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.”
XI
Aprilus 1
Year 242, A.H.
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 of 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, Ev
a.”
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.”
Peeling off his gloves first, he folds down his kamik and starts to roll up his sealskin. Even though I’ve seen a boy’s bare shin before—Eamon’s, of course—Jasper’s motion feels very intimate. Suddenly, The Lex rules for Maidens rush at me unbidden—let no immodesty touch your eyes or thoughts—and I cannot help but blush. My mother would die if she saw this. Or kill me first.
“I knew it. I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jasper. I need to see your leg.” Before I really think through what I’m saying, I blurt out, “I have remedies.”
He raises an eyebrow at the mention of the word “remedies,” but continues to roll up the sealskin past his knee. I have to stop myself from gasping when I see the deep gash in his mid-thigh. He has a cloth tied around the cut, but it’s no tourniquet, something Lukas taught me. The cloth is soaked with blood. I’m shocked the metallic smell hasn’t alerted every nearby predator.
“How did this happen?” The wound is deep and straight and perfectly formed. For an injury resulting from a sled crash, I would’ve expected something messier, with tons of bruising.
“When the sled fell on top of me, the knife at my waist got loose. I pulled it out, but I’m left with this,” he says.
I reach for my remedy bag. My fingers are moist. All remedies and surgeries are prohibited by The Lex. Rightly so as they led to man’s downfall: let no man-made remedies touch your skin and no man-made blades open your bodies, as this allows the ancient wickedness to enter your soul. Yet Lukas still stocked my bag with herbal Boundary remedies derived from Ark plants, like salves for cuts and scrapes. He showed me how to treat basic wounds. All Boundary people use such remedies, and many of them outlive us chosen. Lukas’s grandmother, his aanak, is almost eighty—and she was the one who taught him such ways. So I relented with him, as I relent now.
I study my notes. I think I can help.
“Look away,” I tell him. I definitely do not want him to see what I’m about to do. “And brace yourself.”
As I dab the wound with a strong-scented oil to clean it, Jasper gulps. Even though I know it burns—and what I’m planning next will hurt even more—I have to proceed. A wound like this will turn Jasper into a delirious shell of a man if the animals don’t get to him first. From my bag, I pull out a needle and start to thread it. Telling myself that it’s just like sewing at home—that I’m sitting before my family’s hearth working on a cloth for the Basilika with my mother—I hold the needle over the wound, and pierce Jasper’s skin. I start to gag. I am lying. This is nothing like stitching a tapestry of the Healing. This is a horror.
Jasper cries out and moans, but I force myself to finish. I try to comfort him. “I’m sorry Jasper, but I’m almost done.”
He doesn’t answer. I don’t think he can. I’m not sure I can.
Finally, after very nearly losing my goose dinner, I close up the wound with a knot after the final stitch. I wind a clean cloth tightly around the injury. “I’m finished. You can roll the pant leg down now.”
Jasper’s face is drenched and snow white. He shivers uncontrollably. But his jaw is tightly set, as if he’s angry. He doesn’t look at me as he reassembles his clothes. Perhaps he’s upset about my Lex infraction. But, how can he be mad about that, when he broke The Lex himself by coming here tonight? Something else must be wrong.
“Jasper?”
“You must think I’m a coward,” he mutters.
My shoulders sag. Part of me wants to slap him. Oh, The Lex rules of chivalry. Is that what’s really going on? Am I really that blind? “How can you possibly say that? You weren’t even going to mention your wound. And you even risked The Lex tonight to check on my well-being, when you’re the injured one.”
His cheeks glow pink; his face bears none of its usual Gallant self-assuredness. “I can’t believe I put you at risk by visiting you. Injured. How idiotic.”
“I can’t believe you’re out here worrying about me, when you’ve got a gaping hole in your leg.”
Now his eyes bore into my own. “How could I not come over, Eva? You’re a Maiden.”
I feel something stir in me, but I don’t respond. It doesn’t seem right under the circumstances. This change in our roles has left me unsettled as to how to act and what to think. Jasper too, it seems. He pushes himself to his feet and lifts the tent flap. He is not trembling anymore. Before he leaves, he turns back and musters a tired smile. “Oh, excuse me, I forgot. Out here, you’re not a Maiden. Just a Testor.”
XII
Aprilus 2
Year 242, A.H.
Even though my mind swirls with images of stitching Jasper’s wound, I manage to fall asleep. One of the benefits of complete physical exhaustion, I guess. I return to a familiar dream, one in which Eamon and I stand on the edge of the turret, hands linked. In the dreamscape of a crisp, full-moon evening, we glance at each other in perfect understanding, and then we jump. I always wake up before we land.
This morning is no exception, although it’s not the end of the dream that prompts me to open my eyes. The sound of sled runners coursing over the snow wakens me. In my grogginess, I can only imagine that it’s Jasper—who else would be out here before dawn?—and I almost call out to him. Almost.
A bright light—too bright and concentrated to come from any candle I’ve ever seen—passes over my tent. Jasper couldn’t possibly have carried a lamp with that power. It must be a Scout, the eyes and ears of the Archons. They are omnipresent but usually invisible during first three Advantages. They mostly assert their presence at the Testing camp and Testing Site, where the last six Advantages are played out.
“Testor, show yourself.” A deep voice commands from just outside my tent.
I move fast. Since I slept in my clothes, I only have to pull on my hat, gloves, and kamiks before stepping out into the cold. But the simple tasks are made hard by the fact that I’m shivering uncontrollably. What if the Scout had arrived bells earlier and found Jasper in my tent? Using remedies on him? Somehow, I finish dressing and stand before the Archon Scout.
The bright light, whatever its source, has disappeared. The Scout holds a common oil lamp before him. It casts a dim, yellowish glow on us both. Just enough to make him out. The Scouts are notorious for their tough strength, their unflinching devotion to The Lex, and their imperviousness to anything but the nutus of the Archons. Head to toe in black sealskin with matching eyes, this Scout looks the part. Except for the dark, almond-shaped eyes, which make him look like a Boundary person.
I do not speak. The Lex rule on communicating with Scouts is very clear: do not speak before you are spoken to. I keep my head lowered in deference to him and his role.
The Scout circles me for a long tick, all the while asking, “Tell me, in all this enormous expanse of ice, how did you manage to find another Testor to share this iceberg?” He pauses. “Before you answer, I remind you of your Testing vow of veritas.“
I can hear the accusations imbedded in his deceptively simple question. That I am conspiring with another Testor, that we used outlawed means to find this iceberg shelter, that this Testor and I have some illicit relationship. I wonder if he would make the same inquiries had I been my brother—or any male Testor—but there’s no way I’d ask the insubordinate question. It might invite removal from the Tests.
“It was coincidence, Sir,” I say.
The Scout holds the lamp close to my face, presumably to assess the veritas of my statement. “You expect me to believe that your shared presence on this iceberg was sheer happenstance, Testor?” His tone is harsh, and although he is acting well within his rights as a Scout, part of me is surprised that he’s treating the Chief Archon’s daughter this way. But Jasper is right. And I’ve said it myself: I�
��m just a Testor out here.
“It’s the truth. By the Gods.”
He says nothing. He stands firmly in place—as if locked in by the ice itself—staring at me with the same quizzical expression. I don’t know what possesses me, but I break from the rule. I speak without being spoken to.
“Sir, you can see that it’s the only shelter out here. Any Testor who came close to this point when the first horn of evening sounded would aim for it. It’s a simple matter of survival that we’re both here.”
The Scout’s eyes are more piercing than the Chief Basilikon’s on a Confessional Day. I start to feel terrified. For my insubordination, the Scout has it in his power to discipline me, even with physical punishment. Yes, even though I’m the Chief Archon’s daughter. What in the Gods was I thinking by speaking first?
Instead of punishing me, he responds in a measured voice: “That’s precisely what your Suitor—I mean, the other Testor—claimed, too.”
Obviously, he doesn’t believe either one of us, but I don’t think that is the point of his words. By his Suitor remark—a clear, if brazen, indication of what he thinks of the Triad’s decision to allow me to Test, that I’m nothing more than a Maiden awaiting a Union and I should never have been allowed the honor of Testing—he means to shake me. He might as well have said, “Let me send you home.”
Under his gaze, I begin to feel even more frightened. Maybe it’s the late-night visit from Jasper. It’s not as horrific a crime as conspiring with another Testor, but it’s grounds for expulsion from the Testing nonetheless. Maybe it’s my use of remedies. Certainly its use would get me thrown out of the Testing, not to mention warrant punishment back in the Aerie. But I do not allow him to see me shake.
Finally, he delivers his verdict. “May the Gods go with you. But remember, it will be me—not the Gods—watching your every move, Testor.”
I watch as he mounts his sled and cracks his whip heavily on his dogs; he’s a cruel master to his team, I’m sure. I am immobilized as he departs. I’ve learned something valuable and unexpected, as Lukas promised I would. But I didn’t foresee this: my sudden understanding that the Scout does not want me in the Testing, and that he will do whatever he can to keep me from success. And he may not be alone. Part of me wants to race over to Jasper and make certain he understands the Scout’s meaning, but a bigger part of me wants to distance myself from Jasper completely. To protect him—from me and from himself.
Chronicle: Before The Books of Eva Page 7
