Rift Page 5

  She feared a late arrival so much that she’d forgotten Alistair’s warning about the loose step as she raced down the stairs. The stone wobbled and jerked under her weight, twisting her foot and turning her speed against her. She pitched forward, tumbling over the stone staircase until she landed in a heap in the central corridor.

  “Em, I thought you’d gotten lost. I was about to go hunting for you in the guest quarters, but it seems you were merely perfecting your entrance.”

  She rolled onto her side to see Alistair leaning over her. His coal-black locks grazed his cheekbones, which were softened by the dimples that framed his grin.

  “Ugh.” She’d attempted to break her fall by landing on the heels of her hands. Raising her palms to examine them, she was relieved to see that the smooth stone floor hadn’t left her with open cuts or scrapes, but she could already feel the bruises forming.

  Alistair’s smile vanished. “Are you injured?”

  She shook her head, though she wasn’t convinced she’d escaped unscathed. But she wasn’t willing to entertain the thought that she’d be limping into the ceremony. Fragility was the last impression she wanted to make when she was presented to the Circle.

  Alistair extended his hands, but she waved him away.

  “I’m fine,” she said, ignoring the fact that she was still a tangle of limbs and fabric. Her cloak, finely woven wool the gray of morning mist, a gift from her sister to wear at the ceremony, was twisted through her legs and prevented her from standing.

  Alistair pushed his own cloak back over one shoulder, revealing the belted tunic and leather trousers he wore beneath. She caught sight of the long sword that hung in a scabbard at his side. Her mind flashed to the sparring knights and she wondered if Alistair had met either of them on the practice field—and how he’d fared against them.

  He folded his arms and sniffed the air, feigning contempt. “Too good for help as always, I see.”

  “Hold your tongue,” she said.

  As Ember leaned forward to unbind her legs, heavy footsteps reached her ears. She fumbled with the long cloak, desperate to be on her feet before anyone else arrived. Having Alistair see her like this was one thing, but anyone else . . .

  “What’s this?”

  She gritted her teeth, not looking up at the questioner, whose voice was already lighting with mirth.

  “She took a spill down the stairs,” Alistair said. Ember threw him a venomous glance.

  The man Alistair had spoken to looked at her, arching an eyebrow. “Is this the young lass you’ve been jabbering about for the past year? Is she that eager for her calling? I’ve never considered whether you’d get to the ceremony faster rolling instead of walking, but I’m game to find out. Would you like to start over from the very top of the staircase?”

  “Hold your tongue, Kael, and show some respect for Lady Morrow,” Alistair said while Ember finally kicked herself free of the cloak. “It’s not her fault no one’s bothered to fix that step.”

  “Of course, Alistair.” Kael’s blue eyes were dancing beneath his wheat-blond fringe of hair. “My lady, I meant no offense.”

  He winked at Ember before wiggling his eyebrows. She rolled over, horrified by the flood of crimson into her cheeks, and tried to regain some semblance of dignity.

  “We’ve been so eager to meet you after all the praise our Alistair has heaped upon you.” Kael offered a sweeping bow, all the while grinning at Alistair. “But what of your champion? Didn’t you catch the lass when she fell?”

  “She was on the ground before I got here,” Alistair protested. “I would have caught her if I’d had the chance.”

  Now on her feet, Ember shot a glare at Alistair. “You would not. I’ll have no man catching me.”

  “Feisty as ever.” Alistair laughed and elbowed Kael. “What did I tell you? She was made for Conatus.”

  “Now that everyone is vertical, let’s see to proper introductions,” Kael said. “I’m Kael MacRath, a knight of the Guard.”

  Ember’s training set in and she dropped into a curtsy. “Ember Morrow. It’s an honor, Lord MacRath.”

  Kael chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time anyone addressed me as Lord MacRath. It’s Kael, please.”

  Ember blushed again and gave him a shy smile. “Then you must call me Ember.”

  He smiled, but his brow furrowed. “An unusual name.”

  “My mother named me,” Ember said, shifting her weight uneasily. Her father always went into a fury when she tried to inquire about the circumstances of her birth. “I don’t know very much—only that the midwife said neither I nor my mother would survive, but a healer from Conatus came to our manor and saved us both. My mother said the healer took the tiny embers of life I clung to and breathed them into a fire.”

  Kael’s rapt attention unnerved her further, so she said, “My sister, Agnes, has a proper Christian name as chosen by my father.”

  “Your sister, Agnes?” Kael glanced at Alistair. “Isn’t she—”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Alistair asked, cutting off his question. “Shouldn’t you already be in the hall?”

  “We were sparring.” Kael gestured to his mud-covered boots. “You know Barrow—anything to avoid a ceremony. In truth he would have stayed away, but I thought it best that we make an appearance.”

  Barrow? Ember’s cheeks were burning, but they went cold when a tall, helmeted figure appeared in the hall. While watching the battle below her window, she’d wanted nothing more than to discover she had recognized Barrow. But now that he approached, she was apprehensive.

  “Dallying, Kael?” Barrow asked as he approached them. “You were the one who insisted we quit the field. I thought we daren’t miss the solemn occasion.”

  Though Ember couldn’t see his face beneath the steel helm guarding his forehead, nose, and cheeks, his quiet, deep voice unsettled her very bones. Despite coming upon Kael and Alistair’s laughter, Barrow did not sound amused. Encountering him here, after she’d fallen and suffered Alistair’s teasing, the very idea that she’d ever be a match for Barrow in sword fight seemed so silly it made her bones ache.

  Barrow’s pitch-black cloak covered his broad shoulders, sleek as night, making her even more embarrassed about the crumpled fabric of her own cloak. Ember tried to restore some air of dignity, standing as straight as she could and inclining her head to the warrior. He didn’t acknowledge the gesture, glaring at Kael instead. Beside her, Alistair straightened up, eyeing Barrow warily.

  Kael shrugged, jerking his chin at Ember. “Our guest of honor is practicing acrobatics on the way to the ceremony.”

  Alistair laughed, which earned him a stern look from Barrow before he glanced at Ember.

  “It’s good to see you again, Lady Morrow. I trust your journey was without incident,” Barrow said. “The Circle will be awaiting your arrival.”

  Keeping her head ducked, Ember shouldered Alistair aside, murmuring, “Of course.” She had no idea if Barrow had heard her, but she felt blood draining from her face. She was already up against enough today. She didn’t need any of the Guard to think poorly of her, but especially not Barrow.

  Ember tried to ignore the sound of Kael’s laughter as he continued to speak with Barrow. The swift scuffle of feet announced Alistair’s presence at her side.

  “You should have let me help you up. We’d already be in the hall with the others,” he whispered. “Now Barrow thinks we’re fools and I’ll never hear the end of it from Kael.”

  She didn’t answer him, miffed at his words but feeling he was right. It made her fists clench.

  He wasn’t finished. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t want to anger him, but it was hard to make a sincere apology as they approached the great hall and fear began to creep like frost over her skin.

  Alistair touched Ember’s arm, flashing her a smile that told her he was satisfied by the exchange even if she was still irked.

&nb
sp; The warmth in his eyes broke through her nerves, drawing a question from her she’d been trying to ignore. “You said I’ll be tested. What if I fail? I know nothing about what’s expected of me.”

  “You won’t,” Alistair said. “I know you belong with us. Have faith and a little patience. I’m so sorry I can’t say more, but it’s forbidden.”

  “I know, but—” Ember bowed her head. “If I fail, will I be sent home?”

  With a frustrated grunt, Alistair said, “I can tell you nothing more than this: the test isn’t one you can fail. It shows where you belong.”

  His words brought Ember up short. She turned to stare at him. “Where I belong?”

  “Yes.” He kept walking and she hurried to catch him. “And I shouldn’t have said even that much.”

  “Is that how you became part of the Guard?” she asked.

  “I’ve said too much.” He kept his voice stern, but the corner of his mouth turned up and Ember knew she’d guessed correctly.

  Alistair stopped, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him. “I swear, Em, this is where you’re meant to be. You’ve always known it. I know it. We’ll be together.”

  Ember gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps.” But her hope had drained away.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  They approached the doors to the great hall, which today stood open, waiting for her. Ember’s mind was turning faster than a spinning wheel, but she nodded.

  “Godspeed, Em,” he whispered.

  She managed a soft reply, despite her closing throat. “Godspeed, my friend.”

  They entered the immense space. Sunlight speared through the intricate stained glass windows blazing amid the dark walls, filling the room with a riot of bright colors. Most striking of all was the impossible broad and tall living tree at the center of the room. Its twisting branches, covered in deep green needles, served as a canopy for the room. The tree’s scent spilled through the air, warm and alive. Ember knew the tree was somehow special, or important, or both.

  The great hall exceeded its name. A smile pulled at Ember’s mouth as she imagined her father’s sour face when he laid eyes on a chamber much finer than the hall of his own manor.

  Visitors milled about in the gallery above the open space, where the other initiates already stood waiting, uneasy. Unlike Ember, these young men and women had arrived at Conatus due to misfortune, or so Alistair had told her. Conatus drew its members from those for whom there wasn’t a place in the world. Some came seeking charity and decided to stay. Others, like Alistair, sought fortune when it had been denied elsewhere. But cases like his were rare, and today Ember was the sole initiate to be called from a noble family.

  A cloud of whispers filled the hall as Ember hurried to take her place beside her peers. Alistair had moved away from her, though she could still see him out of the corner of her eye as he joined the Guard.

  She was here as a pledge of Conatus. But her presence was only the first step. Next came the trial.

  Where I belong, Ember thought. If the reward was her true place of belonging, she was willing to endure any trial. She hoped she could.

  Her heart began to pound. The girl on her left was trembling. The boy to her right stood with eyes shut tight, lips whispering a feverish prayer.

  A gray-haired priest came to the center of the hall, stopping in front of them. “I am Father Michael.”

  He smiled kindly at each of them. “‘We have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office.’ So wrote Saint Paul in his letter to the Romans. Your presence here today signifies your desire to serve in the body of Conatus and thus perform a holy office.”

  From the door behind them, Ember heard the sound of approaching feet. Six people, four men and two women, walked past the line of initiates and formed a half circle around Father Michael.

  “Before you join this body, that office must be determined,” the priest said. He nodded to the men and women standing beside and behind him. “The six who stand before you are the Circle—called from within Conatus to lead us, chosen because each has excelled in his or her office.”

  Ember looked at the members of the Circle while the priest spoke. It was like gazing into a strange mirror, a reflection of some possible future. Six initiates on the cusp of adulthood, six elders: veterans of Conatus. Ember’s eyes were drawn to the two women in the group. She could guess their identity from Alistair’s letters: the sisters, Cian and Eira. Ember was surprised that they wore their hair long and loose. Their bright, cascading tresses offered a blatant contrast to the black tabard of the Guard. Rather than making them appear softer and more feminine, their untamed hair gave the sisters a wild appearance—like the Amazons of legend or the pagan queen Boadicea, all stories Ember had gobbled up as a child, searching for any sign that a girl could find her way to the warrior’s life. No longer were tales of old Ember’s only hope. The living, breathing example of what she longed to be stood before her now. Alistair had written that everyone in Conatus referred to them as “the sisters” rather than as individuals and that some even whispered of them as “the weird sisters” in snide tones. Indulging her fascination with their history, Alistair had explained that the sisters had been orphaned together and inseparable since they’d arrived in the keep. They’d won their place in the Circle by virtue of their courage and prowess in the field. Within Conatus, the sisters were as legendary as any warrior of history or myth.

  “. . . we are blessed by their guidance.” Father Michael was still speaking. “Two souls to represent each major office of our order.”

  He paused, gesturing to the two men in cowled robes who stood on his left: “Knowledge.”

  Stretching his hand and pointing behind him, the priest acknowledged the next two men—both dressed in the simple garb of commoners. “Craft.”

  Father Michael extended his hand to the two sisters, who stood on his right. “War.”

  War. Ember drew a quick breath, wondering what war was being waged here. She knew of the ongoing war between England and France but not of any holy war on behalf of the Church. Another possibility was the squabble over the Scottish throne, which could turn deadly at any time. And wasn’t the church divided against itself because of the papal schism? Her heart stuttered. Was Conatus simply acting under orders of the pope in Rome or Avignon to secure a specific outcome? For whom would she fight if she became a soldier in this order?

  “Any role undertaken at Tearmunn falls under one of these three offices,” Father Michael said. “Today your task is to find the office of your true calling.”

  Despite her harried speculations, Ember focused on the priest’s calm voice.

  A true calling. Where I belong. This must be something more than petty politics.

  “Look there,” Father Michael said, pointing to the wall on his left. “Beyond that door you will find three rooms. Each room contains another door. You must choose the room that best reflects your heart. Pass through the door in that room. You may not turn back once the choice has been made. To ensure that you have been truthful in searching your soul to find your office among us, you will face a trial on the other side of the door you have chosen. Should you fail this test, you are not meant to serve here.”

  Ember barely stopped herself from flinching. She could fail. She could be sent away. Alistair had lied to her.

  “Go now.” The door to which Father Michael gestured was a simple portal of dark wood, neither ominous nor welcoming. “Make your choice.”

  In a single-file line the pledges turned and walked to the door. Ember was the third to pass through. On the other side of the door was an oval antechamber split by three archways. Like her companions, Ember hesitated in the small room. She turned with a start when the door to the great hall was closed forcefully behind them. And locked.

  FIVE

  EMBER AND THE OTHER pledges huddled in a tight cluster like chicks who’d lost their mother hen. No one spoke. Each initiate understood that this was a solita
ry endeavor and conversation would only serve to muddy any clarity of mind one might have for the task at hand.

  Glancing at each of the arched portals in turn, Ember couldn’t see what lay inside the chambers. As the others made their own choices, Ember decided to investigate the room to her left, drawn there by the subtle hint of candlelight from within. She sensed two of the pledges trailing behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the rest of the group drifting into the other rooms.

  When Ember passed through the archway, the sight awaiting her stole her breath. The room’s vaulted ceiling stretched toward the heavens. Each wall, each nook, each crevice of the room was bursting with scrolls or bound volumes. Ember stumbled forward, mesmerized by the sight of so much collected scholarship. In addition to the works that were strewn on the walls, massive tomes lay open on table throughout the room. She tentatively came forward to peer at the open volumes, marveling at the illuminated texts. The pages were a riot of colors that rivaled those of stained glass; their exquisite artistry could have been wrought by the hand of angels.

  The only space in the room not covered by bound volumes or tightly rolled scrolls was a narrow door in the far wall.

  Sneaking a look at the girl and boy who had joined her in this room, Ember saw that they were breathless with anticipation. The girl dropped to the floor with a book the size of her torso wedged onto her lap while the boy scrambled up a ladder to explore the highest reaches of scroll-laden shelves. Ember continued to wander through the room. It would take several lifetimes to absorb the writings contained within this single room. Ember wondered if this room was Tearmunn’s library but suspected that even this enormous collection was only a taste of the boundless knowledge the clerics of Conatus had at their fingertips.