The Final Test

By Morgan J. Manns

Sketchbook in hand, I leaned over the watchtower’s edge. Dark shadows crept across the hills toward us.

Below me, a dozen farmers added sweeping strokes to the canvas in the center square. Hard to believe these men’s artistic experiences once extended only as far as the furrows their plows carved into the earth.

“What do you think, Shepherd?” one shouted. “Should we let ‘em have it?”

Shepherd. Hearing my title launched me back to my graduation, a year prior. Somehow, I still lived.

***

Dean Longo’s mouth twitched into a sneer as he relinquished my diploma. “Congratulations, Mr. Velahan,” he whispered past the applause.

The way he said my name, reminiscent of a curse, set my blood boiling. I ignored him and accepted the rolled parchment. He’d made my life a living nightmare. I couldn’t wait to leave him and his suffocating school behind.

As top student, I’d surely have my choice of which Artists’ Guild I’d belong to. Governance or Influence would suffice. Although, the university was tight-lipped as to how one advanced into the coveted positions.

Sketching was a privilege reserved for nobles, yet I’d managed to forge the documents granting myself access to the most prestigious school in the country. Longo may not know my common lineage, but he’d hated me all the same. Perhaps questioning him during every class didn’t do me any favors. But I wasn’t born to blend in. I was born to learn.

A chilling silence fell, drowning out the crowd’s applause.

Pushing through the heavy stage curtains, I squinted. Why was it so dark? The lanterns along the walls weren’t flaring to life as they usually did.

Then, a mysterious glow materialized.

No, I pleaded.

With the curtains wrapping around me like death’s embrace, I reached toward the illuminated door handle and stepped into… an inferno.

My village was in flames.

Hands trembling, I stood dumbfounded. It couldn’t be a coincidence he sent me here. Longo had uncovered my secret.

Clutching the rolled parchment, I gave a start. The paper felt too thin to be a standard diploma. I hastily unrolled it and discovered a charcoal-written note. Each word felt like a dagger to my heart.

“FINAL EXAM: Save what means most to you. Leave the rest to burn.”

I clenched my jaw, understanding. Another test… He’d expect me to save the village’s library. It would house precious texts and information. Commoner lives weren’t as important as that. Apparently.

Eyes watering, I peered through the heavy smoke. This was probably an illusion. I saw nothing to indicate—

A shout. No, a terrified scream.

Paralyzing fear gripped me.

It was my sister.

She screamed again and I took a step forward. A sudden rush of heat rose up, blocking my path.

Wincing, I moved back, and my jaw tightened. Longo’s examination doors could lead anywhere, illusionary, or real. I couldn’t take a chance on her life.

Blast him.

I stamped my boot on a piece of wood, grinding out the flames. Scooping up a splintered piece, I pressed its blackened tip against the false diploma. The charcoal dragged across the parchment leaving an uneven line.

It would have to do.

Sketching out a rough ward against fire, I finished the last swirl and immediately felt the effects.

Like diving into a lake on a hot summer’s day, my skin cooled despite the intense heat around me. I tucked the paper under my robe and ran.

Flames filled the sky with triumphant sparks while smoke snaked its way past my imperfect ward and into my throat. I coughed into my sleeve and forged onward. There was no time to draw another.

Rounding the corner, I halted. There, my family’s cottage stood framed in fire. Inside, a cry escaped. My sister’s desperate plea.

I retrieved my makeshift charcoal and sketched dark swirls as time slipped away. Normally, I would have my instruments, measuring each line with accuracy. Frowning, I guessed at the last stroke, wondering if it should have been a sharper angle—

A crack of thunder shook me.

I peered upward as rain began to pour. A turbulent form emerged, cutting through smoke like lightning. I tensed as a rippling dragon, conjured of air and water, collided with my home, throwing timber skyward.

“No!” I screamed as the dragon collapsed, surging across the ground in a tidal wave.

I’d miscalculated.

Turning the glowing handle once more, I wiped my tears and fell through the doorway, soaking and defeated. A round of polite applause broke me from my trance.

Weary, I blinked, realizing I was back in the auditorium. I faced the same audience. However, this time, I spotted a familiar face—my sister. She looked lost among the sea of nobles. But alive. Safe. How—

Dean Longo stretched his hands outward, quieting the crowd. “You’ve just witnessed Mr. Velahan extinguish a fire and attempt to save a village from sure destruction.” He smiled, gesturing to the large, framed portrait hanging from the ceiling. “Of course,” he continued, “there was never any real danger. Simply an illusion crafted by our talented professors.”

I swallowed, my rage building.

“Despite his miscalculation on his last sketch, the fire was extinguished. His bravery has been rewarded. He’ll serve as Shepherd of the Artists’ Guild.”

***

This assignment had been punishment, not reward.  Shepherds went from village to village, sketching wards to keep beasts away from livestock. But for me, it was a death sentence. The monsters plaguing the fringes of the countryside could easily take down one Shepherd.

Fortunately, I realized I enjoyed teaching as much as I did learning.

Now, as the shadows inched up the village gates, I shouted, “Release!”

A farmer slashed a line across the canvas sending a black torrent of wind leaping off the page. It rushed over the walls, chasing the inky tendrils into retreat.

As Shepherd, I’d reversed my role and given the commoners daggers of their own.

Longo would be furious if he ever found out.

I almost hope he does.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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