10. Chapter Ten #2
"She's not coming home," I reply sadly as Aven comes to a stop a few meters from the fence so I have room to swing my leg over. I give him a scratch and slip down his side, jarring my knees on the landing but managing to stay on my feet, so I'm counting it as a win.
Reaching up to untangle a twisted piece of his silvery mane, my fingers brush against the long, dark ears, and he shakes his head so aggressively, I'm almost knocked into the dirt. "Ok, don't touch the ears, sorry." He lets out a snort of what I assume is disgust and I have to laugh.
"You two seem to be getting on well," Benz comments, leading a black mare with vivid orange accents to the gate.
I give Aven one final pat and whisper, "Thank you. I hope you find someone great after the Trials so you can get out of here." He gently nudges my shoulder before wandering down the other side of the hill to the rest of the shimmering herd.
It's not until he's almost out of sight that I hear his quiet reply in my mind. "I'm sure I'll see you soon, Alyxia."
I rejoin the horse master as he finishes reshoeing a cream colored mare with the most beautiful pink through her tail, glossy in the light of the sinking sun.
I guess I passed my little riding test, so at least I won't be stuck in the bumpy wagon on the way home from the Grotto.
I'm starting to wonder if there's really any point going now that Bri's not there.
When I get back to our quarters, I find a covered plate of food in my room, resting on a flat stone from the fire so it's still hot and deliciously fragrant.
There's a formal dinner for the Kings and Queens and their councils tonight, so I'm home alone and safe to get clean and change into cozy sleep clothes.
Sitting in silence to have a meal is tedious, but I'm lightheaded after a long day with very little sustenance, so I force myself to sit down and eat what I can manage of the beef in gravy with creamy mash, tender broccoli stems, and honey roasted carrots.
Thank the Goddess nobody's here to judge, because the moan I let out as I take my first bite is downright indecent.
I really need to try and eat more regularly instead of pushing my hunger aside because I'm too busy.
After, I think about reading, but my thoughts are too noisy, and I find myself wandering back to the bathing room I share with Bri.
Or, I guess, used to share with her. Avoiding the mirror, I pick up the glass jar of thick, green mixture.
As I remove the lid of the face mask, the invigorating scent of lime and a warm hum of ginger wafts up, an anchor to my sister. Gods, I wish she was here.
A whisper creeps into my mind, not for the first since Aven joked about it.
It's a ludicrous thought, but what if I didn't go to the Grotto?
What if I tried to get to Orz? It wouldn't be easy, maybe even impossible, unless I could find the Mycelium, if the Sage was even telling the truth about the ancient underground network, which seems like a stretch.
It's a wild idea, and yet, I think I might be considering it.
Shoving the thought away, I scoop out a handful of the silken cream, slathering it on my face and neck.
A hot shower and an early night is what I need.
My sleep-deprived brain has lost the ability to be rational.
I'm about to sit down and let the mask set when a flash of pain spears through me again. It’s just like earlier, serrated and sharp, but stabbing through my stomach this time.
Crumpling over the counter, I look down, as if something might be sticking out of me, but the agony is surging on the inside.
Struggling to fight against the darkening spots consuming my vision, my legs go weak, and it's all I can do to lean back against the wall and slowly sink to the plush floor mat before everything fades to black.
Sunlight bounces off the bright blue surface of the reflection pool I stare into, creating purple and silver orbs beneath its depths.
If it's this cold in the sun-drenched forest clearing, I can only imagine what it will be like in the cave.
The cold is the least of my concerns, though.
I'm far more worried that I'm minutes away from going into the Ritual and choosing my magic, and I still don't know what the right choice is.
The truth is, I'm torn between wanting to please my parents and following the whisper of a secret dream I've held for years, but choosing it would take an act of defiance I'm not sure I have in me. My heart says I should do what's best for me. It's my life.
All I can feel is the weight of other people's expectations and opinions.
Disappointing Father is my worst nightmare, and when it comes to what I'm about to go through, I've been dreading that outcome for weeks, trying to run through every scenario and anticipate everything that could go wrong.
Now, I'm here, I don't even know what the right one is.
My name is called, and, with one last glance at the pool, I gather my courage and whisper my choice. "The Shields."
At the top of a steep incline waits the infamous craggy archway with its ominous inscription 'Choose Wisely' engraved in an iridescent white script.
But it's the panels on either side that hold my attention.
Cloaked in shadow, hundreds of intricate dagger handles jut from the sheer rock face, their blades buried hilt-deep.
Almost every detail of the Ritual beyond this point is a well-kept secret. This first step has been drilled into us from our very first magical history lesson, though. Speak the vow, pull a blade, shed your blood to open the way.
My voice echoes around the enclosed space, strong and clear.
"I, Alyxia Reyaal, make this vow. I will use my gifts to restore our lands, replenish what was stolen, and replace it with what is so generously given here.
I will honor the tri sacrifice and answer any call to strengthen our defenses.
I will spill my blood and share my magic, to protect our people and rejuvenate the sacred earth from which we came and to which we return. "
The second I lift my palm toward the wall of daggers, a rush of energy pulls my arm up above shoulder height. My right hand wraps around a buzzing hilt, and, without thought, I'm sliding it free from the wall with ease. It's beautiful. Not normally a word I'd use for a blade, but this is art.
Point to pommel, it's blacker than a moonless night, the only exception a four-point star embedded at the heart of the dark cross guard. The vivid amethyst gems seem to glow from within.
Ancient magics make the hilt fit perfectly to my hand, and the sharpness of the blade is confirmed when I get up the courage to press it lightly to the pad of my thumb.
I swipe golden-hued blood across the sheet of stone blocking the passage, and, with a sound like rushing water, it drops down into the slot at its base, revealing steep stairs leading into the depths of the mountain.
By the time I make it down the treacherous rocky path leading to an enormous, star-lit cavern, my thighs burn and teeth chatter.
It's possible I stop breathing entirely when I look up and see the source of the glow is a luminescent blue-green galaxy made up of thousands of tiny living lights twinkling high above.
I'm mesmerized by the sight and the silence. This is like nothing I've ever seen, transcending my normal hatred of being alone with only my thoughts. It goes on forever, making me wonder if those steps were actually ascending, and I wound up in the heavens among the stars.
I'm struck by a sense of hope and possibility, as if all those worries about how this would go were foolish, and my potential is as limitless as these glowing lights. At the same time, there's an ache of sadness, I can't stay here forever, and perhaps I'll never know peace like this again.
The dagger at my hip pulses, as if to remind me I'm supposed to be walking, not stargazing, and I reluctantly continue toward the distant sound of trickling water.
The calming effect of the cave doesn't linger; despite the incredible beauty of the Grotto, my racing thoughts are back with a vengeance before I've taken a handful of steps.
Can I really go through with it? Joining the Shields will push me to be something more. I don't crave glory or attention, and I'm happy enough in the background. That doesn't mean I don't want the chance to be something more than just the continuation of a bloodline.
Lost in rumination, I make my way through the network of caves until I turn a corner and realize the expansive space is narrowing to an enclosed walkway surrounded by huge stalactites dripping from the ceiling like melted wax.
The air is notably cooler this far in, and my breath comes in quick, icy puffs.
At the end of the walkway, towering over me, are four giant doors, more alluring than anything I've ever seen.
I've heard about them, each representing one of the restorative magics gifted to almost every noble in the three kingdoms of Atafye after we turn twenty: molten silver for the Shields, fiery oranges for the Endurers, every shade of green for the Remedies, and shimmering purple-blues for the Adaptors.
My heart races as I sink to the ground, barely registering the cold stone I kneel on as I stare, transfixed, at the lights and patterns that dance in and out of sight within the arched door frames.
The air hums with a strange kind of pulsing energy that locks me in place, and a woman, who has to be the High Sage, glides out of the shadows until she hovers above the smoky waters of the sacred reflection pool encircling the cave.