“Or the gown that rose above the knee?” Ian’s wife bandied back. With this, the Ladies and Gentlewomen gasped. This sort of debauchery was almost too much for them to imagine, even with their bellies full of mead. My father raised his voice, “That will be enough of the scandalous talk.” But he exchanged a knowing smirk with Ian.
Of course this, too, was part of the ritual: these long-winded exchanges of artifacts the Testors uncovered—not just the immodest clothes, but dangerous remedies, Apple amulets, and even one rare Apple altar, the empty glass surface where the pre-Healing people spent countless bells staring at themselves in false worship—each meant to be more shocking than the last. I also understood they were meant to embolden me and Jasper for the days ahead. But they didn’t. All the talk about artifacts just reminded me of my major Testing weakness.
Lukas taught me the ways of arctic living so that I could stand a chance in the early Test Advantages where the Testors prove their survival skills. Still, I don’t know enough about the world before the Healing. Testors typically dedicate years to learning about pre-Healing history so they can identify artifacts and craft cautionary tales, an act that is the very heart of the Testing and the Triad’s efforts to reinforce the critical message of The Praebulum and The Lex. Instead, I spent my School days studying the Ark and perfecting the ways of the Maiden, neither of which will help me in the Testing. All my time training with Lukas can’t make up for this flaw.
At the final warning gong before the Evensong bell, my muscles ache from keeping still. The desperation is a fever: to race up to my room away from all the chattering guests, muster my courage in private, and count down the bells until dawn. But I assume my Maiden duties. As befitting the daughter of the Chief Archon, I rise from my chair and stroll to the front door for the formal farewells. They seek my father’s blessing and vale first. Then, taking each guest’s hand in my own as The Lex for Hosts require, I thank them for their blessings.
My manners falter only when I reach Jasper, the last in line. Tomorrow we’ll be fellow Testors. So strange that we’ve known each other our whole lives; he was friends with Eamon, after all. And his uncle and my father are so very close.
But there’s something else. Something that I only consider now. Recently I’ve felt his eyes on me. I’ve seen him flustered, as if he feels something other than simple friendship or the bind of family ties. As if he might feel the same way as our families about a Union. Not that I’ve been in a frame of mind to really consider anything other than my grief and the Testing. Regardless of how either of us feels, I know that everything changes as of tonight. How we speak to one another, how we look at each other, even how we think about the other. We’ll become fierce competitors. Not friends. Certainly not more than friends.
The expectant gaze of my parents and his parents bears down on us. This, too, is a test. I take Jasper’s hands in mine, and look into his face. I see my unspoken words reflected in his eyes. I say all I can under the circumstances, the ritual blessing for those few permitted to journey beyond the Ring. “May the Gods travel with you.”
“May the Gods travel with you also.”
With a last squeeze of my hand, Jasper ties his fur cloak around his waist and disappears with his parents out into the frigid night.
Lukas closes the heavy stone door behind our guests and bolts it tightly. I see a slight softening in the rigid block of his shoulders, and even my parents breathe an audible sigh of relief. The ritual is over. We can relax.
The solar great room begins to darken as the servants extinguish the candles and lamps. Just as I start toward the stone staircase, I hear a heavy tapping at the door.
We all freeze. No one knocks on doors in the ticks before Evensong Bell when all inhabitants of the Aerie must be in their homes. Only the Triad—The Lexors, Archons, and Basilikons—have the right to move freely at any time. Lukas’s body stiffens, and he glances over at my father, who nods permission for him to unbolt the lock. We stand at the ready.
I see the distinctive fur mantle before he steps into the room. It’s Jasper. He and Lukas exchange glances but not welcomes—Lukas is only a Boundary Companion, no matter how highly regarded.
Jasper bows deeply to my father. “I’m so sorry, but I had to come back,” he offers, his face a mask of contrition for my parents. “I accidentally left my great-grandfather’s sealskin cloak behind.”
“The cloak Magnus wore while Testing?” my mother asks, her voice whispery again in its Lady-pitch.
I know he’s lying. There’s no way he’d forget that cloak. Before the guests had lost themselves in drink, much of the dinner conversation was devoted to Magnus’s exploits, who won his year’s Testing to become the Archon. According to the legend, Magnus had made it to the Testing Site in record time. And Jasper’s mother made a very public display this evening of giving Jasper the cloak for luck in his own Testing.
“The very one,” he says.
“Oh, well, you must have the cloak for tomorrow!” my mother exclaims, “Eva, help Jasper find it. Quickly.”
I follow Jasper into the dining hall, trying to figure out what kind of game my mother is playing, though I can guess. She wants Jasper to have luck. She wants him to win, and for me to lose but return alive, so we can be Betrothed, and the awful tragedy of Eamon’s death can be forgotten in the wake of a new beginning. As we peer under the heavy trestle table and search under the benches, I get a much closer look at Jasper’s sandy hair and light blue-green eyes than The Lex normally allows. He looks more real, more vulnerable than his public Gallant appearance.
“I had to come back, Eva,” he suddenly whispers. “To say a real vale.”
I blink back shock. Jasper always abides by The Lex; he has faith in its importance to the survival of the Aerie people. That he might break a cardinal rule like observance of the Evensong bell, just to say goodbye—it’s unthinkable. Not to mention he just lied about his reason for being here, something else The Lex strictly forbids: let no untruths pass over your lips or through your hearts. Then again, my mom knows. She must.
Jasper smiles at my astonished expression. Despite the circumstances, I can’t help but smile back; his grin reveals the lighter side under that constant dutifulness. He usually keeps it hidden under lock and key. I know that, rather than smiling back, I should protest. In fact, the proper Maiden reaction would be to admonish him for taking the risk and for his audacity. He’s speaking out of turn for a Gallant, after all. Professions related to Unions can never occur without parents as witnesses—and, only then, once formal agreements have been entered at the parents’ initiation and the Triad’s approval. But I want to hear what he has to say. So I stay quiet.
“I’ve spent a lot of time over the past few months trying to get you to not Test,” he says.
“I lost count of your legal arguments at a hundred. You might consider serving as a Lexor if the Testing doesn’t work out.” I’m nervous at what Jasper might say, and my sorry attempt at a joke just slips out. A Maiden should be more solemn: let no humor cross your lips unless invited by the Gallant, Gentleman, or Lord in your company.
Jasper smirks, but he quickly recovers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the support you needed, Eva. It must’ve been really hard for you to listen to me when you were already dealing with so much over Eamon.”
“Your protests didn’t help.” I don’t see any sense in denying it, no matter the niceties demanded by normal Aerie conversation. Given that we’re already in flagrant defiance of The Lex right now, honesty seems the only course.
“I need you to understand now why I tried to talk you out of Testing.”
I nod. The Lex forbids the Testors to speak to one another for the duration of the Testing. More than one Testor has been sent back to the Aerie for violating that single rule. “Okay,” I say quietly.
Jasper breaks our gaze and stares down at the rough floor before continuing. �
��Eva, for a long time now, I’ve hoped that we could have a future together.”
I can’t help but wonder if my mother anticipated he’d make this confession as a last ditch effort to make me withdraw. My heart pounds. She’d be taking a huge risk, but of course, she could deny everything. Unions are strictly the purview of parents and Triad. Not Maidens and Gallants. A part of me is flattered; Jasper is considered one of the most eligible Gallants in the Aerie. But still, I don’t know how I feel about him. I haven’t allowed myself to experience any emotion since Eamon died. I’m fearful that, if I let in a single sentiment, the floodgates of grief will burst. Then I might as well withdraw.
I don’t want to commit to anything right now, and I definitely don’t want to insult him. Nor do I want to give my mother a victory. So I say as little as possible, using her logic. “I understand. It wouldn’t be appropriate for a future wife to Commit to the Testing. No female has competed for over one hundred years.”
Jasper looks up from the floor and grabs my hands. “That isn’t it at all, Eva. You have as much a right to compete as any other Founding family member. You proved to us all there are no Lex rules stopping you. And I don’t care what your mother or my mother or anyone else thinks about your behavior and The Lex for Maidens . . .” He pauses, blushing. “It’s just that I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt, and the Testing is dangerous. I couldn’t go on if something happened to you.”
I open my mouth, but no words come. I have no option but to hide behind my Maiden mask of modesty. Lowering my gaze, I manage, “Oh.”
“Eva, I’ll do whatever I can to help you during the Testing, no matter The Lex, no matter—”
“Jasper?” My father’s voice bellows from the solar. “Have you found what you are looking for? Evensong will ring momentarily.”
I glance over at Jasper. He pulls the sealskin cloak out from under his fur mantle, where it had been all along.
“Yes, sir. I think I have.”
IV
Martius 31
Year 242, A.H.
The floor and bed of my bedroom are strewn with preparations. Bags containing maps and books; kamiks, bear-claw boots, and climbing equipment; excavation tools; bows, bolas, and my atlatl; tents and cooking supplies; a small umiak and oars; and all my wearable seal and bear skins. Everything that I might possibly need. Everything of a material nature, that is. I can’t pack courage.
I use this clutter as a shield. Behind it, I am storing away the Boundary tools Lukas has given me, like my ulu knife. These items might be the difference between life and death in the first three Advantages. And then there’s my journal. The Lex forbids journals: let nothing be so secret that you write or discuss it in private. But since Eamon died, I’ve needed a place where I can be my true self. In the past, I was able to act the Maiden—and be content with my role and my future as an Ark Gardener or wife—because I always had a reprieve with Eamon. A place where I could shed The Lex Maiden rules for a little while, climb the turret, poke fun at our mother, and engage in free talk. I could even whisper the banned Faerie tales I heard from my beloved Boundary Nurse Aga—like the one about young Maiden Snow who lays in a dream-state in an icy coffin, waiting for her Gallant to rescue her. Eamon begged for stories like these. This journal has to serve as a pathetic replacement for a conversation with my brother.
“What are you doing back there, Eva?” my mother demands.
I slide the journal and the tools under the largest bag, and meet her eyes to answer, “Just organizing my equipment.”
She shakes her head, gestures around the room at the chaos. “Eva, all this must fit on your back or on the dogsled tomorrow. How in the Gods do you think you’ll manage?” Her voice is at its true level, but she is no less the Lady in her quest for perfection.
“Don’t worry, Mother. It’s more organized than it looks. It’ll all fit.”
She glares at me. “I suppose I thought you’d still have the sense to quit now. In fact, I thought we’d had enough of your un-Maidenly behavior long ago with that tapestry business.”
My heart squeezes. I should have known she’d bring up that embarrassment: the ill-fated mark that ruined my otherwise perfect ascent toward Ladyhood. On the other hand, she has a point. What had I been thinking with the tapestry? I knowingly deviated from The Lex-prescribed depiction of the Healing by including a symbol of the false god Apple hanging from a tree. Worse: with a tiny bite taken out of it. In my defense, those few illicit stitches had been prompted by a secret Faerie tale Nurse Aga told me about Apple, a Maiden, a Gallant, and a Garden . . . and I’d lost myself in the beauty of the tableaux. The daydream-fueled stitching led to banishment from the afternoon sewing circles. The Maidens who’d been my friends forgot about me.
Instead, I began my tenure as an apprentice Gardener.
But not all was lost. I discovered that I loved learning about botany and agriculture from the Ark Gardeners. I think that irked my mother more than blasphemy itself: that I grew to prefer my punishment in the Ark to my time sewing and chattering.
When I don’t answer, she continues. “Despite all that unpleasantness, you’ve decided to Test. Even though you’re a Maiden.”
“Other Maidens have competed in the Testing. What about Madeline? And Carina was given permission.” I almost wish Jasper were here to back me up. While researching The Praebulum and The Lex—in an effort to prove that a Maiden should be permitted entrance into the Testing—I learned about two Maidens who sought the Archon position in the past.
“Those two Maidens—” my mother practically spits out the word, “participated in the Testing or the Commitment over one hundred and fifty years ago, when some females still carried the vestiges of the unseemly qualities of the pre-Healing days. Before they fully transformed into the Maidens and Ladies of the Aerie that you see today—women of The Lex. Madeline even trained with Gallants. Do you want to become like Madeline and Carina? Brazen and coarse?”
“Mother, you don’t know what they were like—”
She raises a hand. “Enough. You’ve proven that I can’t stop you, but that doesn’t mean I have to approve. You’ve managed to sway your father, but not me. Your place is here, in your home. And one day, perhaps with Jasper. If he’ll still have you after all this nonsense is over.”
And so it is as I’d suspected. I turn my attention back to my packing. There’s nothing more to say.
My mother exhales. It’s a sigh heavy with exhaustion, despair, and sadness. I almost feel badly for her. She’s suffered over Eamon, too, and even though I jest to myself and Lukas about her ridiculous adherence to The Lex, I know it’s her way of coping with her grief. I see her face soften, and I wonder if she might walk across the room to touch me. But then she hardens again into her Lady mask. As far as I can tell, all of my mother’s gentle emotion—what little she believes The Lex permits—died with Eamon. Only duty and appearances and survival remain.
The door slams shut. I thought I wanted solitude. I’d longed for it all day, even escaped to the turret to find it. I relished the thought of finally relinquishing the Maiden role. But now I feel truly alone. I make myself imagine the next morning, when I’ll stand alone on the town square dais with the eleven other contenders for the Testing. I envision the solitary departure from the Aerie, through the Ring—and the race out into the vast, white ice of New North, and onto the Frozen Shores. I might have to scale glaciers or descend into crevasses searching for artifacts, those terrible reminders of the past that washed onto New North’s shores in the Healing. Then, if I’m lucky enough to find a Relic, not even one of the scale my father found, I’ll study it in the isolation of my igloo. I’ll extract a lesson from my Relic so that mankind will never again repeat its catastrophic mistakes. Only then will the Gods select an Archon from among us twelve.
The other eleven Testors are Gallants, like Jasper. Of course.
Deep within
myself, I believe I can do it, despite my lack of training and the fact that, until now, everyone thought of me as a Maiden. Not exactly compliant, but a Maiden nonetheless. I must believe. Is that what Lukas always tells me? And didn’t his insistence on faith in myself prove true as he pushed me to scale Aerie ice walls and learn all the types of snow by touch alone?
For the first time in days, I feel at peace. It is almost as though Eamon himself had given his blessing.
I unlace the front of my Feast gown to put on my sleeping shift. In the coming days, I’ll not have the luxury, but day after day will sleep in the same layers of skins and furs for warmth.
The stays of my gown are tighter than usual, as demanded by the Feast, and I struggle with them. I consider calling for Katja, but I hesitate. Katja was chosen explicitly to suit me as a Companion, and yet I have never felt particularly close to her. She’s nice enough, and loyal, but our relationship is nothing like the bond that had formed between Eamon and Lukas. That we all three shared, really.
A tiny knock sounds at my bedroom door. It can only be Katja. My mother is long gone, and my father’s knock is distinctive and forceful.
“Come in. I was just about to call for you,” I reply.
The door opens, and my throat catches. Lukas fills the room. Broad-shouldered and wide of chest, he somehow manages to make even the largest of tunics seem too small.
I turn around and scramble to pull tight the stays of my gown.
He backs away. “I’m sorry, Eva. I shouldn’t be here.”
As I reassemble my gown as quickly as possible, I rush to reassure him. “No, no, Lukas. Please stay. I wanted to thank you for—”
Chronicle: Before The Books of Eva Page 4