Relic (The, Books of Eva I)

by Heather Terrell

  In those few ticks that I allowed myself to daydream and actually enjoy the sensations, the snow turns. No longer masak, it is the slicker, harder quiasuqaq. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that the other Testors’ sleds don’t have the advantage of oiled runners. They gain on me.

  I crack my whip in the air. My huskies respond immediately, but the other Testors are pushing their dog teams hard, too. Within a few ticks, I am flanked by three sleds.

  Benedict and Thurstan charge ahead to my left—no surprise given their physical strength and years of training—but the scholarly Niels appears to my right. I resist the temptation to look at them. Instead, I squint through the slit in my goggles and survey the landscape. I need some kind of advantage.

  The Gods smile down on me, the Sun in particular. In the land ahead, I see a change in the reflection of Her rays, something that I know Benedict, Thurstan, and Niels will miss because they wouldn’t deign to have a Boundary Companion like Lukas. This change in Her light means that after a slight rift in the ice flats, the snow will become masak again.

  I hook the reins and my whip over the handle bar, and scramble for my side bag. Pulling out an oiled cloth, I drop to my knees—a dangerous move even when the sled isn’t racing at top speed. The sled jolts as we pass over an ice block, and I try to keep my balance as I rub the cloth over the sides of my runners. I hang on, but my thighs burn with the effort. Still, it’s a feat I could never have attempted several months ago, before Lukas’s training.

  Before I get up, I take a quick look over at Benedict and Thurstan. I know I shouldn’t—it signals fear of the competition, Lukas says—but I can’t resist. Even though I can see only their eyebrows and a hint of their mouths, they seem shocked by my maneuver. And perplexed as to why I’d take such a risk.

  Quickly, before we reach the rift, I stand back up and grab the reins. I need to make sure that the sled doesn’t tip when the snow shifts; the oil will help only once we’ve passed into the masak. I pull back on the reins, not exactly engaging the claw brakes but directing the dogs to take heed.

  My pack slows ever so slightly as we cross over the rift.

  Then we re-enter the masak. I crack my whip again, even though there is really no need; the dogs are smarter than I am about the snow. They tear across the ice flats even faster than when we first started out. I’m guessing that none of the other Testors have caught up with me, because after a time, I hear only the sound of the sled’s runners and the panting of my dogs.

  After a few more ticks of quietude, my heart stops pounding. I’m pretty sure that I’m alone out here. But I need to be certain. I can’t turn around, as the motion might signal the dogs to slow or change course. Reaching into my side bag, I pull out my most prized and forbidden possession.

  There is a slight thumping in my chest as I grasp the handle of my father’s Relic, the treasure that won him the spot as Chief Archon. It is a hand mirror. My father wrote a Chronicle about the mirror’s vice that perfectly encapsulated both the sins of the past and the purity of New North. And also made clear the critical importance of The Lex’s ban: make no mirrors and let none pass before your eyes, as they are the embodiment of Vanity.

  Until now, for as long as I’ve been alive, we’d kept the Relic on our hearth and pointed toward the Sun. I am still shocked Father agreed to allow me to take it. My mother refused even to participate in the argument. But thank the Gods for Lukas. My Father, forbidden from participating in my training, saw the logic once Lukas explained what I could do with it.

  “With this, Eva will have eyes in the back of her head.”

  I hold the Relic in front of me and move it slowly from right to left, careful not to meet my own reflection. I discern nothing other than blinding whiteness behind me. Not even the faraway shadows of Benedict, Thurstan, and Niels in the snow.

  I have regained the lead.

  Even though the wind cuts through my sealskin layers, I allow myself once again to revel in the speed. I’ve never gone so fast in my life; I doubt that many in New North have. I wonder if the Maiden I used to be would enjoy this, or whether she would be terrified.

  In time, when the novelty wears off, I notice an absence of sound. I can hear nothing other than the panting of the dogs and the whoosh of the sled runners over the snow. Compared to the Aerie—with the Campana’s bells and the town clock’s ticking and the constant clomping of the Ring-Guard and Aerie sentry patrols—the Boundary lands are silent. It begins to disturb me. Why didn’t Lukas warn me about this? He prepared me for so much else.

  But if I stop thinking so much and pay attention, I realize it isn’t as quiet as I’d perceived. The air crackles with soft and unfamiliar noises—like bird cries and the shifting of ice—muffled by the snow. Maybe that’s why the Boundary people speak so little; they need to listen to survive.

  Not too far off in the flat distance, I see a slight darkening in the snow. It can only be the shadow of a frozen-in iceberg. These masses jut out from the ice randomly, a reminder of the Healing when so many Arctic islands collided to form our land. Based on the map Lukas drew for me, I will not encounter too many masses on this sinik. This word must become part of my vocabulary; it’s the word Lukas taught me for journey-days or days-away-from-home. He gravely assured me that marking siniks might mean the difference between life and death.

  Lukas guessed that reaching the Taiga would take two siniks. The trick to winning the First Advantage—the distance from the Gate to the Taiga—isn’t simply to gain the most ground. No, the real trick is finding a safe spot to make camp before the first horn of evening sounds. Otherwise, a Testor can find himself—or herself—dinner for a polar bear. Food is scarce out here, and it happens nearly every Testing year.

  My lead seems to hold as the Sun makes Her way across the sky. The outline of the Taiga grows closer than I would’ve thought. Was Lukas right that it would take two siniks? Maybe I’ve made such good time with my oiled runners that I’ll make it in one. Or maybe the Boundary lands have deceived me and the Taiga is farther than it appears. Distances are misleading on the ice; I know that from the Ring wall.

  It’s also been several bells since I’ve last eaten, and I wonder if that’s the reason I’m second-guessing Lukas. I pull out some dried fish from my pack and nibble on it to preserve my energy and focus. The unbroken expanse of white and the motion of the sled are strangely lulling. Lukas warned me not to let the lack of food and the landscape hypnotize. That could lead to sleep—which, if unprepared for—leads to death. Catnapping in front of a hearth is all well and good at home. But even in the safety of the Aerie I’ve seen what happens to those who nod off unprotected.

  I hear a snap, and I stop chewing. It sounds like the ever-shifting ice, so I dismiss it at first. But then I hear it again. There’s nothing unusual in the horizon, so I pull out Father’s Relic and scan the landscape behind me. At first, I discern nothing other than blinding whiteness. But then, just off to my left, I spot a dark form on the ice that’s too small to be another frozen-in iceberg. Plus, it’s moving. I gulp down the rest of my small snack. Another Testor. And he’s approaching fast. Where did he come from? I haven’t seen or heard anyone behind me since I lost Benedict, Thurstan, and Niels bells ago.

  I crack my whip. The first horn of the evening will sound soon, and I’ve got to gain as much ground as I can if I want to win the First Advantage. The dogs quicken their gait, but I see that the other Testor is getting closer.

  I scowl. What would Eamon—or Lukas—do?

  Unexpectedly, the grade of the flat polar expanse changes—downhill. My dogs yelp with excitement at the prospect of speed, and the sled takes off. My icy breath catches in my throat. I start to teeter. I’m in danger of losing control; Testors have been killed by toppling sleds in these exact situations. Pulling back on the reins, I command the dogs to slow. After resisting for a few ticks, they acquiesce, and the sled is righted.

  The other Testor isn’t so lucky.

  There’s a crash behind
me, and I pull up sharply on the reins. Fumbling again for my mirror, I see his sled has overturned. In horror, I watch as he crawls out from underneath the cargo bed. I long to turn back and help him, even though The Lex absolutely forbids assisting fellow Testors: let no Testor assist or align with another as the Gods demand that every Testor prove his own worthiness for the sacred role of Archon. Before I have to make the decision whether to break The Lex or allow another human to die, a horn echoes across the landscape.

  I have only fifteen ticks until the final horn. I must make camp wherever I am. Fifteen ticks to get to shelter before the polar darkness begins its rapid descent. After that, I am left exposed on the ice as a snack for any passing arctic bear or cat. I stop worrying about the fallen Testor, and start worrying about surviving the first night.

  From my side bag, I pull out the hollow, double metal cylinders Lukas welded for me from scraps of a boat pulled out from the Frozen Shores long ago. I press them to the slit in my goggles. That frozen-in iceberg seems pretty close. If I push my dogs to the limit, I might just make it to the iceberg in time. Might.

  The whip cracks too close to the dogs. I sense their anger, but the sound spurs them on. The sled hurtles faster than I believed possible, and I actually have to rein in the team as we approach the perimeter of the iceberg. I hear the long, low bellow. I’ve run out of time.

  The air around me clouds up with my hurried breathing, mixed in with my dog team. But I’m also panting in relief that our journey’s done for the sinik and we’ve found some refuge for the night. I dismount from the sled and give each of them a hug to thank them for their efforts—especially Indica. Then, as I suss out which side of the iceberg will provide the most shelter, I realize I’m not alone.

  The fallen Testor has somehow righted his sled and made it across the ice flats. He now stands on the northern side of the iceberg, staking out his claim. How he pulled off this miracle, I cannot imagine. But I don’t have time to speculate. In the remaining ticks before complete darkness, I’ve got work to do. I must dig a wall of snow to protect my team from the night winds, pitch my tent up against the southern side of the iceberg, start a fire to melt water for my dogs—and, somehow in this seemingly empty arctic expanse, find food for them and myself. I’d rather not resort to my stores of dried seal for the dogs and dried fish for myself, because once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.

  I’m dying to solve the mystery of the fallen Testor—who he is and how he got here—but that must wait.

  THE TENT AND THE fire prove to be surprisingly simple tasks compared the issue of food. I can’t venture too far from the perimeter of the iceberg. But a Bakery Keep with steaming loaves of fresh bread is hardly going to appear out of nowhere, so I push myself out into the black void. The lamp provides nothing other than a dancing circle of flickering light, a few footsteps in any direction I choose.

  After a few ticks of finding nothing, I decide to give up and draw on my food stores. Just for tonight, I promise myself. I figure I deserve a break on my first sinik anyway. Before I pass into the iceberg’s perimeter, I can almost hear Lukas nag me to try one last trick. Especially since his map shows that this is an area where game and birds might be found.

  I close my eyes and listen.

  “Ears are better than eyes for hunting at night,” he’d told me. “Your prey knows that you’re blind and isn’t as fearful.”

  At first, all I hear is the wind whipping around the top of the iceberg. The low grumble of my dogs. And the ever-present crackling of ice. But then, just southeast of me, I hear the gentle flap of wings. Snow geese.

  Very quietly, I extinguish the candle in my lamp. In pitch blackness I creep toward the sound. I force myself to trust in that repetitive fluttering noise and the specter of Lukas’s words. The beating of wings grows louder. I can almost imagine what the feathers look like. Closer and closer, until it’s above me and all around me …

  I throw my bola.

  I am rewarded with a screech and a gust as the remainder of the flock fly over my head. I run toward the commotion and, with shaky fingers, relight my lamp. A smile breaks on my face; I can feel sweat freezing on my cheeks. There, amidst a pile of feathers, lies my first kill of the Testing. Several snow geese, big ones by the shadowy look of them. Since I’m a novice with the bola—and I’m not even certain the bola is the right weapon for this target—it’s practically a Gods-given miracle.

  Wrapping a rope around the birds, I sling them over my shoulder with one hand and trudge back to the iceberg, lighting the way with my other. I make no effort to be quiet; I want the not-so-fallen Testor to see what I’m capable of. He peers out from his side of the mass as I approach, but I pretend not to notice him.

  I toss half the geese to my dogs, making sure one lands close to Indica as a reward for his efforts. As they snarl over the carcasses, I pick out one for myself, holding the rest in reserve for the morning. I clean my goose the way the Attendants taught me in the warm kitchen of my home, and place it over the fire. It’s much harder in the darkness, even with the embers to guide me.

  THE ROASTED GOOSE TASTES better than anything I’ve ever eaten, even the honeyed cakes the Attendants prepare for Feasts at home. After the bones have been picked clean, I am drowsy. But phrases from Eamon’s journal run through my mind. Phrases I wish I’d never read.

  Can I really survive the Testing? Am I really destined to be an Archon? Can I really do what I believe I must? This last question he’d written on the very last page, on the very last line.

  Having survived the first sinik of the Testing—even nearly garnered the lead for myself—I can’t believe that my talented brother ever harbored such doubts. If I can do it, he certainly could have. Not that I’m over-confident about my chances for the next sinik.

  Unfolding the small diptych I brought in my bags, I kneel before the little altar and say a few prayers to the Gods. I stare at their gilded, circular symbols, believing that surely it was the Sun and the Earth who brought me through this day unscathed. The Gods and Lukas, of course.

  My body aches in places I never knew existed before. Just as the pain finally relents and I feel myself start to drift off, I hear a noise. Not the dogs, not the shifting ice, and not the wind.

  I sit bolt upright, and grab my ulu. I fear the worst—a bear or a cat. Before I move, I listen again to place the creature. The sound is distinctly human.

  “Eva, it’s me. Jasper.”

  I peek from underneath the flap of my tent, and there he kneels.

  “What in the Gods are you doing?” I hiss. I can’t believe the risk he’s taking for us both: let no words pass between Testors unless approved, as the Gods must know a Testor’s full deservedness to be Archon by the Testor’s acts alone. If an Archon Scout should happen by, we could both be expelled. After all I went through, to be ejected from the Testing for a silly reason like a midnight chat! Still, I can’t help but feel a little relieved to not be out here alone. And if I’m completely honest, a little flattered.

  “You didn’t recognize me?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You dragged your dinner right past me.”

  I blink. I never seriously considered Jasper as the fallen Testor. All of us Testors resemble one another in our sealskin uniforms—except for me, I guess—but I assume that Jasper would’ve waved or something. Anything.

  “We kind of look alike in our gear.” I suddenly feel bad for not helping him. “Are you okay? If I’d known it was you underneath that sled, I would’ve …” I don’t finish.

  “I’m glad you didn’t know. I’m fine, Eva.”

  “Thank the Gods.”

  “Yes, thank the Gods. But if anyone is going to break The Lex, I want it to be me. Not you.”

  I almost laugh. “Well, that’s what you’re doing right now. It’s not worth it just to talk to me, Jasper.”

  Even in the low light of my fire, I think he looks hurt. But then he squares his shoulders. “You’re a Maiden, Eva. How could I sit on the other side o
f that iceberg without checking on your well-being?”

  I want to say that I’m not a Maiden out here—I’m a Testor, like any other—but I don’t. We’re both playing roles, and once again he’s typical Jasper, a chivalrous Gallant even in the Testing. “I appreciate it, but as you can see, I’m doing just fine.”

  The tension breaks, and he smiles a little. “I figured, what with all those geese slung over your shoulder. Still, I needed to hear it for myself. And I have. So I guess I’ll say goodnight.”

  He pushes himself up, and his smile quickly changes to a grimace. Bracing his thigh, he turns and walks away. He is limping.

  “You’re hurt,” I whisper as loudly as I dare.

  “It’s nothing,” he says, not turning around.

  “Come back here.”

  He continues hobbling, as if he can’t hear me.

  “Jasper, please.”

  He stops. Pauses. Peering back over his shoulder, he stares at me for a quick tick, as if to gauge my seriousness.

  I motion for him to come inside. Lurching a little, he finally makes his way under the flap of the tent that I’m holding for him. With two of us in the little enclosure, it suddenly seems too warm. Taking off my hat, I command, “Let me see the wound.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Lift up your pant leg,” I insist.

  “That wouldn’t be …” he hesitates, searching for the right word, “… seemly.”

  “Seemly plays no part in the Testing.”

  “But you’re a Maiden, Eva.”

  Now I have the courage to say what I was thinking before. “Not out here, I’m not. I’m just a Testor. Let me see your leg.”