I wrinkled them more.
“Aspirants are those who aspire to be an Allwitch, like Trist, the ones who are blessed with all seven light magics. The Echelons only allow them to drink one until they prove themselves. Until then, we say they’reaspiring.”
“So Ash was an Aspirant until she graduated fifth year, then she became an Allwitch,” I said, checking my understanding. I’d readTheAllwitch Affliction, but it was an old text. Pages were missing.
“Yes. Only Sevens who complete fifth year get to consume all the light magics, but it’s selective, so most of them never become Allwitches and deteriorate.”
Deteriorate. Ididknow what that meant.
“What if I don’t like what I get?” I asked. “Is there a choice?”
“Nope,” he said. “Consuming magic you’re not blessed with does nothing but deplete our reserves. The only opportunity for choice is if you’re a Seven, an Aspirant, and if that’s the case, you’ll declare what you pick in a few weeks at Selection. The odds are low of getting that. Out of four thousand incoming first years, a hundred are Aspirants.”
“Four thousand eighteen-year-olds? In all of Everden?” Everden was a big place, a million square miles, if I had to guess. It seemed like there should be more.
“Yup.”
“Has anyone ever gotten all eight?”
“No. Light and dark magic would destroy each other. Only the Goddess can wield all of them.”
We continued hiking, my mind circling back to the Blessing about to take place. What if the Goddess blessed me with a school I didn’t want? Not that I wanted any of them in particular,but if it was mental magic, Helen’s school . . .
I rubbed my temples. Please let it not be that.
To block out the uncomfortable feeling dwelling in my gut, I changed the subject. “Is it customary for you to be here? Do the Echelons always send a student” — he seemed to prefer that label over “regular witch” — “to attend Blessings? Or is this because I’m a half witch?”
He eyed me, debating something in silence as our shoes crunched on in unison. “No. It’s not customary. It’s customary for family to attend when a witch turns eighteen. The results are reported to me at Odessa Hall afterward. But you’re new. So we’re doing it differently.”
“They report results to you?” I had to repeat for clarity. “Not the Echelons?”
Leland sighed in annoyance. I don’t think he wanted to tell me about himself at all. I searched his eyes, trying to figure out what the dull dissatisfaction in them meant.
“You’re going to find out eventually,” he said at last. “I can’t be lied to. That’s my gift. I hear the truth when people speak, and when I hear something untruthful, the Echelons require me to report it to them. I’m their Truth-Teller. The Blessing results are reported to me because I can verify them.”
But that meant . . . I shook my head.
In theCounterpartspicture book, the Counterparts had hearts in their eyes, and I didnothave hearts in my eyes for Leland. Everden was a big place. The odds thathewas the witch who could make me whole were basically zero. Though, there was that weird thing that had been happening. The way I knew every time he was lying or telling the truth . . .
At the look on my face, which he must’ve interpreted as confusion, he added, “I made the mistake of telling Jaxan my gift when I was a kid. I’ve worked for the Council ever since.”
There it was.Jaxan. And Leland’s tone, resigned, not at allreverent the way he should be speaking about the scholars who ruled here.
“So they trust you?” I asked.
“They do,” he said. “I can’t lie, so it’s hard for them not to.”
“You can’t lie? Not at all?” I already knew the answer.
“I can’t lie.” Another lie. “Ever.”
I kept my face neutral, feigning interest in the overgrowth of hemlock and green ivy wildly overtaking the footpath. It was Leland’s business if he wanted to lie about always telling the truth. I said nothing else about it as we approached the clearing.
There were, indeed, eight trees in the Circle of Seven, and though the scale was different, these oak trees so tall they had no end, they were otherwise identical to the massive oak I’d spent so many hours staring at from behind my window.
Leland took the time to point out which tree belonged to which school of magic, the unique colored droplets of sap rolling down trunks like molasses (gold for creation, black for dark magic, etc., etc.), then I stepped through an opening between two towering trunks.
There was a dark and mysterious beauty here, the trees so enormous I wouldn’t be surprised if more than woodland creatures lived in them. I lifted my gaze, in awe of the gray-brown canopy they made over my head. Faint slivers of light filtered in through tangled branches. Only one tree bore leaves. The tree of dark magic.
