The Selection: Communion with the Mother

The tension pressing down on the teenagers in the room was palpable. They swallowed nervously against the maroon striped ties at their throats, some hid their clammy hands deep into their lint-filled pockets, and some recited a calming incantation to keep their emotions in check.

Class 5A waited patiently for the teachers to return to the room after their deliberations. Every year for the last decade, youth have sat in these very seats with squared shoulders the afternoon of their graduation from the School of Magicks.

Delvi felt her muscles relax quickly after completing the Incantation Of Calm. She breathed unrestricted by a tight chest like that of Angelica beside her, hunched over in fear, thin hair unable to mask her eyes wide with terror, staring holes into her desk. Delvi’s consciousness was level and controlled, uninfluenced by Angelica’s panic, which would otherwise be contagious.

Bright beams of sunlight shot through the polished windows, illuminating the chiseled golden text carved into the opposite wall. 

“The foxes will hunt the lone rabbit who communes with the Mother, only to be trapped in the rabbit’s hole.”

Teachers could not squash rumours of the prophecy from spreading around the campus, but it inevitably ended up a different story to each person’s ears whenever the topic arose. In the first year, the students whispered excitedly and tried to spot the lone room nestled into the base of the mountain, far away from the main school grounds.

Staff members never addressed the topic and ignored any queries. Students even considered that they made the whole thing up to spook new students as a graduation prank, and the rumours just never left. 

Sitting in that very room now was surreal, and the shine of the words on the wall was blinding to the students who sat nervously beneath its glare.

Marcel cleared his throat, and the sound shattered the silence, finally rousing the terrified students from their nervous stupor. “Teachers are taking their damned time.”

“Yeah, they are… maybe that means that one of us will be chosen?” Erik leaned forward in his seat, looking around desperately for answers.

“Doubt it. Nobody has ever been chosen, have they?” Holly said. “I know old-man Professor Fauzi was wise and powerful and all, but he was old. Who’s to say his prophetic visions weren’t just a heap of nonsense when he threw up this riddle?”

“Well, if anyone’s gunna be chosen, it sure as hell won’t be you,” Marcel smirked.

“Marcel, the only way you might come into this prophecy is if you are the fox, not the rabbit,” Delvi’s voice sliced through the bickering and a shocked quietness followed.

The boy narrowed his eyes at her with a look of bloody murder, but didn’t say a word back. Students shifted nervously in their seats, but dared not correct Delvi or stand up for Marcel. Their silence spoke volumes. Marcel was reckless, and experimented with magicks outside of the course curriculum, so Delvi’s words hung heavily in the room. 

Most students assumed the foxes of the prophecy referred to the Asyllic, a sect of dark wizards who have a reign of terror upon the families who gave in to them, and the threat of extinction to those who don’t.

Calling Marcel a fox was probably a little too far, but Delvi couldn’t deny it sure was satisfying. She bit back her smile.

The distant ring of the school bell echoed toward the mountain, reaching the attentive ears of the students in the assessment room. The rest of the school was getting ready for the graduation ceremony. Like all ceremonies past, there would be an eager anticipation for an announcement that the person to fulfil the prophecy was chosen. 

Marcel swallowed nervously, realising the deliberations were almost over. Soon, they would teleport back to the main campus for their graduation. He gritted his teeth, trying to contain his frustration with Delvi. How dare she call him a fox? She had a quiet confidence as she sat there, haughtily tilting her chin up. Without a doubt, Marcel was sure Delvi wanted to be picked. To him, that only confirmed she had terrible judgment. To be picked for further training and be pitted against the Asyllic was only a death sentence; a child could not fight an army alone, it was madness!

This school was inept, he realised by third year. The curriculum was limited; the teachers didn’t foster creativity, and there was too much theory and not enough practicals. While frowned upon, Marcel didn’t regret experimenting and exploring other forms of magicks of his own accord. How else was he supposed to learn to protect himself from the Asyllic if the damned teachers didn’t do their jobs properly?

Marcel seethed in his chair for a few moments longer until the classroom door slid open and a line of teachers addressed the students from the front of the room.

“Every year, we are tasked with assessing each student on their graduation day, not only for their performance this year, but across their entire education. Being selected as the subject of the prophecy is not done lightly. Every trimester, the Principal consults the Guides and just now we have completed divination rituals to assist our decision. We have chosen Marcel,” Ms Whitty’s tone was matter-of-fact and final.

Delvi’s jaw dropped. She stared up at the prophetic riddle on the wall that lost its shine as the sun dipped on the horizon, then flicked her gaze to Marcel, who sat with a furrowed brow and chewed his lip.

“Well? Don’t just sit there! Aren’t you going to say something? It is an honour, you know,” Delvi hissed.

Marcel only narrowed his eyes at her insistence. “An honour? I didn’t want this, though. Ms Whitty, why did you choose me?”

She hesitated but for a moment before nodding to herself with her decision to speak. “The Guides informed the Principal at the end of your third year that you were practising druidic rituals and by fourth year you were casting more spells than what we had taught you. Note the piece that states the lone rabbit who communes with the Mother. Mother Nature, my dear, offers powerful wisdom, control, and a solid connection to natural magicks.”

“Excuse me, if that is what you have been waiting for all this time, why didn’t you introduce this into the curriculum so we could all learn this, and each have an equal opportunity to be selected?” Delvi felt hurt, and she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Ms Whitty smiled sadly. “Delvi, you are a fantastic student, you all are, but prophecies are not about equal opportunity, that is not a fateful selection.”

Delvi snapped her attention back to Marcel, who looked almost as angry as her. His nostrils flared while he ground his teeth together, jaw muscles flexing and knuckles turning white with his clenched fists.

If he didn’t rebel against this entire system, then he wouldn’t have taught himself the magicks offered by Mother Nature that they were waiting for. He had doomed himself.

He felt the stares of his classmates boring holes into his back, judging him, some with anger, some with pity. There was a pause, as if people were expecting an acceptance speech from him, but he didn’t move or speak. 

He wasn’t ready to accept this death sentence. 

While the accompanying teachers prepared the students in their graduation caps before teleporting to the ceremony, Ms Whitty visited a sullen Marcel at his desk. She dropped a small velvety blue bag in front of him.

“These are the divination stones we used which confirmed our decision this afternoon. Take them as a graduation gift and let them serve you well.”

Marcel grimaced. Ms Whitty sounded foreboding, but at least she was being realistic about the grim future awaiting him. He slapped on his graduation cap and hid the small bag in his robes. Excitement thrummed through the other students, but Marcel couldn’t bring his spirits up. Within a flash, they were walking up onto the stage, shaking hands with the Principal, collecting their scrolls, and exiting the stage. Marcel didn’t have the heart to look for his parents in the crowd.

Delvi waved at the other students, beaming her flashy white teeth, and curtsied to the Principal before exiting the stage. As soon as she was out of the limelight, her expression turned sour and she faced Marcel.

“What are you pouting about?”

“Leave it alone, Delvi. They chose me. I can’t undo that for you. If I could, I damned would.”

Most students celebrated the day, but Marcel insisted with his parents that they go home. Of course, they already knew that he was selected, and their depressive aura matched his.

That night, Marcel threw the bag of divination stones on his bed and shook his head angrily. They hadn’t served him well at all, so far.