The Knife's Edge

Chapter Two

THE SEVEN TRIALS

Vera inhaled the incense that burned in the brightly lit room. On any other day she would complain about its putrid sting as she walked past the Oval Hall, watching as people flocked towards the great chamber.

Today, however, the incense smelled sweet.

Her face glistened with sweat. Seven women surrounded her. Each stood on one of the seven points of the Star of Magha, set in the white marble floor with gold veins. Each point stood for one of the elements of the Great Kingdoms. She stood on the red flame of the Citadel.

All the elements were present, but one. The forbidden element of wind.

The women surrounding her breathed heavily, wearing looks of loathing. They fear what they don’t understand. She took in their stares and noted their different strengths. Merian stood on the emblem of flesh, Sara, water, Tamiko, earth, Resa, sun, Eliwyn, fire, and the others she did not know. The only thing they shared was that they were years older than her, and nearly all of them despised her.

With a portion of the spark, Vera twisted a strand of water with a thicker thread of light. Any trace of dampness was sucked from her dress, like poison drawn from a wound as gray wool was simultaneously straightened and smoothed. Immediately, pain jolted her as if a small firework erupted within her brain. She gasped and fell to her knees. Looking up, she saw Merian had snapped the link tight.

The link was a connection of visible gold between her and the others, like a wagon-

wheel’s spokes, stemming from Merian. For that mere moment, the link between all eight women glowed brightly. The other women gave Merian curious, if not entirely disapproving looks. All except one. Eliywn looked at Vera with sympathy. It was well known that the use of pain outside each individual Trial was strictly prohibited.

“Do not use the spark during the Trials for anything but the Trials themselves,” Merian snapped. “At least not until we are done with you.” The woman’s lips pursed, as if she were thinking up something truly cruel to say. “And I would save your energy if I were you. You will need every morsel you can conjure in the next Trial, or you will fail miserably.”

Vera brushed her fall of auburn hair behind her ears and rose to her full height. There was a fire in Merian she had not seen until now, and she nearly applauded the woman for showing her backbone at last. Then she eyed Merian’s red robes. The robes of a Reaver. She looked around the room at each woman. Each bore the robes of a full Reaver, a title she craved to hold more than air.

“Neophyte Vera, you have completed the Sixth Trial. The final Seventh Trial will begin now,” Merian quoted line for line.

With the veil of obedience, Vera smiled. “As you wish, Reaver Merian.” Each woman looked like coiled desrah snakes ready to strike. She grinned, inviting it, and together, the women attacked.

Spokes of light flew forth, striking from all sides. She threw up her hands, erecting a shield of light. The spokes of light moved through her shield like water, racing towards her. Too strong. Seven Reavers could not be bested by any but an Arbiter in a match of raw power. The Seventh Trial was not one of strength, but a test of spirit. It was not meant to be won. But she was not done.

Vera summoned a shield of darkness and it launched from her fingertips, spreading in the air. Her gaze narrowed like an arrow’s sight on Merian whose eyes blazed with hatred. She unleashed her bottled power with a scream, uncaging the tendrils of living darkness, but in the last minute wove threads of moon to disguise the power’s dark form. The light and darkness collided with a powerful crash and an earth-shaking clap rattled the room. The bars evaporated like mist. But in the moment before their collapse, the darkness funneled up the spoke of light and sunk its teeth into the wielder of the link.

The thunderclap of air blew the women back.

Slowly, the women rose to their feet. A foul smell like burnt hair hung in the air, but no others seemed to notice. At her feet, Vera saw fragments of colored glass from the windows high above, and shreds of priceless tapestries depicting grand scenes of the Lieon, the Great War.

Resa, a bull-like woman, spoke, “Never has the test of light been countered with a shield of moon. Moon is the weaker of the two elements, but somehow it worked. Truly remarkable and worth the coming ceremony. You are now the youngest to pass the Seven Trials in history. Congratulations, Reaver Vera.”

“Congratulations,” the other six said, their voices a single hum from the Link.

“Merian, sound the chime,” Resa ordered. “It is complete, the Citadel must know. The ceremonies must commence.” She hadn’t noticed. Neither had the others. There was a stark silence. Vera smirked, reveling in their confusion. The seven women’s eyes widened in sudden recognition, their feelings connected through the link. As one they looked to Merian.

The woman knelt, her wide-eyes brimming in horror. “My power is gone!” the woman shrieked, and gave a bloody cry.

“Merian!” The women swarmed around her, dropping the golden glow of the link.

Resa touched the sister’s forehead and recoiled with a gasp. “I cannot heal her. It is far beyond my skill.” She grabbed Tamiko. “Take her to an Arbiter and quickly. Perhaps they can grab the spark before it recedes too far.”

“She... it’s gone? But how?” Tamiko stuttered.

Vera smiled at the woman’s shock. Like a wide-eyed doll. She always thought Tamiko’s hair and face too done up to be attractive, though most of the men of the Citadel didn’t seem to mind.

“Stop asking questions and go!” Resa yelled. Tamiko bolted to get help and Resa turned. The woman’s eyed blazed. Come to me, Vera beckoned. Resa rose, moving towards her. Her heavy steps reminded Vera of a cerabul before the charge, or one of the Devari guards stalking postures, which made her think of Kirin. Behind the woman Vera saw others. Curious and fearful Neophytes flowed into the room, faces pale from the sound of Merian’s chilling scream. Eliywn rushed to Vera’s side. Resa approached and Eliywn straightened to her fullest height, which was a hand or two shorter than Vera.

Before Resa could speak Eliywn proclaimed in a rush, “She did nothing against the law of the Citadel, and she obviously didn’t mean—”

“Leave,” Resa seethed.

Eliywn bristled as if slapped, and she looked ready to respond. The girl knows not when to quit. Ignoring Resa’s direct order would meet with serious punishment, for Reaver of three stripes vastly outranked Eliywn’s one. She touched her friend’s arm. Eliywn frowned, but understood, and grudgingly took her leave.

“What was that?” Resa whispered, breathing fire. The woman’s body practically shook with desire to hurt Vera, likely not even with the spark, but with pure, animal-like rage. She would... thought Vera calmly.

“What was what?”

The spacious hall filled with Neophytes and Reavers, rushing to see the cause of the uproar and whispers spread like fire.

“Heresy,” Resa sputtered. “Merian might die, if she doesn’t, the spark inside her is shriveled and likely the spark is gone from her forever! You desiccated her!”

The word gave Vera chills. Desiccating meant being deprived and cut from the spark, like a still beating heart carved from one’s chest. For a Reaver, it was a word far worse than any curse.

Vera returned the woman’s wrathful glare with a small smile. Words would clearly not affect some women, she knew, no matter how profound. Resa snatched Vera’s robes. “If I ever, ever see anything like that again, Citadel law or not, I will personally pluck your haughty eyes from your head, without the spark.”

I was right. Vera dipped her head, casting her eyes downward. “Apologies, Reaver Resa. My power went beyond me,” she lied. “I will learn to control it.” That much was truth.

Resa’s meaty fist rose, ready to strike. At last, with an unattractive snarl, she turned and stalked out of the chambers, following the two women who held the muttering, half- conscious Merian on a cloth stretcher.

And for a brief moment, she felt a note of pity. No one should suffer that fate... She would take a thousand deaths before she would take a life without the spark. Ignoring the eyes of others, Vera pushed her way through the whispering crowds of Neophytes, heading to her quarters.