“How old are you anyway, Ashok?”
“Twelve . . .” Ashok had to think about it for a moment. It was always cold and snowy in Devakula year-round. He wasn’t permitted to have a calendar. Protector training was so tiring, unrelenting, and sleep was allowed at such odd, inconsistent hours that the days sort of bled together, so he wasn’t actually sure what season it was. “I’ll be twelve in the fall.”
“Then you’re the youngest to ever make the attempt. And it is fall.”
“How can you tell?”
“If it was winter the snow would be over our heads instead of just up to our waists.”
“Oh . . . I suppose I’m twelve then.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” There wasn’t much room in the cave, but Ashok managed to get his sword out. It was an inferior design, made of regular boring steel, without any of the beauty or power of Angruvadal, but it was what he’d been issued, so he needed to make sure that it was properly maintained. The blade was clean, but Ashok wanted to make sure no moisture had been trapped in the sheath during the climb, which might cause rust. Sweat was saltwater, impure as the ocean, and he’d certainly sweated a lot during the day’s journey up the mountainside. He removed a cloth and an oil vial from his pack and began carefully cleaning the sword. Ashok had never been good at conversation, but talking seemed to be the proper thing to do. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen, winter born.” Devedas went back to staring into the dark. “You should turn back in the morning. There’s no shame in not making it to the Heart for any of us, especially on the first try, and especially not for you. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of them give up as well. I could see it in their eyes when we stopped for the night. If you’re thinking about defeat, you’ve already lost. So you won’t be going down alone. Turn back, Ashok. Our rations are half gone. It’s only going to get colder, the air thinner, and you’ve heard the rumors, the seniors won’t talk about it, but there’s something far more dangerous than wolves living at the summit. Once we cross the glacier, we either reach the Heart, or the mountain claims us.”
“You’re the top acolyte in the program,” Ashok said. Stronger, faster, tougher, and always confident, Devedas was easily the best among them. He was the one Ashok looked up to the most. “If anyone can make it, it’s you.”
“I’m not worried about me, stupid. I just don’t want your sliding down a crevasse to your death to be on my conscience.”
“Mindarin says that evil lives in the water. Snow might not be as impure, like saltwater, but it’s still out to get us. That’s why it makes itself slippery. Don’t worry, Devedas. I won’t be a burden, but if I start to slow you down, you may leave me behind to be devoured by wolves. I promise not to hold a grudge.”
He chuckled. “Strangely enough, I believe you.”
The two of them were silent for a long time. The only sounds in the cave were the crackle of burning twigs and the snoring of exhausted boys. Satisfied that his sword was clean, sharp, and ready, Ashok returned it to its sheath.
“You miss it, don’t you?” Devedas asked. “The ancestor blade, I mean.”
“Yes.” It was difficult to explain what it was like, being away from something that had absorbed a portion of his life’s spark. It gnawed at him, worse than hunger, or cold, or pain, a constant feeling of loss and weakness. “More than anything.”
“That’s why you’re doing this now, isn’t it? You think reaching the Heart will prove something. You can’t go on living without that sword . . . I’ve seen it before. What happens to a bearer when they lose that bond, you’d rather die on this mountain than go another night without that sword by your side.”
The older acolyte was correct. Most people were incapable of understanding what it was like to lose a part of yourself, but proving himself worthy would earn it back. “You’ve seen it before because your father was a bearer like me.”
“He was a great man and a hero. Our house was respected, feared even. And then one day our sword broke, shattered into a hundred pieces . . . Nobody knows what my father did to offend it.”
Such a thing was always a possibility with the ancestor blades. No mortal man could fully understand their convoluted sense of honor, so when one chose to give up the ghosts . . . that was the end of it. Ashok had never heard Devedas speak freely about this subject before, so he listened intently.
“Just like that, it was all over. Allies abandoned us, friends betrayed us, and within a few seasons my house was defeated and consumed by another, without so much as a sternly worded letter from the Capitol in protest. Now we’re just a poor province in some other family’s lands. There was no inheritance for me, so I was obligated to the Order, because who wants a constant reminder of their family’s shame around?”
“Every man has his place.”
“Platitudes . . .” Devedas muttered as he stared off into the darkness. “It would have been mine. I know that sword would have picked me next.”
“You can’t know that. No one knows the will of the blade until they try and wield it.”
“It chose my father and my grandfather before him. His father beat its bearer in a duel and proved his worthiness. They forged our house through the strength of their will.” Devedas gave a bitter laugh. “My birthright. My destiny. My place . . . taken . . .”
“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Ashok said, hoping that his sincerity came through.
Devedas studied him for a time, his expression inscrutable. “It doesn’t matter now.” He returned to his vigil. “I have this watch. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we have to climb to the top of the world.”
* * *
Two of the acolytes had been too weak to continue and had turned back at the glacier, leaving only three to continue the test. There was no dishonor in quitting then. Part of being a Protector was recognizing your physical and mental limitations. They were assets to be spent in defense of the Law, not tossed away in futile gestures. Those who turned back would be able to try to attain senior rank again in the future, but for the three who remained, they had crossed the point of no return. They would reach the Heart or die trying. Another lesson of the Order was that once committed, you held nothing back.
The air was so thin it filled their lungs but provided no strength. Two more days of marching, climbing, tripping, and sliding across the bleak, white surface had left them incoherent with exhaustion. At one point the ice had broken beneath Ashok’s feet, dropping him into a hole. Trapped and freezing, Ashok knew Devedas would have been justified in leaving him behind, but the older student had spent hours digging him out instead.
There were no more conversations during the night, as speaking took too much energy. They made their way across the mountains, following the landmarks the masters had spoken of. Sometimes on snowshoes, other times with picks and ropes, but it was always slow and difficult. No matter how tired he was, or how hard it was to keep his eyes open when they stopped, Ashok always made sure his sword was maintained. Mindarin had taught them that if they took care of their weapons, their weapons would take care of them.
A storm forced the acolytes to take cover for a full day, huddled in a shallow cave, miserable and shivering. On the final morning they ate the last of their dried meat and washed it down with melted snow. They’d resupply from the stores at the Heart or they’d starve. Acolytes often went days without food, but it was difficult to keep moving through terrain like this and stay warm on an empty stomach. Starvation was an excellent motivator to continue plodding on.
Noon of the final day was clear and bright, so bright in fact that they all had to wear leather strips over their eyes with small cuts to see through. Glare could sunburn the eyeball, leaving them blind and helpless. Despite the sun being visible, Ashok had never been this cold before. They were nearing the peak of the tallest mountain in the nation. He had never even imagined that this kind of cold could exist, but it was worth it, because from up here it was as if he could see the entire wor
ld.
Logically, Ashok knew it wasn’t the whole world, not even but a small part of their continent of Lok, but it was still an incredible view.
“Magnificent.” Devedas paused next to him and scanned the horizon. “It’s almost enough to make you understand how the superstitious still believe in gods.”
Ashok wanted to say something, but his mouth was so dry that he had to take a drink from his canteen before he could speak. The only reason the water hadn’t completely frozen was because he kept it next to his body. He pointed toward the north. “Where the plains turn brown, that’s the beginning of the great desert of House Zarger. I bet we can almost see the Capitol from here.” Then he pointed toward the northeast, across the plains, to where another, smaller mountain range loomed. “Thao. And on the other side of those are the lands of Vadal, my house.” He slowly turned in a circle, like the hand of a clock, still pointing, naming off great house territories as he went. “Sarnobat, Kharsawan, Akershan.” He turned to the south where the mountains sloped down toward the distant sea. “Devakula.”
“Home,” Devedas agreed.
Ashok kept turning, he couldn’t actually see those distant lands, but he liked to imagine that he could. “Makao.” Then west. “Uttara, Harban.” And a full circle back to the north. “Gujara, Vokkan.”
“So you paid attention to Mindarin’s geography lecture. I’d present you with an achievement ribbon but I didn’t think to put any in my pack.”
“Don’t you understand, Devedas? All of those great houses? We’re the ones who get to maintain the peace between them.” Ashok gestured at the mighty expanse. Maybe the altitude was making him light-headed, but it was a lot to soak in. “All of this is our responsibility. Without the Law, there is no union, and without us, there would be no Law.”
“You’re a strange kid, Ashok,” Devedas said as he started marching toward the summit.
Ashok took one last look at the world before resuming his journey. It was the strongest he’d felt in days.
* * *
Of the three who remained, Yugantar, five-year acolyte, was their oldest and most experienced student. He was the proud son of a chief judge in the Capitol, from a long and accomplished lineage, so it was rather shameful when he ran away and left Ashok and Devedas to die at the hands of the monsters at the summit.
“Get back here!” Devedas shouted, but Yugantar was already fifty yards away, clumsily sliding down the rocks, panicked and trying to escape. “Coward!”
When they’d first risen out of the snow all around them, Ashok had thought that they were only men, dressed in the pelts of some white-furred animal, only as they’d gotten closer he’d realized their visible skin was the color of blue river slush. At first his tired mind thought their bodies were painted, like a festival girl, but then he realized they had no faces. Their faces beneath their hoods were nothing more than a thin blue membrane stretched tight over a skull.
“Oceans!” Devedas swore.
Yugantar had been on point and seen them first. No wonder he’d run for his life.
The creatures hadn’t made a sound, but they were spreading out, forming a circle around the two acolytes. Their mouths were sealed, their teeth visible through the stretched skin. Do they eat? Or are they sustained on witchcraft? They were armed with short spears and clumsy axes. Ashok counted six of them in total. Their appearance was unnatural. Thin as untouchables, they had no meat to them, but they didn’t move like they were malnourished. They had no eyes, just round indentations in the sick fabric of their faces, but they seemed to have no problem seeing.
Strangely enough, Ashok still wasn’t afraid, though he knew he probably should have been. This was the sort of thing stories were told about to scare children, or so Ashok had been told, because he really couldn’t remember his own childhood. He raised his voice and shouted, “We’re from the Protector Order on official business. It’s illegal to block our way. Move aside.”
Rather than answer, the things kept trudging through the snow toward them.
“They’re abominations,” Devedas hissed. “I don’t think they obey the Law.”
“Everything must obey or deal with the consequences. What are they?”
“I don’t know. Witchcraft! You’re the one that never forgets the lessons.” Devedas drew his sword. The blade was southern, heavy and forward-curving, designed for chopping off limbs. He took one last look at their fleeing companion, probably debating if he should follow, but he turned back to the fight. “Damned idiot, Yug. There’s nothing down that mountain but starvation. We get to the Heart or we die. Get ready.”
Ashok drew his own sword. It felt clumsy in the thick fur mitten, but he was afraid to take it off because his skin would doubtlessly freeze to the handle and that would probably be worse.
They were on a rocky shelf, fifty feet wide, next to a wall of dark stone. Fallen snow was being blown about by the howling wind. As the blue-skinned monsters kept spreading out around them, Ashok realized that the leather strap protecting his eyes from the glare also took away much of his peripheral vision. They were in the shade of the rock so he tore the strap off. Much better.
The creatures were moving inward, crouched now, weapons clutched in their long blue fingers. Even with the wind, the snow here was still knee deep, so their movements were awkward and each step required them to lift their legs high to crunch back down through the hard snow. Maneuvering would be difficult. Outnumbered like this, if he and Devedas fell, they were as good as dead.
Devedas realized the same thing. “Get back to back.”
Ashok moved around him, stomping down snow, trying to make a beaten area so he could have some footing.
“Try to look intimidating.”
He wasn’t sure how to do that. Ashok was tall for his age, but didn’t feel particularly intimidating being outnumbered three to one by magical abominations. At his back, Ashok could feel Devedas shaking with nerves and anticipation. Personally, he still felt no fear. His only wish was that he had his real sword instead of this inferior thing. Angruvadal could sweep the creatures from the mountain with ease.
The monsters stopped. The acolytes were in the middle of a twenty-foot circle, hemmed in by the blue creatures’ rough iron weapons. Ashok was surprised by how quiet the moment was.
Then they attacked.
The monsters didn’t communicate in any discernible way, but they moved as one. The things lurched forward. He couldn’t even call it a charge, more of a methodical approach through the deep snow, really. He’d been hoping they would clump up and get in each other’s way like a proper mob, but they were coordinated, as a few moved to attack, while the others held back, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
A spear was thrust his way. Ashok turned it aside with the flat of his blade and then countered. The creature was bigger and had far more reach, so only the tip of his sword sunk into the thing’s torso. It pulled back noiselessly. Another swung an ax at his head. Ashok parried it aside, then ran his sword down the handle, raising a cloud of splinters and then dropping one of the thing’s fingers into the snow. That one also pulled away without a sound.
The rest of them kept coming.
One creature lifted its ax overhead, almost leisurely. Ashok lunged forward to drive his blade deep into the thing’s guts. Straight and broad, his sword was designed for thrusting. A good puncture from a two-inch blade would take the fight out of any man, but the ax kept rising. Ashok turned the blade hard, ripped it out the side, and barely got out of the way as the ax was driven through the snow and into the rock below.
Snow was flying between the sharpened edges. The noise of steel striking iron reverberated off of the great stone wall. Devedas grunted as he was cut, but Ashok turned and ran that creature through the ribs before it could follow up. It put one hand on his shoulder and shoved him away. His sword came out, clean, with not a drop of blood to be seen.
The two of them were turning, meeting attack after attack. Devedas lowered his body an
d swung around to strike the monster closest to Ashok in the leg, while Ashok attacked over Devedas’ shoulder and punctured a creature’s neck.
The attacks stopped. His pulse was pounding in his ears. His breath was coming out in gouts of hot steam. There wasn’t enough air. Ashok looked around, realized that all of the creatures had pulled back a few steps, as if collecting themselves. They weren’t so much as shaking, and he couldn’t tell if they were even breathing at all. Despite receiving several lethal blows, all six of them were still standing.
“They’re not dying,” Ashok stated.
“I can see that,” Devedas snapped.
Devedas had lopped one of their hands off. The severed appendage was lying in the trampled snow at his feet, blue fingers still twitching, so he kicked it away in disgust. The monster who’d lost the hand went over, picked it up, and casually stuck it inside its furs for safekeeping. Perhaps it would reattach it later somehow. Ashok really didn’t know that much about magical abominations.
“Run for the Heart. I’ll hold them off,” Devedas ordered.
Ashok didn’t dignify that with a reply. He may have been young, but he’d done nothing but train his whole life. He was a son of the highest caste, and he’d be damned if he was going to run from witchcraft. Everything has a weakness. They just had to find it.
The creatures came at them again.
A spear was flung at him. He reacted and swatted it out of the air. A moment later another almost hit Devedas in the back but Ashok barely managed to knock it aside as well. Then the axes were falling, and they seemed ever faster this time. He moved between them, stabbing and slashing. A lucky move put him beneath a swing, and Ashok responded with a draw cut so deep into the monster’s abdomen that it would have split any regular man nearly in two.
That monster calmly walked away, letting another take its place.