Sometimes Vaelin was disturbed by the light that shone in Caenis’s eyes when he talked about the King and his family. It was the only time his thoughtful frown disappeared, as if he wasn’t thinking at all. He had seen similar expressions on people’s faces when they offered thanks to the Departed, as if their normal self had stepped out for a moment leaving only the Faith behind.
As winter deepened and snow covered the land preparation began for the Test of the Wild. Their treks with Master Hutril became longer, his lessons more detailed and urgent, he made them run through the snow until they ached and handed out severe punishments for laxness and inattention. But they knew the importance of learning all they could. By now they had been in the Order long enough for the older boys to favour them with the occasional word of advice, normally consisting of a lurid warning of future dangers, the Test of the Wild featuring large among them: They thought he had disappeared for good but they found his body the next year, frozen to a tree… He tried to eat fire berries and spewed his liver up… Wandered into a wild cat's den and came out carrying his guts in his arms… The stories were no doubt exaggerated but concealed an essential truth: boys died in every Test of the Wild.
When the time came they were taken out in small groups over the course of a month to lessen the chance they might meet up and help each other through the ordeal. This was a trial each boy had to face alone. There was a short barge trip upriver then a long cart journey over a featureless, snow covered road winding into the lightly forested hill country beyond the Urlish. At intervals of five miles Master Hutril would stop the cart and take one of the boys into the trees, returning some time later to take up the reins again. When Vaelin’s turn came he was led along a small stream running into a sheltered gully.
“You have your flint?” Master Hutril asked.
“Yes master.”
“Twine, fresh bowstring, extra blanket?”
“Yes master.”
Hutril nodded, pausing, his breath steaming in the chilled air. “The Aspect has given me a message for you,” he said after a moment. Vaelin found it odd that Hutril was avoiding his gaze. “He says, as you are likely to be hunted whenever you leave the shelter of the House, you may return with me and be given a pass on this test.”
Vaelin was speechless. The shock of the Aspect’s offer coupled with the fact that this was the first time any of the Masters had referred to his ordeal in the forest left him dumfounded. The Tests were not just arbitrary torments dreamt up over the years by sadistic Masters. They were part of the Order, set down by its founder four hundred years ago and never changed since. They were more than a legacy, they were an article of the Faith. He couldn’t help feeling that to avoid a test and still continue in the Order would be more than just dishonest, not to say disrespectful to his friends, it would be blasphemy. Pondering further, another thought came to him: What if this is another test? What if the Aspect wants to see if I will avoid an ordeal my brothers cannot? But as he looked into Master Hutril’s guarded gaze he saw something that told him the offer was genuine: shame. Hutril thought the offer an insult.
“I fear to contradict the opinion of the Aspect, master,” he said. “But I think it unlikely an assassin would brave these hills in winter.”
Hutril nodded again, a soft sigh of relief escaping him, a rare, very slight smile on his lips. “Do not range far, listen to the voice of the hills, follow only the freshest tracks.” With that he shouldered his bow and began his long trek back to the cart.
Vaelin watched him go, feeling very hungry despite the hearty breakfast they had all eaten that morning. He was glad he had taken the opportunity to steal some bread from the kitchen before they left.
In accordance with Hutril’s lessons Vaelin began building a shelter immediately, finding a useful nook between two large rocks to serve as walls, he set about gathering wood for a roof. There were some fallen branches about that he could use but soon had to resort to cutting extra covering from the surrounding trees. He walled off one side by piling up snow, rolling it into thick blocks as he had been taught. His work complete he rewarded himself with a bread roll, forcing himself not to bolt it, despite his hunger, taking small bites and chewing thoroughly before swallowing.