Several stone-faced soldiers jot notes onto clay tablets. I have no idea what they’re writing. “The next station is archery,” one of them says.
At the archery field, I’m surprised to see Walgash running the trials. He has us each take position in front of a target and gives us each a bow and quiver.
“Ten arrows at the target,” he says. “Fire at will.”
I sling the quiver over my shoulder, feeling pretty confident. I’ve had a chance over the past days to come to the archery fields. After some trial and error, the skill came back to me. I’m pretty good.
I step through the bow to string it, bearing down, but somehow, the bow won’t bend enough for me to loop the string over the end. I release the pressure and try again, but the bow just won’t cooperate. That’s strange. Has my earlier trial sapped me of strength so completely?
Around me, arrows start thudding into their respective targets. Everybody else is doing just fine, and I can’t even ready my weapon. A flush starts to creep across my face.
“Having trouble, soldier?” Walgash says from behind me.
“Yes, sir,” I mutter. I can’t bear to look at him, and simply continue to struggle. What in the world is wrong?
“Well, you’d better hurry. Everybody else is finishing up.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, more sharply this time. I don’t know how much longer I should even keep trying. I’m getting tired, and the bow is not getting any more cooperative.
I hear a curious sound behind me, and I turn around to see Walgash keeled over with suppressed laughter. I look at him, puzzled, and then I take a closer look at the other men around me. Their bows are different. Mine is bigger and much sturdier.
Walgash wipes the tears from his eyes. “Oh, you should see yourself, sweating over that bow like a beardless boy.” He pauses. “Can you even grow a beard?”
A sneaking suspicion forms in the back of my mind.
“Oh, come now, Dineas. You didn’t think I would let you get away so easily with that show of swordsmanship at the rosemarked compound, did you? My ribs still ache, for heaven’s sake.” He takes the bow from me. “This is my personal bow. It’s not for everyone.” With those words, he strings it as easily as if it were a child’s weapon. Then, with one fluid motion, he takes one of my arrows and sends it straight into the center of the bull’s-eye. “Just remember, my talented friend. You’re not the best at everything around here.” He grins and hands me a new bow. “Try your luck with this one. And you’d better hurry. At least I shot the first arrow for you.” He leans close conspiratorially. “And watch your shoulders. You tense up with each successive arrow.” And with that, he leaves me with my jaw hanging
open.
After a few moments, I come back to my senses. This bow behaves as it should, and soon I’m loosing arrows one after the other. A few match Walgash’s shot, while others hit the bull’s-eye but don’t hit the very center.
After I finish, Walgash returns. “Not a bad recovery,” he says with a grin that splits his face in half. “On to the next station before you get in trouble.”
I can’t decide whether to thank him or punch him.
The next stations are fencing and bare-handed fighting, and after the disastrous last trial, they are a breeze. They pair us up with other candidates, and I win my fights easily. After we finish, the observers pass me a waterskin. The water’s hot from sitting in the sun but no less sweet.
“Take two hours for lunch and rest,” a soldier says. “You’ve finished the warm-up portion of the trial. The real test starts this afternoon.”
After lunch, they gather us at the city gates and load us into wagons. We’re allowed to bring nothing but the clothes on our backs. The sun beats down on us as we roll out of the city, and I wish I’d had more to drink before we left. Different wagons peel off as we go, and when a handful of carts are left, we stop at a seemingly random point in the desert.
They give us each a bag. I’m thrilled to see a waterskin inside, and then realize from the weight that it must be empty. There’s also a map, a knife, and a piece of flint.
A soldier speaks. “On your map is marked our current location, your final target, and checkpoints you must hit along the way. Your job is to get there by tomorrow evening. May Neju watch over your journey.”
With that, he taps one man on the shoulder and tells him to go. A short while later, he taps the next. And then it’s my turn.
I set off quickly, scanning the map as I walk. The marks are easy enough to follow, and I’m confident I can find my way. But our path doesn’t cross any springs or rivers until well into our journey. It’s not a pleasant thought.
The sun is hot, and the air is gritty with dust. I realize now that my amnesia puts me at a disadvantage for this part of the trial. The others have lived here for years. They know this land and how to survive in it. They have a better idea of what’s in store, how to pace themselves and where to rest, while I just have the markings on the map.
My mouth is uncomfortably dry when I reach the first checkpoint—a cliff perhaps three stories high. Several candidates cling to its face.
A member of Neju’s Guard stands in front and checks my name off his tablet. “Climb up,” he says, gesturing toward the cliff.
Well, it’s a change of pace at least. I swing my sack over my shoulder and take a closer look. The sandstone is not nearly as smooth as it looks from afar. I dig my fingers into a crevice, find the foothold, and haul myself up. Step, pull. Step, pull.
A shadow crosses my vision. There’s a sound of beating wings, and suddenly a large crow flies right past my head. I almost lose my grip.
Crows? In the desert? When my heart stops pounding, I crane my neck for a better look. The bird’s still flying back and forth around me. It’s bizarre.
I hear a yell, and debris fills the air as a man to my right skids down the cliff face. I pull myself closer to the wall, holding my breath as I hear the crunch of his landing. His screams tell me he’s alive, but I don’t look. The crow flies away at the noise.
By the time I pull myself over the top, I’m shaken and covered in dust. My mouth is even drier than before, and I scour my map desperately. I need to find a spring, and soon. I walk quickly, using the sun for navigation, and finally I hear a soft gurgle of water. It’s a tiny spring, just a trickle announced by a spray of greener grass, but I bury my face in it and drink for a blissfully long time, then fill my waterskin. With my thirst sated and my belly sloshing with water, some of my strength returns.
But it’s not long before I remember that water’s not the only thing I need to keep me going. By nightfall, my stomach feels like it’s stuck to my spine. I pass a few plants with fruit, but the cursed amnesia means I don’t know if they’re edible or not. As it gets darker, it also gets colder, and I’m walking as much to keep warm as to cover distance. I fall into a dreamlike state—just one step in front of the other.
I stumble into the second checkpoint just after dawn, where we’re tasked with stacking a wall ten stones long and four stones high. As I heave the first rock into place, I’m surprised to see Arxa.
“You look haggard, Dineas,” he says. “Have you eaten?”
“No, sir.” I grunt and pick up a second rock. “I don’t know which plants are poisonous, and I’ve had no luck hunting with a dagger.”
“You still have a long way ahead of you. Hard on an empty stomach. Are you sure you want to continue? There’s no shame in stopping.”
He’s so hard to read. Quitting sounds pretty good right now, to be honest.
I hear a fluttering of wings again, and just as I’m putting the second rock down, a crow lands on my shoulder. I shake it off. The bird squawks and takes wing, only to land a few paces away. I swear it’s staring me down.
“Shoo!” When yelling at the bird doesn’t help, I aim a good kick at it. The crow jumps out of the way with an outraged caw, and finally flies off. I stare after the bird, dumbfounded for a moment, and then go on to pick up the next rock.
<
br /> “Just say the word, Dineas,” Arxa says, “and we’ll get you to food and a soft bed.”
Gods, I wish he hadn’t mentioned the bed. It’s on the tip of my tongue to take him up on it, but something stops me. I’ve already marched through the night. I have less ahead of me than I do behind me. And yes, I’m tired and miserable, but I can keep going. I’ll regret it if I don’t.
“Thank you for your concern, sir, but I will keep going.”
“As you wish, soldier.”
I finish my wall a little before midmorning. I’ve made good time through the night, and I decide I can afford some rest. I worry briefly about sleeping too long, but something tells me I won’t. A shady spot near a boulder seems as good a place as any, and I settle down. Closing my eyes is pure bliss. I doze for a while before I’m awoken by small scratchings next to me. I pry my eyes open. There’s a lizard sunning itself on a rock nearby, a big one.
My stomach growls.
Slowly, keeping my body entirely still except for my arm, I reach for it, one hair’s width at a time. The lizard blinks and pumps his head up and down. Finally, my hand hovers just behind it. Just a little bit more…I pounce. The lizard makes to bolt, but it’s too late, and I break his neck with a snap of my thumb. The creature is as long as my forearm. I waste no time making a small fire.
It’s the best roasted lizard I’ve ever had.
I eat every last edible portion of that creature, finally spitting out the bones when there’s absolutely nothing left. I could easily have had more, but this is enough to give me a jolt of energy, as well as some new ideas for feeding myself. I catch a few grasshoppers after that, collecting them as I go, and roast them when I have a full spit.
As the afternoon lengthens, I see the last checkpoint up ahead, a river crossing. There is a whole crowd of soldiers here, next to a single log serving as a bridge. My feet are killing me by now, and I double-check on the map that this is the end. Almost there, but the look of the last station worries me. Why are there so many soldiers here?
The scribe crosses me off and then tells me to cross the river. He’s eating a fruit that matches the ones on some bushes lining the bank. If he’s eating it, then it’s good enough for me. I pick one for myself and take a big bite. It’s amazing—sweet, juicy, and just a little bit tart. I eat two, and it’s enough to perk me up.
Sated now, I turn my attention to the log bridge. It’s about as wide as the length of my hand and forearm combined, and looks sturdy, with bark that gives a bit of traction. The water below is murky and looks cold. The log wobbles under my weight, and I stumble like a drunken mouse before finally catching my balance. The water flowing underneath makes me dizzy, and I keep my eyes on the opposite bank as I make my way forward. I’m about a quarter of the way across when one of the soldiers on the opposite bank steps onto the log. It’s Cas. He smiles, and it’s not the friendly kind. Somehow, I doubt he’s here to help me across.
I watch him now, flexing my fingers as we get closer together. I grab for him at the same time he grabs for me. A mad scramble for control, a shift of weight, a throw of my hip. He falls off the log, sending a splash of water up around us. I nearly follow, but wrap my arm and leg around the log to catch myself. Thank the gods for the long sleeves of my tunic, or bark would be embedded all over my arms. Still, I’m pretty sure I picked up some nasty bruises. Groaning, I haul myself back up, regain my footing, and keep on going.
I’m halfway across when the next man comes. I’m smarter about it this time. Just as he’s about to reach me, I shake the log. The movement is slight, but enough to toss him off-kilter, and I give him some help over the side.
I’m not surprised at all when a third man comes as I’m nearing the end, but I do swallow a lump of sheer disbelief when I see him. This man is a giant. He’s a head taller than me, and his arms look like tree trunks. I half expect the log to snap in two when he steps on it, but no such luck, and he’s heavy enough that my earlier trick of shaking the bridge won’t work. I sink lower, thinking maybe I can get his legs or trip him up, but I misjudge my reach. He grabs my shoulders, and the next thing I know I’m flying through the air. I hit the water with a slap, and the cold stuns me a moment before I regain my senses and paddle toward the surface. My feet find the bottom at the same time my head breaks through the top. Thank the gods, the water is only neck deep. I spit water out of my mouth as the big soldier grins down at me from the log.
“Your mother’s ugly,” I shout at him. He just grins wider.
Humiliation’s the least of my worries. Does falling off the log mean I failed the trial?
Someone grabs me from behind and pulls me below the water. I swallow a mouthful in surprise and lash out at the person behind me, but there’s no force behind my underwater blow. My lungs start to spasm, and I’m fighting the instinct to breathe water. They’re not actually trying to kill us during these trials, are they?
Then cold realization hits me. They might not be instructed to kill us, but accidents do happen, and at least one person in this river was not fond of me to begin with. I resume my struggles with renewed strength. I try pinching my attacker, and finally reach back and grab him squarely between the legs. He lets go.
I burst through the surface, gasping, and strike out blindly. My fist connects with something head-shaped, and someone with Cas’s voice curses my mother. I don’t waste time looking behind me and swim as fast as I can to the far shore. Then I’m clambering up the other side, and collapse sopping wet before a scribe. He looks down at me and then crosses my name off his list.
“You’re finished,” he says. “You may rest.”
Mehtap’s words about being useful stay with me. They echo in my head as I go about my day, and the walls of the compound feel even more restrictive than before. I think constantly about how Dineas is out in the capital while I’m trapped in here, and how these next years are but one stage of his life, whereas for me, they’ll be my last.
My only consolation is my time in the hospital, where I continue my work with the abandoned plague patients. I’m gratified to see two patients after Dineas come out of the fever umbertouched. It seems that having another healer to shoulder the work does make a difference.
One morning, I’m with an old man, Marzban, who’s emerged from his fever rosemarked. He’s to be settled in the compound, but he’s half-blind from a clouded eye, and Jesmin has offered to treat him before he leaves. I sit with the two of them and listen with interest as the head physician describes what will happen. Surgery is beyond the knowledge of Dara medicine, and I’m eager to see Jesmin work.
“The window of your eye has clouded over,” Jesmin tells the old man. “I can push it aside, to clear the path for light. It won’t restore your sight perfectly, but you should be able to see more than you can see now.”
Marzban shifts nervously. “Will it hurt?”
“Less than you think,” says Jesmin.
When the man grants his permission, Jesmin fetches a set of curved needles. He gives Marzban a flask of strong spirits to drink from, and bids him sit in a special chair with straps to secure his arms and his head.
“Now, hold still,” Jesmin says.
I can’t help but cringe as the needle moves closer to Marzban’s eye. My eyes start to water in empathy, and I’m glad both men are concentrating too hard on the task to notice my horrified expression.
Just before the needle touches, Marzban jumps.
“It’s imperative you hold still,” says Jesmin. “Otherwise, I could damage your eye.”
The second try is no better. Jesmin looks at me. “Zivah, can you hold his head?”
The thought puts my hair on end, but I do my best to look confident as I approach the chair. I’ve never thought myself squeamish. I deal with the sick all the time, but this is different. Marzban grabs the chair nervously as I come closer. Jesmin shows me how to brace my arms around his head to keep him from turning. Marzban’s forehead is cold and damp.
“Try again
,” says Jesmin. He raises the needle. Marzban tenses under my grip.
“Wait,” I say.
Jesmin stops.
I step back from the chair. “I have some herbs that might help.”
Jesmin’s face sharpens with interest. “What kind of herbs?”
“It depends. Do you need him awake? Something for pain? Can he be asleep?”
“He needs to be awake to tell me what he sees. But I need him calm.”
I think through my remedies. “I have some smoke bundles that dampen pain and render a patient pliable.” I turn to Marzban. “You’ll still be awake. You’ll be able to speak to us, but you’ll be in a trance, and you won’t feel as nervous.”
Jesmin mulls this over. “Do you use this often on your patients?”
“We offer it to women in childbirth, and patients with bones that need setting. It doesn’t seem to cause any other harm.”
Jesmin nods. “I’m curious to see this, if Marzban agrees.”
The old man nods, and I fetch two bundles from my store. They’re dry and ready to burn, but there’s the question of where to burn it. The smoke is very strong. I’ve built up some tolerance to it, but I certainly don’t want Jesmin to suffer its effects if he’s going to be wielding that needle. I take Marzban into the supply room, where I light the bags and lay them at his feet. Sweet smoke drifts up. Marzban leans forward to inhale, and I wave my hand.
“There’s no need. It’s very potent.”
After a while, I start to feel light-headed, though the effects are much more pronounced on Marzban. His pupils dilate, and his entire body relaxes, quite unlike before. I smother the flames and take him by the elbow.
“Come. It is time.”
He rises placidly at my urging, and I guide him back to the room where Jesmin waits. The physician looks with interest as I settle the old man back in his chair.
Jesmin approaches cautiously. “How do you feel?”
“Drowsy,” Marzban says. His eyes don’t focus.
Jesmin nods. “Let’s try this again.”
This time the man doesn’t flinch but simply sits still as Jesmin does his work.
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