Relic (The Books of Eva I) (6 page)

I find it hard to focus on Ian’s recitation of New North’s history and the creation of the Testing. I’ve heard it so often. The departure weighs heavily on me, and Eamon’s journal burns in my pocket. Certain phrases haunt me more than most:
I can no longer ignore the truth of what I’ve learned—
and—
will they still love me when I do what I must …
These passages are not at all like words my brother would have spoken aloud. The twin I thought I knew so well.

“It is time for the final
Vale
,” Ian concludes.

The Chief Basilikon steps onto the dais. He starts calling
each of us forward to be anointed with symbolic Healing waters. When it’s my turn to approach the front of the platform, I swear I hear a quiet hiss throughout the crowd. I know that my participation in the Testing isn’t popular. Still, I’m shocked that anyone would be so audacious after the Triad approved my Commitment, especially since my father is the Chief Archon. I tell myself that I’ve imagined it.

Under the hawkeyed watch of the Ring-Guards, the people start to depart. They move toward that great rift in the Ring called the Gate, the only opening in the Ring.

There, all of New North will watch as we Testors gear up, mount our dogsleds, and ride off into the Boundary lands. I’ve witnessed the ritual every year of my life, but never imagined I’d be on one of those sleds.

As the people disperse, the three Chiefs give the Testors a final chance to say goodbye to their families.

One by one, we march down the platform stairs. I enter the huddle of my kin, and they pass me from aunt to uncle to cousin until my parents have a turn for a last embrace.

My mother, her face a mask of Lady-fortitude, goes first. Instead of hugging me like the rest of my family, she takes my shoulders in her hands. “Make us proud, Eva. This family has had enough grief.” I tell myself that there’s affection and concern underneath her façade, and I embrace her.

My father steps up. He wraps me up in his arms, as if I were a toddler. Into my ear, he whispers, “Don’t worry about winning, Eva. Worry about coming home.” He pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes. “Promise me that you won’t risk your life to win. I couldn’t bear losing my only child,” he whispers.

I can’t believe what he’s asking. It’s heresy to ask a Testor not to do their utmost:
let your children Commit in full. Do not
hold them back with sentiment
. Not to mention that he’s Chief Archon, a Sacred Guardian of The Lex and Protector of The Praebulum.

“I promise,” I whisper back.

“Testors, it is time,” Ian tells us, once he’s loosened himself from the crowd surrounding his nephew Jasper.

I break from my father’s embrace and enter the line of twelve. As we begin to walk toward the Ring, I’m thinking only one thing: I’m wishing that The Lex didn’t forbid me from walking over to Lukas and saying goodbye. If I survive, credit will be his alone. And since his Companion work is over, he may well be sent back to the Boundary lands by the time I return.

We approach the Gate, and I see that the Gods have given me a chance. Lukas stands at the very tail end of the crowd. As our line passes close to where he stands, I break from tradition and wave farewell to the Aerie. But I look only at him.

For the first time in my life, I make the Passage. Very few Aerie people ever walk through the Gate; The Lex permits only the Triad, Testors, and Ring-Guards to take the step. Now I see why. Staring out at the vast expanse of pure white—and nothing else—I’m standing at the end of the world.

I force myself to calm the vertiginous feeling and study the landscape. Lukas instructed me on how this might give me an edge when the
Campana
sounds. To my left, I see a few small Boundary ice-dwellings clinging to the base of the Ring. Obviously the Boundary people chose to build these shabby, ill-made huts close to have at least some kind of buffer against the winds and deadly animals that plague the world outside the Ring. Beyond those lodgings, I see
only that enormous flat swath of ice and snow. But, from Lukas, I know to look more closely.

I squint into the brightness and examine the horizon. In the far, far distance, I spot the ghost of the snow-covered Taiga, the large forest of birches and pines that we are going to have to weave through before we reach the treeless Tundra.

It is this expanse—between the Ring and the Taiga—that I must know better than the other Testors to gain the First Advantage. I must understand its snow, and use it to my favor. And I will have only one chance.

At the Chief Lexor’s signal, we head to the lineup of dogsleds. More wolf than dog, my team terrified me initially. They resented me when I took over their training after Eamon’s death, the only human to whom they’d grown accustomed. At first, the very tick I’d handle the reins, the dogs would snarl and gnash at me. Then they’d take out their aggression on each other and the snow would end up dotted with blood. It took me nearly a month to win their trust—and their deference—so that I could get them to work in sync and use their distinctive talents. By the time I harnessed them to my sled line this morning, they’d become like the sister and brothers I do not have.

The lead husky, Indica, is distinctive with his pure black face. There’s Johan, Hansen, James, and Singerneq, all hardworking white huskies, nearly indistinguishable but for the different placement of black patches on their bodies. The two grey dogs—Rasmus and Pierre—and the brownish husky—Akim—are good-natured, but will vie for position if not firmly managed. Finally, there’s Sigurd, beautiful and black with a circular white patch around her right eye. She’s the only female. A kindred spirit.

I check that my bags are secure and that the state of my
sled is in order. I give each of the dogs a rub. From now on, it will be entirely up to me. No more Companions. No more Attendants. No more father who happens to be Chief Archon. No more prying Lady mother. For the first time in my life, I must rely on myself.

My heart beats hard at the thought of what I’m about to do. I’ve never done anything even vaguely illicit before, other than climbing the turret with Eamon and writing in this journal, both of which seem like child’s play now.

As I inspect my gear, I gather a small mound of snow in my glove. Rubbing it between my fingers, I see that the snow is
masak
. The sled’s runners will drag in this wet, spring snow without aid. Surreptitiously, I dip my hand into the side bag Lukas prepared for me, and pull out a small skin soaked in whale oil. Under the guise of further examining my sled, I run the oily skin over its runners.

I continue to pretend to inspect my sled, but not because I’ve engaged in Lex-breaking. The Lex doesn’t prohibit what I’ve just done; in fact, it doesn’t address such tricks at all. That’s because the Aerie—and accordingly, The Lex—grant no credibility to the Boundary people’s knowledge of snow. But using Boundary skills in the Testing would not be popular with the Triad, who hold our fates in their hands as they calculate the points garnered in the nine Advantages comprising the Testing. Plus, I don’t want to tip off the other Testors.

We finish our final checks and stand in front of our sleds, ready for the Lexor’s signal to mount. I glance at the Testors on either side of me. Although I know them, I have no idea how they’ll treat me out here, especially since Test rumors fly each year about betrayals and dirty tricks, even among lifelong friends.

To my left are Knud and Tristan. Both varying shades of blond, they always seemed bland Lex-followers to me. I recall being surprised when Eamon mentioned they’d entered their names for the Testing. Maybe their families pressured them, as they both come from Keeper stock. Or maybe I underestimated them.

Beyond them are Jacques, Benedict, Thurstan, and William. All four were friends of Eamon’s and similar to him in obvious ways: gifted in The Lex but questioning, enterprising, and strong. Both Jacques and Benedict’s fathers work directly for the Keeper of the Fishery, and I wonder whether that aligns them or makes them more competitive with each other. Thurstan, barrel-chested and more coarse than the rest, doesn’t have that worry; his father is Keeper of the Grains, and he will have a place in the Ark no matter what happens out here. The same is true of William whose family has served as Keeper of Buildings and Homes since the founding of New North. He definitely seems more suited to the cerebral job of building design and maintenance.

Over the course of the morning, all four of these Gallants have shot me at least one sympathetic glance. I know that doesn’t mean they’ll be any less fierce in the Testing.

At the end of the left side of the line stand Anders, Petr, and Niels. I know each by sight but not well, other than Niels, who, not unlike William, always seemed quiet and bookish. Definitely more suited to life as a Scholar than an Archon. If I had to guess, the families of Petr and Anders pressured them to Commit, as both their families are fairly low in the Aerie strata, serving several rungs under the Keeper of the Flames. Their families have a great understanding of fuel and fire, however, so maybe they have an
advantage I don’t know of. And a victory would elevate significantly the status of the winner’s family.

To my right is Aleksander, the son of the head Ring-Guard. He was always the perfect Lex-follower and teacher-pleaser at School. Yet, no matter how hard he tried—or rather,
because
of how hard he tried—he wasn’t well-liked. He grins at me, but he’s standing uncomfortably close. All at once I remember that his father voiced the strongest opposition to my Testing.

Jasper stands on the other side of Aleksander.

We haven’t been near enough to make eye contact today; I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. Last night seems like a dream against the reality of the Testing, and I have no idea how to behave around him. Before I can decide whether it’s wise to acknowledge him, the Herald raises the red Testing flag. The crowd sees the flag and roars in anticipation. We mount our dogsleds, put on our wooden snow goggles to soften the blinding glare coming off the ice, and wait for the final signal. For the only time this year, the
Campana
tolls twelve times to signify the Testing.

We are off.

I crack my whip in the air, and my dogs respond immediately. With the oiled runners, my sled skids over the
masak
easily, and I send a silent thanks to Lukas for all his instruction. Within ticks, I am alone on the vast white snow. I am in the lead.

When I was eight years old, the year before Father was elected Chief Archon, Eamon and I climbed out onto the turret for the first time in one of many attempts to escape Mother’s tyranny. The Aerie and the Ring spread out before us, an infinite white. My Boundary Nurse Aga had secretly followed us, with a scolding finger in the air but an indulgent smile on her face; other than Eamon, my Nurse probably understood me best of all. Although I remember feeling scared of the heights, especially when the icy wind whipped my gown around my feet, I mostly remember feeling free.

Racing through the vast, empty expanse of New North, I feel like that eight-year-old girl all over again. Or I try to. I hold on to the joy of those memories, but the cold is already seeping into my bones. I can’t stop Lukas’s litany
of instructions from creeping into my mind. What was it he said? Oh, right. Never let your mind drift because that’s when the snow drifts in.

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.