Relic (The Books of Eva I) (12 page)

“That is not what The Lex says. In fact—”

“Scout Okpik, enough,” the elder Scout commands. I am startled not only by his harsh tone but the fact that he actually used the Scout’s name; Scouts typically refer to one another only by their title. Okpik is a Boundary name. I’ve never heard of a Boundary person becoming a Scout or even a Ring-Guard for that matter. How did Okpik manage to scale the walls that divide Boundary and Aerie?

The elder Scout continues, “The Testor is correct in her reading of The Lex. She is free to remove her stakes until the twelfth is planted.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say. Out of long habit, I start to bow deep in a Maiden curtsy, but I stop myself. Instead, I kneel back down to yank out my stakes before the Scouts change
their minds. With Jasper’s help and Lukas’s guidance, I have made the correct decision, praise the Gods.

I finish staking out my Claim near the wavy patterns in the crevasse’s left wall. Then, I unpack my climbing gear. I’m nervous, but I try to put on a brave show for the Scouts who are watching. Especially Scout Okpik. We are into the second three Advantages now, and every move will be assessed and tabulated toward their final judgment. Not that Okpik will be racking up points in my favor.

Removing my beloved
kamiks
, I strap on my bear-claw boots and my harness. Checking the security of the ice near the top of the ice wall, I insert my primary and secondary ice screws into its face. I loop my sealskin rope through the screw-holes and into my harness. We wait for the Boundary Climbers to belay down into position, and then, axe in one hand and rope in the other, I start to lower myself into the blue darkness.

My courageous façade crumbles as soon as I’m out of the Scouts’ sight. I have never been so scared in my life. In the Taiga and Tundra I had my huskies. Now I am truly alone. Jasper’s nearness in his own Descent only adds to the solitude.

I know I have to kick off the chasm’s ice wall with the tip of my bear-claw boots to start my descent, but I’m immobilized with fear. What if my rope gets severed on a sharp ice point? What if I didn’t choose a solid enough surface for my ice screws? What if I’m not strong enough to slow my descent and I end up in the bottomless crevasse? Eamon died on the Ring in this exact sort of situation.

Lukas warned me that I might feel this way, even though I’m a naturally gifted climber. Nothing is like the Descent.
He said that no matter how many ice climbs and descents we practiced on the bottom part of the Ring and the small ice formations within the Aerie, they would not substitute for the sensation of lowering myself into the crevasse’s near vertical ice walls. I think back on his teachings. I take a deep breath, whisper “believe,” and put the tip of my boots into the ice.

The kick back from the ice wall sends me flying down too fast, and I lose control of my sealskin rope. I don’t have a powerful enough grip, just as I’d feared. My slight build was a strength in the first three Advantages—sleds race faster with lighter loads—but down here, it’s a hindrance. Sheer strength—the kind hard-won by years of training—rules this phase of Testing. To stop my fall, I have to dig my bear-claw boots and my axe into the ice with all my might.

My heart beats wildly, and I feel like I might throw up. But I have to keep descending or I might as well head to the surface right now and offer my surrender—like so many in the Aerie want, including my mother.

I picture Eamon.

Using every bit of my strength, I kick back again and lower myself slowly down the ice wall, keeping a tighter grip on my sealskin rope than before. I think about one of Eamon’s journal entries, one that seems to have been written for me, for this moment.
Never look up or down while climbing; pay attention to the present
.

Instead of focusing on the terrifying depths below me, I study the wall right in front of me as I lower down into the crevasse. I spot a patch of white ice, with its dangerous trapped air bubbles, and manage to skirt it. I avoid a particularly sharp shelf in the water ice. I identify a
qopuk
beneath a light layer of snow cover, and choose another handhold.
All the while, I look for some evidence of a chamber or cave or enclosure which might have formed around a large object when the Frozen Shores solidified in the Healing. Nothing.

Pausing periodically for a sip of water and a bite of dried fish from my pack, I map and graph the wall. That way, I will not waste valuable time in the days ahead by re-examining the same stretch of ice. I glance over at Jasper, going through the same exercise. I wonder if his heart is pounding as furiously as mine.

The ice turns from azure to sapphire. The Sun is on Her way down. The Lex requires that we return to the surface by the final horn of the evening, or stay down here all night. Something I definitely don’t want to do. So I throw my axe and boots deep into the ice and begin the long haul upwards.

That’s when I see it. Just off to my right, there’s a grey shadow deep in the ice. Can I reach it on this rope? Or will I have to reposition my fixed line in the morning to get a better look? I want to examine and stake it today if it looks promising. Tomorrow will be more crowded with other Testors down here, and my chance could be lost.

Using my axe and boots, I claw my way horizontally across the slick surface. It’s an advanced maneuver, a dangerous one that could leave me swinging like a pendulum across the razor-edged ice wall if I’m not careful. I reach the shadow just as my rope reaches the end of its tether. Reaching into my pack, I grab the
naneq
given to me by Lukas. The small lamp, he cautioned, was the only one I should use in the crevasse; a larger, hotter lamp might melt and destabilize the ice wall. With shaking hands, I light a flame and then to the wick. Perching on a small ledge underneath the shadow, I hold
naneq
close to it.

At first, I think the shadow is simply dark ice containing
the residue of some long-ago terrain. But when I hold the
naneq
closer, I see that a heavy layer of new, clear ice covers a large, inky form deep within the ice wall. An object appears to be imbedded far down in the wall’s reaches.

Even though I know time runs short, I must lay Claim to this place. I take out four more Claim stakes, those that will mark the exact spot of my dig. As I carefully drive the fourth, and final, wooden stake into the ice wall, the first horn of evening sounds. I have to start my ascent. Dozens of Testors have missed the last horn and spent their last night on His Earth in a crevasse on the long end of a sealskin rope.

I begin my climb back up, but I have underestimated my exhaustion. Each time I throw my axe into the ice, it feels heavier than the last. My bear-claw boots feel as heavy as the bears from which they came. The light grows dim, and the opening seems like it will never draw near. I’ve been counting the ticks since I started my ascent, and I don’t think I have enough left to reach the surface. I don’t want to die on this wall. But even my fear is lost in this numb invisible weight.

Above me and to the left, I see the bottom of Jasper’s boots. He’s closer to the surface than I am, but he hasn’t yet reached the opening. As I watch him scale the ice, he peers down. And immediately belays toward me.

“Don’t, Jasper. I can do it,” I whisper as loudly as I dare, without alerting the two Climbers who are posted near the rim. We both know the penalty for talking to another Testor, let alone helping one. As long as the Climbers can’t hear us, it might appear that Jasper has only backtracked. A strange choice, but not forbidden.

“You won’t make it by the final horn on your own.” He
reaches my level, scuttles his way across the ice toward me, and stretches out his hand. “Come on.”

“No.” He’s right, but I can’t bear the thought of ruining Jasper’s chances simply because I don’t have the strength to reach the top in time, even if it means I won’t win. So I’d rather pretend to be annoyed with his offer of help and push him toward the surface with my refusal.

He stares at me, and says, “I’d rather spend the night down here with you than make it to the top alone. And I will do it. So, if that’s your choice …”

Before Jasper beat me to the flag, I would have chalked this behavior up to his seemingly unshakeable belief in the Lex’s command of chivalry. Now I’m not so sure. What are his motives in taking such a huge risk and helping me? Does he want to tell me something? Does he want to make sure I don’t win? I really don’t think he’d ever hurt me, but why is he trying to help me? Even though I’m uncertain about him at this tick, I have no choice but to accept his offer. I know what will happen if I dangle here all night.

I glance up at the Climbers, but oddly, neither is looking our way. Maybe the Gods are smiling down on us. Putting my doubts aside for a tick, I place my free hand in Jasper’s, and he hoists us both up toward the opening.

When we near the surface, I drag myself the last stretch without Jasper’s help. Just as the final horn of evening sounds, I heave myself up and over the edge of the crevasse. I have made it. Barely. I lie on my back, staring up at the darkening sky. The Climbers were none the wiser.

“Rise, Testor,” the elder Scout calls out to me.

My entire body aches, but if a Scout tells you to get off the ground, you do it. Legs shaking and arms burning, I push myself up to stand before the Scouts’ lineup. Jasper is already on his feet. The Scouts don’t move. Clearly, we aren’t supposed to either. We are waiting for something, but as usual, no one tells us what. It’s maddening, particularly when my fate could hang in the balance.

In a few ticks, the two Boundary Climbers rise up out of
the crevasse. They walk over to the elder Scout, and speak in hushed tones. My stomach churns. Are they reporting the Lex infractions Jasper and I just committed? Perhaps the Gods hadn’t blessed us with the Climbers’ ignorance, as I’d hoped. Perhaps they were just watching silently, waiting for us to break The Lex so they could report it.

As the Climbers take their place behind the Scouts, the elder Scout converses with the Scout to his right. I hold my breath until he speaks. “The first excavation day is over. You may return to your camps until the morning’s first horn.”

I feel like collapsing. Out of relief that our Lex-breaking will go unpunished. Out of exhaustion from my efforts in the crevasse. Out of despair that I will have to go through this grueling exercise again and again. Maybe all three.

Instead of slumping into the snow, what I really want to do, I gather my gear. As I squeeze my ropes, screws, harness, and boots into my now-heavy pack—with the rumors of sabotage I’ve heard over the years, I wouldn’t risk leaving them behind—I feel someone’s eyes on me. I glance over at Jasper, but he’s occupied with his own equipment. I look at the Scouts, but they are watching the Boundary workers tarping over the crevasse for the day. Even Scout Okpik is glaring elsewhere.

I’m about to chalk the feeling up to my imagination when I notice the Climbers. One of the two from the crevasse, recognizable by the shock of white running through his black hair, watches me. He doesn’t break my gaze as I’d expect. He pauses for a long tick, almost as if he’s making absolutely certain that I see his stare. Only then does he avert his eyes.

I’m perplexed by the peculiar exchange. Is the Climber sending me some Boundary message that only Lukas could
help me interpret? Or was he trying to tell me that he witnessed the Lex-breaking by me and Jasper? If so, why didn’t he report it? What could be his possible motivation for protecting me? Or Jasper? I had thought it odd that neither Boundary Climber was looking our way at the critical moment, but I was so elated to get out of the crevasse that I didn’t give it more thought.

The Scouts gesture for our departure from the Testing Site, so I’m forced away from the Climber and away from my speculations. In the dying light, Jasper and I tromp through the snow toward camp. For a brief tick, we’re walking a fair distance from the Scouts and Climbers. Tempting the Gods, I risk a few quiet words.

“Thanks for your help.”

“It’s the least I could do. Anyway, you’re much better than you think. Now that I’ve seen you climb, I think you could’ve done it yourself,” he whispers back.