But then the tree begins to grow flowers. Almost tentatively at first, as if the oak isn’t quite sure whether it’s spring or if it’s jumped the gun—a large purple orchid here, a fully bloomed rose there, a smattering of daisies. Judging by Billy’s smirk and Ral’s relieved laughter, I assume the mismatched flower arrangement is the work of Billy.
A slow, thick, rambling ivy begins to wrap around the trunk of the tree. A few moments later, I hear a creaking, crackling sound, like the sound of new wood being laid into the ground, and on either side of our audience, wooden, crisscrossed walls erupt out of the earth and merge together over our head as a gazebo. A sheath of the same forest-colored ivy races over its walls, and soon we’re enveloped in a thick, lush, green blanket.
Before I can determine whether the ivy was sorcered by Ral or Billy, plants start to pop out of the earth around our feet—the kind of sharp-leaved, heady-smelling ones that belong in rain forests, or in dreams—and form a border around us.
And then things that don’t exist, at least not yet, start appearing. Scaly, iridescent fish with wings flap over our heads, dive into the multiflowered tree. Large purple frogs with red spots croak at the base of tall grass. Laughter starts from somewhere inside the audience’s folds, a warm, comfortable laughter, a few sighs. Which of these creations are Ral’s? Which are Billy’s?
It no longer matters; the garden’s magic is now something separate, something more, than just the two of them together. It’s like one of them is taking inspiration from the other, both of them pushing themselves further than they’d ever dare or think of alone. Their magic garden is now everywhere, scented, heady. And I feel a tightness, small and clenched as a fist inside me, slowly begin to loosen. . . .
“That’s enough,” Gunn says softly.
The two sorcerers drop their hands to their sides. The tapestry of magic that’s been knitted around us is pulled apart, crumbles like dust in the wind, and spirals away. Gone. I feel a deep ache inside as it vanishes, almost like it took a part of me with it.
In front of us, Billy and Ral are panting, sweating. But there’s also this glow to both of them, like something’s lighting them up from within.
“If you were a customer seeking magic, which experience would you choose? Which show would keep you full but not satisfied, desperate to come back and live in it once more?” Gunn walks back over to the altar. He lifts the bottle of shine that Billy brewed a few moments before. “For the final piece of my theory brought to life, Billy, if you can please brew your shine once more.”
Billy crosses to the altar, all of us hanging on every movement, as if we’re still under his and Ral’s spell. Billy bends down to grab another bottle, and then places his hands around the glass. The water inside the glass soon churns into something magic, red and bright—
Billy opens his eyes and places his new shine right next to his old one.
Grace and I shoot each other another look. The differences are undeniable.
Both bottles of shine are red, glistening inside the glass like liquid rubies. But Billy’s final one . . . it’s rosy, almost like one more lightbulb lights it up from within. It looks more alive, fuller, richer. No doubt it’s the one I’d pick if I drank the stuff.
“That’s after just one trick.” Gunn addresses what everyone’s thinking as we study the shines. “Imagine the changes to your shine after weeks, months, a lifetime of working together. If you were hungry for magic, for something otherworldly, which would you want?”
Gunn rounds the altar until he’s directly in front of it. He leans back against it, crosses his arms across his chest, like he’s about to begin another sermon. “This trial is about embracing your competition, choosing and elevating your allies so that they in turn can elevate you. It’s about embracing the basest truth about magic, a truth that’s taken me years of study to fully understand and accept,” he says. “So see if these little demonstrations can inspire you. Team up with someone, focus on creating the strongest magic—not showcasing the strongest sorcerer.”
There’s a collective breath through the crowd, and then we fold into ourselves, devolve into whispers, conversations. Grace nods me forward without another word, our partnership already decided. We walk slowly across the grass together, over to Billy and Ral’s old performance space, and take up residence in the far corner of the field.
The air of the clearing is loaded, changed. Gunn has shown us the game and the stakes. And while his message was partnership, the underlying one was louder: pick the right partners, or lose.
“Let’s start with your strongest gift.” Grace sounds as nervous as I feel.