ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 3 - TEMPLAR TRIAL

The class rose at the end of the lecture and Caelan was the first out of the room, beating many of the younger initiates scrambling towards the door. It had been just over a full season since he had joined the Order and nearly a fortnight ago Kai had given him the light at the end of the tunnel—after thirty days Initiates were permitted to take the Templar Trial. If he passed, Caelan would trade menial chores for guard duty. Not the most exciting of jobs, but it meant earning a wage and only taking classes when he deemed it necessary.

Rather than head toward the training yard to spar with Kai, he took a right turn toward the library as he had for the past several days. Caelan was confident in his martial ability and general fitness, so under Kai’s advisement he had dedicated the sparring time to additional studying. Yet when he rounded the next corner he was met by a stiff hand on his chest and blue eyes that glared up at him from beneath raven hair.

“What are you doing here?!” the girl hissed.

It took a moment for Caelan to realize who stood in front of him. He hadn’t seen Tera since the night she’d told him to leave her home. In fact, the thought had crossed his mind that she might have lied about being a Templar. Though he supposed there were enough people in the Order that it was possible they wouldn’t have crossed paths. Still, what did she want now?

“I’m going to meet Kai,” Caelan explained. “He was going to help me study for the Templar Trial. Listen, I’m sorry if that night wasn’t—”

“Stop.” Tera raised a hand to quiet him, then folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a stern look. “I mean did you come here to find me?”

“No, I just didn’t have anywhere else to—”

“So you chose the Order on a whim? You’re taking the Templar Trial just because?” She began to tap a finger against her arm.

Caelan studied her face. She was still pretty despite the anger that colored her cheeks. He hardly knew this girl, yet for some reason he couldn’t convince himself he didn’t care about what she thought of him. “No, I just felt it was the closest thing to what I did in Bastion. I have nothing Tera. I still don’t. But after talking with Kai and Nalani this seemed like a good place to start over.”

Tera sighed and chewed her lip, but her shoulders seemed to relax. “Fine. But we don’t know each other,” she said with a finger pointing back and forth between the two of them. “Half the reason I chose you was because I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Tera! There you are! I was hoping you might help me with—” The other girl that approached stopped a few paces away. “Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt?”

Tera offered the girl a quick glance and a smile before staring back at him. “No.”

“Do you know this Initiate, then?” the girl asked.

“No, he was just asking how to get to the library.” Tera nodded her head to the side for him to go before turning to face the girl. “What do you need?”

“Well, I was hoping you might help me with some barrier training. I’ve been able to…”

Caelan let their voices disappear down the hall as he walked in the opposite direction they had gone. She had chosen him because she thought she’d never see him again? What, she thought him some sort of traveling whore? And what was the other half of the reason then?

Kai looked up from the open book splayed out on the table as Caelan approached. The late afternoon sun shone through windows that were two or three stories tall, but dust clouded the air and dulled its brightness. Several candlesticks were placed around the table at precise distances to keep the flames away from the book but still light the text on yellowed pages.

“You look to be in a shit mood. That nervous, huh?” the islander asked with a grin.

Caelan couldn’t help but chuckle. He pulled up a chair next to Kai and took a cursory glance at the writing. “Something like that. What are you reading?”

“Quite literally, the book on the Templar Trial. Here, look.” Kai heaved through a grouping of pages to get back to the front of the book. “There are three tests in the trial. Each assesses various skills, but there’s no set format. All we can do is look at the general category and what has been recorded from trials past.”

Raegn skimmed through the words, looking for ones that were larger or separated from the rest. “Alright, so what are the categories?”

“The first is academic. It seems like that one has always been some sort of written or verbal test. Mine was, at least.”

Caelan reminded himself Kai was already a Templar and had all the knowledge needed to pass. “How long ago did you take the trial?” he asked.

“Almost two years ago, now,” the islander replied, flipping through more pages.

“And you passed on your first attempt?”

Kai looked over at him with a wide grin. “Of course.”

“Well perhaps you got lucky.” Caelan earned a chuckle at the insult, but Kai kept reading. “What are the other two phases?”

“The other two are less defined, but the skills they look for are camaraderie, strength, endurance, and martial skill.”

Caelan nodded along. Nothing about it seemed too difficult. He had watched the other Templar enough to know he was in better shape than most and he was at least as good as Kai at fighting, though he hadn’t sparred with any others. None except Eligor. The thought of the pompous Templar sent the blood coursing into his head, but he pushed the thought away. If Kai had passed the trial he ought to have the same success.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me exactly what happened for your trial?” Caelan asked.

“Hah. I figured you might ask, but my answer is no.” Kai slid the book in front of Caelan. “I’ve heard it changes every time anyway. Sometimes only a bit, other times by a lot. Whatever I tell you might prepare you for the wrong thing. Best to have it be a surprise.” The islander leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the end of the table. “And don’t forget, most people know about the three tests, but they forget that they come at the very end of the season-long trial. A lot happens in that time. You will drill and train every day from sun up until sun down. You’ll also be constantly evaluated on how neat you keep your belongings and how well you can follow orders.”

Kai hadn’t been exaggerating. No movement was permitted without a command preceding it. Caelan’s steps, which direction he faced, where his eyes looked—all were controlled by a voice that was often out of sight. He ate only twice a day and was permitted only a quarter of a bell to down the food before retaking his place in the formation. His entire bed might as well have been carved from wood for how immaculately tight the sheets had to look to pass inspection each morning. His back ached from standing straight all day, his toes had blistered and calloused over from thousands of crisp facing movements, and Caelan had never been so bored for such an extended period of time.

Bastion had already broken him down and molded him into a weapon before he was ever a man. This trial was little more than a recap of something so deeply ingrained he couldn’t be sure he’d learned it so much as been born with the knowledge already in his blood. Marching came as naturally as walking. Following orders as customary as breathing. Everything was to be done at an expeditious pace, but Ulrich had taught him the secret long ago: slow was smooth, and smooth was fast. While other Initiate’s struggled to re-tuck bedsheets for the fifth time, Caelan precisely manipulated the cloth the first time. When the younger members scrambled to dress themselves and wound up with shirts on backwards, he followed a rigid process and kept his clothes in careful order.

There was nothing in the trial to earn his attention. So much so that Caelan spent the majority of each day recounting the lessons Erkan had taught him, allowing his body to instinctively move about in response to verbal commands. No matter how the Crusaders overseeing the trial might try to scream in his face he gave no reaction. His mind was in far off places listing the seasonal harvests of berries, the best cuts of animals, and the appropriate ratios for various sauces.

After twenty-nine mind-numbing days, the thirtieth arrived with remarkably little fanfare. Caelan still made his bed and stood at attention in the hall outside the barracks with the rest of the Initiates just as the morning bell tolled. They were permitted to eat a bowl of bland oatmeal, the meager drizzle of honey lost in the taste of stale grain. Almost a full season of the routine had turned the group into an efficient collective. They ate at the same pace. The empty bowls were passed silently down the line. And when they turned to exit the barracks wing their footfalls rang against the stone in unison.

Raegn snuck a look at the group once they’d taken their seats in the large classroom. Most kept their eyes straight ahead, but he could see some fidgeting their hands or tightly grasping their thighs. He wondered if he should be nervous as well. There was no guarantee he would pass, after all. Still, with what he’d seen of the Templar he had little reason to doubt himself. Sure, there were some in the class who might fail for mental or physical reasons, but the standard set for the trial had, thus far, been rather low. Perhaps if the Templar had come to Bastion’s aid the result would have been the same after all. Caelan grimaced at the thought. Weak or not, he was to be one of them. He would not fail and shame his home.

The written test was simple enough. He listed the twelve seasons and what various terms meant related to the weather. There were other questions related to geographical terminology and over two dozen about Basic and Heaven’s Law. Stealing, deceit, murder—all simple determinations of right and wrong. Interpreting the map that accompanied the questions was easy as well. He actually took extra time to study the picture as the depiction of the Realm was far more detailed than the ones he remembered from Bastion. A few numbers to answer counting questions and a list of other kingdoms, empires, and factions of the Realm brought him nearly to the end.

The final portion brought him some pause, the requirement being to fill an entire page with life events. Content, however, didn’t seem to matter. They only wanted to be sure a Templar could communicate a written idea. Caelan chose to write of Bastion’s tiered levels, brisk winds, and detailed the normal equipment that a Sentinel would wear or carry when they left the safety of the city to scout. By the time he had reached a point where he might have to write about the Void or any of his battles the page was full and he rose to turn in his work.

One of the Oracle’s proctoring the test took his sheets of paper and silently pointed to the door at the back of the room. During his first trial to join the Order every member had looked the same, but after a full season Caelan had learned to find the emblems that denoted more specialized members. Some wore the signet as a brooch, others a badge, while others simply fastened it to a belt or sash. Regardless, all Oracles wore the same insignia—an all-seeing eye surrounded by a plain halo.

Caelan left and waited in the hall at the direction of the Oracle that stood outside the classroom. “First to finish. You’re either decently smart or very dumb,” the Oracle mused in a hushed tone.

Caelan smiled. He certainly wasn’t the oldest person in the room, but there were quite a few that were far younger. The content of the test may have been simple for an adult if even without much education, but for the younglings with no life experience and minimal teaching the task was probably daunting.

As time drew on more Initiates lined up in the hallway after exiting the testing room. They stood quiet at first, but soon whispers about the questions permeated the air despite the Oracle’s attempts to shush them. When everyone was finished the Oracles corralled the group and led them out into a large training yard.

Caelan studied the grounds. If he remembered right, Kai had said this area was off-limits to Initiates. It occurred to him that the sole reason was probably to prevent any spying that might unfairly prepare an Initiate for the trial. The group formed a sloppy half-circle around a muscular man who wore no shirt at the center of the yard. A dozen others stood in a loose formation behind him, all wearing the Templar colors but absent any armor.

“I am Crusader Swann,” the muscled man bellowed. “I will be administering the final two portions of your trial. The Templar behind me are here to assist and ensure you follow the instructions I give. At no point will you ask any questions.” Crusader Swann looked over his shoulder at the Templar and nodded them forward.

“For your next test, you will be split into pairs. You will not be permitted to choose your partner.”

The Templar nudged Initiates close together, sometimes grabbing and leading them by the arm. Caelan was left alone, but a young boy was thrust into his side. His partner, he presumed.

“Line up in your pairs against the far wall, one pair behind every stack of supplies.”

Caelan walked over to a spot near the middle of the wall and examined the pile of goods. There were burlap sacks filled with sand, coils of rope, wooden crates filled with stone, and assorted pieces of wood to keep them all off the ground. If he had to guess, this was to be a more thorough test of physical capability than what had been given to him as an Initiate. He glanced at his partner. The boy could’ve been ten years his younger and didn’t look to have the strength of the other Initiates. The kid might be able to carry one of the sacks, but certainly not the crates. Caelan sighed. It might take a while, but he would probably be able to move them all himself if need be.

Crusader Swann’s voice quelled any murmurs between the other Initiates. “Your task is to move every item in front of you to the opposite wall. There is no time limit, however, you are competing against the other pairs. Finishing anywhere in the bottom half will not look favorably on you.”

Caelan’s heart sank. He looked around at the other Initiates. Those older than him might have injuries that would slow them. A few of the girls, too, might struggle, but there were few other boys as scrawny as his partner. Finishing in the top half would not be a guarantee. Shit. Why couldn’t he have been partnered with Brockon or Trewen? Those two were dumb as mules but at least had the strength of them.

A Templar leaned in and whispered something to Crusader Swann. The man nodded once and folded thick arms over his sculpted chest. “There is one more condition: for those of you with affinity, you may not use it. We will make sure of it.”

The Templar came down the line and tightly tied a band of leather that held a silver coin around each Initiate's upper arm. Upon closer inspection, Caelan noticed that the coin bore a sigil of the Divine. He opened himself to the aether, no more than a test, and found nothing but blackness. No matter what he envisioned, embers, flames, even the sun itself, the Light would not come.

“Begin!” Crusader Swann boomed.

There was a flurry of movement as the other pairs grabbed whatever item was closest and began to scurry to the other side of the wall. Caelan bent down to grab one of the crates. It would be best to move the heaviest things first while he was still fresh.

“Wait!”

Caelan looked over his shoulder and saw the boy pulling at one of the pieces of wood at the bottom of the pile.

“Listen, I don’t think I can lift much of this, but,” the boy grunted and freed a round wooden disc that looked like the top of a cask. “If you help me a bit I can make sure we move the crates easily.”

Caelan looked out at the other Initiates who were already running back to pick up another item.

“Please, it will work. I promise.” The boy was already giving another piece of wood a series of tugs.

Caelan chewed his lip as he thought it over. It would be difficult to do the work of two people alone and impossible to do it better than half of those here. If the boy could be any help at all it would improve their chances.

“Fine, what do you need?”

The boy beamed. Caelan helped lift some of the items and free other pieces of wood. The boy released him to start carrying a few of the burlap sacks while setting about working with the rope. With five sacks carried across at a fast pace Caelan began to sweat. The sand that somehow seeped through the burlap was scratchy and irritating. Only another fifteen to go, he reminded himself. And that’s just the sacks of sand. Yet each time Caelan returned, the boy’s project had grown slightly larger. On his way back after the tenth he noted that some of the other teams were already beginning to move their crates of stone. Some had even given up on the sacks of sand early and were attempting to drag the crates across the ground while they still had the energy. It was a tactic Caelan would’ve liked to copy, but the boy had said whatever this contraption was would help.

“Almost done?” Caelan asked between heavy breaths.

“Yep!” the boy answered without looking up. Nimble fingers lashed another piece of rope around several pieces of the wood and tied a sturdy knot. Caelan shook his head and hauled two more sacks, one on each shoulder, across the yard. When he turned to make the return run he saw the boy struggling to flip over his creation. With a forceful push that took all the boy’s weight the thing toppled upright. As it thumped against the dirt Caelan couldn’t help but give a tired laugh and pick up his pace.

A cart. Crude, but if the wheels held it would certainly be easier than dragging the crates.

“We should start with a few of the burlap sacks, just to test it,” the boy said. Caelan complied and placed half the remaining bags on top. The wood creaked and the rope flexed, but the cart held. The boy’s grin spread ear to ear while reaching out a hand to offer Caelan a loop of rope. Caelan accepted the pull strap, placed it over his head, and pressed it outward away from his chest. The boy walked alongside the cart to help stabilize it, but in one trip they completed what would’ve taken the other pairs over twice the time.

The next run went the same and in short order than had caught up to most of the other pairs. Each of the crates was a struggle to get atop the cart without putting too much stress on its weak axles, but they managed it four times in fairly quick succession. As they paused to catch their breath before loading the last, Caelan took note of their competition. A few teams were done, but the vast majority were still slowly dragging their final crate, pausing every few steps.

Caelan took a long breath to collect himself before reaching down for the last crate. He swung it upward, using his thigh to boost it towards the middle of the cart. It wasn’t far enough. The crate landed too close to the edge and the rope that held the left wheel on the axle slid free. The cart collapsed to the side and spilled the stones onto the ground.

“Sorry!” the boy yelled at the same time Caelan muttered a few curses. The boy quickly hunched down and began to throw the stones back into the crate.

Caelan stood with his hands on his hips, head toward the sky and shoulders heaving. It wasn’t the boy's fault. If he wasn’t so tired he would’ve placed it right. Though if the boy had been someone else, perhaps he wouldn’t be so tired.

“Ok, so you’re going to have to move the crate, but I’ll take the rest over,” the boy said.

“The rest?” Caelan asked.

“The cart.” The boy pointed at the collapsed vessel. “The materials were part of the items that had to be moved.”

Right. Everything that had been there, Crusader Swann had said. Caelan eyed the pile of wood. None of it was particularly heavy, but they were awkward shapes. Even so, the boy ought to be able to get them across, even if it meant dragging them like he would the crate. Caelan reached down and grasped the wood through the handhold that had been carved in the thick-boarded side. He drug it backwards, lifting it ever so slightly to reduce how much dirt from the yard he would have to drag with it.

His back screamed each time he bent over to move the crate a few more steps, but he had felt this before. His muscles had ached for days after Ulrich’s training. If this was to be punishment for failing his home and seeking life elsewhere at least his home had prepared him for it. The boy cheered him on each time he passed by with arms full of assorted wood scraps and through the final shuffled strides. Caelan fell onto his rear once the crate was aligned with the others and leaned back against the wall.

Two teams sat on the far side, unable to move their items. Over a dozen other pairs still tugged at their final crate. They had finished in the top half. He wasn’t sure exactly where, but it didn’t matter so long as they were safe from disfavor. Caelan pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt to let the breeze reach more of his skin. The written test had started just after lunch and now the sun sat atop the wall of the training yard, filling it with shadow. The air was cool and offered sweet relief from the pounding of his heart that echoed in his ears.

“That’s a nice scar.”

Caelan lifted his head from the wall to look at the boy.

“I’ve got one too, see?” The boy rolled up his pant leg to show a line of off-colored flesh the length of a hand up his shin. “What’s yours from?”

“A battle,” Caelan replied.

“Wow,” the boy said while eyeing his chest. “Mine’s from a big fish hook. I worked on the docks for two years before I joined. It’s where I learned to tie ropes and fix carts. The ones we used broke all the time. Rotten wood from being near the sea and all.” The boy rolled down his pant leg. “Your story’s probably better, though. I’m Darren, by the way. Darren Gittings. I’m glad you were my partner.”

Caelan smiled. Darren might be weak, but at least the boy was smart and well-spoken, even if he spoke a lot. Caelan reached out his hand and Darren took it by the forearm. “Caelan. And I’m glad too. Dragging more than one of those things looks like torture.”

They shared a laugh, but were cut short by Crusader Swann’s voice echoing off the walls.

“This portion of your trial is now complete! You will all follow my assistants into a holding area where you will be given water and wait for the final test. Your pair will be joined with another. As a group you will engage in a mock battle against the other groups. Exit the training grounds, now!”

The boy stood, but hesitated and drew his foot back and forth through the dirt. “You said your scar was from a battle?”