Amarl groaned as he rose from his bed in the early hours of Shimio, the first day of the week. His head pounded, his mouth was cottony and dry, and the dim light filtering in through the windows was far too bright. The two matching groans that came from his friends as they rose as well provided only slight comfort to the hangover he suffered.
Their first night in Askula, all three students had gone to bed staggeringly drunk and woke up the next morning feeling like hell. They’d struggled through their classes, especially physical training—exactly as the awals intended, Amarl was certain. All three of them had resolved to drink lightly indeed at the Joining the night before. That resolution lasted right up until the actual Joining began.
To join the Order, a person had to have enough of the blood of one of the original ithtaru in their veins to be able to see and interact with ithtu. Most naluni—and almost all non-naluni beside Amarl, apparently—lacked a pure enough bloodline to even perceive ithtu crystals, and that meant they could never wield the power of an ithtar. Ithtaru went through the Empire each year, directed by some sort of detection ability or working that Amarl didn’t understand, and found all those children between their fourteenth and fifteenth Naming Days who had that potential, then brought them to Askula in groups every three moons whether they liked it or not.
However, just having the potential wasn’t enough to join the Order. Each student had to bond with a Joining crystal that gave them access to their status and the ability to track their growth and advancement. To do so, the potential was held down on a stone altar and had the crystal driven into their heart like a knife. Needless to say, this wasn’t particularly healthy for the victim—in fact, it was universally fatal. Every ithtar in the Order died to join it. Only those who returned from death by having their souls bond to the Joining crystal became students in Askula. The rest failed, either never awakening from death or perishing during the agonizing bonding process.
Amarl had seen a lot in the past year, and he thought that the Joining wouldn’t bother him. He was terribly wrong. He watched in horror as the first trembling, terrified student was led to the altar and held down by four ithtaru. He could do nothing but stare silently as Ranakar, his mentor and instructor, plunged the crystal into the screaming, crying girl’s chest with a spurt of blood and an agonized shriek. He stood, rooted in terror as her eyes snapped back open and her body convulsed and shook as she bawled in pain. The smell of urine and feces plunged into his nostrils as she lost control of her body, and when she finally fell still, her horrified and despairing sobs echoed through a vast silence. She was one of the lucky ones; she lived through the procedure. She wouldn’t agree at that moment, Amarl knew.
He thought he’d put his Joining behind him, but seeing this brought the memories screaming back into his mind. He remembered the abject terror he felt as he waited for his name to be called—last, of course, since the Joining of the only ever non-naluni was a spectacle of sorts. He recalled the numb fear in which he walked to the altar, blind to the crowd of ithtaru and students around him. The panic he felt as they lifted him and set him on the stone bier, as he saw the crystal held high above him, burned brightly and clearly in his mind. He remembered the agony of the Joining afterward and the shame of realizing he’d soiled himself before a crowd with keen clarity.
A single glance at his friends’ faces showed him that they, too, were lost in their own remembrances of that awful night. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide, their jaws set. Meder wrapped her arms beneath her breasts and tapped her fingers against her sides, as she often did when she was afraid or worried. Burik stood perfectly straight, his fists clenching and unclenching. They each recalled that night, and he could read his own horror on their faces. And they weren’t alone; other second-years stood nearby in similar states of dismay, horror, and sickness. His three classmates Herel, Hadur, and Norag stood in a group several reaches away, and he read the same pain he felt on their faces. Even the older students he saw watched in silent misery.
Eleven children walked or were dragged to the altar that night. Five never rose from it. He could only watch in horror as Ranakar dug into their chests to retrieve the crystal they failed to bond, and a pair of ithtaru dragged their corpse down to the wharf jutting into Agheeral’s Deep. The body was tossed onto a waiting wooden barge, which eventually was doused with oil, set ablaze, and pushed into the lake to burn and sink to the depths. Part of him wanted to close his eyes or turn away, but he couldn’t; some part of him had to watch in terrible fascination.
When the Joining ended and the rainbow-robed Rashiv, head of the academy, gave a welcoming speech to the new candidates, Amarl and his friends headed for the beer kegs with a purpose. Their resolve to drink sparingly shattered in the face of that nightmare, and they drank steadily through the night, trying to drown the memories of their entrance to Askula. They weren’t alone; Herel and his friends seemed to have the same purpose, and even Andra and the other older students consumed far more than was good for them.
Amarl recalled his first morning in Askula, when a second-year accosted Herel, Hadur, and Norag for sitting at the wrong tables, giving Hadur a fattened lip in the process. He’d thought back then that they were simply bullies, waiting for the chance to jump all over the younger students. Now, he wasn’t so sure that was the case. If those students had been forced to watch the Joining the night before—probably for the first or maybe the second time ever—they likely felt as shitty as he did at that moment, with the memories still fresh in his mind and a headache that pounded inside his skull. Fortunately, he and the others had spent enough time in Sasofit’s over the last year that their hangovers weren’t nearly as bad as they could be, but he still wasn’t looking forward to the morning’s training.
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They dressed slowly, not bothering to shower since they were going to start the morning with exercises, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast. Amarl loaded up his plate with mostly pastries and a small helping of bacon, then grabbed a mug of juice and followed the others to a table. For the first time, the group bypassed the beaten, battered, and stained tables closer to the kitchen—the realm of the first-years—and headed for the territory of the second-years.
“This is pretty nice,” Burik observed as they sat down. He reached out and touched the tabletop, giving it a gentle shake. “Look, the whole thing’s not about to fall apart.”
“And my chair doesn’t wobble,” Amarl agreed. “So fancy!”
“You’re both idiots,” Meder sighed, rubbing her temples. She took a sip of her drink—she’d chosen water—then motioned toward the door. “Here come the new first-years.”
Amarl glanced over and saw three students in brand-new green uniforms venturing slowly and cautiously into the mess hall. They talked quietly amongst themselves before joining the line of students waiting for food. Amarl had seen the same sight several times in the past year—every three moons, in fact, when new groups of students came in—but having watched the newbies go through the Joining the night before added a new element to it. Before, he’d always felt a kinship with the new groups. They were first-years, and so were he and his friends. Now, though, he felt disconnected from them, as if watching the ceremony made them seem less like potential friends and classmates and more like strangers. He watched impassively as the trio moved to a table that had deliberately been left empty for them, and he didn’t react when Palet, one of the older second-years, screamed at them for daring to sit at the wrong table. He simply watched with the rest of the mess hall, not even considering intervening.
“It’s amazing how much you can change in a year,” Meder sighed, picking at her food and looking away from the display as she echoed Amarl’s thoughts. “A year ago, I promised myself that when I was in second year, I would stand up for the newbies. And here I am, letting this happen.”
“It’s not like you could stop it,” Burik pointed out. “You’d just get yourself in trouble for trying.”
“Maybe, but that’s not the reason.” She looked back at the table. “Last year, I assumed that the older students were just bullies who liked to push younger students around. I’ve talked to Palet a few times before, though, and he’s actually decent. This is just—an act, I guess. Something that he has to do as a senior second-year.”
“It’s to help awaken our abilities,” Amarl said in a quiet voice that didn’t leave the table. “At least, that’s what the Rashiv said. Ithtu responds to our needs, so they give us the need to protect ourselves hoping that it awakens our abilities faster.”
“That makes a terrifying amount of sense,” she sighed again. “Assuming that it works, of course.”
“It did for Amarl, didn’t it?” Burik asked quietly. “He almost died, and his ability woke up, at least a little bit.”
“That’s true.” She made a face. “I’ll say this, though. I don’t care what the reason is. I won’t treat them like that. I can’t.”
Amarl nodded but didn’t say anything. He knew that Meder was sincere, and he didn’t want to point out that she might not be given a choice. He knew Palet a bit, as well, and she was right. The older boy wasn’t a bad sort, which meant that he’d probably been told to behave this way. If a malim or awal ordered Meder to harass the younger students, she’d have to do it or risk punishment. Hopefully, none of them would have to find out which choice they’d make in that case.
They finished their food and walked outside, where they joined a larger group of second-years for the first half of the morning’s exercise, physical training. Their first year, they’d had this class more or less to themselves, but Amarl supposed that was necessary. Except for Burik, they’d all been in awful condition at first, and putting them with even other, more advanced first-years would have been too much for them. That wasn’t the case anymore, though; even the least fit of them, Hadur, could run for miles without stopping and exercise for an hour straight.
A woman in the white robes of a nadar, a junior instructor, stood before the group. She looked as hard and tough as any ithtara, her dark brown hair cut short just below her ears and a faint scar marring her chin. She stood a full reach tall, taller than Amarl but not as tall as Burik, and lean muscle rippled beneath the skin of her exposed arms. She swept a flat gaze across the group, and the students fell silent instantly.
“Ny name is Nadar Tautibal,” she said in a loud, clear voice that carried through the morning air. “I’ve been dragged here from my own responsibilities to train you all this year. I’m not happy about it, which means none of us are going to be happy.” Amarl wasn’t the only one among the students to wince at her proclamation. A pissed-off nadar wasn’t something any of them looked forward to.
“Every nadar in this role tells you the same thing your first year,” she continued. “All they ask is that you do your best, and they’ll be happy.” She stopped, and if anything, her gaze hardened even more. “I’m not them. I won’t blow sunshine up your asses. The simple fact is, your best isn’t good enough. If it were, you wouldn’t need this training. I will demand more than your best, and you will give it to me, or I will make this year misery for you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am!” The response rose instantly from two dozen throats, all trained to answer at once.
“It isn’t, not yet. It will be, though.” She smiled, and Amarl felt a chill run down his back at the sight of her cold expression.
“We’ll start our morning with a nice, leisurely run, three times around the Citadel,” she announced. “I’ll give you all five minutes head start, and then I’ll come after you. If I catch you…” She reached behind her and pulled out a leather riding crop. She slapped it into the palm of her open hand with a smack, and several students jumped at the sound. “Let’s just say that you really, really don’t want me to catch you. Now, GO!”