Relic

IX: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.

Even though the wind cuts through my sealskin layers, I allow myself once again to revel in the speed. I’ve never gone so fast in my life; I doubt that many in New North have. I wonder if the Maiden I used to be would enjoy this, or whether she would be terrified.

In time, when the novelty wears off, I notice an absence of sound. I can hear nothing other than the panting of the dogs and the whoosh of the sled runners over the snow. Compared to the Aerie—with the Campana’s bells and the town clock’s ticking and the constant clomping of the Ring-Guard and Aerie sentry patrols—the Boundary lands are silent. It begins to disturb me. Why didn’t Lukas warn me about this? He prepared me for so much else.

But if I stop thinking so much and pay attention, I realize it isn’t as quiet as I’d perceived. The air crackles with soft and unfamiliar noises—like bird cries and the shifting of ice—muffled by the snow. Maybe that’s why the Boundary people speak so little; they need to listen to survive.

Not too far off in the flat distance, I see a slight darkening in the snow. It can only be the shadow of a frozen-in iceberg. These masses jut out from the ice randomly, a reminder of the Healing when so many Arctic islands collided to form our land. Based on the map Lukas drew for me, I will not encounter too many masses on this sinik. This word must become part of my vocabulary; it’s the word Lukas taught me for journey-days or days-away-from-home. He gravely assured me that marking siniks might mean the difference between life and death.

Lukas guessed that reaching the Taiga would take two siniks. The trick to winning the First Advantage—the distance from the Gate to the Taiga—isn’t simply to gain the most ground. No, the real trick is finding a safe spot to make camp before the first horn of evening sounds. Otherwise, a Testor can find himself—or herself—dinner for a polar bear. Food is scarce out here, and it happens nearly every Testing year.

My lead seems to hold as the Sun makes Her way across the sky. The outline of the Taiga grows closer than I would’ve thought. Was Lukas right that it would take two siniks? Maybe I’ve made such good time with my oiled runners that I’ll make it in one. Or maybe the Boundary lands have deceived me and the Taiga is farther than it appears. Distances are misleading on the ice; I know that from the Ring wall.

It’s also been several bells since I’ve last eaten, and I wonder if that’s the reason I’m second-guessing Lukas. I pull out some dried fish from my pack and nibble on it to preserve my energy and focus. The unbroken expanse of white and the motion of the sled are strangely lulling. Lukas warned me not to let the lack of food and the landscape hypnotize. That could lead to sleep—which, if unprepared for—leads to death. Catnapping in front of a hearth is all well and good at home. But even in the safety of the Aerie I’ve seen what happens to those who nod off unprotected.

I hear a snap, and I stop chewing. It sounds like the ever-shifting ice, so I dismiss it at first. But then I hear it again. There’s nothing unusual in the horizon, so I pull out Father’s Relic and scan the landscape behind me. At first, I discern nothing other than blinding whiteness. But then, just off to my left, I spot a dark form on the ice that’s too small to be another frozen-in iceberg. Plus, it’s moving. I gulp down the rest of my small snack. Another Testor. And he’s approaching fast. Where did he come from? I haven’t seen or heard anyone behind me since I lost Benedict, Thurstan, and Niels bells ago.

I crack my whip. The first horn of the evening will sound soon, and I’ve got to gain as much ground as I can if I want to win the First Advantage. The dogs quicken their gait, but I see that the other Testor is getting closer.

I scowl. What would Eamon—or Lukas—do?

Unexpectedly, the grade of the flat polar expanse changes—downhill. My dogs yelp with excitement at the prospect of speed, and the sled takes off. My icy breath catches in my throat. I start to teeter. I’m in danger of losing control; Testors have been killed by toppling sleds in these exact situations. Pulling back on the reins, I command the dogs to slow. After resisting for a few ticks, they acquiesce, and the sled is righted.

The other Testor isn’t so lucky.

There’s a crash behind me, and I pull up sharply on the reins. Fumbling again for my mirror, I see his sled has overturned. In horror, I watch as he crawls out from underneath the cargo bed. I long to turn back and help him, even though The Lex absolutely forbids assisting fellow Testors: let no Testor assist or align with another as the Gods demand that every Testor prove his own worthiness for the sacred role of Archon. Before I have to make the decision whether to break The Lex or allow another human to die, a horn echoes across the landscape.