Relic (The Books of Eva I) (13 page)

“I guess all those years climbing the walls of the turret are coming in handy.” As I say it, I know that’s only part of the truth. I’m stronger than before because I carry Eamon’s strength within me.

Jasper glances over at me, perhaps surprised by the image of an Aerie Maiden scaling the walls of her home, even though he’s seen me climb far higher ice walls out here. I sneak a smile at him.

“Do I hear talking behind me?” The elder Scout calls back.

“No, sir,” Jasper answers.

“Good. I better not.”

Jasper and I clamp our mouths shut. Being beside him is the most normal I’ve felt since I spotted him in the Taiga and we exchanged … what? A look? Happiness? Relief? For a
brief tick, I want to push my doubts about him away and pretend that I’m an innocent Maiden again and Jasper and I are just strolling home from our School day. But I know I can’t.

And then we reach camp.

Most of the Testors have arrived and they are busy establishing their home bases. Lopsided and crumbling igloos litter the clearing—only William’s igloo looks halfway decent, and he’s the son of the Keeper of Buildings—and I want to laugh aloud at the clumsy efforts. How silly they were to refuse to choose Boundary Companions who could easily teach them the art of
igluksaq
.

But I don’t laugh. The Testors pause, regarding us, their eyes filled with jealousy and loathing. Especially Aleksandr and Neil. And even if a tick ago I had wanted to pretend everything was normal, I am reminded that I can’t. I am reminded that my wish to be a Testor—and not just a Maiden—has come true. I know the price. This is a competition, and right now, I’m a threat.

I can barely sleep, and not just because I can feel the other Testors seething through my perfectly formed igloo walls. The puzzle of how to reach the shadow buried in the crevasse—without killing myself in the process—torments me.

My mind spins with all of Lukas’s advice. I think through his instructions on snow, on climbing, on handling my huskies, on reading the icescape, on hunting and foraging in this barren land. But with the Descent, he reached the limits of his knowledge. His expertise lies in surviving beyond the Ring, not unearthing artifacts. Only Eamon can aid me now.

I pull Eamon’s journal from its tattered, frozen hiding place in one of my bags. His words have haunted me since I left the Aerie, but I’ve had no time to revisit the pages. Carefully, I crack open the book; you never know what havoc the
cold might wreak on its delicate paper. As before, the first sight of my brother’s handwriting fills me with a strange mix of hope and sadness.

The book falls open to one of his last entries, one I’ve read and re-read. It’s particularly confounding.

Must we truly risk our lives in the Testing in order to be worthy of the Archon Laurels? Our lives are so precious and so few. Sometimes, I put aside my concerns, and I let myself imagine a victorious return to the Aerie. Standing on the town dais with the Archon Laurels in my hands, I see my parents smiling up at me from the crowd. I watch Eva gaze at me with pride. The image dissolves, and I am left wondering. If I do indeed win, will they still love me when I do what I must?

What did he mean? What in the Gods did my brother plan on doing? What could he have possibly done that would have jeopardized my love for him? Didn’t he know that nothing in the world could shake me free? Eamon was—and is—a part of me.

I push down the sadness and confusion, and flip back toward the beginning, where he inserted diagrams of ice excavations. I had no knowledge of this diary, but I remember well when Eamon worked on these sketches, a memory that embarrasses me now. The winter before the Commitment, he had spent the entire season poring through the Archives of past Testings, assembling a huge collection of summaries of past excavations, complete with renderings of Sites and details of the landscape conditions. When I complained that all this work left him with no bells for me—and that no other rumored Testor was wasting his time with useless drawings anyway—he got angry with
me for the first and only time I can recall. He yelled, “Can’t you see that this project might save my life?”

I didn’t see then. But I see now.

Eamon and I made up, thank the Gods; I can’t imagine if he had died with the weight of our one fight still hanging between us. Still, the irony hits me hard. That project I complained about—with such harshness and pettiness—might just help me survive. Even win.

I don’t give in to the tears welling in my eyes. I remind myself for the thousandth time that right now I have to be a Testor first and a Maiden second; I can’t afford the luxury of sensitive emotions—ever in need of Gallant protection—that should define me. Instead, I study the inserts. I pray to the Gods to find something resembling my Claim. Eamon included countless excavation scenarios—digs undertaken in trenches, ice caves, underwater, icebergs, and of course, the dreaded crevasses—but nothing looks familiar.

I’m about to close the journal when the last drawing captures my attention. At first, I had disregarded this page—entitled “the Johansen Site”—because the excavation took place in a subterranean ice cave, not a crevasse. How could it possibly bear on my dig? But when I examine the sketch more closely the second time around, I see that the Johansen Site is remarkably like my own.

Eamon wrote:

Johansen saw the black shadow of the remedies bag deep within the wall of ice. He knew he needed to extricate his rare find—undoubtedly filled with Tylenols and Ambiens and Prozacs—and show it to the chosen of New North in all its wickedness. But how could he remove it without causing the roof and supporting walls of the ice cave to collapse upon him? After praying to the Gods, a solution came to him. Johansen would slowly melt the ice by means of a small fire, siphon the water outside the cave, and then allow the walls to harden overnight so they would not fall down upon him—with the frame of a wooden scaffold underneath the ice for support.

That’s exactly what I would have to do. Johansen came up with an ingenious solution, and Eamon copied his explicit diagrams. Johansen must have been successful, because he was named Archon his year.

I thank the Gods … and Eamon.

Grabbing the grid I’d mapped out earlier that
sinik
, I spend the remaining bells of the night coming up with a design based on Johansen’s plan. It will take extra ticks and extra effort, but I think it will work. I just hope that the artifact within the grey shadow is worth it. A worthy Relic.

By morning, I’m prepared. After I’ve eaten and dressed, I spend a little time with my dogs; I don’t want our bond to weaken. I rub each one down, and then feed and water them before hitching them to their ropes. Watching the other Testors rush to form a line before the first horn, I feel their apprehension to reach the Site. So do their dog teams; their huskies are barking and nipping at one another.

I need to be on the southernmost end of the line, so I’m in no hurry to fall in with the other Testors. In fact, I need to join the line last to secure the perfect spot. My hesitation seems to make the other Testors even more anxious; they keep looking over at me, mystified that I’m not dashing over to them. When it appears as though all nine Testors who reached the camp have entered the line—I haven’t seen Tristan and Anders yet, and I counted only ten igloos—I pull my sled into formation.

I slide into place next to Jacques, who greets me with a cordial nod. Other Testors—Knud, Benedict, Thurstan,
William, Petr, Aleksandr, and especially Niels—glare at me. I am the enemy, even though some of them were close to Eamon, too. Jasper sneaks me a tiny smile before climbing on his sled.

The air is thick with our exhaled breath. It seems like endless ticks before the Scout places the horn to his lips. When the first horn of morning finally reverberates, the Testors crack their whips and take off north toward the Testing Site.

All except me.

I break ranks and head due south. In order to extract the artifact safely from my Claim, I need to build a scaffold and, for that, I need wood.
Wood
. Out here, in the treeless Tundra. It’s almost laughable.

All my hopes are pinned on the small patch of birch trees that I spotted on my way to the Testing flag. I whisper a small prayer to the Gods that I properly recall the trees’ location. Otherwise, I could spend
siniks
out here searching. I don’t have
siniks
to spare.

Nearly two bells from the first horn, I see a tiny smudge in the whiteness of the Tundra. Could it really be the trees? It might as easily be a resting animal pack, a flock of snow geese, or a frozen-in iceberg. Pulling out the welded metal tubes Lukas made me, I push up my goggles and press the
tubes close to my eyes. The outline of the birches is unmistakable.

Although I want to let out a whoop of excitement, I don’t want to scare my team. I whistle to them instead, and the sled picks up speed. A few ticks later, I am counting my blessings when I hear the distinctive sound of another sled’s runners coursing over the snow. Who else could be out here? Suddenly, I think of Jasper, and I pray that he hasn’t risked his chances to follow me. And my chances too.

Sliding out my mirror from the side bag, I don’t see Jasper in my wake. What I do see makes me wish Jasper had trailed me into the Tundra: a pair of Scouts. They motion for me to halt. I engage the claw-brakes, and stop my team’s eager progress. Hiding my mirror as I dismount, I stand to face the elder Scout and Scout Okpik. I’m not shocked that Okpik wanted to track me down, but I’m surprised to see that he dragged the elder Scout along with him.

“Are you Forsaking, Testor?” the elder Scout asks.

“No, sir. I am not Forsaking my Commitment,” I say.

“Then, what in the Gods are you doing out here in the Tundra?” he demands.

“I am gathering wood, sir,” I say, even though I know it sounds ridiculous. What else can I offer up? It’s the truth.

“Wood?”

“Yes, sir. Wood.”

“In the Tundra?”

“Yes, sir. It’s just to the south.” I gesture toward the patch of birch trees. When they don’t say anything else, I babble into the silence, “Sir, The Lex says—”

Scout Okpik interrupts me. “I don’t want to hear anymore of your Lex quotes to cover up your lies. Why would
you leave behind a fully staked-out Claim? Are you meeting someone out here?”

The elder Scout shoots him a glance. “Testor, you have the right to leave the Testing camp and Site to acquire materials for your dig. It is uncommon to do so, but you are correct that The Lex allows it. You have declared your intention. We will watch while you proceed.”

I can’t help but smile. Scout Okpik seethes, but he cedes to his superior. The Scouts’ oath requires obedience, or
pareo
. They stand by as I mount my sled, and I hear them follow as I take off toward the trees.

We dismount near the birches. The Scouts stand by as I hoist my heavy axe into the air. I wince in embarrassment, missing the trunk with my first swing. Even though I hit my mark with the next attempts, it feels strange and awkward to have the Scouts watch idly as I struggle to fell the birches and split their thick trunks. If we were in the Aerie, they’d rush to help Eva the Maiden. Or they’d think I’d gone insane. Or both.