other than a dancing circle of flickering light, a few footsteps in any direction I choose.
After a few ticks of finding nothing, I decide to give up and draw on my food stores. Just for tonight, I promise myself. I figure I deserve a break on my first
sinik
anyway. Before I pass into the iceberg’s perimeter, I can almost hear Lukas nag me to try one last trick. Especially since his map shows that this is an area where game and birds might be found.
I close my eyes and listen.
“Ears are better than eyes for hunting at night,” he’d told me. “Your prey knows that you’re blind and isn’t as fearful.”
At first, all I hear is the wind whipping around the top of the iceberg. The low grumble of my dogs. And the ever-present crackling of ice. But then, just southeast of me, I hear the gentle flap of wings. Snow geese.
Very quietly, I extinguish the candle in my lamp. In pitch blackness I creep toward the sound. I force myself to trust in that repetitive fluttering noise and the specter of Lukas’s words. The beating of wings grows louder. I can almost imagine what the feathers look like. Closer and closer, until it’s above me and all around me …
I throw my
bola
.
I am rewarded with a screech and a gust as the remainder of the flock fly over my head. I run toward the commotion and, with shaky fingers, relight my lamp. A smile breaks on my face; I can feel sweat freezing on my cheeks. There, amidst a pile of feathers, lies my first kill of the Testing. Several snow geese, big ones by the shadowy look of them. Since I’m a novice with the
bola
—and I’m not even certain the
bola
is the right weapon for this target—it’s practically a Gods-given miracle.
Wrapping a rope around the birds, I sling them over my shoulder with one hand and trudge back to the iceberg, lighting the way with my other. I make no effort to be quiet;I want the not-so-fallen Testor to see what I’m capable of. He peers out from his side of the mass as I approach, but I pretend not to notice him.
I toss half the geese to my dogs, making sure one lands close to Indica as a reward for his efforts. As they snarl over the carcasses, I pick out one for myself, holding the rest in reserve for the morning. I clean my goose the way the Attendants taught me in the warm kitchen of my home, and place it over the fire. It’s much harder in the darkness, even with the embers to guide me.
T HE ROASTED GOOSE TASTES better than anything I’ve ever eaten, even the honeyed cakes the Attendants prepare for Feasts at home. After the bones have been picked clean, I am drowsy. But phrases from Eamon’s journal run through my mind. Phrases I wish I’d never read.
Can I really survive the Testing? Am I really destined to be an Archon? Can I really do what I believe I must?
This last question he’d written on the very last page, on the very last line.
Having survived the first
sinik
of the Testing—even nearly garnered the lead for myself—I can’t believe that my talented brother ever harbored such doubts. If I can do it, he certainly could have. Not that I’m over-confident about my chances for the next
sinik
.
Unfolding the small diptych I brought in my bags, I kneel before the little altar and say a few prayers to the Gods. I stare at their gilded, circular symbols, believing that surely it was the Sun and the Earth who brought me through this day unscathed. The Gods and Lukas, of course.
My body aches in places I never knew existed before.Just as the pain finally relents and I feel myself start to drift off, I hear a noise. Not the dogs, not the shifting ice, and not the wind.
I sit bolt upright, and grab my
ulu
. I fear the worst—a bear or a cat. Before I move, I listen again to place the creature. The sound is distinctly human.
“Eva, it’s me. Jasper.”
I peek from underneath the flap of my tent, and there he kneels.
“What in the Gods are you doing?” I hiss. I can’t believe the risk he’s taking for us both:
let no
After a few ticks of finding nothing, I decide to give up and draw on my food stores. Just for tonight, I promise myself. I figure I deserve a break on my first
sinik
anyway. Before I pass into the iceberg’s perimeter, I can almost hear Lukas nag me to try one last trick. Especially since his map shows that this is an area where game and birds might be found.
I close my eyes and listen.
“Ears are better than eyes for hunting at night,” he’d told me. “Your prey knows that you’re blind and isn’t as fearful.”
At first, all I hear is the wind whipping around the top of the iceberg. The low grumble of my dogs. And the ever-present crackling of ice. But then, just southeast of me, I hear the gentle flap of wings. Snow geese.
Very quietly, I extinguish the candle in my lamp. In pitch blackness I creep toward the sound. I force myself to trust in that repetitive fluttering noise and the specter of Lukas’s words. The beating of wings grows louder. I can almost imagine what the feathers look like. Closer and closer, until it’s above me and all around me …
I throw my
bola
.
I am rewarded with a screech and a gust as the remainder of the flock fly over my head. I run toward the commotion and, with shaky fingers, relight my lamp. A smile breaks on my face; I can feel sweat freezing on my cheeks. There, amidst a pile of feathers, lies my first kill of the Testing. Several snow geese, big ones by the shadowy look of them. Since I’m a novice with the
bola
—and I’m not even certain the
bola
is the right weapon for this target—it’s practically a Gods-given miracle.
Wrapping a rope around the birds, I sling them over my shoulder with one hand and trudge back to the iceberg, lighting the way with my other. I make no effort to be quiet;I want the not-so-fallen Testor to see what I’m capable of. He peers out from his side of the mass as I approach, but I pretend not to notice him.
I toss half the geese to my dogs, making sure one lands close to Indica as a reward for his efforts. As they snarl over the carcasses, I pick out one for myself, holding the rest in reserve for the morning. I clean my goose the way the Attendants taught me in the warm kitchen of my home, and place it over the fire. It’s much harder in the darkness, even with the embers to guide me.
T HE ROASTED GOOSE TASTES better than anything I’ve ever eaten, even the honeyed cakes the Attendants prepare for Feasts at home. After the bones have been picked clean, I am drowsy. But phrases from Eamon’s journal run through my mind. Phrases I wish I’d never read.
Can I really survive the Testing? Am I really destined to be an Archon? Can I really do what I believe I must?
This last question he’d written on the very last page, on the very last line.
Having survived the first
sinik
of the Testing—even nearly garnered the lead for myself—I can’t believe that my talented brother ever harbored such doubts. If I can do it, he certainly could have. Not that I’m over-confident about my chances for the next
sinik
.
Unfolding the small diptych I brought in my bags, I kneel before the little altar and say a few prayers to the Gods. I stare at their gilded, circular symbols, believing that surely it was the Sun and the Earth who brought me through this day unscathed. The Gods and Lukas, of course.
My body aches in places I never knew existed before.Just as the pain finally relents and I feel myself start to drift off, I hear a noise. Not the dogs, not the shifting ice, and not the wind.
I sit bolt upright, and grab my
ulu
. I fear the worst—a bear or a cat. Before I move, I listen again to place the creature. The sound is distinctly human.
“Eva, it’s me. Jasper.”
I peek from underneath the flap of my tent, and there he kneels.
“What in the Gods are you doing?” I hiss. I can’t believe the risk he’s taking for us both:
let no
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