Relic

XXXIV: Aprilus 28 Year 242, A.H.

Our return to the Aerie is so different from our departure. A huge ceremonial procession, complete with flying red banners and a phalanx of Scouts and Boundary Climbers and Attendants: we travel as one. We are no longer a bunch of scared eighteen-year-olds, sent out for the Gods to choose an Archon; we are a fierce pack of returning survivors. Or we play those roles, anyway.

With each step, my heart pounds faster. The amulet and altar seem to grow heavier in my pack. The Ring looks enormous from the outside. Without the ice and stone buildings of the Aerie to soften it, it rises up from the ice flats of the Boundary lands like a tower jutting toward the heavens. Precisely as The Lex describes it. I feel as though the Ring is judging me from on high, almost like one of the Gods. I silently pray that the New North people adjudicate me more kindly than the Ring appears to, and that they don’t make me into an example for trying something so risky with my Chronicle.

Our entire procession has stopped at a makeshift camp just outside the Ring. Testors and Scouts alike pause to prepare before we make the Passage. As they do, they chatter about the Testing and their chances. I catch loads of references to Jasper, but no one mentions me. The Climber must have been lying about the people’s reaction to my Chronicle. He was probably having fun at my expense; maybe he even knew that I stood to be punished for my Chronicle and mocked me.

How could I have ever thought that Aleksandr and Neil saw me as a threat? And why did I imagine that Scout Okpik harbored secret hatred toward me? He’s ignored me for a long while now. It was my father all along, pulling strings so I would survive. It must have been.

Watching this group—especially stalwart Scouts like Okpik—frenzied to clean their filthy sealskin coats and pants and wash their faces for the first time in many siniks, I almost laugh aloud. But then I remember what awaits on the other side of the Ring, and the laughter disappears. I figure that I should look as presentable as possible—even Maidenly, if I can—to confront the Triad and the masses. Secretly, I pull out the mirror Relic to get a glimpse of myself. I badly need to scrub my own face and brush out my tangled bird’s nest of hair.

The people of New North have begun to assemble. An advance Scout has been sent to alert them to our Passage and, from years of Testing, I know they will hurry away from their daily tasks to secure the best spot for watching our triumphant return. And the Selection Ceremony, of course, where only the Gods know what will happen.

My stomach jumps at the thought of all those faces staring at me, assessing me. My mother and father, of course. My teachers and schoolfriends, the few that stuck by me. People I will not recognize except by profession—Builder, Blacksmith, Tailor, Baker—the list goes on. Maybe even my old Nurse Aga, whom I haven’t seen for years.

What will all those people think of me looking like this? What will Lukas? Lukas, if I can make him out in the back of the crowds where the Boundary people watch alongside the Attendants. Will he be upset with me for not following his instructions to the letter? Will he be offended by my Chronicle? Will he be upset if I lose out to Jasper?

How will New North judge me?

The horns bellow. I say goodbye to my beloved dog team before handing them off to Boundary Attendants; I’ll miss them in the siniks ahead. They have been the only constant in the Testing, Indica especially. But I make sure to keep my pack on my back. Only the Gods know what would happen to me if the people knew what I was hiding. Something far worse than the judgment I might receive for writing my Chronicle.

We assemble in line just behind the Gate to the Aerie. Jasper stands two Testors ahead of me—Thurstan and Benedict are between us—and he makes a special point to glance back and smile. It comforts. No matter what happens on this sinik and all the siniks to come, I believe he’ll be a friend first and last. At that very tick, we begin to make the Passage. As we traverse the arched stone that divides the Boundary lands from the Aerie town square, I am awestruck by the crowds. After so many siniks of solitude and ice, the numbers overwhelm; they remind me of the crush of people Elizabet faced when she tried to escape to the docks. I glance around, looking for familiar faces, but there are too many people to separate just one from the masses.

We continue our procession to the stage. There the Selection Ceremony will commence in a bell or less. As we march, I notice a murmur coming from the crowds. It grows in volume, and by the Gods, it sounds like they’re chanting.

“Eva … Eva … Eva …”

But that can’t be right. Why would they be calling my name?

My stomach sinks. Is the chant linked to some judgment the Triad will be issuing about my Chronicle? It doesn’t sound as harsh as the Punishment Chants, but maybe because I am so afraid. The stage suddenly looks less like a place where I’ll be receiving the Archon Laurels, and more like a place where I’ll be sentenced.

One by one, we mount the austere wooden platform. Scanning the town square, I’m struck by how small—and cramped—the Aerie seems compared to the vast fields of snow and the endless sea outside the Ring. Why are we all mashed in here when there’s so much space and air on our doorstep? I want to run away.

My legs shake. Near the front of the crowds, I see my parents. Tiny tears stream down my father’s otherwise stoic face, and he reaches his two fingers up to his lips, as if to kiss me from afar. Is he kissing me goodbye? I look over at my mother for some sign as to how to read my father’s face. My mother’s face is frozen into her public smile, an expression that could mean just about anything.

Where is Lukas? I need to see him. I had hoped my parents would let him stand alongside them, even though he’s Boundary-born and I know he’s due to be sent back to the Boundary lands since his work as a Companion is over. Finally, I spot him. In the far back, over a sea of black-haired Boundary heads, he stands in the exact same place as the day I left. He, too, is unreadable. I start to mouth a question to him—to ask him what in the Gods is going on—but he shakes his head.

What is going to happen to me?

The town square bell chimes once. The crowd hushes. We all stand in silent reverence until the full twelve chimes sound—one for each Testor, returned and fallen. As we wait, a thousand torches are lit to a full blaze in a circle around the town square.

The Chief Triad—Lexor, Basilikon, and Archon—join us on the stage, their Triad symbols emblazoned on their chests. The Testors are supposed to kneel for the Chief Basilikon’s blessing and the anointment of Healing waters, but my body is locked in fear. An Assistant Basilikon has to place his hand on my shoulder in order for my paralysis to unlock.

After the blessing, we rise. The Chief Lexor begins to speak—Ian, Jasper’s uncle. I wonder if he’s going to utter the words used in every Selection Ceremony I’ve ever seen or render my judgment. I hope it’s the latter because I can hardly stand to wait another tick.

“Today, we gather for the Salve, the welcome greeting for our returned Testors.”

The words are familiar, but the crowd erupts. This reaction is unusual. No matter the people’s feelings about the Testors’ homecoming, they usually respect the solemnity of the occasion. After all, Testors perish beyond the Ring. Tristan and Anders did.

Ian raises his hand to quiet them. They settle down, but a final holdout shouts, “Eva!” Why? Is he clamoring for my punishment? Does he suspect my father rigged the Testing so I would survive? The other Testors are confused as well; they keep glancing over at me. I feel certain that all my suspicions are becoming reality.

“These brave Testors have returned to the safety of the Aerie from a journey to the most hazardous part of New North—the Frozen Shores. This dangerous expedition claimed the lives of two of our brave young men: Testor Tristan and Testor Anders.” He repeats verbatim the sacred words I heard out in the wild: “While we lament the loss of our brothers, we know that the Gods will welcome Tristan and Anders into their realm. For they lost their lives in the sacred trial of the Testing, which the Gods themselves sanctified in The Lex for the good of mankind after the Healing. We raise our hands in prayer for Tristan and Anders.”

Ian raises his hands to the sky in supplication. The people lift their hands and eyes to the heavens as The Lex requires, although real tears stream down many of their faces. I’m sure the lost Testors were known to many of them, and the people’s sadness reminds me once again of the senselessness of Tristan and Anders’ deaths. We could have taken safer routes to the Frozen Shores, and we need not have ventured out alone—were it not for some leader’s mistaken notion of what The Lex demands, I think. I suspect the same thought crossed Eamon’s mind.

Ian turns back to us. “The Gods saw fit to return these fine young Testors to us. They placed themselves in the gravest of dangers for our benefit, to become Archons. We of New North need Archons to show us the perils of our ways before the Healing. Together and again, we reject the worship of the false god Apple. We reject his Tylenols and Cokes and MasterCards. We reject all the Relics the Testors have discovered and have yet to discover. Those standing before us have unearthed from the ice Relics unseen since the days of the Healing—Relics that will show us the rightness of New North’s ways. And they have created Chronicles about their Relics that sanctify the ways of The Lex.”

We stand.

The Chief Archon—my father—takes center stage. It is his turn to speak.

He nods at Ian, and begins. “This year, our Testors discovered some of the finest—and rarest—Relics in our history. As many of you know from our town square Gatherings, they have unearthed unnatural remedies, Earth-damaging engines, vile weapons, and even a small worship tablet to the false god Apple—one that ruled mankind’s lives in the final pre-Healing days. And as you all know from the Gatherings, some of our Testors have fashioned very powerful Chronicles for their Relics. We will celebrate each Testor singularly.”

My father’s voice simultaneously soothes and terrifies. I love hearing his familiar tones again—after so long beyond the Ring—but I dread what he might say next. He’s made no mention of the heresy of my Chronicle. Not yet, anyway. Will he dole out my judgment when my name is called in turn? This waiting is cruel punishment in and of itself. Especially if my father must dispense it.

My father calls out each Testor. I stand, my legs quaking, as each of the other nine remaining Testors listens to a description of their Relics and a summary of their Chronicle. We hear about Jacques’ box of remedies; the silver-foiled foodstuffs found by Benedict, Petr, and Thurstan; William’s metallic nets; the guns unearthed by Aleksander and Neils; and Knud’s modest cache of fishing lures. And of course, Jasper’s Apple Relic which receives the most applause.

What about me? My mouth moves in silent prayers to the Gods. The Sun especially, for She is known for Her mercy.

The Chronicles are not re-read in full as most people do not need to hear them again. If I wasn’t so scared, I would’ve wanted to hear every word, to see how the other Testors’ histories compare to my own. How my Relics and Chronicle stack up against the others. But I have bigger concerns than winning now. I am last. It seems forever until I am called.

“Testor Eva, please come forward.”

A murmuring in the crowd surges until it becomes nearly a roar. The sound unnerves me, as I pad across the stage in my threadbare kamiks. My father has to steady me when I take my place at his side. For a brief tick, his hands touch my pack, and I flinch, thinking of its secrets: the amulet and altar. I can only imagine the reaction when I’m passed to the Guards for punishment and they find my contraband.

He gives me the tiniest of smiles, undetectable by the rest of New North I’m sure. Then the Chief Archon mask descends, and his voice booms across the town square. “Testor Eva, you made a prodigious find.”

A prodigious find. That doesn’t sound like a damning judgment. Not yet. I hold my breath.

“You found a pink pack full of Relics evidencing the sad depravity of the pre-Healing lifestyle.” He lists the items in Elizabet’s pack. They sound soulless when described in his ritual tone; I hear none of the life I found sparking within them.

He continues. “But your Chronicle of those Relics proved to be, well, more powerful than the Relics alone. If you had been standing on this stage when your Chronicle was read aloud, you would have heard nothing but silence.”

By the Gods. My Chronicle must have shocked New North into silence. Surely it’s the time for my judgment. Before, I’d wished that he would ease my suffering and announce my sentence immediately, but now I want more time to plan an escape. I scan the crowds and the Ring-walls looking for way to break free. If I could just make it through the Gate to my dog team, I know I could survive beyond the Ring …

I half-hear my father continue. “Eva, you would have heard silence followed by cheers. Silence to commemorate Elizabet Laine and a life lost to the Healing, and cheers for you in recognizing the story in her Relics and capturing it so we could understand.”

I whirl from the crowds and stare at him. Did he really just say what I think I he said? Did he actually just compliment me for my rogue Chronicle? In his role as Chief Archon, not my father?

“It is time!” he calls out.

The thousand torches are abruptly extinguished. Although it is still day, the Aerie town square becomes dark under the cloudy, late afternoon sky. My father lights the single torch on the stage and then, unrolls the scroll he has held in his hand since he stepped onto the stage.

“The Gods have made their decision. The new Archon is Eva.”