Rift (7 page)

Ember tried to ignore the sound of Kael’s laughter as he continued to speak with Barrow. The swift scuffle of feet announced Alistair’s presence at her side.

“You should have let me help you up. We’d already be in the hall with the others,” he whispered. “Now Barrow thinks we’re fools and I’ll never hear the end of it from Kael.”

She didn’t answer him, miffed at his words but feeling he was right. It made her fists clench.

He wasn’t finished. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t want to anger him, but it was hard to make a sincere apology as they approached the great hall and fear began to creep like frost over her skin.

Alistair touched Ember’s arm, flashing her a smile that told her he was satisfied by the exchange even if she was still irked.

The warmth in his eyes broke through her nerves, drawing a question from her she’d been trying to ignore. “You said I’ll be tested. What if I fail? I know nothing about what’s expected of me.”

“You won’t,” Alistair said. “I know you belong with us. Have faith and a little patience. I’m so sorry I can’t say more, but it’s forbidden.”

“I know, but—” Ember bowed her head. “If I fail, will I be sent home?”

With a frustrated grunt, Alistair said, “I can tell you nothing more than this: the test isn’t one you can fail. It shows where you belong.”

His words brought Ember up short. She turned to stare at him. “Where I belong?”

“Yes.” He kept walking and she hurried to catch him. “And I shouldn’t have said even that much.”

“Is that how you became part of the Guard?” she asked.

“I’ve said too much.” He kept his voice stern, but the corner of his mouth turned up and Ember knew she’d guessed correctly.

Alistair stopped, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him. “I swear, Em, this is where you’re meant to be. You’ve always known it. I know it. We’ll be together.”

Ember gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps.” But her hope had drained away.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

They approached the doors to the great hall, which today stood open, waiting for her. Ember’s mind was turning faster than a spinning wheel, but she nodded.

“Godspeed, Em,” he whispered.

She managed a soft reply, despite her closing throat. “Godspeed, my friend.”

They entered the immense space. Sunlight speared through the intricate stained glass windows blazing amid the dark walls, filling the room with a riot of bright colors. Most striking of all was the impossible broad and tall living tree at the center of the room. Its twisting branches, covered in deep green needles, served as a canopy for the room. The tree’s scent spilled through the air, warm and alive. Ember knew the tree was somehow special, or important, or both.

The great hall exceeded its name. A smile pulled at Ember’s mouth as she imagined her father’s sour face when he laid eyes on a chamber much finer than the hall of his own manor.

Visitors milled about in the gallery above the open space, where the other initiates already stood waiting, uneasy. Unlike Ember, these young men and women had arrived at Conatus due to misfortune, or so Alistair had told her. Conatus drew its members from those for whom there wasn’t a place in the world. Some came seeking charity and decided to stay. Others, like Alistair, sought fortune when it had been denied elsewhere. But cases like his were rare, and today Ember was the sole initiate to be called from a noble family.

A cloud of whispers filled the hall as Ember hurried to take her place beside her peers. Alistair had moved away from her, though she could still see him out of the corner of her eye as he joined the Guard.

She was here as a pledge of Conatus. But her presence was only the first step. Next came the trial.

Where I belong,
Ember thought. If the reward was her true place of belonging, she was willing to endure any trial. She hoped she could.

Her heart began to pound. The girl on her left was trembling. The boy to her right stood with eyes shut tight, lips whispering a feverish prayer.

A gray-haired priest came to the center of the hall, stopping in front of them. “I am Father Michael.”

He smiled kindly at each of them. “‘We have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office.’ So wrote Saint Paul in his letter to the Romans. Your presence here today signifies your desire to serve in the body of Conatus and thus perform a holy office.”

From the door behind them, Ember heard the sound of approaching feet. Six people, four men and two women, walked past the line of initiates and formed a half circle around Father Michael.

“Before you join this body, that office must be determined,” the priest said. He nodded to the men and women standing beside and behind him. “The six who stand before you are the Circle—called from within Conatus to lead us, chosen because each has excelled in his or her office.”

Ember looked at the members of the Circle while the priest spoke. It was like gazing into a strange mirror, a reflection of some possible future. Six initiates on the cusp of adulthood, six elders: veterans of Conatus. Ember’s eyes were drawn to the two women in the group. She could guess their identity from Alistair’s letters: the sisters, Cian and Eira. Ember was surprised that they wore their hair long and loose. Their bright, cascading tresses offered a blatant contrast to the black tabard of the Guard. Rather than making them appear softer and more feminine, their untamed hair gave the sisters a wild appearance—like the Amazons of legend or the pagan queen Boadicea, all stories Ember had gobbled up as a child, searching for any sign that a girl could find her way to the warrior’s life. No longer were tales of old Ember’s only hope. The living, breathing example of what she longed to be stood before her now. Alistair had written that everyone in Conatus referred to them as “the sisters” rather than as individuals and that some even whispered of them as “the weird sisters” in snide tones. Indulging her fascination with their history, Alistair had explained that the sisters had been orphaned together and inseparable since they’d arrived in the keep. They’d won their place in the Circle by virtue of their courage and prowess in the field. Within Conatus, the sisters were as legendary as any warrior of history or myth.

“. . . we are blessed by their guidance.” Father Michael was still speaking. “Two souls to represent each major office of our order.”

He paused, gesturing to the two men in cowled robes who stood on his left: “Knowledge.”

Stretching his hand and pointing behind him, the priest acknowledged the next two men—both dressed in the simple garb of commoners. “Craft.”

Father Michael extended his hand to the two sisters, who stood on his right. “War.”

War. Ember drew a quick breath, wondering what war was being waged here. She knew of the ongoing war between England and France but not of any holy war on behalf of the Church. Another possibility was the squabble over the Scottish throne, which could turn deadly at any time. And wasn’t the church divided against itself because of the papal schism? Her heart stuttered. Was Conatus simply acting under orders of the pope in Rome or Avignon to secure a specific outcome? For whom would she fight if she became a soldier in this order?

“Any role undertaken at Tearmunn falls under one of these three offices,” Father Michael said. “Today your task is to find the office of your true calling.”

Despite her harried speculations, Ember focused on the priest’s calm voice.

A true calling. Where I belong. This must be something more than petty politics.

“Look there,” Father Michael said, pointing to the wall on his left. “Beyond that door you will find three rooms. Each room contains another door. You must choose the room that best reflects your heart. Pass through the door in that room. You may not turn back once the choice has been made. To ensure that you have been truthful in searching your soul to find your office among us, you will face a trial on the other side of the door you have chosen. Should you fail this test, you are not meant to serve here.”

Ember barely stopped herself from flinching. She could fail. She could be sent away. Alistair had lied to her.

“Go now.” The door to which Father Michael gestured was a simple portal of dark wood, neither ominous nor welcoming. “Make your choice.”

In a single-file line the pledges turned and walked to the door. Ember was the third to pass through. On the other side of the door was an oval antechamber split by three archways. Like her companions, Ember hesitated in the small room. She turned with a start when the door to the great hall was closed forcefully behind them. And locked.

FIVE

EMBER AND THE OTHER
pledges huddled in a tight cluster like chicks who’d lost their mother hen. No one spoke. Each initiate understood that this was a solitary endeavor and conversation would only serve to muddy any clarity of mind one might have for the task at hand.

Glancing at each of the arched portals in turn, Ember couldn’t see what lay inside the chambers. As the others made their own choices, Ember decided to investigate the room to her left, drawn there by the subtle hint of candlelight from within. She sensed two of the pledges trailing behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the rest of the group drifting into the other rooms.

When Ember passed through the archway, the sight awaiting her stole her breath. The room’s vaulted ceiling stretched toward the heavens. Each wall, each nook, each crevice of the room was bursting with scrolls or bound volumes. Ember stumbled forward, mesmerized by the sight of so much collected scholarship. In addition to the works that were strewn on the walls, massive tomes lay open on table throughout the room. She tentatively came forward to peer at the open volumes, marveling at the illuminated texts. The pages were a riot of colors that rivaled those of stained glass; their exquisite artistry could have been wrought by the hand of angels.

The only space in the room not covered by bound volumes or tightly rolled scrolls was a narrow door in the far wall.

Sneaking a look at the girl and boy who had joined her in this room, Ember saw that they were breathless with anticipation. The girl dropped to the floor with a book the size of her torso wedged onto her lap while the boy scrambled up a ladder to explore the highest reaches of scroll-laden shelves. Ember continued to wander through the room. It would take several lifetimes to absorb the writings contained within this single room. Ember wondered if this room was Tearmunn’s library but suspected that even this enormous collection was only a taste of the boundless knowledge the clerics of Conatus had at their fingertips.

Though she was tempted to read a few pages, curiosity drew Ember back to the archway. She glanced back at her companions, but they were both lost in reading and gave no sign of ever wanting to leave the room.

What had Father Michael said?
Each room contains another door. You must choose the room that best reflects your heart. Pass through the door in that room. You may not turn back once the choice has been made.

As wonderful as the room of books had been, Ember wasn’t willing to choose a door without seeing all three of her options. She went to the central room and was surprised to find herself alone in the chamber. This room lacked the striking architecture of the first. Rather than a high vaulted ceiling, the chamber had a somber, plain design. Several long tables were arranged in straight lines at the center of the room. Upon inspecting the tables, Ember found they were covered with maps. The charts didn’t simply show the land’s features and its cities, but also were filled with notes and symbols: arrows suggesting movement, sites marked off for significance. As she compared the maps, Ember realized they were as much history lesson as navigational. Here was the progression of the Peloponnesian War. There she could follow the action of Alexander the Great’s movements through Asia. Another map showed the Norman invasion of England.

War. The center room depicted the office of war. Ember’s pulse quickened, her mind alert as she pored over the charts. The patterns on the maps were fascinating to her. Puzzles of the past waiting to be solved. Why this army’s success while the greater force had floundered? Why this path of invasion when the sea route might have offered a faster course?

Ember pulled herself away from the charts to examine the walls. One wall was covered with the tools of war. Swords of all lengths were suspended in the air. Double-bladed axes, cudgels, quarterstaffs, and flails were there along with an abundance of weapons she couldn’t name.

Her eyes wandered back to the charts and then flicked to the wall of weapons. This was the contradiction of war—strategy partnered with brutality. She shivered and walked across the room so she could gaze at the opposite wall, where she found yet another contradiction. Mirroring the weaponry were images so beautiful Ember felt her throat tighten. Paintings lined the wall, filling the space from floor to ceiling. The scenes depicted varied widely: here Ember found Greeks spilling out of the Trojan horse, there she watched as Judith lifted the head of Holofernes in triumph. Though many of the paintings were severe in their violence, others were sublime. Ember’s eyes stung as she gazed at a portrait of a young woman tearing her hair as she mourned a fallen warrior and her heartbeat quickened when she found a painting of a Templar taking his vows.