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C2 Chapter 2

Beska Akrouse crouched, balanced on the balls of her feet, the fingers of her left hand trailing in the soft dirt on the floor. Her right hand clutched her naksha, the small blade of the white Sisterhood. The symbol of her devotion to Valarious, the symbol of her status. Her pride.

She twisted the smooth black handle, ensuring her grip. She would only get one shot. Silence filled the small, enclosed area, despite the fact that she had an audience. Sisters filled the stands, most dressed in servant’s frocks, or poorly dyed dresses tailored for purpose rather than fashion, but there were Mothers here, too, all dressed in the white robes of the Sisterhood in order to keep their identities a secret. And she wanted to impress the Mothers now, preferably the one in charge of the test who stood behind her, black sword in hand.

The chamber was dim and sullen, nothing more than an underground hole mirroring the Aerie’s theater above. Carved in secret by the sisters themselves, Six only knew how long ago. There were three levels, for standing or sitting, and then the field itself, an arena of sorts. Fluttering lanterns lined the walls, hung on each roughly placed wooden support post. Beska didn’t have a mind for construction and load bearing, but she worried, often, when she was in the hole, that her predecessors might have calculated wrong, and the entire theater of the Aerie would come crashing through the ceiling to crush them all. It never happened, but it didn’t stop her from worrying.

Across the chamber, a creature lurked. One of the damned. It slunk in the shadows of a corner, as if the darkness could save it now. The eyeless face turned from side to side, searching. It felt the danger it was in, but without being able to hear or scent her, it was unable to pinpoint just what the danger was.

She had been alarmed to find that this was the test she was to face. She had imagined a trial combat with one of her sisters, perhaps recitation of Valarious’ tenants, or the commands of light, chants that allowed the sisters to access their power. Anything but fighting a creature that looked like death walking. And there was a Quatori in there, in that body.

Sweat gathered along her spine. She had used the command of silence many times, words that, when repeated in a rhythm, softened their footfalls and movements, but it was her first time using the scent blocking tincture. Since she was human, she had no indication of whether it was working. Which was unnerving, especially since she was going to be getting closer to that thing.

What if she’d missed a section of skin while coating it on? All the beast needed was one small whiff of her scent and she would lose the element of surprise. She might have trained her entire life for such a confrontation, but this was too soon. This was supposed to be a test. There were no second chances here. If she lost, she’d die.

She edged forward, low to the ground, whispering the words of the chant to keep her feet silent. The dirt gave beneath her with each step, she steadied her breathing, slow and even.

The creature still swung its head, searching. It was naked, long seeping gashes running along the exposed flesh. Chunks of black hair were missing from its head and each time it turned just so, she could see the exposed skull beneath the skin.

Her fingers trembled and something stuck in her gut. It felt like acid that might cause her to succumb to the nausea that tickled at her throat. Still, she pressed forward.

The creature was worse up close, once in striking range she could feel the wrongness of it. She knew the desperate desire to cleanse the beast was part of Valarious’s gift, received when she took her oath. A sort of warning system for his chosen warriors, it wasn’t it a pleasant feeling; like a dark itching, as if ants crawled beneath her skin.

She must have given her intent away, or maybe she had waited just a moment too long. Something changed, and whatever it was told the creature it was in danger. The beast crouched; its ruined nose wrinkled into a snarl.

Curse it, that was not going to look good for the Mothers.

Beska frowned in concentration. She really, really wanted this. She was just going to have to do better. There had to be something she could do.

If she’d already given herself away...could she somehow turn that to her advantage?

Since hesitation was what had cost her in the first place, Beska followed the next impulse as it came into her mind. She dropped the command of silence, ending her chant and then, when she was certain the creature would hear her, she cleared her throat.

Her heart beat wildly. Eleven years of training and it might all end now.

The creature lashed out, its movements a blur. Beska was already leaping out of the way, and she still nearly lost a limb to the swiping claws that slashed through the air where she had stood.

She plunged her naksha toward it, cursing when the gleaming black metal barely sliced the desiccated skin. Six, the damned were fast. It wasn’t the strike she had been aiming for, but it broke the skin and would have to do. Before the creature could turn on her, or wrench the blade from its skin, Beska murmured another chant.

“Halasita dun copari. Halasita dun copari.”

The syllables flowed together rising and falling softly, blending with one another. The naksha had opened a path for the command, so that Beska’s power flowed into the wound, she felt it, a gentle tug on her very soul.

The creature inhaled, an inward gasp that went on and on, its flesh bending, and then caving inward, as if a hole had opened inside its chest and the rest of its body rushed to fill the space. The ruined rib cage disturbingly similar to a crushed spider, with its legs curling inward.

With a last hiss, the beast collapsed into a pile at her feet, the twitching of its limbs slowing.

Beska scrambled away from the corpse. The danger hadn’t passed, the worst part was yet to come.

A soft hand at her shoulder stilled her. She pushed out a heavy breath, the Mother giving the test was near now with her nakshana, the sword version of the naksha, more enhanced, more powerful. Legend claimed they were passed down from Valarious himself.

Only Mothers were allowed to possess the valuable blades, wrongly named by the common world as Dragon Blades. It wasn’t the dragons that had the power to use them, only those bonded to the god Valarious through blood had that ability. But that hadn’t stopped the lords of history from acquiring the unique pieces as their own. Ensuring free blades—those not possessed by a lord—were handed out rarely.

And Beska wanted one. Wanted it so bad she could feel the weight of the sword in her hand when she closed her eyes at night.

The Mother closed in on the corpse, her pure white robes a beacon of brightness in the dim arena. She raised the nakshana above the broken creature and waited.

There was no outward sign when the Quatori spirit left its host. No movement, or sound. Humans could only feel it, she was told, through the nakshana itself. The Mother swept downward smoothly.

“Halasita di copan-ta.”

Her muttered words only slightly different from those Beska had used. To Beska, it looked as though she sliced through the empty air, but the command vaporized the Quatori spirit without resistance.

That was what made the Quatori so dangerous. With the dulled senses of their race, a human could be stripped of their flesh without ever knowing what hit them.

She shuddered, pushing away the memories. Terrible things had happened the night the Quatori attacked the Onyx Aerie, things that made it clear that demons were not the only monsters in this word.

You survived, she reminded herself, which is more than most that faced that night can say. That was part of what had kept her going these last months, it could always have been worse. Besides, crumbling in fear smacked of helplessness. Not a condition Beska reveled in.

“It is done,” the figure turned her way, robes swaying with the movement. The white sides of the hood shadowed the woman’s head, obscuring even the folds of cloth that served as a mask. A pair of dark eyes were all that Beska could make out.

Beska placed her right hand, still holding the naksha, against her chest, showing her respect, and waited for the woman’s commands. She had completed the task; she only hoped it was enough.

“That hesitation almost caught you,” the Mother strode back toward Beska, sheathing her nakshana with enviable smoothness.

Beska lowered her head slightly. ‘Sorry Mother’ seemed like an appropriate response, but the words tasted bitter against her tongue. Before she could speak, the Mother continued, her tone conversational, almost casual.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone complete the test by abandoning their silence command,” she sounded amused now, but

Beska wasn’t sure if amusement was good. She wanted the woman to be impressed. Again, she held her tongue, focusing instead on remaining standing. The fear from her encounter had turned her legs liquid and there was nothing impressive about fainting.

“Quick blade work, though.” The Mother was at her side now and motioned that Beska should follow her to the far side of the arena. Beska obeyed, her heart fluttering.

A compliment. Perhaps all wasn’t lost?

“Thank you, Mother,” she whispered, bringing her right fist and her naksha to her chest once more. A chunk of gore dangled off the end. Gross. She carefully angled the blade so it would not touch her own, less official version of the white robes that were insisted upon for the testing. Who designed this stuff? White might be the color of Valarious, but it was cursed hard to keep clean.

The Mother tipped her head downward. “Serving Valarious, we strive, of course, for perfection and purity. What order could we keep if all sisters exposed themselves so during battle? The Quatori thrive on such chaos.”

Beska worked hard to school her features into neutrality. This didn’t sound like it was going in the direction she had hoped.

“You are young,” the Mother continued, “the youngest to ever challenge for Motherhood. At least in my arena. What is your rush, child?”

I seek to gain power of my own. To never again be at the mercy of another. “I seek to serve Valarious with the best of my effort, Mother.”

From beneath the hood, dark eyes latched onto hers, eyes narrowed in thought.

Beska wished she could see the woman’s face, and expression. She fought the shame that struggled to rise into her own, forced herself to remain still and neutral. When people knew how much you wanted something, it gave them power over you.

“The test is only offered once, and you have both intrigued and disappointed me. I cannot decide which is more pressing.”

The Mother waited. It was clear she expected Beska to say something, to defend herself, perhaps. Emotions wormed their way through her, an impossible tangle. You are a disappointment. Her mind clamped down on those words and they played repeatedly through her thoughts like an echo. She clamped her mouth closed and took a deep breath. She might be a disappointment, but she would not beg.

The Mother watched her, pressing the uncertainty and doubt into a frenzy. At last, the woman nodded.

“You are too young, too driven by emotion. Whatever fear you hold close, you must release it; there is no room for chaos in the service of Valarious.” She looked to the audience. Most were chatting among themselves, but the Mothers in the crowd sat silent, waiting, their white robes daunting in their still calmness.

“I am going to record this as a performance trial, not a test.” Beska blinked back at the Mother beside her, a tentative hope rising in her.

“In exchange, you will not request testing again for two years. Long enough to mature and grow into your talents.”

Two years? The flicker of hope snuffed out. Two years was an eternity. The Quatori were invading the forest, creating terrible creatures. Two more years of depending on others for her safety. She knew firsthand that the others were sometimes worse than the Quatori themselves. She needed that nakshana and access to the higher commands, needed the security it would bring.

“You would prefer to fail now?”

Beska wished she could kick herself. Her emotions had obviously leaked into her expression.

“No, Mother. I accept, of course.” What choice did she have?

The Mother nodded and waved a dark hand, dismissing her.

Beska turned to leave the arena, her muscles screaming with the tension she held.

“Child?”

Her feet faltered. Please just let me go. How much longer would she have to hold it together? Carefully, she turned back around to face the Mother once more.

“I am not the first to note your potential.”

Beska nodded to the Mother, pulling her fist to her chest once more. Then she turned and strode from the arena.

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