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hair escaping from the hood pulled over her head. When she speaks, her voice is hushed. This is not the first mysterious stranger who’s come drifting through the Ikhad to talk to Tsipporah without ever touching a book. I’ve tried asking Tsipporah about her odd friends, but she always deflects my questions.
    She notices me watching now and gestures for me to approach. “Have you heard of anyone falling mysteriously ill?” she asks me. The other woman stands perfectly motionless, her hood still up.
    â€œNo,” I say, perplexed.
    â€œIt seems there’ve been rumors,” she says, tilting her head toward the cloaked newcomer. “Strange talk of sickness.”
    The way she says it, combined with her friend’s mute presence, makes the back of my neck prickle. “Winter’s coming. There’s always illness.”
    â€œThis is different,” Tsipporah says, strands of white hair fluttering against her temples. “A new illness. The eyes of the stricken darken.”
    â€œThey darken?” I say blankly.
    Tsipporah’s gaze flicks toward the silent, silver-haired woman. “It may be nothing.” She hesitates. “You’ve done good work this morning, Marah. Isn’t that big exam of yours tomorrow?”
    I nod, my insides twisting at the reminder.
    â€œYou ought to rest up, then,” she says. “I think you should go home early.”
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    I N THE MORNING , Mother leaves for the District Hall before Caleb and I have finished breakfast. She wishes me luck on her way out the door. I gulp down my oatmeal, anxious to get to school early for the SSE. First, I need to take Caleb to Leah’s apartment. Horiel Primary refuses to accommodate a deaf boy, so he spends school days with Leah’s mother and the youngest Avram children.
    While I’m clearing the dishes, someone knocks at the door. I cross the kitchen to answer it, wondering who it could be.
    The caller is a youngish man, tall and clean-shaven. His black coat, with its silk-covered buttons, betrays him at once.
    â€œWho are you?” he says, frowning.
    â€œI’m Marah Levi,” I say, alarmed.
    â€œI’m from the District Hall,” he says, holding up an identity card. He steps forward, and I move aside, powerless to stop him from crossing our threshold.
    â€œDoes Caleb Levi reside here?” he asks.
    â€œYes, sir. My brother.” I glance toward the table where he’s still sitting.
    The visitor looks him over. “I’ve come to summon Caleb Levi to the District Hall. He’s missed the deadline for completing his magic examination by several months.”
    My heartbeat quickens. I thought Mother had taken him. All Ashari children must be examined for magic before turning ten. The test is usually a formality, since the children of kasiri almost always have magic and the children of halani almost always don’t. Nowadays, intermarriage between kasiri and halani is prohibited, which simplifies things. Still, there are exceptional cases in which children’s magical abilities don’t match their parents’, so the examination is required for everyone.
    On the rare occasions when a halan-born child is discovered to have magic or a kasir-born child is found not to, the law dictates that they be removed from their home and placed in an adoptive family of the appropriate magical status. There was a boy in my year at Horiel Primary who turned out to be a magician. He disappeared from school, and apart from a terse announcement of his departure, our teachers refused to talk about him. Gradually, we too began to act as if he’d never existed.
    Caleb has never shown the least sign of having magic. The ability emerges around the age of eight or nine, so we would know by now if he had it. But the government doesn’t know. It has to be official.
    They want to test you for magic at the District Hall
, I sign to Caleb.
    His eyes