by R. M Garino
“I will try, Master,” Arielle said.
“Enough chit chat. Back to work.”
Arielle focused her attention back to the task, and bent the energies to do as she wanted. The stone flowed like mercury beneath her outstretched fingers, moving in the patterns Hammer had indicated. The chimney rose, flowing like water up a spout.
“I have never seen such a gift,” he said. His sin’del was aglow with pride and admiration. “I showed you but once, and you were able to duplicate and improve on what I did. I don’t know which is more impressive: the speed with which you learned the process, or the speed with which you improvised and adapted it to your own desires.”
Arielle blushed with the compliment, pleased with herself and her progress. “I have always been a fast learner,” she said. The window was finished, and the structure settled and hardened back to its normal state. “Mother and Father learned very quickly to make sure I wasn’t watching when they performed dangerous magic.”
“I can imagine,” Hammer said. “How young?”
Arielle shrugged in way of reply. Weeks ago she would have snapped to attention and shouted out her response. Now, however, the atmosphere in their tutoring sessions was more relaxed and informal.
“As early as I can remember,” she said. “I’ve always been able to do these things.”
“I wish all my students learned as quickly as you,” he said. “Would make my life a world easier.”
“But what would the challenge in that be?” She smirked. “How would you earn your keep?”
“Earn my keep?” Hammer roared with laughter. “I’ll show you how I earn my keep!”
He doubled the pace, distracting her as she worked with occasional comments, strikes, or barked commands. She was expected to keep her focus on her task, of course, even while she was doing a set of pushups.
By the end of the week, Trenton joined them for a demonstration of her progress.
“Once you have become Elc’atar, there are seven trials you will have to face in your attempt to become Mala’kar,” Trenton said at the close of the exercise. They sat in the workspace, around a low table set for tea, as was Hammer’s custom after a training session. Hammer prepared the quickroot himself.
“You understand that this is not a path for the faint of heart,” Trenton said. “Each task is designed to weed out the weak. Even Elc’atar, with all their training, are often unable to walk it.”
“I understand, Master,” Arielle said. “The trials are the forge which makes the Mala’kar a weapon.”
Trenton squinted at Hammer. “And so we’re getting lyrical in our lessons?”
Hammer continued his inspection of the teapot. For some reason he was making sure that the inside was as clean as he could get it. When she had previously questioned him about the behavior, he had merely commented that it was best to be thorough when quickroot was involved.
“Each trial denotes another level of mastery. The first is the trial of the sin’del,” Trenton said. “This determines if the Applicant can manipulate their energies, and those around them.”
“That sounds suspiciously like what we’ve been working on all week,” Arielle said.
“Indeed,” Trenton said. He accepted his empty cup from Hammer, turning it upside down on the saucer.
“Are the trials performed at Reven Marthal?”
Hammer was silent as he worked to crush the root.
“Not all, no,” Trenton said. “Most can be done anywhere. Only two must be completed in Reven Marthal.”
“What is the second?” Arielle said, as she too accepted a cup, and rotated it upside down in imitation of Trenton.
“The second is the trial of memory,” Trenton said. “This determines if the new Apprentice can retain the vast amounts of information required of them.”
“That seems a little vague,” Arielle said. “How much is vast?”
Hammer let out a chuckle.
“These are Magi, girl. They enjoy overkill as much as we do. I had to recite the entirety of Raritan’s Chain of Custody.”
“I had Gessner’s Perdition,” Trenton said with an uncharacteristic smirk. “Expect something sizable.”
Arielle watched Hammer place a small copper dish of crushed quickroot atop a candle flame.
“The third is the trial of self, which determines if the Individual can conquer their own mind and separate it into its halves.”
Arielle nodded her understanding. Angus was already trying to teach her that one, although she kept that parcel of information quiet for now.
“The fourth is the trial of combat, to determine if the Adherent can defend themselves and those in their charge.”
“That must be an easy one for an Elc’atar to pass,” Arielle said.
Trenton and Hammer both shook their heads.
“That’s what everyone thinks,” Trenton said, “especially the Elc’atar. Sadly, nothing is further from the truth. Elc’atar rely on their weapons. They remain bound through the entire exercise.”
Arielle started at the revelation.
“The fifth,” Trenton said, “is the trial of trepidation, wherein the Journeyman, faces their most primal fears. Because of their time in the Sur, the Elc’atar have a difficult time with this trial as well. Do you wish for me to continue?”
Arielle did not hesitate before affirming her answer.
“Very well,” Trenton said. “The sixth is the trial of agony, where the Adept undergoes a profound torture to determine their resolve.”
“What of the seventh?”
“The seventh is the hardest,” Trenton said, squinting. “The deadliest. It is the trial of the Lo’ademn. The Adept, having risen through the previous six levels, must walk unarmed into the prison of the Lo’ademn Thelas, deep in the Roots of Reven Marthal.”
“What happens if they fail that test?”
“They die.”
“Eventually,” Hammer said, as he took the smoking root from the flame and dropped it into the kettle. “Give her the full picture.”
“They do die, just not at once,” Trenton said. “Their soul is destroyed first. If the Adept fails, that means that Thelas has overcome them and stolen their flesh. The demon’s vessel is destroyed by the Magi before it exits the prison.”
Trenton overturned his cup, lifted the saucer and held it aloft with his left hand lightly touching his forearm. Hammer poured the amber liquid. Trenton moved the cup toward himself, cradling it now with the tips of his fingers just under his nose as he inhaled the scent. Arielle mimicked his movements. The vapors raced up her nostrils and pierced her brain. The room swam a little in her vision.
“Quickroot is an acquired habit,” Hammer said. “It stimulates the senses, opens the mind, and sharpens reflexes. Go slow. A single swallow in honor of today.”
Arielle took a sip, feeling the warming sensation slide down her throat and bloom in her stomach. She placed the cup back on its saucer.
“What do we honor today?” she said, blinking to help focus her vision.
“You have just passed your first trial,” Hammer said. “Congratulations.”
Arielle could only stare, stunned by the news. “Passed? I didn’t think I could test before I became Elc’atar. I didn’t think anyone could.”
“Magi levels are different,” Trenton said. “Hammer and I both tested as Yearlings. Today, we have determined that you have permission to enter the Occanium. The most basic levels only, but you can pass through the wards.
“I can enter the Occanium?” she said, awed at the prospect.
“You have just risen to full Apprentice according to the Occanium rites. A full Magi, or Mala’kar can conduct a first trial anywhere at any time. Trenton and I agreed you were ready.” Hammer raised his cup to toast her. “You have passed.”
“As an Apprentice, you’re not attached to a mentor like a Yearling is,” Trenton said. “Rather, it is title of privilege. The majority of Magi training is self-directed, after all. But nevertheless, c
ongratulations.”
Both the Third and the Twelfth gathered for a celebratory feast in the Rhen’val apartments as soon as the word spread among them. Seeing as the space had not been occupied since her brother Shane had been in residence, entire rooms were covered in a fine layer of dust. Arielle could not wait to fully explore, but right now, she didn’t have time.
Everyone’s attitude had warmed considerably in the past few months thanks to Caradoc, and they were often in each other’s company. Now, they lounged around on cushions scattered about the room, nibbling on treats and drinks Angus and Thomlin had “secured” from the mess hall and the Kal’Parev beer vaults.
Denuelle and Demona were seated together, deep in an animated telepathic exchange of stories, their knees touching. Their sin’dels were so closely bent toward each other that everyone else gave them their space.
Thomlin and Gwen sat in the two big chairs facing the fire, rather like an imperial couple presiding over their court. It was fitting, given their respective ranks, but the association made Arielle smile nevertheless.
Caradoc and Darien had also taken to the others, more so than on any other occasion. They sat with Enid and Ossian, trading jokes and laughing boisterously. Even Nessah was enjoying herself as she chatted with Ti’vol. Only Ba’ril held himself aloof. He rebuffed polite attempts at conversation with a silent shake of his head.
Arielle sat on a couch, snuggled against Angus, listening to a raucous story from Hironata about a long ago cohort’s race to complete the final course of the dreaded Gauntlet. The story itself was well known, even to cadets at the Vaults, but each House had their own version, and their own way of telling it that made it unique. Arielle had never heard the Kal’Parev version before.
“And at noon Mateo’s First enters the parade field, confident of their victory. Instead of the expected cheers and accolades, they find an empty courtyard. Mateo sees a solider on manure duty clearing out the last of the lo’el stalls. He goes over, and says to him, ‘Where is everyone?’ The soldier acts as if Mateo has lost his mind. ‘Where you been?’ he asks, seeing the miserable state of Mateo’s clothing. ‘Running the Gauntlet,’ Mateo answers. ‘We’ve run it in a day and a half, and we’re the first ones back.’ The soldier starts laughing, and gasping for breath, pointing at him. ‘Where’d you go?’ he asks, after he’s caught his breath. ‘We took a short cut through the course,’ Mateo answers. ‘That’s why we’re first back.’ The soldier was no longer laughing, but rather shaking his head. ‘The Gauntlet ended last month,’ he says. ‘You’re the last ones back. We all thought you were dead.’ And that, my dears, is why there is never a First squad at the Gates, or at the Vaults,” Hironata said with a flourish and a bow.
A general round of applause filled the little room, interspersed with hooting and whistling.
“We always told it as sunrise,” Nessah said after Hironata was seated. “And it was a ‘secret path’ they took, not a shortcut.”
Hironata shrugged. “To each their own.” He waved a mug of porter.
Kal’Parev, Arielle noted, took their beer strong. It made their gatherings a little louder and a lot less formal than a Fel’Mekrin affair.
“It will be our turn at the Gauntlet in four days,” Enid said. Silence descended over the room. Even Denuelle and Demona ceased their conversation.
“How do we work that?” Ti’vol said. She was seated near Arielle and Angus as had become her habit of late. There was a quality about her that bespoke protection, though Arielle could not imagine what protection such a slight and awkward girl could provide that she and Angus could not. “We are on opposite sides during the Gauntlet. Each squad for themselves, remember?”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Caradoc said, his brows furrowed as he stared into his cup.
“No one has,” Ba’ril said from his silent corner. “That’s part of the problem with this little arrangement we’ve got going. We are two separate squads, and we’re both vying for first tier. You better believe that everyone else will remember. The tasks are designed to pit us against each other. If we hold back because we’re all chummy now, some upstart group like the Eighth will take advantage of that weakness.”
“Why is it a weakness?” Angus said. Ba’ril's countenance suggested that he could not have asked a more stupid question.
“You think Demona is going to chop Denuelle down?” Ba’ril said, pointing over at them. “Or maybe Ness will be able to skewer Ti the way she did Leah? Not a chance. We’ve destroyed our chances in the lists. We’ve become each other’s liabilities.”
“What if we worked together to win?” Angus said in return.
“We can’t work together!” Ba’ril said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Why? What’s so ridiculous about it?”
“That’s not the way it works,” Ba’ril said. “It’s designed to make us fight against each other. That’s how we distinguish ourselves. Come on, this is basic stuff that every cadet knows.”
“Where does it say that?” Angus said. “What chapter in the field manual? What verse?”
“What would you know about the field manual?”
“He knows it by heart.” Thomlin sat with his elbows draped across his knees, his attention riveted on his cousin. “Believe me. It’s one of those annoying Magi memorization tricks of his.”
Ba’ril’s sin’del spoke his disbelief louder than any words could.
“Go ahead,” Demona said. “Ask him anything.”
Ossian grabbed a copy of the field manual from the bookshelf and tossed it to Ba’ril. He caught it, and with a shrug of his shoulders opened it at random to humor them all.
“What does regulation 3-21.5e state?” Ba’ril said, closing the book with his finger marking the place.
“The honor guard commander takes a position on the left of the person so honored and guides him through the inspection. The host takes a position on the right of the person so honored,” Angus said as soon a Ba’ril stated the regulation numeral. Ba’ril opened the manual again and reread the passage, his face paling.
“Don’t bother looking for another,” Demona said. “He’ll do the same thing again, and again, and again.”
“The point,” Angus said before Ba’ril could challenge the claim, “is that there is nothing in the regulations regarding the Gauntlet which says we cannot team up to run the course. It has just never been done before. No one thought of it, or had reason to do it.”
“Or,” Arielle said, “they were all too focused on their own Pride to think of it.”
“Exactly.”
“It would offer us a tactical advantage,” Thomlin said, adding his agreement.
“You comfortable with sharing the glory?” Gwen said from the chair beside him. Her sin’del showed that it was more than an idle question. She was weighing him with his words, and unsure of what she was expecting to hear.
“I think there’s enough to go around,” Thomlin said with a smirk. “Besides, win or lose, we’ll be talked about forever.”
“Yeah, just like Mateo,” Ba’ril said.
“Breaking the rules, stealing the victory using unorthodox methods.” Demona rubbed her chin. “I like it. Count me in.”
“Oooh! And me!” Denuelle said.
“Hell yeah!” Enid said.
Each member considered the proposal and found it appealing. Ba’ril remained where he was, his arms folded across his chest, a study in stubborn resolve. Angus stood, disengaging himself from Arielle, and walked over to him.
“What say you, Ba’ril?” Angus said, holding out his hand in invitation. “Will you join us? Will we stand together? One squad against the might of the Areth’kon?”
“One Pride,” Ti’vol said. There was a sureness to her voice, a tone of certainty that caught everyone’s attention. “That’s what we’re proposing here, what we need to become. What the future asks of us. Two squads allied together cannot do it. But a Pride comprising two squads can.”
“You’re
a little creepy at times, Ti” Hironata said. “Just saying.”
“A Pride? That’s a little much, don’t you think?” Darien said.
“I’m in,” Caradoc said without pausing to consider. “It would be my honor.” He faced Darien. “Think about it, Dari,” he said. “Can you think of a better cause to defend?”
“You already act like a bloody Kal’Parev,” Hironata said, clapping him on the shoulder. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
Darien considered, searching out Arielle, and then Angus, and finally Ti’vol. “So be it,” he agreed. “I’m in.”
“I’m in,” Nessah said, and Ti’vol was just seconds behind her.
Hironata raised his glass. “And I,” he said, followed by Ossian’s simple, “Aye.”
“As are we,” Denuelle said. She and Demona stood, holding hands. Enid rose from where she sat and said, “Aye.”
“Are we all in agreement?” Thomlin said. Everyone regarded Ba’ril, who was surveying the room. He glanced back to Angus, and gave a curt dip of his head.
“So be it,” Ba’ril said, shaking on it.
Thomlin stood, raising his glass of beer, and pivoting to face each individual in turn. His sin’del surged outward, touching the life force of everyone as he spoke, leaving a thin strand behind.
“Through trial and terror,” he said, “I, Thomlin of House Kal’Parev, pledge to stand by your side. Through joy and despair, my heart is yours. Together, we stand against the Apostate, screaming our defiance into the face of the enemy. Till the end of my days, my honor and pride are in your hands. Thus do I swear.”
He finished his pledge of fidelity, raised his glass, and emptied its contents in three long gulps. Gwen went next, adding her oath to Thomlin’s. One by one, all the members of the Third and Twelfth raised their glasses and bound themselves to the others. Ba’ril went last, and a cheer went up as he finished. The glasses were refilled, and the new Pride toasted each other through the night.
CHAPTER SIXTY
The Gauntlet