The Fifth City (8 page)

“The Trials are an historic Seascape ritual, and are not to be undertaken lightly.”

“Each spring, persons of eighteen years may partake, in order to prove their worth to Seascape, and gain certain benefits of their heritage.  They will challenge your will, your courage; and they will test your mind beyond any limits you could ever have imagined.”

“Though you look underage, I think we can make an exception—it will be of interest to Seascape’s residents to see how you perform, and to see if the Four Cities are finally worthy of our association.”

Sylvia nodded.  She was a little over a year under eighteen, and if they could do it, so could she.

“There are four Trials,” the Lady continued.  “And they are each judged by different standards, given their vastly different mental, physical and emotional challenges.  There is no one winner.  You merely pass or fail.”

“And if I pass?” Sylvia asked.  “Then you’ll help?

“Then we will help.”

“I accept.”

Eleven

Neve stared widemouthed at Sylvia; the Rider stood there facing down the formidable Lady without a hint of fear in her eyes.

“Then we have a bargain, my dear,” Lady Naomi said and stood, her long legs unfolding underneath her shining turquoise gown as she stepped down from her dais.

The Lady towered over Sylvia, who held out her hand to seal the bargain.  Neve could do nothing to stop her.  Sylvia couldn’t know what she was getting herself into—this woman, this
Lady
could not be trusted.  She must have spies all over Arcera to know what she knew. 

Neve shuddered again—she felt violated somehow—
how had the Lady known she had invented the explosives?
   And there was something else strange about her…

Soft footsteps came up behind them, and Sylvia and Neve turned to see a narrow blonde man approaching, a polite smile at his lips.

“Oliver, you may take Miss Thorne to the Parkhurst suite, we’ll be taking her in through the Trials.”

The blue-eyed man nodded, gesturing for Sylvia to walk with him.

The Rider paused.  “Where is Neve staying?”

“Unfortunately, under these circumstances, we simply cannot allow Miss Stoughton to stay.”

Neve’s stomach dropped to her feet. 
Where was she to go?

“Can’t I do the Trials too?” Neve protested.

“I’m sorry my dear,” the Lady shook her head, but showed no remorse.  “But permitting even one outsider to partake in the Trials is allowance enough.  It has never been done before.”

Lady Naomi turned and sat back on her throne, and Neve saw the glint of something silver tucked inside the woman’s ear.

Neve’s heart was racing. 
What was she to do?  Leave, alone?

Sylvia turned to Neve, and quickly pulled her out of the direct hearing of Oliver and Lady Naomi.

“Listen Neve, I need to do this, I need to see if I can pass their test, and get help.  Go to Meadowcity—it’ll be two or three days north of here—and tell them what’s happened.  Please, can you do this for me?”

Neve nodded woodenly.  Of course she would.  It was only the beginning to make up for what she had done.  She would go out in the wilds alone.

“You’ll be fine in the woods, just watch out for the Scouts, alright?  They could still be near the shore, or on their way back north.  You’ll be okay.”

Neve’s eyes began to swim.  Couldn’t she stop these infernal tears?

Sylvia suddenly pinched her, and she all but yelped.

“Stop it,” the young Rider chastised, surprising Neve.  “You couldn’t have known what Greyling was going to do with those explosives.”

Neve jerked her head.

“I don’t fault you for it, and you shouldn’t either.  Just—go—you’re good on the trail.”

“It was an accident,” Neve whispered suddenly, needing Sylvia to know.  “And they heard about what it did, and asked us to remake it.  I didn’t know—” she choked out, refusing to look over at Lady Blackwater, who was probably listening.

Sylvia shocked her by pulling her into a hug.

“You be careful out there.”

“And you be careful here,” Neve replied.

They broke apart, and Neve saw that another man had appeared, that greasy-haired man who had dragged her from the dark cell she had woken in.  This was it.

She shared one last look with Sylvia, whose ferocity emanated from her very expression.  The Rider would be alright.

The man cocked his head at Neve, and she followed him out of the hall.  It was the start of a journey for which she could not foresee the outcome—and for once, that exhilarated her.

And she didn’t know which terrified her more.

Twelve

The man called Oliver led Sylvia through the castle down its long, white corridors, which were lit by fascinating panels of pure light that made up the ceiling.  There were no windows, and Sylvia couldn’t even tell if they were underground.  Oliver led her down a beautiful stone staircase to another level.  Simple wooden doors carved with neat lines graced a few of the white walls, and she was sure she would be unable to find her way back the way she came—each corridor was identical to the last.  She took solace in the fact that at least her headache was starting to subside.

Lady Blackwater had already tested her by sending Neve away, alone.  But the Lightcity girl had more skill than she credited herself for—what she lacked was confidence.

Neve will be alright,
Sylvia assured herself, trying to will the words into becoming truth.

It was herself that she was more worried about; she could already tell Lady Naomi was a ruthless, cunning and intelligent woman, who seemed to know about many things she shouldn’t—or couldn’t.   And the Trials that faced Sylvia could be more complex than she imagined.  There was something very strange about this place.

At last, Oliver stopped in front of a wooden door, indistinguishable from the rest, and Sylvia wondered how he could possibly tell them all apart.  He opened it and led her inside.

“You’ll be staying in these rooms, Miss Thorne.  You’ll find everything you need here,” he swept his arm out invitingly as she ventured farther into the beautiful space.  She had never seen living quarters like it.

A large, wooden bed took up much of the room; its ornately carved posts reached up nearly to the ceiling, supporting a delicate canopy of white silk.  Heavy, blue and gold patterned fabric covered the pillows and blankets, and a sturdy wooden bench sat at the end of the bed, with matching blue and gold padding.

Directly across from the bed was a simple white stone fireplace, already lit and crackling merrily.  Not a twig out of place, nor a smear of soot marred the hearth.

To the left of the fireplace, a recessed alcove held a simple table and chairs, which had been laid with food and drink.  Sylvia’s stomach grumbled as the scent of roast meat and warm bread wafted toward her.

Across from the door, she laid eyes on what she first thought was a window, but it didn’t quite seem to be.  She approached it slowly, and Oliver spoke.

“A looking-glass, Miss Thorne.  It shows the view from the southern shore.”

It was framed like a window, and the surface looked smooth, like stone.  But the impossible looking-glass showed a vision of the sea.  The churning, blue-grey waters moved before her eyes.  She reached out to touch it, but glanced over at Oliver, who smiled and nodded.

Cold stone met her fingertips. 
How was it possible?
   The smooth stone held a vision of another part of the island, and she was fairly certain she was underground.

Her heart was humming.  She watched the waves for a moment and gazed at the clouds gently drifting in the wind, until her rumbling stomach pulled her attention back to the present.  She ripped her gaze from the looking-glass and sheepishly turned back to Oliver, whose face held that kind smile.

“The Trials begin on the morning of the spring equinox,” he began in a very business-like tone.  “Until then, you will stay here in the castle.  Lady Blackwater has asked me to check in on you daily and attend your needs.  Food and drink will be brought to your rooms,” he nodded at the table already laid out.  “You will find sufficient clothing in the wardrobe.”  Sylvia looked around to see a large wooden wardrobe behind the door.

“And your washroom is behind that door,” he pointed to the closed door on the other side of the fireplace.  With one last smile, he stepped back into the hallway and bid her goodbye, assuring her that he would be back later to check on her.

Sylvia let out a huge sigh and sank down onto the bench; exhaustion and bewilderment threatening to overwhelm her.  How had she even gotten here?  She and Neve were following the Scouts one minute, the next they’re being tortured on the shore and waking up in dark cells.  Now Neve was gone, and she was sitting in this decadent room, with nothing to do but wait until Winter’s End.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the footboard of the bed, but sprung up immediately when she remembered the food.

She hopped into a seat at the table and ate whatever she could get her hands on, swallowing it down with a glass of cool water from a pitcher.  The pain that had walloped her body on the shore, spending a night unconscious on the floor, and her meeting with Lady Blackwater had all exhausted her.  Once full, she leaned her head against the chair back, and closed her eyes again briefly, her hands resting contented on her stomach.

Winter’s End wasn’t for another few weeks, so she would do her best to find out as much as she could about Seascape in the meantime.  She had an odd feeling about this city—it felt strange, wrong somehow.  Perhaps it was just because it was so different than the Four Cities.  It felt like there were ancient secrets and strange mysteries lingering in the very air.

She got up and stretched, then turned to watch the looking-glass again, mesmerized by the view of the waves.  She
must
complete the Trials—Seascape would be Meadowcity’s greatest ally for survival in this war, she was coming to realize.  They were clearly very intelligent and much more advanced than anyone in the Four Cities had ever dreamed.  But with no way to prepare for the Trials, she could only worry about them in vague terms.  She didn’t know what to fear, yet.

Lady Blackwater was fearsome, that was clear.  But she had been
‘intrigued’
  by Sylvia, enough that she was going to let her partake in one of their ancient rites to prove herself.  But what had made the Lady so enamored of Sylvia?

And how did the Lady know those things about Sylvia and Neve, and Greyling’s war?  How long had she been watching them?  Sylvia stared out the looking-glass and it hit her.  If this decorative looking-glass could show another part of the island, then Lady Naomi might be able to view other parts of Arcera with one as well.  How else could she know things she shouldn’t?

Unless she had spies—but she would need to have them in all kinds of places across Arcera, to have learned of Neve’s invention of the explosives.  Sylvia had a feeling it wouldn’t be hard to view things going on in the Four Cities through these looking-glasses—if this technology was used for decoration, it had to be used for more practical things, too.

Sylvia tore her gaze away from the looking-glass and decided to examine her suite further.  Now full and mostly content—her headache only a dull throb—she could start her information-gathering now, with the suite they had assigned her.

She ran her fingers over the soft blue and gold bedspread and checked under, behind, and around the massive piece of furniture; noting its solid construction, but finding nothing of interest.

The mantle above the fireplace held no ornamentation.  Beside the fire stood a basket of neatly stacked logs, and a rack of iron tools.  Sylvia eyed the heavy tools, making note of them for later.

The wardrobe held an assortment of clothes, and she wondered at the selection, picking up a long black tunic that seemed like it would fit her.  She pawed through the rest: leggings, dresses, shirts and even shoes laid out at the bottom.

Next, she investigated the washroom, which held the largest bathtub she had ever seen.  She immediately turned on the taps and decided to wash off the grime of the trail.  She felt like she deserved a little pampering after the ordeals she had been through since leaving Meadowcity.

As the taps ran, she inspected the rest of the washroom; finding towels, bars of sweet-smelling soap, even a hairbrush and a box of hairpins.  Everything was clean and new.  The washroom was lit by another curiously glowing ceiling pane.

She sunk into the warm bath and thought that perhaps the glowing pane was a simpler version of the looking-glass—emitting only light instead of an image.  She twinged in guilt as she dipped her shoulders into the water, imagining Neve all by herself in the wilds; as Sylvia took a luxurious bath.

The slight remnants of her headache eased away into nothing as the warm water soaked up to her neck.  She closed her eyes and considered just how far away she really was from Meadowcity.