Faith and Moonlight

The smell of the fire still clung to the boy.

It clung to all of his friends as well, filling the space
of the small wagon they slept in. In spite of the open top, in spite of the
cold breeze that blew throughout the day, even in spite of the two weeks that
had passed since the night the orphanage burned down, the children still
carried the smell with them. The scent of soot and ashes, of fear and death.

The loss of the orphanage weighed on him more than he
thought it would. It had not been much, but in the two years he had been there,
it had been more of a home than he had ever known. It had been where he first
met the others, and where they welcomed him in as family.

And now, they had all lost everything.

Roan slammed his hand against the wagon’s side, the
coarse-grained wood biting into his knuckles. In the cold, quiet of the late
evening, the sound of it was like a crack of thunder, and immediately he
regretted it.

“Can’t sleep?” Kay’s dark brown eyes shined in the low
light.

“Did I wake you?” he whispered.

“No,” she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily as she sat up.
Her long brown hair had fallen forward, obscuring her face. Her features were
soft and pale, accentuated by large, bright eyes that seemed to take in
everything at once. He had always thought she was beautiful.

“I did. I’m sorry, Kay,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, shifting more upright, a slight
edge of tension in her voice.

“Nothing. Just excitement, I guess. Cadell says we should
arrive at Resa the day after tomorrow.” He gestured toward the only adult in
the wagon, the old man handling the reins of the mule team that pulled the
wagon. The back of his bald head was wrinkled and marred with small scars and
dark, tattooed lines.

Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really think we can trust him?
That he’s telling the truth about starting new lives there?” she asked. “I
mean, after everything, how can we trust anything?”

“He did save our lives,” he reminded her gently.

“And you saved his.”

“Well, that means we should be able to trust each other,
don’t you think?”

Kay was quiet for a moment. “I guess so,” she said, but
there was no confidence in her words.

In the half-light, she looked smaller. Diminished. The
suspicion and doubt in her voice hurt Roan in his heart. Kay had always seen
the best in people. She had always been the first to smile. The first to trust.

But that was before the fire.

Roan reached out and Kay moved to sit beside him. She
seemed so small as she settled in. He tousled her hair in an effort to try and
cheer her. “Come on. There are great things ahead for us. We’re going to become
Razors. Like the great heroes in Elinor’s stories.”

The wagon rocked slowly and both looked to Elinor asleep on
the floor, Alys and Ferran beside her. Roan felt a twinge of sadness at the
thought of separating from his friends after they had been through so much.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Kay sighed. “I
wish they could come with us,” she whispered.

Roan slowly nodded. “Me too, but they won’t be too far
away. And they’ll be following their dreams. Making them come true, just like
we are.”

“Are we, Roan?” Kay asked. “How? Other than kitchen chores,
I’ve never held a blade in my life. How am I going to become some great
warrior?”

“That’s what the school is for,” he chided her gently.
“They’ll handle teaching us and Cadell said he will give us a letter of
introduction, so they will give us a chance. That chance is all we need.”

Even as he spoke, he hated himself for lying. Kay was
right. She had no experience fighting, and she would be going up against the
best in the kingdom, students who trained their entire lives for that one sole
purpose. She had little chance of making it. And if she didn’t, if she failed,
then she would truly have nothing.

But what choice did they have?

“What if I don’t make it?” Kay said quietly.

“You will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ll make sure you do,” he said. “I’ll be there by
your side.”

There was a pleading look in her eyes. “And if we fail?”

His lips tight, Roan locked eyes with her. “Then we face
whatever comes after. Together.”

Kay found his hand and gripped it tightly with both hands.
Roan squeezed back. She nodded softly, and then laid her head on his shoulder.
He could hear her soft breathing and in a few moments, she was asleep again.

Despite her warmth, Roan felt cold.

His mind brought forth memories of childhood, of being on
the ragged edge, fighting for every mouthful of food, desperation turning you
into a wild, feral thing that was barely human. That had been life, until Kay
and the others took him in. He could not allow her to fall into that existence.
It would change her. It would break her. As he had seen it happen to so many
others.

No. He couldn’t let it come to that.

He wouldn’t let it come to that.

She had saved him. Now, he would do the same for her.

He wrapped his arms around her and stayed perfectly still
as she slept. The thud of the team’s hoofbeats seemed to count down the moments
remaining in their journey to Resa, the capital, and to the Razor School of
Faith, where their new lives awaited.

Kay was an orphan.

In her fourteen years of life, that was the sum total of
all that she was and all she ever thought she could be. It wasn’t a sad thing
for her. She had seen others at the orphanage broken and tormented, but she
never felt that crying over her lot would change anything.

In fact, Kay had learned long ago the secret to happiness.
It was simple. It was just learning to not want things. To not expect them. And
that secret had served her well in all her fourteen years.

Until today.

Today, standing in the crowded streets, surrounded by more
people than she had ever seen before, on the cusp of a new life, that
detachment seemed impossible.

This was Resa, city of legend. The capital and the heart of
the kingdom. It was whirling, vibrantly alive around her, with people
everywhere she looked, wearing the latest colors and fashions. They were busy
with lives full of purpose and meaning she could not begin to fathom.

She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to focus, but
her eyes darted from one new wonder to the next. Yet despite all the new
sights, it was Roan she kept coming back to.

There was a tension and excitement in his bearing, and
quickness in his step. His long, lean form seemed drawn tight like a bowstring,
not with anxiety, but with a thrilling anticipation. His blue eyes seemed to
take in everything.

Roan had always been different. Kay and the other orphans
had grown up on the dreams and stories of the old legends, playing the parts of
the great heroes. But nobody ever thought they could really become like them
when they grew older. Except Roan.

He made her believe they were destined for great things. He
made her believe anything was possible, so long as they were together. His hope
was fearless and she was grateful for that. Loved him for that.

“There it is,” Roan said, his voice breathless.

In the distance, a shining white edifice towered above the
Crucis District. Sunlight played off the white marble of a massive central
dome, making the statues seem to sway and move as if they were alive.

They were finally here. The School of Faith.

A gate of intricately wrought ironwork marked the entrance.
Past it was a long, broad promenade lined with vibrant green grass and trees
shaped in strange and delicate ways.

On the other side of the iron gate stood a young woman
dressed in the school uniform: a black leather jacket with a white cape that
snapped and danced in the wind. Now that she was closer, Kay saw the bright
shine of the jacket’s golden buckles.

“Your business here?” the girl asked.

“We have an audience with Preceptor Pamalia,” Roan said.

To Kay’s surprise, the girl smiled. “Hopefuls, then? Well,
if you are expected, let’s get you in to see the Preceptor.” She slid back the
bolt as she spoke and, with a friendly wave to come in, she swung open the
heavy gate.

Roan and Kay stepped inside the grounds. As the gate
clanged shut behind them, Kay felt excitement and tension in equal measure. The
uniformed girl strode ahead, down the broad path leading to the magnificent
school.

Here and there, young people of various ages moved around
them. Some appeared to be little more than five or six summers old, while
others seemed on the verge of adulthood. All wore their black leather buckled
uniforms.

Eventually, the girl came to a stop before a door of rich,
dark wood and knocked smartly.

“Come,” said a rich voice from inside.

“Hopefuls, Preceptor Pamalia,” the girl said as she opened
the door.

Preceptor Pamalia was an older woman, her dark hair
streaked with bold lines of gray. She had soft features and her hands had long,
nimble fingers that she spread out on the desk before her. There was a moment’s
pause and then she gestured toward two chairs. They sat quickly.

Roan produced Cadell’s letter. Pamalia read the contents,
and then peered at them over the top of the paper. Kay shifted in her chair
under the scrutinizing gaze.

“At what age did you first pierce the veil?” the preceptor
asked.

Kay looked at Roan, but his face showed that the words were
as meaningless to him as they were to her. “Pierce the veil?” she asked. Kay
tried to keep her face impassive, worrying that their ignorance might in some
way disqualify them.

“What has Cadell told you?” the preceptor asked.

“Almost nothing,” Roan said.

The preceptor sighed. “I suppose that has always been his
way,” she said, settling into her chair. “So you know nothing of becoming a
Razor?”

Kay leaned forward a bit. “We know the stories.”

“Stories?”

“The legends. The ones of Aedan and the First Ascended. And
how they promised their very souls to one another, pledging their strength and
power to each other, even in death.” Kay’s voice was clear and strong as she
explained the old tales. Elinor would have been proud.

“Those are no stories,” Pamalia said. “They are our
history. The very foundation of who and what we are. That power, that promise
made so long ago, is the source of the energy we as Razors draw upon today.”

Kay met the preceptor’s gaze. “That is why we are here,
Preceptor. Why we asked Cadell to bring us here. We want to learn. We want to
honor them.”

“Do you know what it is you ask? To enter Faith with no
training? No preparation? And at so late an age?” There was no malice in her
voice, no cruelty or harsh tone. In fact, it was the straightforward nature of
the question that gave it even greater weight for Kay. “Tens of thousands of
children train and fight daily at the Fairgrounds for the opportunity you seek.
Most of them have been there for years. Some since they could take their first
steps.”

Kay felt disappointment stab her, but she forced it down,
knowing this was a desperate attempt with no real hope.

Pamalia touched her fingers to her chin in contemplation.
“What could you have possibly done for old Cadell that he would ask this of
me?”

“We saved his life,” Roan said.

“Is that so?”

Roan sat forward, perched on the edge of his seat, his
hands before him. “Please, Preceptor. Just give us this chance. We will be
worthy of it. We can learn to pierce the veil, or anything else you ask of us.”
His hands clenched into fists. “The First Ascended did not have a lifetime to
train or prepare. Aedan called on them in a moment, when all seemed hopeless,
and they answered. Call to us. I promise we will answer that call. We will show
you our worth.”

Pamalia was silent. The only sound Kay heard was the frantic
beating of her own heart. The seconds dragged on like an eternity, but at last
Pamalia spoke.

“In the darkness of the first days, Aedan and his people
fought against the ancient Ruins of the Dark. Through the power of oath and
sacrifice, warriors promised their very souls to their brothers and sisters.
With each fallen hero, the remainder grew stronger, more powerful, until the
few who remained could defeat the horrors of the Dark.

“When the last of the great Ruins had been destroyed or
banished, the remaining warriors of that time were filled with the power of all
their fallen brothers and sisters. They chose to return that power, spilling
their very essence into the air around us.

“They are the First Ascended,” Pamalia said. “They were the
first and most powerful of us. It is their power that we marshal. And it is our
promise to them that grants us use of that power.” There was a pride in her
voice, almost as if those legendary figures were her kin. And in a way, that
was exactly what the woman was saying.

Pamalia fixed her sharp gaze upon Kay. “All students have
but one requirement for entry into Faith: you must make contact with the
spirits of the First Ascended. You must pierce the veil and touch the infinite
beyond.” She spread her hands out on her desk. “We can teach you to shape it,
to focus it, to master it, but the first step of all hopefuls is your own.”

Turning her focus to Roan, Pamalia continued, “This ground
you are upon is sacred. This school and all the schools of Crucis are built
upon the very ground of the last great battle of Aedan and the titans of the
Dark. The very same ground upon which the first ones ascended into the heavens.
If you cannot pierce the veil here, you never will.”

With an air of finality, Pamalia put the letter from Cadell
into a desk drawer. Kay’s eyes followed the movement, unsure of what was to
come next.

“One month,” Pamalia said. “I can give you one month and no
more. You must pierce the veil in that time or you must leave the school and
make room for another to show their worth,” she said. “It will not be an easy
road. Are you sure you wish to walk it?”

“Yes, Preceptor,” Roan said. “We will not fail you.”

In her mind, Kay could only hear the Preceptor’s earlier
words. One month and no more.

They had one month to change their lives.