty amazing — what you did with the sign.”

  Tamara and Aaron glanced at each other quickly.

  “That wasn’t what we were trying to do,” Tamara admitted. “We were trying to get to the top of it to signal the Magisterium. The earth magic got a little out of hand and — well. Uh, it worked out, right? And that’s the important thing.”

  Call nodded. That was the important thing.

  “Thanks for what you did up there, too,” Aaron said, putting his hand on Call’s shoulder and patting it awkwardly. “I was so angry — if you hadn’t stopped me using the chaos magic, I don’t know what would have —”

  “Oh, for goodness sake. Why do boys always have to talk about their feelings all the time? It’s so gross,” Tamara interrupted. “There are still Chaos-ridden trying to come after us!” She pointed up to where bright, pinwheeling eyes peered down at them from the darkness on the rooftop. “Come on, enough, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  She started walking, her long dark braids swinging behind her. Steeling himself for the endless walk back to the Magisterium, Call pushed himself away from the wall and took a single excruciating step before passing out cold. He wasn’t even awake long enough to feel his head strike the ground.

  CALL WOKE UP back in the Infirmary. The crystals on the walls were dim, so he guessed it was probably night. He felt sore all over. Plus, he was sure there was some bad news he was supposed to tell someone, although he couldn’t quite remember what. His legs hurt, and there were blankets tangled around him — he was in bed, and he’d hurt himself, but he couldn’t remember how. He’d been showing off during that exercise with the log and he’d fallen into the river, causing Jasper — Jasper of all people — to save him. And there was more — Tamara and Aaron and Havoc and a walk through the woods, but maybe that was a dream? It seemed like one now.

  Turning on his side, he saw Master Rufus seated in a chair beside the bed, his face half in shadow. For a moment, Call wondered if Master Rufus was asleep, until he saw a smile curl across the mage’s mouth.

  “Feeling a bit more human?” Master Rufus asked.

  Call nodded and struggled to sit up. But as he cast off sleep, all the memories came flooding back, the ones of Master Joseph with his silver mask, Drew being devoured, Aaron hanging from the rafters with manacles cutting into his skin, and Call being told that he had Constantine Madden’s soul inside him.

  He slumped back down on the cot.

  I have to tell Master Rufus, he thought. I’m not a bad person. I’m going to tell him.

  “Are you up to eating a little?” Master Rufus asked, reaching for a tray. “I brought you tea and soup.”

  “The tea, maybe.” Call took the earthenware mug and let it warm his hands. He sipped tentatively, the comforting taste of peppermint making him feel a little more awake.

  Master Rufus set the tray back down and turned to study Call from beneath hooded eyes. Call gripped his mug as if it were a life preserver. “I’m sorry to ask, but I must. Tamara and Aaron told me what they knew of where Aaron was being held, but they both said that you were inside longer and that you’d been in a room they hadn’t. What can you tell me about what you saw?”

  “Did they tell you about Drew?” Call asked, shuddering at the memory.

  Master Rufus nodded. “We researched what we could and discovered that Drew Wallace’s name and identity, in fact his entire past, consisted of some very convincing forgeries designed to get him into the Magisterium. We don’t know what his real name was or why the Enemy sent him here. If not for you and Tamara, the Enemy would have succeeded in dealing us a terrible blow — and as for Aaron, I shudder to think what they might have done to him.”

  “So we’re not in trouble?”

  “For not informing me that Aaron had been kidnapped? For not telling anyone where you went?” Master Rufus’s voice deepened to a growl. “So long as you never, ever do anything like that again, I am prepared to overlook how foolishly you both behaved, in light of the fact that you succeeded. It seems silly to quibble over exactly how you and Tamara saved our Makar. What’s important is that you did.”

  “Thanks,” Call said, not sure whether he was being scolded or not.

  “We sent some mages out to the abandoned bowling alley, but not much remained. Some empty cages and smashed equipment. There was a large room that seemed to be a laboratory. Were you in there?”

  Call nodded, swallowing. This was the moment. He opened his mouth to say the words: Master Joseph was there and he told me I am the Enemy of Death.

  The words wouldn’t come. It was as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, and everything in his body was willing him to throw himself over, but his mind wouldn’t let him. If he repeated what Joseph had said, Master Rufus would hate him. They’d all hate him.

  And for what? Even if he had been Constantine Madden once, it wasn’t like he remembered any of it. He was still Callum, wasn’t he? Still the same person. He hadn’t become evil. He didn’t wish harm to the Magisterium. And what was a soul, anyway? It didn’t tell you what to do. He could make his own decisions.

  “Yeah, there was a lab with a lot of bubbling stuff and elementals in the niches that lit the whole place. But no one was there.” Call swallowed, steeling himself to the lie. His heart sped. “The room was empty.”

  “Is there anything else?” Master Rufus said, studying Call intently. “Any detail you think might help us? Anything, no matter how small?”

  “There were Chaos-ridden,” Call said. “A lot of them. And a chaos elemental. It chased me into the lab, but that’s when Aaron and Tamara broke through the roof, so —”

  “Yes, Tamara and Aaron have already told me of their impressive stunt with the signpost.” Master Rufus smiled, but Call could tell he was hiding disappointment. “Thank you, Call. You did very well.”

  Call nodded. He had never felt so terrible.

  “I remember that when you first came to the Magisterium, you asked me several times if you could talk to Alastair,” Master Rufus said. “I never formally granted your request.” He said it with an emphasis that made Call blush. He wondered if finally, now, of all times, he was going to get in trouble for sneaking into Rufus’s office. “But I’m granting it now.”

  He plucked a glass globe off the nightstand and held it out to Call. A small tornado was already spinning inside.

  “I believe you know how to use this.” He rose to his feet and walked to the far end of the Infirmary, his hands clasped behind his back. It took a moment for Call to realize what he was doing: giving Call privacy.

  Call held the clear glass globe in his hand and studied it. It was as if a huge soap bubble had hardened in midair, leaving it solid and clear. He concentrated on thinking about his dad — blocking out thoughts of Master Joseph and Constantine Madden, and just thinking of his father, of the smell of pancakes and pipe tobacco, of his father’s hand on his shoulder when he did something right, of his father painstakingly explaining geometry, Call’s least favorite subject.

  The tornado began to condense and shaped itself into his dad, who was standing in oil-stained jeans and a flannel shirt, his glasses pushed up on his head, a wrench in one hand. He must be in his garage, working on one of his old cars, Call thought. His father looked up as if someone had said his name.

  “Call?” he inquired.

  “Dad,” Call said. “It’s me.”

  His father put the wrench down, which made it vanish out of the image. He turned around, as if he were trying to see Call, though it seemed clear he couldn’t. “Master Rufus told me what happened. I was so worried. You were in the Infirmary —”

  “I still am,” Call said, and then added quickly, “but I’m fine. I got a little banged up, but I’m fine.” His voice came out weak, even to his own ears. “You shouldn’t worry
.”

  “I can’t help it,” his dad said gruffly. “I am still your father, even if you are away at school.” He looked around and then back at Call, as if he could see him. “Master Rufus says you saved the Makar. That’s pretty incredible. You did what a whole army couldn’t do for Verity Torres.”

  “Aaron’s my friend. I guess we saved him, but it was because of that, not because he’s the Makar. And it’s not like we knew what we were going up against.”

  “I’m glad you have friends there, Call.” His dad’s eyes were serious. “It can be hard — to be friends with someone so powerful.”

  Call thought of the wristband in the letter from his father, of the thousand unanswered questions he had. You were friends with Constantine Madden? he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. Not now, and not with Rufus within earshot.

  “Rufus also tells me that one of the other Magisterium students was there,” his father continued. “Someone working for the Enemy.”

  “Drew — yeah.” Call shook his head. “We didn’t know.”

  “It’s not your fault. Sometimes, people don’t show their true faces.” His father sighed. “So this student — Drew — was there, but the Enemy wasn’t?”

  There is no Enemy. You’ve been fighting a phantom all these years. An illusion Master Joseph wanted you to see. But I can’t tell you that, because if the Enemy isn’t Constantine Madden, then who is he?

  “I don’t think we’d have gotten away if he was,” Call said. “I guess we were lucky.”

  “And this Drew — he didn’t say anything to you?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything about — about you,” his father said cautiously. “It’s just strange, that the Enemy would leave a captured Makar protected only by a schoolboy.”

  “There were a lot of Chaos-ridden, too,” said Call. “But no, nobody said anything to me. It was just Drew and the Chaos-ridden, and they don’t talk much.”