and suddenly realized where they were.
Halliel’s Park was only a few streets away.
Even as she thought it, a different kind of shudder ran through her, from the roots of her hair down into her toes. It centered there, coursing through her feet and into the ground. She could feel the pull of the park again. She’d managed not to think about it since the sowing, had focused on recovering from whatever had drained her strength, but now the pull had returned, stronger than before. She thought about what the healer had said to her father, about the way the ley globes in the park had brightened and dimmed, about the testing at the end of each school year, those of age gathering in the Great Hall with the Master of the School, the teachers, staff, and students, a Prime Wielder, and the Head of the University. The Head of the University usually tested each student first, placing two glass globes, one each, in the palms of the student’s hands. Most of the time nothing would happen and everyone present would release their pent-up breaths in a low sigh, accompanied by murmured conversation as the student stepped to the side and was presented to the Prime Wielder. Sometimes, one or both globes would flicker with colored light, usually only a spattering, as if the globes were struggling to catch fire on the inside. Only once had Kara seen the globes flare with light, then steady into a cool, vibrant blue. That student had been sent to the University the following day.
The test by the Wielder was less dramatic. He or she would place a hand on the student’s head, close his or her eyes, wait for a long moment, and then proclaim the student unworthy. Kara had never seen anyone proclaimed worthy during any of the tests she’d attended.
She suddenly wondered what the globes from the University would do if she held them. Or what the Wielder would say after his moment of silence.
“Kara, what’s wrong?”
Kara gasped and jerked away when Cory placed his hand on her arm. He gave her a sharp frown. “What’s wrong? Is it happening again? Are you getting weak?”
“I’m fine.” The words came out too quick, but they were true. She could still feel the pull of the park, her feet tingling against the earth, but she didn’t feel the prickling sensation that had coursed through her the night of the sowing. She drew in a deep breath and smiled. “It’s all right, Cory, I’m fine. We should head back home.”
He eyed her carefully, awkwardly concerned, then nodded. “Let’s go. My dad will be furious if we don’t get the candles done tonight.”
Kara hung back, letting Cory make a path through the people on the street, following in his wake. When he turned onto the street that ran along one side of Halliel’s Park, she nearly called out to stop him. But the pull of the park had increased, had tightened in a band across her chest, tight enough it had grown hard to breathe. She could feel the blood pulsing in her throat, in her arms and fingers. Her feet had grown heavy, yet at the same time her body felt light. The sensations increased as they drew near the park’s entrance and she glanced toward the ley globes above the ends of the stone arch, catching sight of a gardener—the same man she’d seen before—working within. The globes brightened as she drew near and the gardener’s head snapped up to stare at them, then out toward the street. He stood as he searched, moved to the threshold of the park—
And then his gaze fell on Kara.
Kara flinched and ducked her head, realized she’d slowed, that Cory was now a good twenty paces in front of her. She increased her pace to catch up, but a hand fell on her shoulder and a voice said, “Wait.”
She knew it was the gardener even before she turned. Not because he’d seen her, or because his voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined it would—rough with age, yet still gentle. She knew it was the gardener because she’d felt him approaching through her feet, his
Halliel’s Park was only a few streets away.
Even as she thought it, a different kind of shudder ran through her, from the roots of her hair down into her toes. It centered there, coursing through her feet and into the ground. She could feel the pull of the park again. She’d managed not to think about it since the sowing, had focused on recovering from whatever had drained her strength, but now the pull had returned, stronger than before. She thought about what the healer had said to her father, about the way the ley globes in the park had brightened and dimmed, about the testing at the end of each school year, those of age gathering in the Great Hall with the Master of the School, the teachers, staff, and students, a Prime Wielder, and the Head of the University. The Head of the University usually tested each student first, placing two glass globes, one each, in the palms of the student’s hands. Most of the time nothing would happen and everyone present would release their pent-up breaths in a low sigh, accompanied by murmured conversation as the student stepped to the side and was presented to the Prime Wielder. Sometimes, one or both globes would flicker with colored light, usually only a spattering, as if the globes were struggling to catch fire on the inside. Only once had Kara seen the globes flare with light, then steady into a cool, vibrant blue. That student had been sent to the University the following day.
The test by the Wielder was less dramatic. He or she would place a hand on the student’s head, close his or her eyes, wait for a long moment, and then proclaim the student unworthy. Kara had never seen anyone proclaimed worthy during any of the tests she’d attended.
She suddenly wondered what the globes from the University would do if she held them. Or what the Wielder would say after his moment of silence.
“Kara, what’s wrong?”
Kara gasped and jerked away when Cory placed his hand on her arm. He gave her a sharp frown. “What’s wrong? Is it happening again? Are you getting weak?”
“I’m fine.” The words came out too quick, but they were true. She could still feel the pull of the park, her feet tingling against the earth, but she didn’t feel the prickling sensation that had coursed through her the night of the sowing. She drew in a deep breath and smiled. “It’s all right, Cory, I’m fine. We should head back home.”
He eyed her carefully, awkwardly concerned, then nodded. “Let’s go. My dad will be furious if we don’t get the candles done tonight.”
Kara hung back, letting Cory make a path through the people on the street, following in his wake. When he turned onto the street that ran along one side of Halliel’s Park, she nearly called out to stop him. But the pull of the park had increased, had tightened in a band across her chest, tight enough it had grown hard to breathe. She could feel the blood pulsing in her throat, in her arms and fingers. Her feet had grown heavy, yet at the same time her body felt light. The sensations increased as they drew near the park’s entrance and she glanced toward the ley globes above the ends of the stone arch, catching sight of a gardener—the same man she’d seen before—working within. The globes brightened as she drew near and the gardener’s head snapped up to stare at them, then out toward the street. He stood as he searched, moved to the threshold of the park—
And then his gaze fell on Kara.
Kara flinched and ducked her head, realized she’d slowed, that Cory was now a good twenty paces in front of her. She increased her pace to catch up, but a hand fell on her shoulder and a voice said, “Wait.”
She knew it was the gardener even before she turned. Not because he’d seen her, or because his voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined it would—rough with age, yet still gentle. She knew it was the gardener because she’d felt him approaching through her feet, his
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