Relic

XIX: Aprilus 8 Year 242, A.H.

My courageous façade crumbles as soon as I’m out of the Scouts’ sight. I have never been so scared in my life. In the Taiga and Tundra I had my huskies. Now I am truly alone. Jasper’s nearness in his own Descent only adds to the solitude.

I know I have to kick off the chasm’s ice wall with the tip of my bear-claw boots to start my descent, but I’m immobilized with fear. What if my rope gets severed on a sharp ice point? What if I didn’t choose a solid enough surface for my ice screws? What if I’m not strong enough to slow my descent and I end up in the bottomless crevasse? Eamon died on the Ring in this exact sort of situation.

Lukas warned me that I might feel this way, even though I’m a naturally gifted climber. Nothing is like the Descent. He said that no matter how many ice climbs and descents we practiced on the bottom part of the Ring and the small ice formations within the Aerie, they would not substitute for the sensation of lowering myself into the crevasse’s near vertical ice walls. I think back on his teachings. I take a deep breath, whisper “believe,” and put the tip of my boots into the ice.

The kick back from the ice wall sends me flying down too fast, and I lose control of my sealskin rope. I don’t have a powerful enough grip, just as I’d feared. My slight build was a strength in the first three Advantages—sleds race faster with lighter loads—but down here, it’s a hindrance. Sheer strength—the kind hard-won by years of training—rules this phase of Testing. To stop my fall, I have to dig my bear-claw boots and my axe into the ice with all my might.

My heart beats wildly, and I feel like I might throw up. But I have to keep descending or I might as well head to the surface right now and offer my surrender—like so many in the Aerie want, including my mother.

I picture Eamon.

Using every bit of my strength, I kick back again and lower myself slowly down the ice wall, keeping a tighter grip on my sealskin rope than before. I think about one of Eamon’s journal entries, one that seems to have been written for me, for this moment. Never look up or down while climbing; pay attention to the present.

Instead of focusing on the terrifying depths below me, I study the wall right in front of me as I lower down into the crevasse. I spot a patch of white ice, with its dangerous trapped air bubbles, and manage to skirt it. I avoid a particularly sharp shelf in the water ice. I identify a qopuk beneath a light layer of snow cover, and choose another handhold. All the while, I look for some evidence of a chamber or cave or enclosure which might have formed around a large object when the Frozen Shores solidified in the Healing. Nothing.

Pausing periodically for a sip of water and a bite of dried fish from my pack, I map and graph the wall. That way, I will not waste valuable time in the days ahead by re-examining the same stretch of ice. I glance over at Jasper, going through the same exercise. I wonder if his heart is pounding as furiously as mine.

The ice turns from azure to sapphire. The Sun is on Her way down. The Lex requires that we return to the surface by the final horn of the evening, or stay down here all night. Something I definitely don’t want to do. So I throw my axe and boots deep into the ice and begin the long haul upwards.

That’s when I see it. Just off to my right, there’s a grey shadow deep in the ice. Can I reach it on this rope? Or will I have to reposition my fixed line in the morning to get a better look? I want to examine and stake it today if it looks promising. Tomorrow will be more crowded with other Testors down here, and my chance could be lost.

Using my axe and boots, I claw my way horizontally across the slick surface. It’s an advanced maneuver, a dangerous one that could leave me swinging like a pendulum across the razor-edged ice wall if I’m not careful. I reach the shadow just as my rope reaches the end of its tether. Reaching into my pack, I grab the naneq given to me by Lukas. The small lamp, he cautioned, was the only one I should use in the crevasse; a larger, hotter lamp might melt and destabilize the ice wall. With shaking hands, I light a flame and then to the wick. Perching on a small ledge underneath the shadow, I hold naneq close to it.

At first, I think the shadow is simply dark ice containing the residue of some long-ago terrain. But when I hold the naneq closer, I see that a heavy layer of new, clear ice covers a large, inky form deep within the ice wall. An object appears to be imbedded far down in the wall’s reaches.

Even though I know time runs short, I must lay Claim to this place. I take out four more Claim stakes, those that will mark the exact spot of my dig. As I carefully drive the fourth, and final, wooden stake into the ice wall, the first horn of evening sounds. I have to start my ascent. Dozens of Testors have missed the last horn and spent their last night on His Earth in a crevasse on the long end of a sealskin rope.

I begin my climb back up, but I have underestimated my exhaustion. Each time I throw my axe into the ice, it feels heavier than the last. My bear-claw boots feel as heavy as the bears from which they came. The light grows dim, and the opening seems like it will never draw near. I’ve been counting the ticks since I started my ascent, and I don’t think I have enough left to reach the surface. I don’t want to die on this wall. But even my fear is lost in this numb invisible weight.

Above me and to the left, I see the bottom of Jasper’s boots. He’s closer to the surface than I am, but he hasn’t yet reached the opening. As I watch him scale the ice, he peers down. And immediately belays toward me.

“Don’t, Jasper. I can do it,” I whisper as loudly as I dare, without alerting the two Climbers who are posted near the rim. We both know the penalty for talking to another Testor, let alone helping one. As long as the Climbers can’t hear us, it might appear that Jasper has only backtracked. A strange choice, but not forbidden.

“You won’t make it by the final horn on your own.” He reaches my level, scuttles his way across the ice toward me, and stretches out his hand. “Come on.”

“No.” He’s right, but I can’t bear the thought of ruining Jasper’s chances simply because I don’t have the strength to reach the top in time, even if it means I won’t win. So I’d rather pretend to be annoyed with his offer of help and push him toward the surface with my refusal.

He stares at me, and says, “I’d rather spend the night down here with you than make it to the top alone. And I will do it. So, if that’s your choice …”

Before Jasper beat me to the flag, I would have chalked this behavior up to his seemingly unshakeable belief in the Lex’s command of chivalry. Now I’m not so sure. What are his motives in taking such a huge risk and helping me? Does he want to tell me something? Does he want to make sure I don’t win? I really don’t think he’d ever hurt me, but why is he trying to help me? Even though I’m uncertain about him at this tick, I have no choice but to accept his offer. I know what will happen if I dangle here all night.

I glance up at the Climbers, but oddly, neither is looking our way. Maybe the Gods are smiling down on us. Putting my doubts aside for a tick, I place my free hand in Jasper’s, and he hoists us both up toward the opening.