Relic

XIII: Aprilus 2 Year 242, A.H.

The horn sounds, and I no longer have time to think. The dogs, trained to race at the very tick they hear it, take off. The sinik is bright and clear, and the snow is mingullaut, the perfect mix of ice and powder. The terrain proves flat and even, for now. My team is in their element; I simply let them loose.

Lukas’s map shows that the quickest route to the Taiga is a direct northeastern one. The same route Jasper seems to be following. I suppose that either Jasper or I could veer off to maintain a distance, but that would require we speak. And there’s no way I’m going to initiate a conversation with Scouts lurking everywhere. So we ride to the Taiga close together, as is natural.

Ostensibly, we ignore one another. We never speak, never glance at the other. We simply drive our teams as hard as possible to the Taiga border, and, to my surprise, we are evenly matched in skill and speed. If a Scout was watching, he would have nothing untoward to report. Nothing in The Lex prohibits Testors sledding in close proximity. Sometimes the topography makes it absolutely necessary. But I feel Jasper’s presence. And oddly enough, even though I can’t speak to him or rely on him in any way, he comforts me.

The Sun continues Her progress across the sky, and well before She nears the horizon, we reach the Taiga. I cannot believe how quickly we’ve reached the borders of the famed boreal forest. The first horn of evening will not sound for at least two bells. It seems a surplus of time.

What starts as an occasional dry shrub thickens into a line of trees flagged by the winds, and then into a tangle of birches and evergreens. Intuitively, Jasper and I part as we near the Taiga border, taking slightly different paths into the increasingly dense forest. I stare in amazement at all the plant life; I have never encountered such verdancy anywhere but the Ark. I have entered a green world utterly different from the one I know, the white world of ice and snow.

When I dismount, I know I should ready my camp, as Lukas instructed. But the carpet of caribou moss glows such an enticing emerald that I simply must touch it. The apprentice Gardener in me—the one who spent years growing to love botany and agriculture in the hopes of serving in the Ark—cannot be denied.

Tying my team to a sturdy birch tree, I signal for them to wait. I wander a bit, collecting specimens of evergreen needles and birch leaves for Ark botanists and gardeners back home, as well as some samples of caribou moss and edible greens for myself. From my study, I know that the caribou moss will help preserve the artifacts I find, and that the edible greens could stave off scurvy and other nutritionally based diseases. I marvel at nine-foot-tall shrubs, willow trees, and broad-leaved grasses. A hare leaps through the moss, startled by my tentative footsteps. The thick moss cover makes it hard to walk, especially in kamiks more accustomed to ice. But I feel oddly at home for the first time since leaving the Aerie.

I wonder if this is what His Earthen lands looked like before they were submerged in the Healing. Or if they looked more like the Ark, where the humid air seems to breathe and every corner of Earth is alive with growth. But, unlike the Ark, this place is Gods-made.

I hear a crack of sticks and immediately regret my little stroll. What am I doing in the Taiga acting as if I’m on some Ark-mission instead of the Testing?

It’s Jasper. He’s walking some distance ahead of me, also without his sled and team. His stride is firm and surefooted; his wound has healed with astonishing quickness. Gently touching the pine-needles and birch leaves along the way, he appears as awestruck as I am.

As if he senses me staring at him, he turns around. He smiles, a beautiful slow smile. It’s like those looks of delight one sees from the youngest children in the School. For a brief tick, my breath catches, and I forget why we are here in this magical place. I smile back.

But then, when his mouth opens as if to call to me, I shake my head. The smile quickly disappears from my lips. Before he can actually speak aloud, I raise my hand to stop him. I mouth the words, “We can’t talk. The Scouts are watching me.”

“I know,” he mouths back. His smile grows sad. He’d allowed himself a few ticks of forgetfulness, too. We permit ourselves a tiny farewell wave.

And then we hear other voices.