“A weak effort, lads,” Orrin chided. “Let’s get to it.”
The circle opened up until the only thing between Amanda and the trees was dirt. She dropped her pack to the ground and swung her bow around, sliding a single arrow from her quiver with the same motion. Orrin looked at her in question and she nodded, nocking the arrow in preparation.
The shifters standing at her back grew perfectly still as the judge drew his arm back and then threw it forward in a powerful motion, releasing the small black pebble to fly toward the trees.
It was a tiny missile, the black difficult to see in the misty light. She’d practiced endlessly for just this moment, figuring out a way to compensate for her less than shifter reflexes. Concentrating on the likely target area rather than trying to follow the pebble itself, she narrowed her field of focus, and almost panicked, finally catching sight of the black just before it hit a middle-aged conifer. Its base was a good twelve feet around, which made for a nice fat target. The only challenge would be to hit at or very close to the actual spot where the rock had impacted the bark. And every shifter in the yard knew that spot within a quarter inch.
Never taking her eyes away from the tree trunk, visually marking the barely discernible gouge of pale wood where the black rock had hit, she drew in a breath and held it, then drew the arrow back until her fist brushed her cheek. Someone coughed loudly, trying to break her concentration, and Orrin growled his unhappiness.
She ignored them all, hearing only the soft movement of morning fog through the leaves as she trained her sights on the distant target.
She let her breath out slowly and released. Her arrow flew across the yard, quills whisking the air, the trajectory arching slightly as it passed through the surrounding trees to hit the target dead on. Spontaneous cheers erupted from the gathered shifters, and she heard Tonio shouting her name in triumph. Even those who opposed her were unable to restrain their reaction to the perfect shot. Money changed hands as bets were paid with equal measures of laughter and chagrin.
She sagged in relief, not looking at anyone, feeling her shoulders twitch with adrenaline as she unstrung her bow and slipped it back over her shoulder.
When she finally raised her head, Orrin met her gaze with a smile. “Nice shot, lass,” he said.
She grinned. “Thanks.”
He gave her a short nod and shouted, “Let’s do it, lads.” The yard filled with purposeful movement as the shifters detailed to escort her clambered up the stairs and back inside the Guild Hall to gather up their weapons and gear.
Having nothing to do other than wait at this point, she leaned back on the table and stared at her own boots, trying to seem cool and collected when what she really wanted was to jump up and down with excitement. That shot had been perfect, everything she’d dreamed it could be. She could still see the arrow flying across the yard to the target as if connected by a wire.
There should have been someone with her, someone with whom she could share the absolute exhilaration of this moment. Someone like… She snuck a glance in Rhodry’s direction, curious about his reaction, and saw the big, golden-eyed shifter facing off with several others, including Fionn. They were all yelling at each other, occasionally gesturing in her direction, and she thought for a moment they would come to blows, until Orrin intervened, snapping a few words that broke up whatever had almost happened. Fionn slanted a look her way with no expression and disappeared into the trees. He was carrying his gear, and she wondered if he was on her escort detail. Not that it mattered either way. He wouldn’t do her any favors. He’d made that much perfectly clear.
“Last chance,” Orrin said from behind her.
She stood and turned. “No, thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ve waited for this a long time.”
“Your choice then.” He nodded at someone over her shoulder.
She didn’t spin quickly enough to see who it was. The needle slipped smoothly into her arm through layers of clothing and she collapsed into the judge’s waiting arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Amanda woke with a start, rolled over, and retched violently. She bit back a groan when bile came up to burn her throat and nose, while doing nothing to relieve the unbearable nausea roiling her stomach. It was the drugs causing it, the ones her shifter escort were using to keep her sedated while they flew her out to the drop-off point. The journey so far had been a matter of days, rather than hours. She’d expected that. The hovers weren’t all that swift, and even shifter candidates—who could travel much faster than she could—often took a week or two to make their way back to the Guild Hall.
She’d also expected them to take into account her human metabolism when choosing which drug to sedate her with. As awful as she was feeling, it seemed likely that they’d chosen the drug that would make her as sick as possible, rather than the opposite. She’d tried to tell them on their first stop for the night. They’d only laughed and asked if she wanted to quit. It was Fionn’s good buddy Nando who’d laughed the loudest, and who’d gone so far as to suggest she’d gotten herself pregnant, and was looking for a convenient excuse to bow out of the trial.
It was such an asshole thing to say—and something of a surprise coming from the shifter who’d always been polite to her. No wonder they’d wanted Rhodry off her escort team. He’d never have gone along with something like this, no matter how much he opposed what she was doing. She wished he was here now, so she could point out to him just how honorable his fellow guildsmen were. Maybe she was just what they needed. A little dose of reality to remind them that they didn’t, in fact, rule the entire universe.
Regardless, however, she’d stopped talking to any of them after that, suffering in silence, eating and drinking as little as possible, and then only foods she thought would stay down, vomiting discreetly when nothing did.
Orrin Brady had shown up at some point, his eyes full of kind sincerity when he asked if she was perhaps truly sick and did she possibly want to delay her trial. She hadn’t been tempted even a little. Maybe if they’d played fair with her, she would have taken Brady’s offer and gone for a second try. She simply couldn’t let them get away with cheating. Besides which, there was no guarantee she’d get a second opportunity, no matter what Brady said. And even if she did, her failure this first time out would be held against her for the rest of her life, and they were likely to pull the same trick on a second trial. She didn’t know what they were giving her; she did know that there were plenty of drugs available that wouldn’t have made her so sick.
She fell back on the hard ground and lay perfectly still, staring at the sky visible through skeletal branches overhead. There was a faint breeze blowing. It was cold, and wonderfully fresh. She sucked in a deep breath and had to roll over again as she began to cough uncontrollably, her face buried in her arms. Dry leaves and dirt scratched her nose, shifting slightly as she experimented with slower, shallower breathing. That helped. Eyes closed, she listened to the world around her, trying to locate the shifters of her escort. What little light she’d seen was pale enough for morning, which meant they’d probably already cleared the campsite and were sitting back waiting for her, laughing at her wretchedness. She was only surprised they’d given her this extra time to recover.
She frowned and listened harder, hearing only the steady pounding of her own pulse, throbbing in time with her aching head. She turned on her back again and opened her eyes, squinting against the sun, which was almost directly overhead. She froze, staring for a moment before the realization hit her.
This was it. Her escort was gone, and the bastards had left her lying unconscious, vulnerable to whatever creature happened to pass by.
Her heart raced. She sat up slowly, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her head on her knees. She was grateful to be alone at last, even if she was so sick that all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and let the world go away for a few hours. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that luxury. If she was on her own, she didn’t have a few hours. She
needed to get her act together right now, figure out where she was, and get moving. Night fell early in the north.
Squinting blurry eyes against the thin light, she spied her gear stacked a few feet away, leaning up against the trunk of a spindly yearling tree. She’d be able to think more clearly once she got rid of the awful taste in her mouth.
Standing was beyond her wobbly legs at this point, so she crawled slowly and carefully over the dry, scratchy ground. It was icy cold beneath her bare hands almost as if…
She sat back on her heels and took a good look around for the first time. And then she used every filthy word she’d ever learned to curse Nando Vaquero, his shifter buddies, and then just shifters in general for good measure. Even Rhodry. The land stretched out around her, flat and barren, except for a few clumps of scruffy trees, their limbs almost completely bare of foliage. Trunks were bent and bowed toward the ground, permanently deformed by the gale force winds blowing off the glacier…which was where they’d left her.
Her escort hadn’t only taken her northward, they’d taken her all the way to the glacier and left her there. The ground she was sitting on was cold because it was frozen nearly solid most of the year. Even now, little pockets of icy snow that never melted lay in the hollows between the tree roots where the sun never reached. Looking further north, there was ice and snow as far as her eyes could see. To the south, she could barely make out a dark band of trees between the pale horizon and the sky.
An unfamiliar quiver of concern pinched her stomach. That distant band was the Green. She wasn’t in the Green, she was well beyond it. There weren’t even patrols out this far, because there was no reason for them. She had no idea how long it would take on foot to get back to the city from here. Several weeks probably, especially traveling alone and with no supplies.
Her first instinct was to be angry, no, furious. She’d read every account she could find of the Guild trials and there’d been nothing about a candidate being dumped this far away, and never on the glacier. Any lingering expectations of fairness she might have had with regard to her treatment during this phase of the trial disappeared, replaced by a steely determination. She’d spent months getting ready for this, sacrificing every other aspect of her life, following all of their arbitrary rules, competing in a system where every single test was weighted against her.
She stared at that distant tree line. Fuck ’em. If that’s how they wanted to play it, then fuck every one of them. If they owed nothing to her, then she owed nothing to them either. She’d pass their stupid trial, and she’d do it on her own terms.
She twisted around to her backpack, and found they’d left it sitting right on top of the flare given to every candidate in case of emergency. Hold it up, pop the cap and it would send up a signal visible for miles. A signal that would write her failure across the sky.
“In your dreams, assholes,” she muttered, then crawled over and tossed the flare aside with a derisive snort.
Snagging the strap, she pulled the pack closer and felt her heart sink into her toes. She could tell by the weight, and by its nearly flat aspect, that the pack was almost empty. After all the time spent planning and packing everything just right…she felt a weary sort of resignation as she flipped it open.
The first thing she saw was her cloak. She pulled the familiar brown cloth out and buried her face in it, letting the scents of home soothe her. Then she put it down and took stock of her remaining gear. Her sleeping bag was still there, tied to the bottom of the pack, its thin aspect apparently fooling her shifter escort into believing it was useless. Either that, or they’d left it for the same reason they left the cloak. Maybe leaving her to freeze to death crossed some inexplicable line for them. Drugging her, dumping her on the glacier, that was all okay, but not freezing. Assholes.
Back to the inventory… Her bow and the quiver of arrows remained, and her belt knife was still in its sheath. Everything else was gone. Everything. She lifted her head and stared into the empty distance for a few minutes, thinking, then slapped her hands on her thighs decisively and said, “Right. Let’s get started then.”
Dropping back onto her butt, she pulled off her boots, first one, then the other. Tucked into each, in a specially made sheath, was a knife. She was surprised at the extent of the shifters’ perfidy; she was not surprised that it happened. They’d been playing games with her for months. She’d expected some sort of trickery and had planned for it.
The two knives hidden in her boots weren’t quite as good as the long knife she’d had in her backpack, but they were each far better than the short belt knife which was all they’d left her with. Leaving one of the two blades in its sheath, she tucked the other into a loop on the outside of her pack, then rolled down her socks.
“Hello, baby,” she said, and reached down to rip away the tape securing a supply of antibiotic capsules and a small tube of ointment to her lower right calf. She winced slightly as the tape pulled at her dehydrated skin, and was reminded that finding water had to be her first priority. She had some… She frowned and reached for her canteen, which was still tied to her pack right where she’d left it, along with her collapsible metal cup. Her fingers were weak, so it took longer than it should have. Eventually she loosened the leather ties and pulled the container away, shaking it experimentally. She heard and felt the reassuring slosh of water and breathed a sigh of relief. That was good. This close to the glacier there was little run-off and what there was would be heavy with minerals. Apart from the unpleasant taste, glacier water could cause all sorts of unpleasant reactions in humans, especially this time of year with the fresh melt. By the time it reached the forest streams and the city, it would have been filtered a few hundred times by the rock and soil it passed through to get there. Directly off the glacier where she was, it would be pretty harsh. She made a face at the thought and twisted the cap off her canteen, lifting it to her mouth for a careful sip.
Some sixth sense kicked in at the last minute and she hesitated, pulling the container away from her lips, and raising it instead to her nose for a quick sniff. Drugged. They had put drugs in the only water she had. That was a new low, even for them. And unfortunately, there were no smuggled packets of water taped to her body anywhere.
Amanda permitted herself a moment of despair—she was in the middle of nowhere, exhausted, half sick, hungry and dehydrated. She wished briefly for a radio to call for help…and a planet on which a radio would actually work…and someone to call on that radio. Although, Rhodry would probably come if she called him. Even if it was only to point out that he’d been right. She sighed and hung her head, eyes closed against the sight of all that bare earth. She deserved one fucking minute of self-pity, damn it! And then she drew a deep breath and forced herself to think.
Ice could be melted and she could rig some sort of filter system. It would be slow… She had a sudden thought and grabbed the pack frantically, breathing a sigh of relief to find her flint and striker, and a small box of wooden matches still tucked safely away in a waterproof side compartment. They’d probably just lifted the pack and dumped everything out, not even noticing the zippered pocket, which also contained a small sewing kit with needle and thread. Well, okay, that wasn’t going to help much unless she had a sudden urge to darn her socks for entertainment.
She dug her fingers into the narrow space and found an ancient bouillon cube and a wax packet of honey drops, which she grabbed with a crow of delight. They were sticky and softened with age, more formless blob than lozenge. She didn’t care. She popped one into her mouth and let the sweet flavor wash away at least some of the leftover sour taste. While it didn’t make up for the lack of water, it was definitely a start.
Sucking noisily on the candy, she packed her few possessions into the nearly empty pack and stood up. It took her a few minutes, leaning heavily on the tree while her body distributed its blood to all the right places, before she took her first step, and then the next, and she was on her way. Her journey back to the Guild Hall had
begun.
Chapter Nineteen
The dried out husk of a tree was barely big enough to shield her from the bitter wind. Amanda clung to its meager support and drew a deep breath. Either all of her senses had gone mad or, after hours of walking, she’d finally found water. She sucked in another breath, testing the air. The biting scent of piñata fern stung her nose and throat, and she closed her eyes in relief. The piñata was a hardy bluish-green frond that was almost synonymous with water on Harp.
With her goal reliably within reach, she found herself abruptly and completely exhausted. Her pack and everything else slid off her shoulder and hung to the ground as she leaned forward, hands on her knees, her breaths hard and shallow. It was tempting to sit down and rest, even for a few minutes. Once she was on the ground, though, she might never make it up again.
The dregs of anger-fueled energy had deserted her long ago, leaving sheer willpower to drive her forward. She shivered violently, more from exhaustion than cold, and her head spun as she tried to focus on the near horizon and the setting sun. She figured there was less than an hour of sunset gloom left before total night descended, and then nothing. Banba, the smallest of Harp’s three moons, would linger for a short time tonight, its cool, dim light offering more to poets than to weary travelers. And once it set, the sky would be utterly black, the tiny pinpricks of stars too distant to offer more than reassurance that there was light somewhere in the universe. Somewhere other than here, that is.
The smell of fern sharpened as she stumbled closer to the trickle of water, her footing more unsteady with every step. The ground around the small stream was littered with rocks and dirt mixed with old, dried sticks of branches and the skeletons of small animals. In a few months, at the peak of summer, this bare trickle would become a fast-moving wash of water, pushing detritus ahead of it as it sped out of the distant mountains at the height of the glacier.
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