Master Ascillia stepped forward. “Paralysis.” Her voice boomed and crackled across the rows of seating so that everyone could hear.
Twelve nervous first-years reached down into the crates they had carried in and pulled out a small vial no bigger than my palm. I saw Ruth shudder as she swallowed her own concoction, and then watched as everyone else did the same. Each one of them seemed nervous. I wondered if it was because they wanted their results to be the most effective or the least.
Minutes ticked by. The students stood underneath the bright sunlight, sweating and nervously eyeing one another’s progress. Nothing happened at first, but then some of the audience began to murmur amongst themselves.
A loud thud sounded. And then another. And another. Slowly, in the course of five minutes, each first-year of Alchemy dropped to the grass, shaking spastically, almost uncontrollably, while their eyes stared blankly up at the sky.
I watched in horror as the bodies continued to twitch, and then held my breath as the spasms stopped completely.
Twelve motionless bodies were sprawled out across the field.
Excitement rose in the audience. The first two rows began to point and shout, naming the students they had placed bets after.
Ten minutes later one of the first-year bodies began to shake violently. The boy coughed, and his tremors abruptly ceased.
Slowly, the boy rose. Tears fell silently as he took in the immobile first-years around him.
Two nobles in the second row violently tossed their wine skins to the ground.
The boy had placed last in the first round of the Alchemy trials. That much was clear.
The final ten minutes of the round commenced. Five more students rose unhappily before time had ended. When the judges came forward to examine the remaining young men and women, Ruth was one of the six that had stayed the effects of her potion’s enchantment.
The green-and-red-robed judges administered healing magic in their own faction’s manner. The Green Mage, leader of Alchemy, tipped a small flask of discernible clear liquid down the throats of four first-years nearest. The Red Mage, leader of Restoration, knelt down to touch the throats of the two remaining students.
Immediately, the four students that had been cured by potion sat up coughing and spewing blood and the remnants of their brews. The two first-years cured by touch began to tremble, pouring pools of sweat as their body emptied itself of poisonous toxin.
Ruth, I noticed, took the longest to stand. Some of the audience were whispering excitedly, and I wondered if my friend had won. Maybe she had, but without the judges’ commentary, seven more rounds to go, and then the oral exams later on, I had no way of knowing whether Ruth would be one of the five to earn an apprenticeship. Only time would tell.
The Alchemy trials continued for the next three and a half hours. There were two more self-inflicted draughts, one for aging and another for sleep. The aging potion’s effects were unnerving to watch: twelve first-years took on sagging skin and hair loss, taut arms became feeble and weak, and everyone was instantly shorter in stature. The sleeping draught was uneventful. All I heard were snores. The peaceful look on the participants’ faces left many in the audience yawning inadvertently.
The last five concoctions were intended for battle. Five potions were summoned, one by one: liquid fire, fortify metal—they were given blades for the demonstration—toxic sludge, exploding earth, and choking gas. The judges stood close by to rectify the results as first-years occasionally collapsed from their own doing.
At times it was hard to watch the students throw down their bottles, knowing that something dreadful awaited them once the fumes were released. The only casting I was left with questions after was the oil they had used to reinforce their swords. They didn’t test the blades, though the metal had seemed to shine and grow heavier upon contact. The judges had collected the weaponry for further examination later on, and so the audience was unable to ascertain who had succeeded in that particular act.
Overall, most of the students did very well. Ruth had stood out in five of the eight tests. I wondered how she was feeling. Master Ascillia came forward to escort the twelve first-years off the field. The class had looked terrible when they started, but now after the completion of their first trial, they looked like walking death. It left a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I wondered how I would feel in two days when it was my turn instead.