The day of Geneve’s Trial dawned like any other. Perhaps a little more sun, a little more fear. She made her preparations, then went into the mess to eat.
Breakfast was big and hearty. A scrap of folded paper was delivered to her by a Postulant while she ate. She felt her belly grow cold as she opened it.
TRESWARD’S TRIAL OF NOVICE GENEVE
THE CHARGE OF FREEZING
THE CHARGE OF BEASTS
THE CHARGE OF FIFTY
THE CHARGE OF THE TREE
That was it. Two tests other than the expected fights and killing of her tree. A single day’s Trial. She wondered if Israel had asked Justiciars to be lenient. Whether Vertiline spoke in their hallowed presence, demanding balance. If they remembered Wincuf and his terror.
She crumpled the paper, tossing it to the table. Pushing her bowl aside, Geneve stood. “Let’s begin.”
* * *
The Charge of Freezing involved a stone lined pit. It descended a claimed thirty meters into the dark. Rime lined the walls for five meters, ending at a frozen skin.
A crowd gathered. Two hundred Tresward souls, wanting to see her fail. This Novice without the Storm couldn’t hope to pass the Trial.
Lucent Eleni stood beside her. “The Charge of Freezing is to retrieve your sword, Novice.”
“You stole my sword?”
“All you have is the Tresward’s. We can’t steal what we own.” Eleni winked. “But yes. I took it from your store this morning.”
Geneve ran a hand through red hair. “It’s at the bottom of there?”
“It is.”
“It looks cold.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a Charge of Freezing if it wasn’t.” Eleni held her hand out, in an after you gesture. “Please don’t die. I’d miss you.”
Geneve nodded her thanks at the older woman, then disrobed to her underclothes. Her Novice whites landed at her feet. The southern cold whispered against her arms, and she shivered. “Thirty meters?”
“Maybe more.”
“Great.” Geneve rubbed her arms. Fifteen years old at the dawn, about to dive into a frozen pit. It hadn’t been here yesterday, and she wondered how the Tresward dug a pit thirty or more meters down, lined it with stones, and filled it with frozen water before she woke.
Stop avoiding. Finish the Trial.
She stepped onto the stone lip, focused her mind, and jumped. Geneve brought her heels down at the precise moment she impacted the ice’s surface, cracking it with the sound of a thunderclap.
The cold took her. She almost screamed, but Geneve needed the air. She descended into the dark. After five meters, it felt like night. But after ten meters, all light was gone. Geneve looked up at the dwindling circle of hope above her. Tiny bubbles escaped her nose as she fell.
Geneve calmed her mind as she descended. Tresward taught her to control her body. She made her pulse slow. Time dragged its long legs across her heart. She wanted to breathe. A fire would be nice. But Requiem was below, and she’d earned that blade.
Her feet hit the bottom. Geneve almost screamed but held onto her air. Her limbs were sluggish with the cold. It felt a part of her now, ice in her chest, ice in her veins. Ice enough to coat the world. She cast about, looking for Requiem. There was no light.
Geneve didn’t want to cut herself against the blade’s edge. Had Eleni tossed it here with the scabbard? No time to worry about that now. If she got up, they could fix her cuts.
Her foot hit something hard. Geneve’s leg snared in cold, clammy leather. She felt about, finding the familiar hilt of her steel. Geneve boosted up, hands against the wall, clawing for the tiny dot of light above. Her lungs ached, but the rest of her was numb.
Peace. She repeated it to herself. You dived in here. Now you’ve got to dive back out.
She rose, moving faster as the water pressure abated. Her ears popped. Geneve wanted air. She wanted warmth. She would die down here.
Her head broke the surface, and she raised Requiem above the water in triumph. Geneve clawed her way onto the ice, teeth chattering. Her usually amber-honey skin was pale like a corpse’s. But she couldn’t stop her grin.
Eleni helped her out of the pit, draping coarse wool about her. “Well done. Now let’s see those beasts.”
* * *
Kytto would be surprised if he were here. They’d filled a pen with tigers.
Apparently starved, ready to eat. The other end of the room held a scattergun. Hers, if she made it. It held two shells. There were three tigers.
Eleni looked pale, her voice thin. “Try not to die—”
“You’d miss me, I know.”
“Not that. Cleaning up after this would be … difficult.” The Lucent swayed.
Geneve put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
Geneve stepped into the tiger’s enclosure. The cats were huge things. Teeth and claws, all powerful muscle and hungry intent. She didn’t know how to pass this Charge. Tigers couldn’t be reasoned with.
The first tiger saw her, snarled, and charged. Geneve held up her hand, snarling back. “Stop!” The cat slowed, watching her. It’s tail lashed. She held up her right hand, knuckling her left. {Kneel.}
The tiger growled. Geneve stalked forward. {Kneel.} She pressed her fingers into her palm harder, more insistent. {Kneel!}
The cat growled, but crouched. The second followed suit, then the third. Geneve walked past them with the caution they deserved, taking the scattergun from its perch.
She faced the tigers and astonished onlookers as she brandished the weapon. “Got it.”
A tiger rumbled its agreement. Geneve walked past them and left the enclosure.
“The People’s handspeak.” Eleni was ghost white. “How did you learn that?”
“I don’t remember,” Geneve admitted. “But you know that.”
* * *
The Charge of Fifty was a piece of cake. Geneve armored herself, this time the Smithsteel fitting her frame better. She named the scattergun Tribunal, in honor of her Trials. It sat in a holster on her thigh. Requiem waited in rear-draw sheath, but if all went well she’d need neither.
She’d named her fifty. None of them turned up.
Geneve walked the hall of the Trial, looking for opponents. Raja was missing. Bald Hettie was absent. Broken-nosed Barbet she’d chosen as her final fight, the youth’s bulk a sufficient challenge.
All missing.
Geneve stalked to the door at the far end. She opened it and marched for her tree.
* * *
The Tresward forest was as she remembered it, except one small detail. Her tree was gone.
A massive hole sat where it used to be. Earth was strewn about in clods. Geneve walked to the pit, all onlookers absent. She was alone.
She crouched, picking up dirt. It sifted through her fingers, and she smiled. Geneve hadn’t had to kill her tree, and that was exactly as she’d planned it.
Geneve stood, arms wide. “I’ve finished my Trial!”
No one answered. It didn’t stop her smiling all the way to Kytto.
* * *
“You what?” Kytto’s eyes bulged.
“I poisoned the Tresward,” Geneve said. “Every last one.”
“I’m fine!”
“Are you a Knight?” She eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t see you in the refectory this morning.”
“But—”
“They’ll get over it. Explosive vomiting, unstoppable diarrhea, and cramps. Two days at the most. But I turned up.” Geneve smirked.
“You poisoned everyone?” Kytto looked to the stairs, and Vertiline’s absence. “What about Tilly?”
“Every. One.” Geneve brushed her red hair back. “It was your idea.”
“No.”
“Yes. You said to cheat.” She grinned. “I’m a Knight, Kytto. I’m a Knight.”
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