Copyright © 2013 by Heather Terrell
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Soho Teen
an imprint of
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Terrell, Heather.
Relic / by Heather Terrell.
p cm—(The books of Eva; [1])
eISBN: 978-1-61695-197-9
[1. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.T274Re 2013
[Fic]—dc23 2013008769
Interior illustrations © Ricardo Cortés
Interior design by Janine Agro, Soho Press, Inc.
v3.1
To Jim, Jack, and Ben
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
History of the New North
Prologue
I: Martius 31 Year 242, A.H.
II: Martius 31 Year 242, A.H.
III: Martius 31 Year 242, A.H.
IV: Martius 31 Year 242, A.H.
V: Martius 31 Year 242, A.H.
VI: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
VII: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
VIII: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
IX: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
X: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
XI: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
XII: Aprilus 2 Year 242, A.H.
XIII: Aprilus 2 Year 242, A.H.
XIV: Aprilus 2 Year 242, A.H.
XV: Aprilus 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 Year 242, A.H.
XVI: Aprilus 7 Year 242, A.H.
XVII: Aprilus 7 Year 242, A.H.
XVIII: Aprilus 8 Year 242, A.H.
XIX: Aprilus 8 Year 242, A.H.
XX: Aprilus 8 Year 242, A.H.
XXI: Aprilus 9 and 10 Year 242, A.H.
XXII: Aprilus 10 Year 242, A.H.
XXIII: Aprilus 10 Year 242, A.H.
XXIV: Aprilus 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16 Year 242, A.H.
XXV: Aprilus 16 Year 242, A.H.
XXVI: Aprilus 16 Year 242, A.H.
XXVII: Aprilus 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, and 23 Year 242, A.H.
XXVIII: Aprilus 23 Year 242, A.H.
XXIX: Aprilus 24 Year 242, A.H.
XXX: Aprilus 25 Year 242, A.H.
XXXI: Aprilus 24 Year 242, A.H.
XXXII: Aprilus 24 Year 242, A.H.
XXXIII: Aprilus 26 and 27 Year 242, A.H.
XXXIV: Aprilus 28 Year 242, A.H.
XXXV: Aprilus 28 Year 242, A.H.
XXXVI: Aprilus 28 Year 242, A.H.
XXXVII: Aprilus 28 Year 242, A.H.
XXXVIII: Aprilus 28 and 29 Year 242, A.H.
XXXIX: Aprilus 29 Year 242, A.H.
XL: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
XLI: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
XLII: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
XLIII: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
XLIV: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
XXXXV: Maius 20 Year 242, A.H.
The Praebulum
About the Author
About the Illustrator
HISTORY OF THE NEW NORTH
YEAR ZERO: THE HEALING. The Gods swept hurricanes across the world and warmed the polar ice caps—washing the Healing over mankind …
—The Praebulum
BUT BEFORE THE SEAS covered nearly all of His lands, Father Earth listened to Mother Sun’s pleas for mercy … He spared one last group of people—those of the Aerie.
—The Lex
1-4 A.H. (AFTER HEALING). The Founders begin to build the sacred enclave of the Aerie within the Ring, the great wall of New North. Gallants repel attacks and banish those not chosen by the Gods to the barren ice-world beyond the Ring: the Boundary lands.
5-7 A.H. WITH GUIDANCE from the Gods, the Founders begin to write sacred texts, The Praebulum and The Lex, setting forth the rules by which the people of New North must live.
8 A.H. THE AERIE Gate is finished. On the last day of construction, Founder Edmund discovers the first Relic: an altar to the false god Apple. With guidance from the Gods, Edmund names himself First Archon and establishes the Testing and the Chronicles. Founder Mikhail, as witness, becomes First Lexor. Founder Sven, as Leading Gallant, becomes First Basilikon. The Triad is now complete. The Founders finish The Praebulum and The Lex, thanks to the Gods.
27 A.H. THE BOUNDARY lands launch a final raid against the Aerie. The New North’s Gallants soundly defeat them. As a reminder of New North’s righteous supremacy, the Gods mandate taking the Boundary lands’ people as servants for the Aerie.
68 A.H. CONSTRUCTION OF the Basilikon is completed. The first Feast Days are established.
98 A.H. THE TRIAD, with guidance from the Gods, permits Madeline to become the first Maiden to Test and Chronicle.
202 A.H. CONSTRUCTION OF the final Aerie tower is completed. The Golden Age begins.
218 A.H. THE TRIAD selects Jon, a direct descendant of Edmund, to the ranks of Archons upon his exemplary Testing and Chronicle.
233 A.H. THE TRIAD determines that Archon Jon shall be selected as Chief Archon for a Lex-sanctified ten years.
241 A.H. EAMON, SON of Chief Archon Jon, and twin of Maiden Eva, makes the Commitment to Test.
241 A.H. EAMON DIES while climbing the Ring, training for the Testing, in prohibition of The Lex.
241 A.H. EVA, DAUGHTER of Chief Archon Jon, Commits to Test in her twin brother Eamon’s stead.
Eamon throws his axe into the ice above his head. He hits a perfect depression in the wall. Pulling up hard, he kicks the bear-claw toes of his climbing boots into the wall. He repeats the practiced motion, over and over. Like some kind of arctic cat, he scales the frozen Ring.
Each time he moves, he makes sure to insert an ice screw level with his waist and secure his rope to it. Just a precaution should he fall. Not that he ever has.
Bit by painstaking bit, the top of the Ring nears. Although he knows he shouldn’t, that it goes against the primary rule of ice climbing, Eamon can’t resist: he looks down at the hundreds of feet of sheer ice below.
Even in the dim moonlight, the vista makes him dizzy. The Ring, a near-perfect, mountainous circle of ice, stands at the center of this last remaining land above the seas, his home: New North. It makes the risk of climbing—punishable by exile into the Boundary lands—worthwhile. That, and the edge it will give him for the Testing.
He looks back up. Despite the cramps in his hands and calves, he smiles a little. Only a few feet left to the summit. Just one more swing of his axe, and he’ll be standing on the peak.
He drives his axe hard into a hollow. But he is too hasty. For the first time ever, he misreads the ice. The axe doesn’t hold. It slips out of the giant, slick wall.
Sliding backward, he plummets twelve feet. He bounces off sharp outcroppings that lacerate his skin. His descent is stopped only by a screw, his rope, and his harness. Dangling upside down in the frigid midnight air, hundreds of feet from the ground, he starts to pull himself up.
As he manages to right himself, he sees that his rope is frayed.
How, Eamon can’t imagine. He had made the rope himself with sealskin. He was certain of its strength. But the reason doesn’t matter. All that matters is how he’ll climb the remaining twenty feet with an injured body and a worthless rope.
He begins to unhook himself from his harness, and the slight pressure makes the rope unravel farther. Just before it snaps and yanks him down with it, he swings his axe into the ice. Shaking and bleeding, he clings to the face of the ice wall with only his axe and his bear-claw boots. He has no choice but to climb back up, this time creeping inch by inch.
Stupid. He should never h
ave risked the Ring, no matter the possible advantage. He needs to win the Archon spot, to make sure he can act on what he’s learned, but he didn’t need to try the Ring. Pride and thirst for glory brought him to this place. He’d assumed the Testing would be the easy part, given his training and sure footing. The difficult part was to make sure that his Testing Chronicle secured him not only the Archon Laurels, but also the Chief Archon spot when his father’s term ends. But he forgot the rule drilled into him from infancy: don’t presume to know the ice and snow. Now he stands to die. That price is not worth what it will do to Eva; he won’t be around any longer to protect her. The only consolation is that, even if he lives, sharing the truth with New North might get him killed anyway.
He sees the summit. As he plans how he’ll hoist his damaged body over the lip, a silhouette of a figure appears against the backdrop of the moon. Instinct tells him to scale back down. The Ring-Guards and certain exile await him at the top. But he knows his only chance of survival is surrender.
“Over here,” he calls out.
The figure moves toward him, leans toward the edge, and stretches out a hand.
Eamon leaves his axe in the ice so he can reach. “Thank the Gods, you’re here.”
A hand clasps Eamon’s, and the figure’s face becomes clear.
“What are you doing out here?” Eamon asks, too confused to be frightened.
“I’m so sorry, Eamon. You were never meant to make it this far.”
The figure lets go. And Eamon falls from the Ring into the darkness.
I stand on the turret, watching the night fall. The Ring looms large in the darkening horizon, and I can’t avoid looking at it any longer. Not if I want to say a proper goodbye to my dead brother before I set off for the Testing. I gaze at its steep, jagged ice-cliffs, but it’s not enough. I need to get a closer look—as eye-level as possible—and stare straight at the place that killed my brother.
Eamon, my twin. I can barely even think his name. I’m not ready yet, but I have no choice.
Lifting up my heavy fur cloak and my long Feast-day skirts, I step up onto the ledge of the turret. I’ve been up here hundreds of times before with Eamon—the turret was our special place—but it takes me a tick to get my footing. My delicate ceremonial shoes don’t have the same grip as my kamiks.
I steady myself, and try to relax. My breath forms an icy cloud in the encroaching polar darkness, and I start to shiver. Not just from the cold. Fear of getting caught out here has got me shaking. The punishment for disobeying The Lex by being here after the None Bell—especially tonight, on the Feast of the Testing—is severe.
But here I stand. I must.
The Moon is generous with Her light, and I can see clearly. The glistening Aerie spreads out before me, like a diamond encircled by the mountainous icy Ring. The Aerie fortress of ice and stone is the place where all the Founding Families live and work and learn and worship. It is home.
I stare out at the frozen land. Just over the turret’s edge, I see the ice walls of the School with its fancifully carved ice windows gleaming in the low moonlight. I spot the imposing ice-spires of the Basilika, the place for worship and instruction on The Lex. Only a glimpse of the Ark in the far distance coaxes a brief, sad smile. The only metal and glass structure in New North, the Ark is our most precious place, where most of the island’s food is grown. Within its warm, humid walls, I had hoped to find my calling.
No more. The innocent Maiden who longed for a peaceful life in the Ark is gone. She died on the Ring with Eamon, and she became someone else. Sometimes I don’t recognize the determined girl who replaced her, the one who insists on pursuing her dead brother’s dreams of Testing. And neither do my poor parents. It’s a cruel trick to play on my father, who is meant to be celebrating his final year as Chief Archon. He’s not meant to be mourning his son and lamenting his daughter’s choices.
I take a deep breath and force myself to take another glimpse at the Ring. I can make out the place from which Eamon fell. It looks oddly beautiful in the pale blue moonlight, not murderous. I stretch out my hands toward it. Then I close my eyes for a brief tick, hoping to imprint the image on my mind forever. As if I could take Eamon with me in the Testing tomorrow.
“Eva! Get down from there!”
Lukas. I don’t need to turn to recognize the voice. Before Eamon’s death, we three were close friends, despite the fact that Lukas served as Eamon’s Boundary Companion. Since Eamon’s death, I’ve spent most of the past few months training for the Testing with Lukas. But it isn’t Lukas’s words that scare me; it’s his tone. I hear fear, and he is always calm.
“Eva, get down now! That snow is quiasuqaq. One more step and you’ll fall.”
I cannot move. Lukas knows snow better than anyone. If it is truly quiasuqaq, then even the smallest false move will send me sliding off the ledge and flying hundreds of feet down. Just like Eamon.
“Stay still,” he orders.
I hear his footsteps running across the turret. His hand clamps down on my arm and pulls me down toward him. We fall backward on top of each other, both of us breathing heavily. I struggle out of his bear-like grip and turn around.
I look into his dark, almond-shaped eyes. “I just wanted—”
“I know what you wanted, Eva. To be close to Eamon.”
He alone understands what Eamon’s death has done to me. And I think I know what Eamon’s death has done to Lukas. Even though we never speak of it. Even though I pretend for everyone else.
“Yes,” I answer.
“You know, Eva, you don’t have to scale turret walls or Test to be close to him. Eamon will always be with you. His spirit is anirniq. Or animus, as you Aerie say.”
His words cut through me. I swallow, my eyes stinging. I won’t sob. I’ve spent the past few months trying so hard to be strong, trying to push down the desperate sadness I feel at Eamon’s death, trying to prove I can fulfill his Testing dream for him. Lukas’s words nearly bring me to the brink. I can’t have that. So I stand up, brush the snow off my gown, and grasp onto the least sad thing I can think of.
“Let me guess, my mother sent you up here to fetch me for the Feast. I can almost hear her.” I raise my voice in a loud whisper, an affectation my mother assumes to sound like the ideal Lex Lady. “ ‘How dare Eva break The Lex tonight? After all she’s done to embarrass this family! And in her father’s last Feast of the Testing as Chief Archon!’ ”
Lukas chuckles a little, indulging me. “No, she didn’t order me up here. I volunteered for the job.”
“No one else was up for the task of the turret at night?”
“Fair enough.” His laughter fades, but his smile holds. “We should go down. They’re all waiting for you to begin the Feast of the Testing. Maiden of the bell.”
I smile back at him. It feels good to have him teasing me again. Since Eamon’s death, he’s been so formal, as if he could avoid the truth by respecting the frozen barriers that are supposed to exist between us.
He offers me his arm. I gather the long folds of my cloak and gown and take a firm hold of his elbow. I look up at him. Despite his dark hair and eyes; flat, high-cheekboned face; and vast height and breadth—none of which fit the Aerie model for handsomeness—he’s somehow attractive. Not that I’d ever think of him that way.
He places his other hand over mine. Together, down the precipitous, winding stairs, we descend.
The moment we enter the solar great room, Lukas drops my arm. He disappears into the busy hive of dark-haired, dark-eyed Boundary Attendants lining the wall or scurrying in and out of the kitchen. I must face the room by myself.
The hearth-fire is almost too much for me to bear after the icy night air. My family and friends stand before it, warming their hands close to its orange-red flames. In the flickering light of the dozens of lamps and candles, I can see they are all wearing their Feast finery—dark gowns and tunics, heavily embroidered as The Lex requires, somber against the vibrant flames.
For a brief, blissful tick, no one realizes that I’ve returned. I feel an urge to flee back out into the pure, white cold. Back to my solitude. Back to Eamon. But then my mother looks up from the blaze. I freeze in my tracks, feeling icier than I’d felt up on the turret. I know that expression. She may appear the perfect Lady with her gentle smile and elegantly outstretched hand, but I know anger seethes beneath—anger that will manifest in ever more restrictions for me.
Somehow, I must repress the girl from the turret. For the benefit of my parents and our guests, I must become, once again, the Lex-abiding Maiden I used to be. I think on the admonitions for Maidens: be ever pleasing to the eye and ear. I paint a smile on my face and demurely lower my gaze.
“Eva, my darling. An Attendant has been out searching for you. Our friends are here with blessings for tomorrow. But there was no Eva to bless!” My mother adds a laugh as she picks at the embroidered sleeve of her gown. I know that I should’ve been here, waiting for Jasper and his family to arrive, as well as respecting my own relatives. What excuse would a Maiden offer? I stammer a bit, trying to think of the perfect answer. One befitting my station. One acceptable to my mother.
Jasper comes to my rescue. Ever the Gallant. Faultless in his brown tunic, trousers, and fur mantle, he rushes to my side with an easy laugh. With his fair Nordic looks, it’s hard for me to imagine that one day our parents’ shared dream of a Union might actually come true. He seems too perfect. Although, of course, the decision about a Union belongs to our parents and the Triad.
“Were you hiding on the turret, Eva? You naughty Maiden! I can’t believe you forced poor Lukas out onto those slick stairs on a frigid night.”
Jasper says it in jest, not realizing the truth of his words. The tension breaks, and our guests break into smiles and chuckles. Jasper always knows the right thing to say, especially in front of my mother. I’m thankful for it, but worried Lukas has heard Jasper talking about him that way. I scan the row of Attendants for sign of him, but then I catch my mother standing with her mouth agape. She realizes that I was actually on the turret, even though The Lex mandates that Maidens must be indoors after the None Bell for their protection. I brace myself for her reaction.
Relic (The, Books of Eva I) Page 1
