Relic

XV: Aprilus 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 Year 242, A.H.

What should I do with my suspicions? The Lex mandates that I report any offenses to the Scouts, but at least one Scout is biased against me. Maybe more. If the Scouts don’t believe my report—or even if they do—they could make my disclosure known and choose not to pursue the offenders. Sharing my suspicions about the Lex-breaking conversation, or an alliance, would then backfire, leaving me a target for the Testors I’ve named. And perhaps others.

Anyway, what did I witness? Was it really an offense as defined by The Lex? I heard—not saw—two people talking in the Taiga. Then later, I saw two Testors near the Taiga border. The assumption that they were talking to one another—about me—is open to challenge. And I feel certain the Scouts are looking for a reason to challenge me. Or worse.

The question plagues me as I ready the musk ox. From my time spent in the kitchens—watching the Attendants prepare food and listening to their gossip and stories, always with my Nurse Aga close at hand—I learned how to prepare the meat of almost any animal so that it wouldn’t spoil. Even still, readying the qiviut and the meat is a job that takes me most of the night. I have way too much time to think about the Scouts and the Testors. I wish I could talk it through with Jasper. Or Lukas. Or Eamon, most of all. I miss him so much out here. Even more than I missed him at home.

By dawn’s light, I have repacked my sled, fed myself and my team, prepared enough meat for several days, and made a decision. It’s what my brother would have done, and certainly what the guarded Lukas would advise me to do. I will keep my theories to myself. I will no longer communicate with Jasper under any circumstances. But I’ll keep a close eye on Aleksandr and Neils.

Other Testors—Jasper, Aleksandr, Neils, and Benedict among them—must have camped nearby, because we line up when the first horn of morning sounds. In unison, we immediately cross into the Taiga; we must pass through the forest to get to the Tundra, the final stage in our journey to the Frozen Shores, the third of the first three Advantages. When the dense tree-life of the Taiga requires my undivided concentration—I must stave off the splintering of my sled or the fracturing of my team—it is almost a relief. I don’t want to think about anyone else for a while.

By the first horn of the evening, I have entered the Tundra—so white after the greenery of the Taiga. It is curiously beautiful with its frost-sculpted landscape, a treeless plain of ice and glaciers. In the distance I can see snowy peaks. And I can already feel the Tundra’s extreme cold. Dread spreads through me—many, many Testors have died out here—but I push it down back into the dark recesses where the Maiden still exists, imprisoned. Instead, I force a steely determination. Lukas never treated me like a Maiden during training, and I will not act like one out here. I haven’t so far, as Jasper can attest to. I will prevail over this. I have come too far to not succeed.

Rather than riding out onto the frigid desert to gain a small distance advantage, I cling to the shelter of the Taiga border. If Lukas is right, it will take me nearly five sinik to cross the Tundra, and I will need every tick of protection I can find to get me through it. For this night, I will allow myself and my team the refuge of the relatively warm Taiga. From the hum of camps being erected around me, other Testors seem to be making the same decision.

By the first horn of morning, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Or so I think. Once I actually enter, it’s clear I’ll have to fight to stay alive every tick. From a distance the Tundra appears fairly flat, but really it’s a mass of unexpected glacial outcroppings that threaten the stability of my sled. Frozen mounds lie hidden beneath the ice; even my experienced huskies break stride. I also notice that I am really hungry. And that my dogs are snarling and nipping at one another, the way they do when it’s close to feeding time. Lukas had warned me that we would need to eat more out here, so periodically, I halt the team and toss pieces of the musk ox to each dog. I thank the Gods that I came across that enormous creature. Supposedly, according to Lukas’s map, meals can be found in the Tundra, as well—foxes, bears, wolves, caribou, and snow geese—but I haven’t seen anything other than a few straggly geese in the air. I can’t imagine how the other Testors I spy in the near distance—Jasper, Aleksandr, Neils, and Benedict—will survive without the musk ox stores.

The worst part, though, is the wind. Growing up in the Aerie, I thought I had reached friendly terms with frozen air. That was the naiveté of a Maiden; I had no true understanding of cold. During the day of my siniks in the Tundra, when I must constantly focus on the dogs, the sled, the terrain, and the food, the cold seeps into my bones but doesn’t imperil me.

At night, it’s a different story.

Stillness in the Tundra means death, Lukas had cautioned. And I feel it the moment I stop moving and lay down in my tent. Even though I’m dead-tired, I’m scared to doze and let the icy fingers of the Tundra freeze me into a permanent slumber. I keep my mind busy to ward off sleep. I write in this journal. I tabulate the number of points the Triad might award me for the first two Advantages, if the Scouts return with truthful reports, that is. I kneel before my diptych, offering more prayers to the Gods. I lie back down and try to tease out the meaning in Eamon’s cryptic, last journal entries: Must we truly risk our lives in the Testing in order to be worthy of the Archon Laurels? Our lives are so precious and so few … Will they still love me when I do what I must?

What did he mean? Will we still love him when he does what he must during the Testing? It’s got to be something else. I even think on Jasper’s words about a future together. Only then, under the extra layer of warmth that the Gods-sent musk ox qiviut provides, does rest come.