I’ve failed. I didn’t bond with King Mangsana. I’m no one and nothing. Eban isn’t even my real name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTGIN
I watch as Eban’s entire body shakes. He’s clearly in distress, and I’m helpless to stop it. His eyes roll up into the back of his head, and his face twists up in agony—whether with pain or terror is unclear. He’s somewhere else, with his imaginary sword drawn against some invisible foe, though he only swings it a single time.
I sense a wall between the two of us—he isn’t in this world at the moment; he’s somewhere else. It’s strange to share the same room while also feeling, and knowing, he’s far away. And that there’s a chance, however small, he won’t return.
I wish I’d been chosen first. Witnessing Eban go through this, I’m not confident I can withstand it after all. Luwalhati watches him intently, her shoulders held back, back stiff, with her hands clasped in front of her. They’re the only things that give away her concern—she squeezes them so tightly, they’re going white.
Luwalhati glances at me. Concern flickers across her face, a slightly furrowed brow and pursed mouth. I want to do something. Run forward, help him,something.
As if she read my thoughts, Luwalhati puts her arm out in front of me. “You cannot interfere.”
“How much longer will this go on?” It’s a rhetorical question. I know Luwalhati doesn’t have an answer. The trial is complete when the spirit decides.
Eban collapses to the ground.
“What happened?” I shout. “Is it over?”
Luwalhati looks neither pleased nor disappointed. Her reaction reveals nothing. But she does move her arm away, tacit permission for me to approach him.
I rush forward and kneel on the ground next to him. He’s breathing. “Eban? Are you all right?”
Eban’s eyes flutter open. He’s disoriented. He reaches out with one trembling arm and holds his hand to his head. “No,” he croaks. His eyes scrunch closed, like an awful headache came on abruptly.
“What happened? Did you do it?”He’s alive, therefore he must have, right?
He doesn’t answer right away. He tries to stand up, but his legs are weak. I put my arm around him and help him to his feet. “No,” he says. “I failed.”
Luwalhati looks impassive.
Eban failed? But he’s so strong and so brave. If he failed…
I stare at him. But there’s no time to ask questions.
“Gineth, it’s your turn,” Luwalhati announces.
If Eban was unable to do it, I have no chance of making this happen. Luwalhati asks me to stand before my relic. She opens the stopper. At first nothing happens. My trial may not be today after all. But then the same thing happens as with Eban’s— a puff of hazy gray, followed by a tiny orb of light.
Oh, there you are. Ready for this?
It’s Tadhana. My whole body relaxes as the tension leaves me. I try not to smile too widely, in case that’s taken as disrespect for the ceremony.
-Where have you been?I ask.
Looking around. I missed this place.
Then immediately, my mind goes dark, and when my sight returns, I’m flying into the old city of Ophir. I’m whisked around the city, through lush green parks featuring monuments to leaders I’ve never heard of, over a clear blue stream where schools of minnows dart through the current, past cozy houses and tall buildings of polished stone that reflect almost like glass, until I come to a skidding stop in front of a warrior, standing on the wide steps of some kind of public building, similar to the one where the trials are being hosted. It’s Tadhana, as she’d looked in life.
She’s small and fierce, dressed in armor, blades on her forearms and hanging on her hips. Her hair is shorn and spunky on top, but long on the bottom, plaited into a river of braids.
“You’re taller than I thought,” she says, assessing me.
“But you’re so young,” I say. She can’t be more than twelve years old. That explains the petulance, the attitude, and I almost laugh thinking that my spirit is that of an impulsive, pouty child.
“Is that a problem?” she says, annoyed. She’s still Tadhana after all.
“Just surprised.”
