The Fifth City (24 page)

“Good morning,” she warbled, “And welcome to your third Trial.”

The woman spoke slowly, but with an unquestionably authoritative cadence.

“My name is Thea Dorhni, and as most of you may know, I am the Keeper of the Trials.  It is my duty to anticipate the future needs of Seascape, and, most pressingly, be sure that those who wish to reap the benefits of our beautiful isle are worthy to do so.  It is for this reason that we test you—to be sure you have the necessary traits that Seascape needs, that our future requires.”

“I am not fond of giving grand speeches, nor do I care to venture up and down the shores of the isle each week, so I have reviewed your performances in the first tasks remotely; but this Trial requires a more up-close approach.”

“The task of judging is taken most seriously, and can only be done fairly by those who qualify.  Some of you will have to wait.”  She paused, as if daring any of them to question her methods.

“I will call your name and the name of your reviewer.  You will follow them to your assigned testing room accordingly.  You will have exactly one hour.”

None of the other initiates showed any sign of confusion, telling Sylvia that they all seemed to know what the task would be.  She was intensely glad to have had forewarning from Lady Naomi.

The Keeper of the Trials called out the first initiate.  “Emrick.  Reviewed by Ian.”

Colin punched Emrick lightly on the arm, and the first to be called gave a modest smile to his friend.

A gentleman Sylvia could only assume was Ian emerged from the double-doored room and beckoned to Emrick.  The two walked down past the tapestry of the eye and disappeared into another room.

“Atlan,” Thea called.  “Reviewed by Cora.”  Sylvia wondered whether the woman had memorized the list of names, until she saw the glint of an earlink tucked behind the ivory braids.  She was probably accessing a list stored in her datathreads.

Atlan grinned at Sylvia before following his reviewer down the hall, past the eye.

He seemed so confident.  She wished he could have helped her practice.  She had managed well on her own, but his company would have been nice…

“Sylvia.”

The Rider locked eyes with the Keeper of the Trials.

“To be reviewed by myself.”

Sylvia’s stomach constricted.  She was to be judged by this woman?  The Keeper of the Trials?

A bout of whispering broke out behind her.  Nerissa and Sirena threw angry glances her way.  Even Oliver was giving her a strange look—his was more surprised than anything.

Thea Dorhni beckoned for her to follow into the double-doored room, so she did.

“Close the doors, please,” the woman instructed, and Sylvia obeyed, her palms suddenly sweaty.  She gently pushed the doors shut, closing them in.

“You may sit or stand, whichever you prefer,” Thea gestured to a stool that stood in front of a large black
tapestry that hung from the inner wall.  Just like the ones in the corridor.  Sylvia had guessed right.

Thea herself went to the bank of windows at the back of the room and sat in an elegant wooden chair, supported by a few cushions.  Sylvia couldn’t tear her eyes away from the black tapestry; it drew her towards it, so she sunk into the stool and stared up at it.

This was nothing like what she had done last night in her room.  She couldn’t even reach up and touch the fabric, it was hung so high up on the wall.  She could feel Thea behind her, studying her; sizing her up, perhaps, to see how Sylvia compared to her idea of what the future needed.

Sylvia took a deep breath.  She had to focus.  There was no use in giving up now.  Last night she had learned how to do something she never could have imagined herself doing—
and in one night
.  All she needed to do now was learn to do it without physically touching anything.

The thumping of her heart was the only sound in the high-ceilinged room.  Her eyes never left the tapestry as she felt for her connection to the earlink.  For the first time with her eyes open, she reached out and made the connection with the datastrands in the fabric.  With the familiar
snap
, she connected to the tapestry in front of her.  It was time to get creative.

Thirty Seven

First, she needed to figure out how she would even possibly alter the tapestry while sitting ten feet away.  She let out a grounding breath and settled herself into the stool.  She knew Thea was behind her, watching; but Sylvia had a whole hour.  She could do it.

She had no choice.

But how to transform something so far away?  She answered herself: it all had to be done through her earlink.  An idea came to her.

What if she tried linking with it, like she had done with Atlan that night on the cliffs?  If she could link with another person, speak directly into their mind, why couldn’t she speak to the fabric, in a fashion?

Just as she had done on the cliffs, she imagined a thread of her light reaching towards the fabric.  It coiled gently forward in her mind; her imagination the manifestation of the earlink’s power, reaching out, trying to link.

She focused on the essence of the material, what it might feel like if she held it in her hands, and most of all, its criss-cross black and silver threads.  It wasn’t long until a small jolt of electricity told her she had done it.

Her eyes started to water.  After a moment’s hesitation, while wondering how she could possibly color the far away fabric, the idea of a paint brush appeared in her head; so she decided that was how she would make it happen. 

It had become clear to her that in order to train her mind to use the earlink properly, she had to command it by using ideas she understood, normal things.  Just like she made the connection by imagining her earlink and the datastrands as two beacons of light; and just like how she learned to access data by imagining flipping a page in a book, she imagined a simple wooden-handled paintbrush hovering in front of the blank tapestry.  She picked a spot in the top right corner and stared at it intently.

Green
, she thought at the strands, her mind on home.

In her mind’s eye, the brush pressed down firmly, the bristles collapsing as they sunk into the fabric. 
Green
.

What she really saw only surprised her a little.  She smiled at the watery green dot that had appeared in the corner. 
Now
she could get creative.  A smile rose to her lips.

She had no idea how much of her appointed hour had already passed, but now that she had figured out how to transform the material, she was grinning.  This part would be fun, despite a slight pain building behind her eyes.  She never really considered herself much of an artist, but for some reason, she felt confident about this.

With her thoughts on Meadowcity, there was really only one thing she could think of that was worthy of becoming one of the beautiful tapestries of this castle.  At her command, the watery green dot bloomed into several shades of greens and yellows up at the top, forming a rough and organic arch.

She had all but forgotten Thea Dorhni behind her, but she was still aware of the time; so first she worked in shapes and colors, and decided to go back for details later.  If her thinking was right, the tapestries in the hallway had been the best of their time—and she knew Seascape took their judging very seriously.

Down each side of the tapestry she created long swaths of dark brown, becoming the powerfully strong trunks of the treegate.  She filled the black space between the trees with green and golden light, which took quite a while to get right.  The space was large, and her mind had trouble processing that the black material could become gold, but that was the way she wanted it.

Her mind was completely linked with the tapestry through the earlink.  It had become easy.  The headache that had bloomed was growing, but she could ignore it for now.  She went back to the leaves up top, staring at each one in turn and giving it life, filling in the edges and details, making them real.  Her imaginary brush traveled down each tall trunk, giving them texture and shadow.  The roots at the bottom spread out like fingers sinking into the earth.

There was one last detail she needed.

At the bottom, she filled in one step, then another, of the wooden path.  Each one became smaller as they grew farther in perspective, until they faded into the golden light of her city on the meadow.

She was finished.

Her eyes closed involuntarily and she slumped in the stool. 

She heard Thea get up and come around, the sound of the cane moving quicker than expected, and Sylvia felt the old woman’s hand lift up her chin.  Her eyes fluttered open.

But the Keeper of the Trials was looking at her tapestry.

“Well done,” Thea whispered in awe.  “Maybe you have what it takes to be one of us after all.”

One last glimpse of Meadowcity’s glowing treegate was the last thing Sylvia saw before she slipped to the floor.

*   *   *

Everything was black, but somehow she was moving.  No.  That wasn’t right. 
She
wasn’t moving.  Someone else was, and they were carrying her. 

She heard a girl crying somewhere, but couldn’t open her eyes.  Her head flopped with every movement.  She couldn’t even lift it.

Everything was so dark.  And her head felt like it might split in two.

Suddenly she was hit with a wall of salty wind—how did she get outside?

Now she was rocking gently, a calming hum vibrating beneath her, right through her bones.  But it was still dark.

And how could her eyes hurt so badly, if she couldn’t even open them?  She felt something brush against her neck, and then she was sinking into a cloud of warm softness, pulling her down deep. 

Down into the darkness.

Thirty Eight

The pain in her skull must have woken her, it was so intense.  Without opening her eyes, she tried to sit up, but a hand stopped her.  She squinted over to see Medina sitting in a chair beside her bed.  It looked like the woman had been there some time.

“What happened?” Sylvia whispered.  She couldn’t bear to speak any louder.

“You lost consciousness after the Trial,” Medina told her, keeping her voice low for Sylvia’s sake.  “Oliver and Atlan brought you back.”

Sylvia looked around the room with only one eye open.  A fierce ache hammered from behind her eyes and into the back of her skull.  It was dark, the fire only embers.  Her looking-glass was black.

“What time is it?”

“Just about time for breakfast,” Medina said with muted cheer as she stood and held out her arms for Sylvia to grab.  “Slowly, now,” the woman warned her.

Sylvia let Medina gently pull her up to sit, but the movement still made her head pound even more fiercely.  She covered her eyes with her hands.  Never had she felt pain like this.  It was even worse than her first day in Seascape, after the shore.

“Breakfast, really?” she whispered.

“Yes, and we need to get something in you, it’ll help with the pain.”

Medina cleared her throat and Sylvia took her hands away from her eyes to look up.  The woman had a tray of food, and a small teapot.  She placed it beside Sylvia on the blue and gold comforter and sat back down in her chair, her own cup of tea already steaming at the side table.

Sylvia cracked her eyelids open further to get a better look at the food.  Once the sticky pastry she had chosen touched her tongue she was instantly famished, and realized she must have been asleep for almost a day if she had collapsed right after the Trial.  She tucked in to the pastry and followed it with some fruit and oatmeal, washing it all down with a cup of dark and bitter tea.

The food helped her forget about the pain for a while, and it seemed to be easing very slightly as Sylvia ate and drank.  Medina sat quietly in her chair sipping tea.  It was actually quite a pleasant morning—despite the debilitating headache—Sylvia was glad to finally have some company.

By the time her stomach was contented, Sylvia had plenty of questions; but she glanced at the looking-glass, and asked first, “Why is it black?”

Medina looked over at where Sylvia now pointed and said, “I’ve shut it off.  I didn’t want the light to wake you.”

Sylvia’s brow wrinkled.  She hadn’t realized they could be shut off. 

“So what happened at the Trial yesterday?  How did Atlan do?  How did
I
do?”  The words came out of her in an unusually fast tumble.  She was feeling much more alert now.

“I think Atlan wants to talk to you,” Medina’s mouth came up in an amused half-smile.  “He’s been trying to link to me since yesterday, but I’ve taken out my earlink.  I probably have a hundred messages.”  She pulled her silver earlink out of a pocket and inserted it back into her ear.

The woman’s face went blank for a moment, and her eyes looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“And your tea with Lady Naomi has been rescheduled,” Medina said, seeming to pull the thought from her earlink.

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll let Atlan know you’re awake, before he comes banging down your door.”

Despite the headache, despite the uncertainty of the outcome of her Trials, and despite the war that constantly weighed heavy on her heart, Sylvia smiled.

She was exhausted, confused, and far from home, but she had accomplished something amazing yesterday, and she was going to see Atlan soon.  Today would be a good day.