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Chapter Text

Camila surveyed the little apartment she’d called home for the last week. The stack of books on her desk was as solid as ever. Everything under the sun was contained within their pages: quotations from the Gurus, scientific philosophy, even a few accounts of foreign peoples and their cultures. Nobody ever talked about what exactly was on the Imperial Exams, but rumors got around, and from what she’d heard there was nothing too obscure to feature. Her studies, therefore, had been exhaustive. Her sheaves of notes, sorted by subject, covered most of the rest of the available flat space in the room. On an impulse, she trotted away from the door and looked down at one stack to read the top page.

The trailwalkers of the East place their faith in a number of primitive gods, among whom the chief is called the “Almighty”, who may be likened to the all-encompassing “God” of the Christians...

The handwriting looped messily down the page. Camila let her eyes slide from the notes to the tiny doodle in the corner. This one was an eye. The penetrating gaze reminded her, and she looked out the window. Still dark. She could still make it to the examination hall, easy. The door did not slam behind her, because that would be rude and anyway people would complain, but as soon as it clicked shut she raced down the stairs as fast as she could. Her robe was a hindrance, but she still managed two steps at a time. Her pace slackened as she came into the public room, and when she finally closed the main gate behind her she stopped to catch her breath.

Today was the day. For almost ten years she’d prepared, attended lessons, read and written and studied and even occasionally prayed. And now it was finally happening. She’d get the chance to take the Imperial Examinations. The enormity of the statement kept her pressed flat against the wall, breathing heavily. I’m going to be a bureaucrat!

Camila tried not to rush unduly. Her footsteps were calm, deliberate. She did not skip excitedly through the streets of Sacramento, although once or twice when she passed through an empty alleyway she hazarded a brief hop. A few times she passed by other prospective examinees, making their own ways through the city to the Testing Hall. She suppressed a snort. The other testers carried bags of canvas, stuffed with notebooks and writing utensils. More fool them; the Department of Education mandated that everyone who took the test do so only with state-provided materials. She knew this because she’d carefully cultivated a friendship with one of the minor officials in the city, and one night had taken him out to a mostly empty bar. She’d learned a lot that evening.

For one thing, she’d learned that it took a lot of alcohol to get a government worker to start spilling the tea. It had taken a fair dent out of her savings, the money she’d brought from home to pay for her stay in Sacramento while she waited for the Examinations to begin. Her father had warned her to spend the money wisely. Camila felt that he would be proud of her for using it to better her chances on the test. It wasn’t cheating, after all. And it certainly wasn’t bribery. She wasn’t paying him for information, now, was she? All she’d done was offer to buy him a few drinks, and then a few more, and then she’d asked a few innocent questions like any girl interested in her friend’s work might.

He’d given the information quite freely, in the end. Camila hadn’t brought a notebook, being of the opinion that anything she couldn’t remember wouldn’t be worth knowing anyway, but if she had she wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the man’s rambling. A lot of it wouldn’t actually be helpful on this year’s test, of course, but he remembered the procedure pretty clearly even through the alcoholic haze. And he’d been able to tell her what the proctors liked to see in the tester’s written responses. Information like that was probably worth money. In fact it was worth quite a lot, which was why she’d spent it on the drinks in the first place.

Camila wasn’t stupid. All she’d drunk that night was water. But all the same, she’d gone back to her little apartment high as a kite, buoyed by exhilaration. The next morning she’d visited him and thanked him for a pleasant night, and as far as she could tell he had no memory of what had been said. But he’d shaken her hand and wished her luck on the Examinations anyway.

The growing sound of a crowd ahead of her brought Camila back to reality. It was the noise of dozens of people each trying to hold their own whispered conversation with their neighbors, the end result of which still managed to be heard several streets away. She rounded the corner and stopped at the sight of all the prospective test-takers gathered in the square before the Testing Hall. And to think, I thought I’d be the first one here.

She scanned the crowd, and recognized a few faces from the provincial exams. They were all clustered together. She thought about going over to join them, but decided not to. When the other top scorers of the Bay Area Exam had gone out to celebrate their success together, Camila had instead gone back to her dormitory and written a letter home to her family. That sort of thing didn’t endear you to people, she knew. But she hadn’t been raised to celebrate her achievements. They were only ever a stepping stone, a single rung on the ladder to the ultimate success. Ever since she was a child, her father had encouraged her to set her sights on the Imperial bureaucracy.

Technically, “encouraged” wasn’t the word. That suggested she’d had some choice in the matter. But in any case she really did want a government post, and every mark she’d made over the last few years of tests had been nothing but a way to get here, today. Camila thought about her family in Sonoma as she leaned against a convenient wall, listening to the buzz of conversation around her. Father had expressed his pride in no uncertain terms in his last letter. He and Mother sent their best wishes and begged her to remember all their advice while she was taking the test. Cousin Diego had also sent a letter, and wanted it known that he knew little Cami could do it one day. She’d rolled her eyes when she read that. Now, the thought made her smile.

The sound of a gong brought silence to the crowd. All eyes turned to the great doors as they slowly opened to admit a tall woman out into the open air. She was soon surrounded by a thick circle of examinees, all straining to hear. Camila found a convenient spot where she could see the woman through the forest of heads.

“This is the Imperial Testing Hall,” said the woman, as though anyone here didn’t know. “If you are not here for the Examination, please leave now.” Nobody moved. The crowd was totally still. The woman waited a few moments before continuing. “Please form yourselves into two lines. Family names beginning with A through M, form on my right. N through Z, form on my left. My associates will be out momentarily to check you in.”

The great doors closed behind her again as the crowd struggled to sort itself out. Camila hung back until the lines formed into some semblance of order, and quietly inserted herself a dozen or so spaces behind the front when nobody was looking. This brought her behind a young man in an ill-fitting robe and hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. He was obviously unused to being in close proximity to so many people.

“At least it’s not raining, right?” he said nervously. It took a moment before it dawned on Camila that he was speaking to her.

“Oh, yeah.”

“That’d be unfortunate.” There was a sharp intake of breath. The boy – Camila couldn’t help thinking the word even though he looked about the same age she was – turned to her and held out his hand. “I’m Julian Pan.”

“Camila Rivas.” She took his hand and flapped it vaguely before letting go. Julian held on for just a touch too long for her comfort. “Nice to meet you,” she added.

“You too,” Julian said. The sunlight glinted off his earrings. His breaths were shallow, like he couldn’t push his chest out too far. And there was something about his voice. It was a masculine voice, no doubt about that, but it seemed... conscious. Julian gave the impression that he was keeping his tone that way by an effort of will. Then Camila glanced up at his hair, and when she saw the pattern on his hair tie, it all came into place.

She hadn’t personally encountered anyone like Julian before, but she’d heard about them. She wondered if she should congratulate him on a successful hatching, and decided against it. He might not want it to be brought up. It’s one thing to proudly display who you are, and another thing to have somebody else try to talk to you about it. Anyway, they were almost at the front of the line now. Camila struck out for a less awkward subject of conversation.

“Where are you from?” she asked. Julian gestured expansively with his hands.

“Been in Sacramento all my life. Spent a winter down in Socal once, never left the city again.” He smiled nervously. “My family’s been here a long time. My great-great grandfather came to work for the government and ever since then we’ve been here. I guess you’re not from here?”

“Sonoma,” Camila replied promptly, “north of the Bay Area.” She waited as Julian took a moment to search his brain for the name, and huffed, amused, when he returned to reality.

“That’s, like, wine and stuff, right?”

“Right.” She wondered if the people here in Sacramento would ever know her home as anything other than where their wine came from. Probably not. During her time in the city, she’d come across more people who didn’t know it existed than that it did. “But I don’t think winemaking is for me, which is why I’m here.”

“Name?” Julian shut his mouth before he could reply and turned to find himself at the end of the line. Camila looked over his shoulder at the man with the board. He was holding a paper onto the square board with one hand and had a pen in the other, wearing a tired expression on his face. Julian introduced himself. “Pan, Pan... yes, here you are.” The man made a mark on the paper. “Desk number twenty-seven. If you brought anything with you, any notes or writing utensils or food, turn left as you enter and put it in one of the lockers. Try not to forget which one. Name?” This was directed at Camila as Julian hurried past.

“Camila Rivas. That’s an R,” she added helpfully.

“Desk number forty-six. If you have any notes or pens—”

“No need for that, I didn’t bring anything.” Camila made a show of shaking her robe. “Just head right to my desk?” The man nodded, as if to begrudgingly admit that she’d scored a point in his books.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’ll be on the left, second row up.”

“Thanks.” Camila strolled past to the sound of the man calling the next person in line, slipping quietly through the doors. She stopped as she came into the hall and took a brief look around.

The hall was big. Rows of desks lined the two long sides of the room, the second and third rows elevated so that everyone would be able to see into the center. Proctors in green and red were already stalking up and down the desks, silently observing each test-taker. Those who’d brought anything to their desk in contravention of their directions was quietly but firmly ordered to the lockers. Camila found her own desk with little difficulty and absentmindedly dusted off the seat.

As she planted herself in the uncomfortable chair, Camila looked up at the head examiner at the end of the hall. The view was good from this spot, only a few yards away. The woman was tall, and bare-chested in the Socal fashion. A column of painted butterflies rose from one corner of her robe and flew across her belly to curve under one breast before disappearing again under the flowing fabric. Camila tried to take in every detail of the woman’s face. When she passed the Examination, it would be useful to remember who had been helpful along the way. Any prospective bureaucrat knew that connections were the way to get ahead, and an examiner – that was the kind of person a girl could make much use of in the future. As prospects continued to file into the hall, Camila made sure to take a good look around. There were people from all over the Empire. Every shade of skin seemed to be represented, every subculture and style of dress was able to put in its appearance. Truly, there was no better expression of the Golden State’s diversity than this room, on this day.

As the last of the test-takers found their seats, the sound of a gong roused Camila from her observations. The head examiner was about to speak.

Chapter Text

Camila leaned back in her chair and focused her gaze back on the front of the hall. The head examiner was standing there with her hands behind her back, patiently waiting for the dull roar of whispered conversation to die down. When it did, she took a step forward, onto a small circle on the floor. Two proctors took up station on similar dots behind and to either side, about six feet away. Then she began to speak.

“Students of the Gurus!” Camila was astonished, even at this close range, at how clear the sound of the examiner’s voice was. The acoustics in the hall were really good. “Welcome to the Imperial Examination. Congratulations on passing all your exams up to this point and making it here today. Our Eternal Living Guru is served well by citizens such as you. The next three days will be the hardest challenge yet. I am going to announce to you the procedures and expectations of the Examination. If at any point you have any questions, please make a mental note and ask them of your proctor when you are guided to your testing room.”

There was a nervous shuffling around Camila. People were getting antsy. She wasn’t worried. She’d been able to, well, not breeze through the other tests, certainly, but she hadn’t had to try too hard, either. And as for procedure, the words of her bureaucrat friend were still fresh in her mind; if anything, she just needed to keep an ear out for any changes.

“The Most Enlightened Department of Education has set down rules and policies to ensure the test is a fair and equal opportunity for all to express their merit. Anyone who disturbs the testing halls, or tries to gain an unfair advantage, will be made to leave and their marks cancelled. They will also be banned forever from taking any examination or holding any government position ever again. Attempting to gain an unfair advantage includes: bringing in unauthorized writing materials; giving, receiving, or soliciting help of any kind; making marks after time is up; attempting to remove testing materials from the room...”

Camila tuned out as the head examiner continued lazily listing out all the ways a test-taker could cheat, only briefly consulting herself to make sure each one didn’t match anything she’d done. None of them did, not in any meaningful way. Finally the list came to a close and she came back to reality in time to hear the examiner say, “...at this time, if you still have any personal devices or items on your person, proceed to the lockers and store them at once.”

Not a single person stood from their desk.

“Very well,” the woman nodded. “Today, you will be answering questions on the Great Spiritual Accords. You will be escorted to your testing room and provided one robe, one pen, one answer sheet, and one copy of the first section of the Examination. You may not begin until you hear the sound of the gong. Please remain seated until the proctors come to escort you to your room.”

The examiner nodded to her two assistants, who pulled off to join the other proctors now disseminating themselves across the hall. There seemed to be no method to the order in which examinees were taken, but there probably was something behind it. The Government didn’t do things without a reason.

Camila looked around the room as, around her, the desks began to empty. On the other side of the hall, looking anxious, she saw Julian twiddling his thumbs. She gave him a little wave. The nervous nod he sent back made her feel better. Then the proctors in the green and red robes came to take him to his testing room, and Camila was left without a familiar face in the hall. She wondered how much longer it would be before they came to her.

As it turned out, not much longer at all. She stood up, stretching gratefully, as they came to her side. Without a word, she trotted after them down a side hallway, passing dozens of doors on either side that bore nothing but a number. Finally they came to one that, to her eyes, was exactly the same as all the others, except that no other door was labelled “231”. One proctor produced a key and unlocked the door, pulling it open and gesturing to Camila silently. She stepped inside and took in the tiny space.

To be fair, she thought, that mat looks nice and soft. Everything else in the room looked like it had been designed by some kind of automaton. The cot along one side was just big enough to admit a single person, with a pillow that looked more like a rock. A low table, tall enough for a kneeling human to comfortably write on, provided the only other furniture in the room, with the exception of a mat meant to keep the knees from scraping on the stone floor. Camila turned around. On the reverse of the door, an inscription read, “Eureka”. The sigil of the Eternal Living Guru flanked the singular word on either side. She faced the silent proctors.

One of them offered her a robe, much plainer than the one she was wearing. The deep blue contrasted strongly against the proctors’ own clothing. She took the offered garment and set it down on the table before removing her own. This was another thing her friend had warned her about. The proctors might avert their eyes for politeness’s sake, but if you closed the door on them while changing into the provided clothing they would have to report it as potential cheating. So she didn’t bother. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, anyway. It was all in the name of security, and all of the examinees would have to do it. She’d be stupid to object. Still, it hurt a little to hand over the robe her father had bought for her the day before she left for Sacramento. Her fingers brushed against the hem as she pulled away. Then she slipped into the plain garment on the table, chafing a little where a tab came off the inside of the back of the neckline.

Another lesson. Try not to be distracted, because the mark of a true scholar is to focus on what’s in front of you and do your job well. She vaguely remembered reading that it was a philosophy espoused by the Guru Pratchett. It didn’t stop the itching, though.

Camila received the other testing materials with an increasingly slumped posture. There were a lot of papers. The first page was blank, except for the sigils of the Department of Education. She resisted the urge to turn it over and peek at the questions beneath. That would be cheating. With a thump! she dropped the test on her table, then carefully set her pen and the answer sheet in a pleasing position. She looked up at the proctors for approval. One of them gave a wordless thumbs-up. Then, slowly, ponderously, the door closed. The small click as it was locked from the outside seemed, to Camila, like the sound a period would make, if punctuation made sounds.

There was silence that seemed to go on forever. Camila spent the hours, or possibly minutes, in contemplation on the wisdom of the Gurus. Education is the key to unlocking the world. Science is organized knowledge; wisdom is organized life. Knowledge is the treasure of a wise person. Patience is the companion of wisdom. With each saying, she made a mental note of which Guru was attributed as the originator. It might come up later.

When the starting gong came, it nearly knocked Camila off her knees. She hadn’t been expecting a sound that was more like a pressure wave, even through the walls of the testing rooms. Her hands clapped over her ears of their own volition as the noise died away, echoes rolling around the room. She finally rallied herself enough to pick up the pen and grab the first page of the test. Carefully, as if it might bite, she removed it and set it aside.

Question 1: What is your name?

She answered the question. The pen looped marvelously through the final ess, leaving a long tail of ink. Then, holding it over the inkpot to avoid dripping, she read the next question.

Question 2: What is the date?

This was the only other question on the page. Camila had to wonder if they really counted as questions for the sake of scoring. Surely the date would be solidly set? The Emperor’s bureaucrats wouldn’t need each individual tester to write it down. Nevertheless, she dutifully answered the question. The equivalent spaces on the answer sheet were quickly located and filled out. These were the only spots with space to actually write out the answer; all the other questions were represented only by a number and five small rectangles, each bearing a letter. She’d seen it before. Her attention turned back to the test.

Below the first two questions, there was a paragraph of instructions. She read the first few lines, then flipped the paper over, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing there she hadn’t read before. The test directions were the same throughout all the other exams, there was no need to read them again.

Ah. This was more like it. Questions were crammed onto the page like grapes in a crushing tub, each taking up only as much space as absolutely necessary. Camila raised her pen and looked to the first.

Question 3: In the Meditations on Moloch, what is the first exhortation of the Eternal Guru Elton?

Camila scanned through the answer choices until she found the one she needed, making her mark with a quick stroke of the pen. The appropriate answer choice on the answer sheet was marked as well. Then she moved on. Question after question passed by, each one given no more than a few moments’ attention. A few she was unsure of, and those she put off marking on the answer sheet until she could come back and review them. But for the most part, the answers came easily, smoothly. She’d spent years studying, after all. These questions were nothing to her.

Around Question 240 (What does the Guru Rumi teach about love?), she felt her eyelids grow heavy. Her focus was weakening. What should have been a moment’s work (Question 253: What phrase does the Guru Schwarzenegger use to illustrate the cycle of samsara?) took her the better part of ten seconds to remember. This was unacceptable.

Camila looked around the testing cell, mostly to distract herself. The candle had nearly burned halfway down. Each of those was supposed to last about four hours, right? She was pretty sure she’d read that at the beginning of the test. Two hours, then, she’d been at this.

She yawned, suddenly acutely aware of how tired she was. Her decision to wake before sunrise was taking its toll now. Pushing herself further would probably not be the optimal move. Blinking, Camila placed her pen carefully on the table and gingerly laid down on the cheap cot, wincing at the way her knees protested.

It wasn’t long before Camila was fast asleep. When the proctors came by to deliver the lunchtime meal, she didn’t so much as stir. After a brief check around the room to ensure no unauthorized materials were present, the proctors left her alone, carefully shutting the door behind them. Camila shifted a little at the noise but did not wake. In her dreams, she stood there as her family gathered around and congratulated her for her success in the Examination. They crowded into her tiny Sacramento apartment, the last night she would have to stay there before moving to a government room near the Imperial Palace, dining on ice cream – an expensive treat indeed, but well worth it to celebrate her passing score.

The dream changed. Camila’s sleeping face contorted itself into a frown as she found herself in the head examiner’s office, alone in front of the woman responsible for informing passing testers of their future posts. The head examiner was shaking her head.

“We expected great things of you, Miss Rivas. You seemed like just the type to go right to the top.” Camila stood there silently, her expression blank. The head examiner went on, “The good news is, we’ve found you a post that will help you make the most of your... talents. You’ll be working with the State Department”—Camila brightened up—“in the Jefferson Office.”

The scene changed again as Camila opened her mouth to protest. Suddenly she was sitting at a long table, surrounded by colleagues, being lectured by a senior bureaucrat about falling tax revenue and increasing hostility among the locals. She looked down at the paper in front of her. The words that caught her eye were: Staff Cutbacks.

She did not catapult awake. Her eyes opened suddenly, but the rest of her body remained still. She scanned the room. The little table, her pen, the stack of already answered questions, the stack of yet-to-be-answered questions, and on the wall, the candle, almost burned down completely. Carefully, she raised herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs uncomfortably on the cot. The unpleasant images of moments ago were already fading into obscurity. There was a vague feeling of unpleasantness... but she also felt refreshed. God, she thought, the vocabulary habits of a lifetime overriding her firm atheism and knowledge of the Gurus, I really needed that.

Camila ate the noon meal and threw herself back into the test enthusiastically. Mark after mark appeared on her answer sheet, inked with the confidence of a girl who knew the sayings of Guru Doctrow just as well as the back of her hand. The troublesome questions she’d had to pass by were, one by one, found and put to rest, each one a satisfying conclusion to a thread of thought that had been bothering her for hours. She had to replace the candle before she finished entirely, but it had barely had time to burn before she triumphantly inked the last answer space and set her pen down on the table with a satisfying clatter. She’d done it. The first section of the Imperial Examination had been conquered.

She wondered how long she still had until collection time. The thought occurred to her that she should probably go back and review her answers, but she dismissed the idea out of hand. Second-guessing yourself never ended well. But, on the other hand, she now had to sit quietly until the proctors came around to collect her work. It was a problem she’d faced many times before.

Ah, she thought, but we know how to deal with that, don’t we?

Soon the margins of her test papers were covered in eyes, swirling sigils, animals of all kinds, trees and blossoms and bushes and rainbows. Vines sprouted in corners and traced their way all around the page’s outside, carefully avoiding the space between questions, before flowering. The Californian Bear snarled fiercely beside Question 63 (Which of the following Gurus did NOT discuss the beauty of untamed wilderness?), expressing Camila’s mild annoyance that she’d nearly forgotten about an obscure line buried deep in the Great Spiritual Accords. Particularly satisfying or refreshing questions earned a shining star at their side.

Then the gong rang, and Camila hurriedly set down her pen. The test was rapidly reassembled in order, her answer sheet on top, before being scooped up and brought to the door. Her arms protested, but she knew it was important to be right there when the proctors came to collect. Nobody could say that she’d tried to exploit a few extra seconds past pens-down.

When the door opened, Camila had to restrain herself from shoving the stack onto the proctors’ cart. She waited patiently while they examined the room once again, shoulders screaming the whole time, before gratefully handing the test to one of them and accepting the evening meal from the other. The bowl was warm, full of what smelled like walnut and mushroom soup. Camila let herself drift back into memory as she set the bowl down on the table and began to sip at it. Not as good as Mother’s, of course, but perfectly acceptable. She smiled. After she passed, she’d have to go and take a trip back to Sonoma, see her family. It would be a while before she was expected to take up her assigned government post. There’d be time.

When she’d finished the soup, Camila set the bowl and spoon aside and began her evening meditations. Her thoughts turned to tomorrow. She’d been told that the second day would be a series of essays, each designed to test the examinee’s aptitude in one particular element that would help match them to the best department. She wondered how Julian was faring. Well enough, she hoped. He seemed like he’d be reasonably at home alone with words on paper.

The evening meditations came to a close. Camila blew out the candle, measured it against one of the unlit sticks still laying in reserve. Then, satisfied, she opened her robe enough so that it wouldn’t bother her and laid down on the cot, willing herself to sleep. Tomorrow, after all, would require all her concentration.

Chapter Text

Camila opened her eyes in a good approximation of pitch darkness. There was the smallest amount of light peeking out from under the door, but it merely served to give the room a few areas of uniquely black shadow – she slowly rose from the cot, took a few experimental steps, and swore as her foot collided with the table. A rather more careful exploration brought her to the candleholder. As the tinder-box flared and the candle was lit, Camila suppressed a yawn.

What time was it? No way to tell. The bowl from her evening meal yesterday was still there, so the proctors hadn’t come by with breakfast. She probably had some time.

The morning meditations went by mechanically, Camila’s muscles drawing on years of memory as her brain found other entertainment.

Had she gotten Question 132 wrong? No; it was a topic she’d always gotten tripped up on, but she was certain that the Guru Reagan had said that at some point. What was the other one…

Oh, yes, there was a question about the Guru Martinet that she’d been worried about. It made sense that nobody was born wise, right? You had to overcome your unenlightened nature by effort, right? That was the whole idea.

Camila dimly realized that her mouth had stopped running on autopilot. She took stock of the morning meditations. She was pretty sure she’d said everything.

When the proctors finally came with breakfast, they found Camila settled on her mat, eyes shut, with the pen twirling between her fingers. A glance around confirmed that no unauthorized materials were present, so they took the previous night’s bowl and left in its place a plate of – Camila poked at it with the provided utensil – noodles, of some kind. She had nothing against noodles, they just weren’t her usual fare. They were pretty good, though.

It wasn’t long before the proctors returned with their carts. Camila handed the plate to one and gratefully received the day’s section of the Examination from the other, giving him a smile and a kind word. The proctor was silent, but returned a nod before turning and leaving the room. The door shut with a click.

Camila looked at the first page of the test. Just like the first day, the top was largely blank, adorned with the Department of Education’s symbols and nothing else. The only change was that the date in the corner had changed, and where before there had been a large number one, now there was a two in its place. That made sense. Camila settled back onto the mat and waited for the starting gong.

Almost as soon as the echoes began to die away, she flipped the first page over and skimmed through the prompt. The Third Saying of Elton the Lawgiver. Okay, she thought. I know this one.

Throughout her years of study, Camila had been told time and again that before beginning any essay, she ought to devote some thought to the structure of her argument. This she did, and happily. She was being asked to select one of the seven chakras and, using the Eternal Guru Elton’s wisdom, discuss its importance to the Imperial government, and this she could easily do. The paragraphs were already neatly lining themselves up in her head.

The other thing she’d been told, often with an exasperated look on her teacher’s face, was that, having thus planned out the essay, she should write down her plan so she could reference it and solidify it later.

This, Camila considered, was a complete waste of time. She already knew how it was going to go. Why bother writing the skeleton of an essay when she could just go right in to the flesh?

The first paragraph was easy. On a whim she selected Ajna, the chakra of knowledge, and set down that this was the most important for those departments of state that dealt with foreign cultures and religions. Who to pick, who to pick… She’d learned a lot about trailwalkers, but she also knew that they weren’t particularly relevant to the government, and so probably weren’t worth spending ink on. There’d been an event at the Bay Area Spiritual Education Office, some kind of speaker for Gaians living in California, that she’d gone to. She could dredge up something from that. And of course, there were plenty of Christians throughout California. She could write something about them, too.

Spreading the truth helps align others with it. It was a part of the Third Saying that always attracted Camila’s attention. California was an incredibly diverse empire, she’d seen it every day back in Sonoma and even more as she’d risen through the ranks of the examinations, but one thing that united the whole empire was its adherence to the truth as revealed by the Gurus. Some communities, of course, struggled to understand fully; they got some parts right, but attached too much importance to this or that concept and let the rest fall by the wayside. It was one job of the Department of Spiritual Education to guide them back into wisdom, and in this way it embodied the Ajna chakra the most out of all the great bureaucracy of California.

Yeah, that would do as an argument. Now she just had to write it out. Easy, right?

She’d just finished the last sentence when the pens-down gong rang out. The crumpled drafts were rounded up and put in a pile separate from the completed essay, which Camila hurriedly blew on to dry the ink before the proctors returned. She really hadn’t been expecting to take so long, but the words just couldn’t come to her.

It had taken her twenty minutes, judging by the change in candle length, to figure out what, exactly, she could say about the Bureau for Gaian Affairs. This was not encouraging. But she couldn’t make any changes to it now, no matter how much the wording in the third paragraph was bothering her. When the proctors came with their cart, she practically dumped the essay into their hands before going back for the drafts. There were quite a few. She’d gotten pretty far on one before remembering that there was a group of Christians within the Empire that, in fact, met the Righteous Golden Emperor’s teachings with open hostility. It had severely changed the path of her argument.

She sat back on her cot after finishing the lunch they’d given her. It would be a little while before the second essay came around, and she was glad of the chance to unwind. That had been more trouble than she’d expected.

”Congratulations, Miss Rivas.” Her mind turned to the Bay Area Examination. She’d done very well indeed on that one. The head examiner had seemed very impressed. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Sonoma. A bit north of here.” The man had nodded. He handed her the paper.

“For someone from the interior, you have an excellent grasp of the unenlightened peoples. You don’t have any family in the DSE, do you?” Camila hadn’t. She just enjoyed learning about people, and it amazed her how many cultures there were beyond California’s borders that had such detailed and sophisticated belief systems that nonetheless managed to be almost completely wrong. “I think you’ve got a bright future, Miss Rivas. Try to remember me when you’re head of the department, yeah?”

She smiled in the silence of the testing cell. That had been a good day.

The second essay had significantly fewer provided pages than the first. She’d hummed in questioning when the proctors handed it to her, but as always they answered her with nothing but a smile. She examined every inch of the first page while waiting for the gong.

The gong rang. The page was turned. Camila read the directions, and then grumbled under her breath. She hated poetry.

Okay, maybe “hate” was too strong a word. She had a burning apathy towards poetry. She intensely, manifestly just couldn’t be bothered. A good painting always spoke more to her than lines of verse. And whenever she’d been asked to write a poem of her own, Camila suspected that any praise she’d gotten was out of pity. She could rhyme, but she never felt happy with the flow of the words. Iambic pentameter was, to Camila, merely a collection of syllables.

On the other hand, she’d never actually gotten a bad score on her poems. Maybe she could just wing it? This was about history, after all, and she’d always done well there. Yeah, this was going to be easy!

One day, Camila told herself as she finished at last, her pen trailing ink behind as it looped through the final letter, I’m going to stop saying that.

She was down to her last piece of paper. The rest were scattered around, covered in ink blots or scratched-out lines. She had even considered using the back of this page, but she really didn’t have the will left in her to try and start from the top again, so she had to concede and sign at the bottom with a flourish. Hopefully this is good enough.

The proctors took it without a word. Camila ate the evening meal they provided and tried to relax through her evening meditations before going to sleep. Tomorrow was the big one, the question that really weeded out the undeserving from the righteous. She’d need to be at the top of her game.

It was a shame, then, that she just couldn’t seem to get to sleep.

Chapter Text

She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. All the examinees had been gathered back up in the great hall, each row of desks oppressively uniform, with their occupants similarly monotonous in their government-issue robes. There was a good reason for their all being there, and not in their individual testing rooms, she was sure. She couldn’t quite remember what it was. The thought slid away almost as soon as it arrived.

Julian was sitting in his desk on the opposite side of the room, and she waved at him. He didn’t wave back.

At the sound of the gong, Camila turned to focus back on the front of the hall. The head examiner was there, and she was speaking, but somehow Camila couldn’t catch the words. Odd. The acoustics had been much better on the first day. Something else was off, but she wasn’t sure what. She shivered. Was the air in the hall always this cold?

The head examiner droned on and on, her words meaninglessly passing in one ear and out the other. Camila’s eyes were getting heavy, her mind already foggy with exhaustion, and she started to cross her arms to lay her head down…

“Miss Rivas!” She jolted up. The head examiner, and every other face in the room, was staring right at her. The weight of a hundred gazes bore down on her as she nervously stood. “Miss Rivas, where is your robe?”

She blinked. She blinked again, slower. Then, dread growing, she forced herself to look down. Then she yelped and tried to cower into her chair, arms futilely trying to do the job of a full robe. It seemed that no matter where she put them, they never covered enough, they left too much exposed, and she finally settled on curling up into a sitting ball with knees tucked to her chest and desperately hoping this wasn’t really happening.

“Miss Rivas, I asked you a question,” said the woman. “A good bureaucrat is unshakable, under any circumstances.” Camila tried to rally. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, just the futile gasps of a woman too terrified to think straight. There were proctors heading her way...

She opened her eyes. The uncomfortable material of the testing chamber’s cot lay reassuringly below her. A hand jerked up to her shoulder and confirmed that, yes, she still had her robe. That was a relief. God, she thought, and now I have to take the exam like this?

Heart still pounding, Camila laboriously rose from the cot, then crossed the room to light a candle. The proctors hadn’t come by with breakfast. That meant...what? Camila knelt on her mat and tried to rally the scattered mess that was her mind into a coherent whole. The meditations. That would help her to concentrate, surely. She managed the first few lines, then stammered into silence.

She stared unseeingly at the table for a while. A second attempt met with the same fate. She had performed her morning meditations perfectly, without a word out of place, for years. It wasn’t something she had to do, really, but it had always been part of the routine and it was a kind of reminder that she was wholly under her own control. She’d done the meditations when she was sick, when she’d been up all night and wanted nothing more than to collapse into a bed and sleep for a week, when Tia had died and she’d barely been able to speak from the grief and the tears… but she’d done it. If she physically couldn’t say it, she’d at least been able to think it. And now she couldn’t.

Today would be the most important day of her life, the day that finally decided once and for all if she’d get the job of her dreams in the Empire’s vast government or become just another damn dropout, and she couldn’t even focus enough to do her meditations.

She did, however, manage to focus for long enough to swear.

By the time breakfast came, Camila had managed to get a grip. Today was going to be a great day! She wasn’t an abysmal failure, she was the best and brightest California had to offer, and today she’d prove it! She glanced down. Yes, she was wearing her robe correctly.

The food helped. Today it was a simple sandwich, some meat and assorted things between two slices of bread. Was there some deeper spiritual significance to the sandwich? Like… how all the many peoples of California were brought together, like the fillings of a sandwich, by the Gurus, represented by the bread…?

Blinking, she wiped her hands. A sharp headache was beginning to make itself known, only getting worse as she finally made her way through the morning meditations. What would today’s exam be like? Just trying to remember made her temples throb.

“The third day’s the most important,” the bureaucrat had said, speech slurred by drink. “That’s when they’ll be look… looking the har-- the ha-- the most for mistakes. Now, what they’ll do, what they’ll do is, you gotta do a.. a thing. Different every year. Can’t tell you what mine was, but it’s important. Some big question.”

Camila had gotten annoyed at that. She hadn’t expected the exact text of the question or anything, but a bit of guidance beyond “some big question” would have been nice. Her friend had gone on to ramble a bit about how he’d aced it back when he took the exam, and he was sure she’d slay it, and then he’d briefly fallen asleep on the bar counter.

It wasn’t the proctor that came by to bring the forms this time; it was the head examiner herself. Camila hastily stood and bowed her head, then took the offered forms.

“My name is Brittany Salinas,” the examiner said, smiling. They were the first words Camila had heard from another person since testing began, and it took her a moment to realize they were directed to her. “I would like to congratulate you on making it to this stage. Not a lot of people do.”

She seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Camila said, “Thank you. I’m very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Salinas raised an eyebrow.

“Lucky to have had such good teachers, and lucky to have the guidance of the Gurus,” Camila elaborated, “and lucky to have the chance at all. I know there are places that rule by less enlightened principles.”

“Indeed,” laughed the examiner. She wished Camila a good day before turning and, red robe swishing, shut the door.

Well, that went well, thought Camila. She turned her attention to the papers, which she had placed on the desk. Like the others, the first page was mostly blank, with the exception of a large number three. She inked up her pen and waited for the starting gong.

The ending gong, when it came, was a relief. Camila’s headache had gotten worse throughout the day, and it didn’t help that she’d sped through the essay in barely a candle’s length. She looked back over her work, feeling some satisfaction at what she’d put down: per the prompt, she’d concocted a comprehensive plan for integrating the eastern Trailwalkers into the Golden Empire, beginning with the exportation of Christian subjects to live nearby and trade, banking on the similarity between the Christian God and the Trailwalker Almighty to result in religious syncretism. When the more violent tendencies of the tribesmen had been tamed, the Department of Spiritual Education could send out teachers to reveal the truth of the Gurus, including taking existing folktales and songs and showing that in fact they were the work of known historical figures, whose complete wisdom could be found in the Harmonious Way. Really, it seemed the obvious route; she wondered why no such efforts had been made already.

Instead of taking the essays themselves, the proctors came by to bring Camila back her robe and escort her to the main hall, along with all the other examinees (after confiscating their writing utensils, to ensure no last-minute alterations were made). She gratefully took the chance to sit in an actual chair, squaring up her papers before handing them in at the desk that now stood at the head of the hall. Once all the papers had been collected, the head examiner stood before the desk and addressed the test-takers.

“Good afternoon, students of the Gurus. As of this moment, you have all completed the written portion of the Imperial Examination.” A brief cheer in the back forced her to pause, but once the proctors had dealt with the interruption she continued, “You will all return to this building in one week, on June thirteenth, to conduct the oral interview. As of this moment, you are now dismissed!”

As the line to exit began to form, Camila searched the crowd for Julian, finally catching sight of his distinctive no-idea-how-to-handle hair and pushing her way through to his side. He noticed her and smiled timidly. “Hey, Camila. How’s it going?”

“Oh, just fine,” she grinned. The headache finally seemed to be retreating. “Feeling pretty good about how I did. How about you?” The boy shrugged stiffly.

“Dunno. We’ll see,” he said. He winced as they emerged into the sunlight outside the testing hall, and Camila noticed for the first time just how pale he really was. “Are you going home? Your apartment, I mean, not home-home.” An amused grin spread across his face. “I don’t think it would be smart to head all the way back to Sonoma and have to come back in a week.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Camila chuckled. “I was actually going to go drinking. Want to come with?”

Julian said that he would, and so she showed him to one of her favorite coffeehouses in this part of the city, a small place run by a kind couple who happened to know Camila’s cousin Antonio. She’d made a point of patronizing them often while she was in Sacramento; it was worth maintaining that kind of connection, especially now that she was going to be a bureaucrat and would have to rely on a government worker’s salary rather than her father’s money. Anything that would get her drinks and food cheaper was worth protecting.

And she was going to be a bureaucrat. The notion that had frozen her with delight just days ago now seemed as inevitable and casual as the sun rising in the morning. She had done it, gone where nobody in her family had gone before and earned herself an Imperial posting. Julian, however, was a less certain.

“They could still reject you,” he pointed out. Camila scoffed.

“Right. And the stars could be nothing but burning balls of gas in the sky.” She didn’t understand how he could harbor any doubt. It was perfectly clear in her mind, and her certainty only continued to grow as she continued sipping her wine – stronger than she normally got, but she felt she had earned it. “Come on, man, have some optimism. What do you wanna bet you and I get jobs in the same building?” That got a laugh.

Eventually the two of them were joined by other celebrating students, and by the time Camila got back to her apartment, the headache was back but she fell asleep with a huge grin on her face. In her dreams, she received certificates and awards from the Emperor himself, to the applause of the entire realm.

She spent the rest of the week in a good mood, happily spending the rest of her father’s provided funds on treats and gifts for her family back home. There were congratulatory letters, reminders to stay sharp, and even a bottle of wine sent for her straight from the vineyard, with a note telling her to open it when she became head of her department. On the day of the oral interview, she met Julian at the testing hall so puffed up she was practically floating on air.

“Aren’t you nervous?” A week of association with Camila had already improved his hair care, and she’d been able to suggest some accessories to go with his hair tie. Still, making a fashion icon of him was probably a lost cause.

“Not at all! Why should I be,” she laughed, “when I’ve already aced the hard part?”

“I don’t know,” Julian said. He fidgeted with his fingers. “I wish I had your confidence. If I could—”

“Julian Pan!” He was interrupted by the proctor standing at the door, calling his name to come in for his interview. As he trotted away, Camila gave him a double thumbs-up, the universal sign for “good luck!” She was sure he’d knock it out of the park; honestly, the boy needed to have some faith. Sure enough, when he came back out, her friend was practically beaming.

“Finance and Tax! I’m going to be an accountant,” he said. “Only for an office to start, of course, but apparently the promotion prospects are good.”

“You’ll be doing math all your life, man,” she laughed. Julian returned her grin and crossed his arms.

“Well, yeah! That’s what I was hoping for,” he replied. “It’s always been what I was best at. That trailwalker question had me stumped,” he added.

Camila shushed him. You weren’t ever supposed to talk about what was on the test, not even years after the fact, because someone could use it to prepare unfairly for their own examination, and especially here, in the courtyard of the testing hall, she didn’t want to run the risk of losing her chance. But it was difficult to care too much. When her name was called, Camila gave Julian a jaunty wave and trotted over to the proctor, following him through the sterile walkways to a clean but lively office. Inside, just looking up from her papers, was Brittany Salinas, who gestured to the chair in front of her. Camila took the seat gratefully.

“Ms. Salinas,” she said, bowing her head, “I hope you’re doing well.”

“I am, thank you,” the woman replied. “Are you ready to begin?”

Camila was. What followed was a back-and-forth that surprised her with its casual nature – she spoke about herself, her life, and her family back home. The examiner was intrigued to hear that her father was a landowner in wine country, and Camila explained that although her family did have a vineyard, and were of respectable means, she had always wanted (and been urged) to take a job with the government. No, to her knowledge nobody in her family had ever been a criminal. Neither of her parents had ever taken the Imperial Examination, although a maternal aunt had and two uncles were bureaucrats in their local prefectures. She did have a letter of recommendation from the prefect of her area, yes, here it is. Yes, she was able and willing to live and work away from her family; she’d never expected to have a post nearby to them. The interviewer smiled and thanked Camila for her time.

“Well,” she said, “I think we can consider this interview over. Miss Rivas, I think we’ve got the perfect job for you right here.” She handed Camila a piece of paper, a job description, with location, pay, all the details one could need. Camila just stared at the title.

“This...you want...I’m going to be a quartermaster?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Salinas. “An assistant deputy to begin with, of course, but I’m sure someone as bright as you will be able to rise through the ranks in no time. Your test showed that this was the best place for you.”

“That can’t be right,” Camila stammered, “no way. I thought I’d be getting something with the DSE, Spiritual Education. I mean, my essays—”

“Were quite good, but lacked some of the finesse they like to see in their people.”

“...oh.” She slumped in her chair. She had gotten a government post, one so important that they made people take years of examinations to get it… but military? What would her father say? More than that, what would her carefree life look like, downtrodden by military discipline and thankless work?

“Miss Rivas, are you declining the offer?”

“NO! I mean, no,” Camila said, grasping the paper tightly. “I’m, uh, honored. Thank you. I accept, yeah. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

“Very good,” Salinas smiled, then stood and extended a hand. “Welcome to the Government, Miss Rivas.”