NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: Definitely Next Year
Hiral groaned as sensations overcame the darkness, and his eyes flickered open. Pain—or was it the memory of pain?—shot through his body, and then faded away almost as quickly. What in the Fallen’s names had happened?
“You’re awake.” Loan’s voice drifted over to Hiral’s ears, and the large man shortly followed, leaning over to look at Hiral’s face. Fingers thicker than sausages pried Hiral’s eyes wide, and Loan looked at each long and hard before finally leaning out of Hiral’s line of sight. “Bring up your status window, and let’s see if any lasting damage was done.”
Lasting… damage? Still, Hiral didn’t say anything, pulling up the window for Loan with a thought.
“Hrm, your attributes look fine, though I really wonder about these intelligence and wisdom scores after that stunt. And this—what’s this down here?” Loan pointed at a notification near the bottom of Hiral’s window.
Overcharge attempt: Unsuccessful
Debuff applied: System Shock
System Shock: No class abilities can be used for one hour (174 seconds remaining)
“No class abilities can be…?” Hiral started, then barked out a short laugh. He didn’t even have a class for abilities.
“This isn’t something to laugh about, Hiral,” Loan said, more seriously than Hiral would’ve expected. “I’ve heard of others triggering this Overcharge. It maximizes Solar Output for a brief moment, but comes with risks. At best, nothing happens. More likely, people suffer this debuff, and their internal solar pathways are shut down so they can’t be damaged further. At the worst, though, well, people completely lose their ability to utilize Solar Energy.
Hiral nodded, but mention of the Solar Output Rate turned his attention to that section of his status window. He’d felt something when he Overcharged, but apparently, it wasn’t enough.
Output Rate: Unavailable
“Go ahead and close the window,” Loan instructed, and Hiral followed suit, more than happy to ignore those cursed words while his eyes refocused on his surroundings.
The ceiling of the room told him he wasn’t in the testing arena anymore, and the cot beneath him was uncomfortably familiar. Back in Loan’s training compound?
Hiral turned to the question that’d been rattling around his head since he opened his eyes—the one he couldn’t work up the nerve to voice. “Did I pass?”
A second of silence, then two… three…
“No,” Loan finally said. “I thought you’d had it. Something stirred inside of you, obviously the Overcharge, and your eyes flashed like your power was finally coming out…”
“And then?” Hiral asked when Loan didn’t seem like he’d continue on his own.
“Then you collapsed, blood coming out of your ears, and your body shaking in seizure. Even Vule looked worried.” Loan chuckled, then caught himself as Hiral squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Hiral. Can you move?”
Despite what had happened, Hiral swung his legs off the cot and pulled himself up to a sitting position. The room spun for a second, but quickly settled, and he ran his hand through his hair. A good thing he hadn’t cut it after all.
“How do you feel?” Loan asked, seated across the small room in his large wooden chair.
Hiral’s eyes settled on his bandage-wrapped wrist, the red of blood soaking lightly through. “I failed. Again,” he said quietly, something in his chest contracting so much, it felt like his whole body would collapse on itself.
Everfail. The whisper in a childlike voice echoed in his ears over and over, and he saw the other initiates laughing at him as he closed his eyes. Another year. Another fiasco while other… children… half his age succeeded where he failed. Another embarrassment. Another shame to his family.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dropped his hands into his face. Ten times. Ten. Ten years, and he hadn’t been able to shape a single thing. Not once. What was wrong with him?
“What will you do?” Loan asked softly. The same thing he’d asked last year. And the year before that.
Hiral squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, the tops of his fingers digging into his scalp under his hair, and he took a deep breath. Holding the air in his lungs, he squeezed everything, pushing all his frustration to its peak… and then let it all out with his breath.
Raising his head, he looked at Loan. “I’ll try again next year.”
The expression on Loan’s face didn’t shift even a little. “You’re sure?”
“Something was different this time,” Hiral said. “I felt something. I’m getting closer to a breakthrough. I’ll get it next time.”
“Hiral, the blood coming out of places it wasn’t supposed to is what was different. Are you sure you should keep pushing…?”
“Yes,” Hiral interrupted. “If I give up now, what will the last ten years have meant? They’ll all have been nothing but a waste. I have to succeed or… or…” Hiral trailed off and looked away from his teacher.
“Do you want to find another instructor?” Loan asked evenly.
Hiral shook his head immediately. “No. You’ve stood by me all this time. The problem isn’t you. It’s me. Besides, nobody else would take me on as a student,” he added, only half-joking.
“Hiral, maybe…” Loan cut off as the door to the room cracked open and Hiral’s father poked his head in.
“I heard voices,” the man said, opening the door all the way and stepping in.
“Elezad,” Loan said, using Hiral’s father’s first name.
With a small nod to Loan, Elezad came over to crouch in front of Hiral. He took Hiral’s right hand in his, putting a thumb over Hiral’s wrist and nodding in time with the heartbeat he felt. Then he turned his attention to his son’s left wrist and the bandages there. “The dagger failed you again. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not… You didn’t… You don’t have to be… You saw?” Hiral started and stopped until he finally got a question out.
“Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss your testing.”
“Did Mom…?”
Elezad’s eyes drifted to the side, then back toward Hiral. “Your mother had important work she couldn’t get away from today.”
“I understand,” Hiral said, the words somehow stinging despite him knowing they were coming. His mother hadn’t come to a test since he’d failed his first. Why would she have come to this one? It was better, really. One less person for him to embarrass. It’d be bad enough when word of his tenth failure left the testing grounds.
Who was he kidding? It was likely already all over the island and probably all the way down to the Nomads by now.
“Let me take a look at your Meridian Lines; maybe I made a mistake somewhere when I was inking them,” Elezad said, turning over Hiral’s arm. Starting with the circle on the back of Hiral’s hand, Elezad followed the thumb-thick line up to the circular node on Hiral’s elbow, then continued up the connecting line toward Hiral’s shoulder.
“Dad,” Hiral said, trying to pull his arm away from his father’s grip, but the man was always surprisingly strong for an Artist. “You’ve checked my Meridian Lines every year. You didn’t make any mistakes when you inked me. Even the Shapers at the test marveled at the work you do. You’re the best there is. There is nothing wrong with my tattoos.”
“Mmm, your mother might disagree with part of that. Did I hear you say you’ll be trying again next year?” Elezad glanced back down at Hiral’s bloody wrist.
“Yes,” Hiral said simply, meeting his father’s eyes.
“You could come work with me, you know,” Elezad said predictably. “You don’t have
to be a Shaper.”“I can’t be an Artist. Can’t take that class,” Hiral said, pulling his wrist back and crossing his arms to hide the bandage. “You know my blood doesn’t mix with the ink. I can’t do what you do.”
“Maybe the test was wrong,” Elezad said. “Being an Artist would explain why you can’t shape.”
Hiral looked across the bare skin of his father’s arms. Toned from hard work, yes, and with the same Meridian Lines all Makers had, but completely bereft of any other tattoos. His father, the most skilled Artist in the city, like any Artist, couldn’t shape tattoos into reality—the two classes were mutually exclusive.
But at least he had a reason he couldn’t shape. Unlike Hiral, who was just a failure. He couldn’t shape. Couldn’t inscribe. Couldn’t even pass the same test nine-year-olds were breezing through.
Everfail indeed.
“I’ll try again next year," Hiral said, mainly to drown out the echoing children’s voices in his head. “And the year after that, if I have to, until I pass. I will be a Shaper. It’s what I was meant to be.”
Elezad opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, stood up, and put his hand on Hiral’s shoulder. “And I’ll be in the stands watching until you do. Loan”—Elezad turned to the Shaper—“you’ll keep working with him?”
“I will,” Loan said. “Once he cracks the wall holding him back, he’ll make them all regret their words.”
Nobody in the room needed to specify who “they” were. Everybody.
“Well, how about we go find something to eat, then? You must be hungry,” Elezad said, breaking the dark silence.
“How long was I unconscious?” Hiral asked instead of answering.
“About an hour,” Loan said. “You sure you’re feeling okay? We cleaned you up, but without knowing what caused that…”
“An hour? Fallen’s balls,” he cursed, then coughed at the glare from his father. “I have to get over to the port.”
“The port?” Elezad asked.
“Work,” Hiral said, pushing himself to his feet smoothly. His limbs were stiff, and despite what he’d told the others, the pain wasn’t completely gone. Good thing he’d become so good at faking he was okay over the last ten years. “Scheduled for a trade run down to the Nomads.”
“Arty would understand if you didn’t make it today,” Elezad said. “I know this new place that just opened up. Been smelling the bread every morning on my way to the studio.”
“Dad,” Hiral said evenly, “nobody other than Arty will hire me. If I lose this job, what am I going to do until I become a Shaper? Besides, it… it’ll distract me. I need that right now. And you—if you’ve been here for the hour waiting for me to wake up, you must have clients lining up at your door. Do you really think Yanna would appreciate you coming back any later than you already are?”
Elezad winced at his receptionist’s name, but nodded. “You make a good point. Look, fine, you win. But I’m bringing bread home tonight to go with dinner, so don’t you dare fill up on some port-market junk food.”
“I’m going to work, Dad, not to shop,” Hiral said. He turned to Loan and gave a bow. “I’m sorry I let you down again. Thank you for continuing to support me long after anybody else would’ve given up on me.”
Loan coughed, the sound muffled like he’d put his hand in front of his mouth, then cleared his throat. “When I took you on as a student, it was because I saw the potential in you. Not just the potential the Measure saw when they put that crystal in your chest and your status window came up for the first time.” He touched his own chest, where his crystal was embedded under his sun tattoo. “You had a look in your eyes—still do—that spoke to me. Something I don’t see in a lot of initiates.
“Most of the children who walk through my doors act like they are entitled to become Shapers, just because the Measure and their status window said they had a little bit of potential when they were born. Even though only about one in ten of the people who come take the test actually have what it takes, they all assume they are that one.
“Not you, though,” Loan continued. “You told me you’d earn your place among the Shapers, and work as hard as you needed to. Even if it’s turned out to be a bit harder than either of us expected, it hasn’t changed my opinion of you. I know you’ll succeed, and I’ll be there with you when you do.”
“Just to rub it in Vule’s face?” Hiral wisecracked to keep down the emotions bubbling in his chest. He could break down later, both at his own failure and the undeserved support, but for now, he had to keep it together. Keep faking. For them… and himself.
“Might be part of it,” Loan said, his voice a little hoarse, and he coughed into his hand again. “Didn’t you say you had work to get to? The port isn’t close, even for somebody with your dexterity, and you can’t be planning to go down to the Nomads dressed like that?”
Hiral straightened and looked at his arms, the Meridian Lines and tattoos still dark against his skin, then shook his head. No, no, he definitely couldn’t go down looking like that.
“You’re right. I need to get home and change first,” Hiral said to the two men, his father so normal-sized compared to the gigantic Shaper. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“Go on, then,” Loan said, his big thumb running along the bottom of one of his eyes.
“I’ll see you at home,” Elezad said, obviously not planning to leave with Hiral.
“Don’t keep Yanna waiting any longer than you need to,” Hiral said, but ducked out the door before his father could respond. He put his hand on the knob and gently pulled it closed as his father’s whispered words crept out behind him.
“Do you think he has a chance at it next year?”
Hiral closed the door before he could hear Loan’s answer, then ran away from there as quickly as his legs would carry him.