THE ROASTED GOOSE TASTES better than anything I’ve ever eaten, even the honeyed cakes the Attendants prepare for Feasts at home. After the bones have been picked clean, I am drowsy. But phrases from Eamon’s journal run through my mind. Phrases I wish I’d never read.
Can I really survive the Testing? Am I really destined to be an Archon? Can I really do what I believe I must? This last question he’d written on the very last page, on the very last line.
Having survived the first sinik of the Testing—even nearly garnered the lead for myself—I can’t believe that my talented brother ever harbored such doubts. If I can do it, he certainly could have. Not that I’m over-confident about my chances for the next sinik.
Unfolding the small diptych I brought in my bags, I kneel before the little altar and say a few prayers to the Gods. I stare at their gilded, circular symbols, believing that surely it was the Sun and the Earth who brought me through this day unscathed. The Gods and Lukas, of course.
My body aches in places I never knew existed before. Just as the pain finally relents and I feel myself start to drift off, I hear a noise. Not the dogs, not the shifting ice, and not the wind.
I sit bolt upright, and grab my ulu. I fear the worst—a bear or a cat. Before I move, I listen again to place the creature. The sound is distinctly human.
“Eva, it’s me. Jasper.”
XI: Aprilus 1 Year 242, A.H.
I peek from underneath the flap of my tent, and there he kneels.
“What in the Gods are you doing?” I hiss. I can’t believe the risk he’s taking for us both: let no words pass between Testors unless approved, as the Gods must know a Testor’s full deservedness to be Archon by the Testor’s acts alone. If an Archon Scout should happen by, we could both be expelled. After all I went through, to be ejected from the Testing for a silly reason like a midnight chat! Still, I can’t help but feel a little relieved to not be out here alone. And if I’m completely honest, a little flattered.
“You didn’t recognize me?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You dragged your dinner right past me.”
I blink. I never seriously considered Jasper as the fallen Testor. All of us Testors resemble one another in our sealskin uniforms—except for me, I guess—but I assume that Jasper would’ve waved or something. Anything.
“We kind of look alike in our gear.” I suddenly feel bad for not helping him. “Are you okay? If I’d known it was you underneath that sled, I would’ve …” I don’t finish.
“I’m glad you didn’t know. I’m fine, Eva.”
“Thank the Gods.”
“Yes, thank the Gods. But if anyone is going to break The Lex, I want it to be me. Not you.”
I almost laugh. “Well, that’s what you’re doing right now. It’s not worth it just to talk to me, Jasper.”
Even in the low light of my fire, I think he looks hurt. But then he squares his shoulders. “You’re a Maiden, Eva. How could I sit on the other side of that iceberg without checking on your well-being?”
I want to say that I’m not a Maiden out here—I’m a Testor, like any other—but I don’t. We’re both playing roles, and once again he’s typical Jasper, a chivalrous Gallant even in the Testing. “I appreciate it, but as you can see, I’m doing just fine.”
The tension breaks, and he smiles a little. “I figured, what with all those geese slung over your shoulder. Still, I needed to hear it for myself. And I have. So I guess I’ll say goodnight.”
He pushes himself up, and his smile quickly changes to a grimace. Bracing his thigh, he turns and walks away. He is limping.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper as loudly as I dare.
“It’s nothing,” he says, not turning around.
“Come back here.”
He continues hobbling, as if he can’t hear me.
“Jasper, please.”
He stops. Pauses. Peering back over his shoulder, he stares at me for a quick tick, as if to gauge my seriousness.
I motion for him to come inside. Lurching a little, he finally makes his way under the flap of the tent that I’m holding for him. With two of us in the little enclosure, it suddenly seems too warm. Taking off my hat, I command, “Let me see the wound.”
He shakes his head.
“Lift up your pant leg,” I insist.
“That wouldn’t be …” he hesitates, searching for the right word, “… seemly.”
“Seemly plays no part in the Testing.”
“But you’re a Maiden, Eva.”
Now I have the courage to say what I was thinking before. “Not out here, I’m not. I’m just a Testor. Let me see your leg.”
Peeling off his gloves first, he folds down his kamik and starts to roll up his sealskin. Even though I’ve seen a boy’s bare shin before—Eamon’s, of course—Jasper’s motion feels very intimate. Suddenly, the Lex rules for Maidens rush at me unbidden—let no immodesty touch your eyes or thoughts—and I cannot help but blush. My mother would die if she saw this. Or kill me first.
“I knew it. I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jasper. I need to see your leg.” Before I really think through what I’m saying, I blurt out, “I have remedies.”
He raises an eyebrow at the mention of the word “remedies,” but continues to roll up the sealskin past his knee. I have to stop myself from gasping when I see the deep gash in his mid-thigh. He has a cloth tied around the cut, but it’s no tourniquet, something Lukas taught me. The cloth is soaked with blood. I’m shocked the metallic smell hasn’t alerted every nearby predator.
“How did this happen?” The wound is deep and straight and perfectly formed. For an injury resulting from a sled crash, I would’ve expected something messier, with tons of bruising.
“When the sled fell on top of me, the knife at my waist got loose. I pulled it out, but I’m left with this,” he says.
I reach for my remedy bag. My fingers are moist. All remedies and surgeries are prohibited by The Lex. Rightly so as they led to man’s downfalclass="underline" let no man-made remedies touch your skin and no man-made blades open your bodies, as this allows the ancient wickedness to enter your soul. Yet Lukas still stocked my bag with herbal Boundary remedies derived from Ark plants, like salves for cuts and scrapes. He showed me how to treat basic wounds. All Boundary people use such remedies, and many of them outlive us chosen. Lukas’s grandmother, his aanak, is almost eighty—and she was the one who taught him such ways. So I relented with him, as I relent now.
I study my notes. I think I can help.
“Look away,” I tell him. I definitely do not want him to see what I’m about to do. “And brace yourself.”
As I dab the wound with a strong-scented oil to clean it, Jasper gulps. Even though I know it burns—and what I’m planning next will hurt even more—I have to proceed. A wound like this will turn Jasper into a delirious shell of a man if the animals don’t get to him first. From my bag, I pull out a needle and start to thread it. Telling myself that it’s just like sewing at home—that I’m sitting before my family’s hearth working on a cloth for the Basilika with my mother—I hold the needle over the wound, and pierce Jasper’s skin. I start to gag. I am lying. This is nothing like stitching a tapestry of the Healing. This is a horror.
Jasper cries out and moans, but I force myself to finish. I try to comfort him. “I’m sorry Jasper, but I’m almost done.”