Leopold's Test

Leopold’s Test

The prison’s dining hall had never smelled so nice. Guinevere was used to seeing other prisoners lined up, arms tied behind their backs by rope, eating slop out of a trough while the guards called them pigs. But some stranger had enough influence to clear the place, summon her from her cell without bindings, and have a moment in private for… tea. The least the guy could’ve done was bring some meat, Guinevere thought. Magi certainly had the status for a feast, so what would one pig to feed another pig cost? 

Guinevere watched the elderly man prepare the pour, raising his arm high enough for her to see the waterfall. She could see the emblem of the Magi sewn into the back of his robes. The man was whistling to himself, not even throwing back a nervous glance. Either he wasn’t aware how she started the flames that burned down Abgefallen’s cathedral or he wasn’t impressed. She wasn’t sure which of the two options pissed her off more. She could end his life with an incantation that was shorter than her name. As she pictured what the dust of his body would look like over the wall, when he finally turned back. He was smiling as the tea continued to pour from the kettle. Guinevere suddenly had second thoughts.

The Magi sat across the table – completely at ease even as he entered choking distance. He offered Guinevere a gold goblet. Steam rose from the brew, carrying a scent of lavender right into her nose. Her favorite blend. But Guinevere scoffed. She refused to drink it. Not in the way it was served.

“Are you worried I placed a spell on it?” Leopold asked. “I was under the belief that your talents would-”

“I know it isn’t cursed,” Guinevere said. “Knowing such an important resource is being wasted does something to the taste. Turns it sour. Might as well be drinking blood.”

“Not many would be dissatisfied to drink from a gold goblet.”

“Gold is a gaudy display for tea. I don’t care for your status symbols, so get that thing out of my face.”

“Your ideals must be important to you young lady.” The Magi waved a finger and a ceramic cup from the counter flew into his hand. With another motion, he manipulated the tea from the gold goblet into a more fitting receptacle, then sprinkled in a dash of sugar. “Ideals alone will not get you far in our society if you lack the strength to compose yourself.”

Once the transfer was complete, he presented the new cup of tea.

        Something in Guinevere's gut told her the man wasn’t as old as he appeared. She had grown up around old men, bishops and the like. They may have spoken the way this Magi did, but the way he twisted his wrist, the way he walked, the ease of his breath, these were all the tellings of a much younger man. Guinevere played along out of curiosity, taking the cup in her hand, not allowing herself to let the enjoyment of the tea reach her face.

        “If you think I’m one of those stupid rebels, you’re wasting your time,” Guinevere said. 

        “No,” the man said without much care put into the word. “More often than not these rebels are nothing but fools who try to inspire change through boisterous actions with no backbone. They’re…” His wrist moved in circles, and his fingers flicked as if he was throwing bits of rice, “... so noisy. Your actions were rather quiet. Not so subtle once the fire started, but at least you accomplished your goal before anyone heard about it.” 

        “So?” Guinevere spat, being sure not to finish the tea before putting her cup down. “What do you want then?”

        “Yes, where are my manners,” the man said with an apologetic bow. “My name is Leopold von Ritter, a Vulf of the Syndicate of Magi. Seeing as your crime is a magical affair, I have taken the liberty to step in the place of a civilian judge. Depending on our conversation today – you will either be executed or set free.”

        “Deciding my fate through an interview?” Guinevere finished her tea. “And if I decided to lie through my teeth?”

        “Impossible,” Leopold said. “The sugar I put in the tea won’t allow you to.”

        “If there was such a thing as ‘truth sugar’, why would we even hold trials for people?”

        “A few reasons,” Leopold said. “For one, something a person thinks is true does not mean it’s the truth. If you believe a sword cannot hurt you, the sugar won’t change your mind. But my ‘truth sugar’ is mine alone, something the world is not ready for. If you still don’t believe me, then tell me a lie. Tell me you’re a goddess descended from the heavens in the shape of an electric eel.”

        “I’m…”

The words wouldn’t come through.

Leopold didn’t smile or show any delight in Guinevere's failed attempt to lie. The outcome was so obvious to him that he didn’t even glance at her, taking a notebook out of his pocket and brushing up on some information. 

Guinevere kept trying to say the words, but she didn’t want to stutter or look foolish. She accepted the truth that lying was off the table. Just because she was compelled to tell the truth didn’t mean she couldn’t take control of the conversation. It all depended on the questions. And if all else failed, she was free of her restraints. He was powerful, but if she had the smallest chance of escape, she would take it. Guinevere took a breath, kept her composure, and waited for an opening.  

He held onto a moment of silence, unmoving as he remained vigilant but relaxed. After placing a finger on his tiny book, he finally looked up to ask a question. One that had to be entirely unrelated to what he had written down.

“The tea. Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” Guinevere said, trying not to be so truthful that she stopped being delicate. “I haven’t had someone make me tea since I was a child.”

“Not much of a distant memory for you, I’d imagine.” A statement disguised an insult. Was it a test? “I would like to test the honesty of your past by asking you in the present. What was your reason for burning that church?”

“I’m sure you know.”

“I’ve heard what everyone else has said.” Leopold put his hands together, then leaned the tips of his fingers toward her. “What do you have to say?”

He kept his fingers pointed at her. 

What could have been a pleasantry, a fidget, or a random gesture could also be a weapon for a mage. In fact, it was the same position her own hands were in when she set the cathedral ablaze. The incantation took her three hours, but her magic was unrefined. How long would a member of the Magi need? Guinevere tried not to betray her uncertainty as she answered.

“Pastor was a demon.” Guinevere crossed her arms and looked away. “Rest of the clergy too. It was impossible to pull the root, so I burned the crop and the soil to ensure nothing could grow from it again.”

“I see.” Leopold separated his hand. Guinevere tried to keep her face straight as he flipped through his book. “You seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of fire, Miss Hildebrand. Burning soil does not purge it.”

Leopold tapped the page of the book.

       A sound stored in the page filled the kitchen like she was at another Sunday sermon. The voice was not one Guinevere had heard before but the words… The words were familiar. She had heard them all her life when living among the clergy.

        “- we must eradicate weakness. We must seek perfection and expect nothing less. We must purge the unclean within ourselves or purge ourselves to keep the world clean. Only then-”

The page crumpled and creased as the words suddenly stopped.

        “An idea is not so easy to kill, Guinevere.” Leopold said, shutting the book. “The lives you took only reinforced the beliefs of those you killed. You birthed martyrs and now the church has been rebuilt stronger, in both structure and people. You understand?”

Guinevere clenched her fists.

        So the sacrifice was utterly pointless? She gave up her life to eradicate their evil but all she did was doom herself. After hearing the unknown voice, one younger than her, perpetuating what she thought she had killed, Guinevere sparked another flame - a fire equal to that of the cathedral that burned in her soul. If burning the clergy and their monument of piss wasn’t enough, she’d just have to scorch the followers and raze the kingdom. 

A clatter just below her chin brought her out of her smoky mind. A goblet of fresh tea had floated up to her, rattling as it set over the wood. The warmth of the jasmine woke her from her stupor, but all it did was make the horror of what she heard more palatable. She scorched her mouth by forcing the tea down, then slammed the goblet onto the table. 

        “They were demons,” she said. “Sent from the depths.”

        “Yet fire killed them so easily,” Leopold said, pocketing his small book. “These words in my book were borrowed from a sermon I was present for. Their new priest said it was important for people to be strong; that we will never outpace our own lifespans if we allow the ill and deviant to pass their weaknesses to others. It’s all for the betterment of humanity, he said.”

        “I grew up amidst these teachings, why must you repeat them?” Guinevere yelled.

        “To gauge your reaction of course.” Leopold tilted his head. “Would it displease you to know that the Magi and the Empire are in full support of their vision for the future?”

        “As if I wasn’t aware of what fools you were for allowing these men to spread death and suffering.” Guinevere's words held so much power and rage that the wooden surface at her fingertips began to age. “The Magi, the empire, they are responsible for fueling their evil.”

        “Evil.” Leopold almost laughed at the word. “The Magi believe the rising rebellions across the kingdom to be evil. Insurrectionists, meanwhile, believe the Magi are evil for upholding the laws of the Empire. Perhaps evil is just whatever is on the other side of the coin we called in this bet that is our lives.”

        “Evil is not something to doubt because of an absurd philosophy!” Guinevere shouted louder to drown out the questions and uncertainties in her mind. “It is real! But we cannot see it for it comes in the form of a blinding light.”

Leopold’s eyebrows lifted as high as they could.

        Guinevere was only digging herself into a hole, but what did it matter? If she couldn’t do anything stuck behind the cell and made no difference on the outside, what did it matter? She could just keep digging. So why was she waiting for the go ahead from this man?

        “I’m curious to know more,” he said. “Please, go on.”

        “You Magi think evil lives amongst the shadows, but evil is at its most powerful when you are blind to it!” Guinevere shuddered, so overwhelmed that her voice could only manage a whisper after her outburst. “True evil hides in the faces of the people you know. It lays dormant in the hearts of those who should care for you. It creates a light which you cannot look into but brings you comfort, bliss, and fools you into the belief that it is truth. Why else would people allow this evil to permeate?”

        “Perhaps,” Leopold said. “But who are you as a single individual to judge? You may be under the belief that you had slain a demon, but what if they were good people?” He let his question stain the air as he grabbed his cup, swirling it in his hand but not partaking of its contents. “What if they are right in their ideals and you spilled the blood of innocent men?”  

        “It’s just like this coin of yours. Equally likely for them to be good or evil. Should we not be willing to risk our innocence in a pursuit to eradicate evil?”

        “And risk becoming evil yourself?” Leopold asked.

        “If I am to become evil to eradicate evil, then let me be the sole evil that exists. Let me be unassuming. Let me be a beacon for good as well as the silent death that only God can see. And if he judges me for being a soldier willing to dip their hands in blood, then so be it.”

        “… I’ve heard all I need to.”

Leopold stood on his feet.

        In all the time, the Magi had not once sipped his own tea. He was waiting for his job to be finished before he could indulge, Guinevere supposed. Now with his judgment made, he took hold of his ceramic saucer with the delicate grace of a gentleman, yet downed his drink in one go as if he were a drunkard consuming a barrel all on his own. There was a droplet left on the side of his lip when he was done, one which he paid no mind to and allowed to dry, staining his face with a drop.

        The room was whipped with an intense wind. Leopold lifted a finger, which grew to the size of an apple as it glowed like a setting sun. Guinevere chuffed, crossing her arms. She would not meet her demise with despair or pity. She knew who would greet her on the other side. But if she were to go, she would have the last word.

“I have no regrets.”

“Are you certain?” Leopold asked. “Death is the ultimate change which cannot be undone. How can you face it with such determination?”

“I’m used to change,” Guinevere said, leaning toward her deadly destiny. “No reason to be afraid of it.”

“That may be so, but you misunderstand the essence of change.” The intense hurricane changed direction, flowing toward the walls instead of toward the Magi. “Evil lives in the blinding light, but change grows in the dark. If change comes in a noticeable sweep…” he pointed his glowing finger at Guinevere, and the flashing light dissipated. He cast his spell. All it did was change the color of her robes from beige to blue. “… it is jarring. Sudden. And if unwanted, those in power will revert it back to their status quo and punish those who embrace the change. Just as your guards will do if they see your robes are of a different color.”

Guinevere reverted the colors of her prison garbs to normal.

        “Why does that matter?” 

        “Because it's the reason you failed your mission.” Leopold raised his ceramic saucer. Guinevere raised a brow, then noticed she had been drinking out of the golden goblet. “True change works when it is unnoticed. Unseen. Until one day it just is. And the majority will accept it, for it has always been. The church has always been, the Magi have always been, these rules have always been. Never mind that the Magi are no longer allowed to intervene in the affairs of prisoners, that rule has always been for the warden so it continues to be. So much so that he let me in without even asking my name.”

Guinevere looked into the gold goblet. Then she understood.

        “So is this one final lesson before my death?” she asked with a chide. “Or do you plan on breaking me out so I can join this insurrection of yours?”

Leopold gave Guinevere a satisfied smile.