Trampled

It would be obvious to ask his teachers how exactly children were tested for magic. After all, they had to do so regularly to find their next students. If nothing else, the overseer had to know everything worth knowing. Yet Martel hesitated to ask her or anyone else at the Lyceum. Even if Mistress Juliana, or Master Alastair for that matter, had been willing to keep Martel's secret hidden from everyone, he could not assume anything about how they might treat Sparrow.

In their eyes, perhaps all with the gift of magic belonged at the Lyceum no matter what, and Martel felt that the choice should in the end belong to the girl herself. Especially if she proved to be adept with fire; Martel saw no reason to risk that she suffer the same fate he had.

But first, the question remained whether he could be mistaken. This time, he did not hesitate consulting the library. It contained only a single volume on how an aptitude for magic could be discerned in children; presumably, the lore masters of Aster cared more about what could be done with magic then necessarily how it was discovered.

Reading through the book, Martel realised that most of this did not help him. The text referenced a variety of tools or equipment unavailable to him, spoke of strange measurements he did not understand, or involved spells and experiments that frankly seemed dangerous.

Putting the tome to the side, Martel thought back on his own entrance to the Lyceum. Thanks to his knowledge acquired since, he could look back and understand what had happened. Mistress Juliana had simply checked whether he could exert direct control over any of the elements. Being fire touched had allowed him to do so, and that had been the end of it. No need for more testing.

But Sparrow's talent might not be so easily revealed. She was much younger than Martel had been. Perhaps rather than gifted with elements, she might be adept with empowerment. Martel had no idea how to look for that. Maybe it showed itself as her being faster or stronger than other children her age, but that seemed rather difficult to measure.

On the other hand, even Martel's meagre skills in arithmetic told him that if Sparrow did possess magic, odds suggested it would manifest itself as elemental. He would begin by making the test that Mistress Juliana had given him. If nothing happened, he would have to re-evaluate. As a very last resort, he could ask one of his teachers, but he would exhaust his other options first.

***

Walking once again down to the copper lanes, Martel considered what he would do if Sparrow did possess magic. Depending on her gift, he could tell her of the possible careers she might have if she joined the Lyceum. Other than becoming a battlemage, he assumed any of them would be preferable to how her future currently looked. Besides everything that learning magic would do for her, it would also immediately mean a warm home and regular meals every day. He could not imagine she would turn such an opportunity down.

Just before Martel reached his destination, he bent down and dug up some of the dirt from the ground. Stamped hard by hundreds of feet, it took some effort, and it remained a solid lump in his hand. Using his magic, he turned it into a loose pile, assuming that would be easier for someone untrained to affect with their raw skill, if she had any.

Continuing inside, the children greeted him. "We didn't realise you'd be back already tonight."

Martel placed the pile of earth on the table, eliciting strange looks. He withdrew an empty bottle containing only air from a pocket and placed it next to it. "Fetch me a cup of water, please. And ask Sparrow to come down."

His hosts quickly complied, though several of them exchanged curious glances and mutterings. Meanwhile, Martel took a twig and set the end on fire.

Sparrow appeared. "What's this?"

"A game of sorts. I want to see what you can do," Martel told her. "For instance, just by thinking about it, concentrating really hard, can you make this flame move?" He held the burning branch a little closer to her.

"Of course I can't," she replied, almost indignant.

"Even so, please try. For my sake."

"Can I try?" Badger asked.

"If you do so silently."

Sparrow stared at the flame, but nothing happened. She was not fire-touched, at least. Martel felt a touch of relief at that. He placed the twig in the fireplace and turned back at the items lying on the table. "What about the cup? If you try, can you make the water inside move?"

The girl gave a defeated shrug. "I don't know how."

"Even so, just try."

Sighing, Sparrow stared with open eyes and a slightly exasperated expression. Martel walked over and glanced down in the cup. The water remained undisturbed. "Alright. What about the dirt. Can you move it?"

"This game is not fun at all."

"We are halfway done," he promised.

Hands on her hips, Sparrow looked towards the small pile. And Martel saw it. Like the flimsiest sparks. The grains of earth glowed and flew through the air to hit Sparrow in the face. All of the children watched with open mouths.

"What happened?" the small girl finally asked.

Martel knelt down to look her in the eyes. "You can do magic, Sparrow."

"What's going on here?" Despite his young age, Weasel spoke with anger that belied his small stature. "Don't enter my house and talk to my people when I'm away!"

Martel rose up. "They are not your prisoners. And Sparrow has some opportunities she deserves to know about."

"That's not for you to decide. I'm keeping them safe," Weasel retorted. "Sparrow has suffered enough from you wizard lot."

While that last barb felt unfair, it stung nonetheless. Martel had not forgotten about the maleficar, or how he had taken Sparrow. "I just want to help."

"Yeah, like we've never heard that before. Get out." Weasel stared at him with hard eyes.

It felt almost comical; the boy was half Martel's size. Add his magic to the equation, nobody here could make the mage do anything against his will. But going against Weasel right now might lose him Sparrow's trust. This was not a battle he would win regardless of all the power at his disposal. Glancing around at the children, most of whom looked disturbed, Martel finally left the ramshackle house.