gulp down the rest of my small snack. Another Testor. And he’s approaching fast. Where did he come from? I haven’t seen or heard anyone behind me since I lost Benedict, Thurstan, and Niels bells ago.
I crack my whip. The first horn of the evening will sound soon, and I’ve got to gain as much ground as I can if I want to win the First Advantage. The dogs quicken their gait, but I see that the other Testor is getting closer.
I scowl. What would Eamon—or Lukas—do?
Unexpectedly, the grade of the flat polar expanse changes—downhill. My dogs yelp with excitement at the prospect of speed, and the sled takes off. My icy breath catches in my throat. I start to teeter. I’m in danger of losing control; Testors have been killed by toppling sleds in these exact situations. Pulling back on the reins, I command the dogs to slow. After resisting for a few ticks, they acquiesce, and the sled is righted.
The other Testor isn’t so lucky.
There’s a crash behind me, and I pull up sharply on the reins. Fumbling again for my mirror, I see his sled has overturned. In horror, I watch as he crawls out from underneath the cargo bed. I long to turn back and help him, even though The Lex absolutely forbids assisting fellow Testors:
let no Testor assist or align with another as the Gods demand that every Testor prove his own worthiness for the sacred role of Archon
. Before I have to make the decision whether to break The Lex or allow another human to die, a horn echoes across the landscape.
I have only fifteen ticks until the final horn. I must make camp wherever I am. Fifteen ticks to get to shelter before the polar darkness begins its rapid descent. After that, I am left exposed on the ice as a snack for any passing arctic bear or cat. I stop worrying about the fallen Testor, and start worrying about surviving the first night.
From my side bag, I pull out the hollow, double metal cylinders Lukas welded for me from scraps of a boat pulled out from the Frozen Shores long ago. I press them to the slit in my goggles. That frozen-in iceberg seems pretty close. If I push my dogs to the limit, I might just make it to the iceberg in time. Might.
The whip cracks too close to the dogs. I sense their anger, but the sound spurs them on. The sled hurtles faster than Ibelieved possible, and I actually have to rein in the team as we approach the perimeter of the iceberg. I hear the long, low bellow. I’ve run out of time.
The air around me clouds up with my hurried breathing, mixed in with my dog team. But I’m also panting in relief that our journey’s done for the
sinik
and we’ve found some refuge for the night. I dismount from the sled and give each of them a hug to thank them for their efforts—especially Indica. Then, as I suss out which side of the iceberg will provide the most shelter, I realize I’m not alone.
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.
T HE 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
I crack my whip. The first horn of the evening will sound soon, and I’ve got to gain as much ground as I can if I want to win the First Advantage. The dogs quicken their gait, but I see that the other Testor is getting closer.
I scowl. What would Eamon—or Lukas—do?
Unexpectedly, the grade of the flat polar expanse changes—downhill. My dogs yelp with excitement at the prospect of speed, and the sled takes off. My icy breath catches in my throat. I start to teeter. I’m in danger of losing control; Testors have been killed by toppling sleds in these exact situations. Pulling back on the reins, I command the dogs to slow. After resisting for a few ticks, they acquiesce, and the sled is righted.
The other Testor isn’t so lucky.
There’s a crash behind me, and I pull up sharply on the reins. Fumbling again for my mirror, I see his sled has overturned. In horror, I watch as he crawls out from underneath the cargo bed. I long to turn back and help him, even though The Lex absolutely forbids assisting fellow Testors:
let no Testor assist or align with another as the Gods demand that every Testor prove his own worthiness for the sacred role of Archon
. Before I have to make the decision whether to break The Lex or allow another human to die, a horn echoes across the landscape.
I have only fifteen ticks until the final horn. I must make camp wherever I am. Fifteen ticks to get to shelter before the polar darkness begins its rapid descent. After that, I am left exposed on the ice as a snack for any passing arctic bear or cat. I stop worrying about the fallen Testor, and start worrying about surviving the first night.
From my side bag, I pull out the hollow, double metal cylinders Lukas welded for me from scraps of a boat pulled out from the Frozen Shores long ago. I press them to the slit in my goggles. That frozen-in iceberg seems pretty close. If I push my dogs to the limit, I might just make it to the iceberg in time. Might.
The whip cracks too close to the dogs. I sense their anger, but the sound spurs them on. The sled hurtles faster than Ibelieved possible, and I actually have to rein in the team as we approach the perimeter of the iceberg. I hear the long, low bellow. I’ve run out of time.
The air around me clouds up with my hurried breathing, mixed in with my dog team. But I’m also panting in relief that our journey’s done for the
sinik
and we’ve found some refuge for the night. I dismount from the sled and give each of them a hug to thank them for their efforts—especially Indica. Then, as I suss out which side of the iceberg will provide the most shelter, I realize I’m not alone.
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.
T HE 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
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