The Artisan Deacon leaned against the altar with his arms crossed, resplendent in his aura of health and wisdom. Even with all my troubles, he was impossible to ignore. “You’ve been told since you were old enough to listen, there in the Crim, about the Seven Aspects of the Divine, the Prime Celestials. Any child could recite them. If you’ve stopped to think about it for more than half a second since you’ve entered…” He paused and flashed us all a winning smile. “Not that I’d blame you if you haven’t; the first couple of days in the Tower are overwhelming, to say the least. Regardless, think about it now: each of the Orders you’ve seen here, including your own, is an application of one of the Aspects.”

He pointed to the row where I sat, still feeling small and insignificant next to Sett and his lot. “Warriors, surely you can see that you represent the Conqueror. Healers are the devotees of the Amity. Alchemists, you serve the Gambler; may your insane concoctions never blow up in your faces.” The only blue-tunicked Neophyte thought that a fine joke, and even a few of the others snickered. “Beast Kin, you are attuned to the Union. Summoners: the Covenant. Assassins, you’ve made your bed with the Faceless. Not the one I’d choose, but that’s the beauty of the Celestial Realm: there’s room for all of us. And, of course, my favorite, though I admit to bias: the Innovator is the patron of us humble Artisans.” His proud, ever-present grin made me doubt his professed humility, but, as he said, there was a place for all. Even you? a small voice at the back of my mind said. What could the Divine want with a boy who can’t even make up his mind?

“The Tower is infused with the power of Sharell,” he continued, sweeping behind the altar to stand beside the massive object concealed by a white sheet. “The very stones themselves vibrate with the virtues embodied by the Aspects. Just by being here, just by training, just by eating the food, you are refining the virtues most prevalent in your own soul so they can sprout and grow.” The Deacon paused, leaning in conspiratorially. “That’s what we were doing in the Threshing,” he told us. “The tests are designed to reveal which virtues you align with; that’s how we know what Order will be best for you.”

I thought of the reflections of myself I’d seen in the scrying pool: the invincible Warrior, the ravening Beast Kin, all of them. How could I ever live up to those visions? Less than two days and I’d already gone irreversibly wrong. The Tower had shown me what I could be, and I pissed it away for pride, for greed. You might as well have walked out with Holry and grabbed a mop. Maybe you wouldn’t have screwed that up.

“Our job here in the school at the lowest levels of the Tower is to bring out those virtues in you, to help you grow so that you can fight your way up to join the War Above. So you can aid the Knights of Sharell and the Prime Celestials themselves in finally exterminating the greater demons, just as we wish we could cleanse our mortal lands of the lesser ones. So you can become the Ascended, paragons of the virtues most valued by the Tower itself and the Celestial Realm. So you can become this.”

At that, the Deacon pulled on the white sheet, letting it trail away and fall down behind the hulking mass beneath. My breath caught and my self-pitying thoughts fled. There, revealed in the nave of the Cathedral, was a kneeling Knight, far larger than life, helm bowed, mighty gauntleted hand holding a truly massive sword with its point grounded. It was a vision of a holy warrior in prayer a good five meters tall. Had the figure stood upright, its head would have topped ten meters – a true giant. Its intricately engraved plate armor gleamed, and the sword, a mighty tree of metal, caught the light so it almost looked aflame.

I leaned over to Sett, about to whisper to him my awe at the skill of whatever Artisan had crafted this sacred work of art, but then the world breathed in my ear. I froze, not knowing where the sound had come from. It was a mighty wind, but not a hair on my head stirred. It was softer than a sigh, but it filled the height and breadth of the Cathedral. It stole my air and made the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up straight. What was that? I tried to say, but my gaze was drawn irresistibly to the giant, kneeling Knight. Deep in the shadowed recesses of the T-shaped eye slit of that massive helm, I saw…a glimmer? The shift of an eye? I wasn’t sure what.

MAPHEN, the world sighed. My heart stuttered and constricted. It was a voice of peace, of power, of love, like a thousand mothers’ enfolding arms and a thousand fathers’ strong, solid presence in a doorway. MAPHEN, PERSIST.

Tears welled in my eyes. “Oh, Aspects,” I whispered, my voiced choked. I couldn’t help but speak. “I will. I will.”

The sense of presence lifted. Not that it disappeared, exactly, but it retreated like a hearthfire burning in the next room over. My brain scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. Beside me, Sett was muttering something to himself, wet tracks shining on his cheeks. All the Neophytes seemed rapt. Even the Deacon, who had almost certainly been expecting this, had one hand on the great knight’s greave, his eyes closed and his face peaceful.

“This is what only the strongest of us deserve,” he said reverently. “To know that this is what waits for us Above. This is who fights. You are looking at yourself as you may one day become.”

One of the green-clad Beast Kin spoke up. She was sitting next to Orm, and though I couldn’t see her whole face, her profile made it clear that she was his twin. “Is that one of the Prime Celestials?” Her hushed voice echoed in the Cathedral.

“No,” the Deacon chuckled. “The Primes themselves? The seven Aspects? They are as much greater than this Knight than he is to you. More. No, this mighty one is a lesser Celestial. We assume he fell in battle aeons ago. Did any of you ever get a chance to talk with farmer folk from the countryside when you were out in Misfell? Perhaps when they came in for festival days? There are churches scattered out among the farms, you know, deep into the Wilds. Every great now and then – perhaps only three times in a decade, sometimes fewer – one of the lesser Celestials falls to the enemy Above and plummets through the Limness that separates us from Sharell. Where they fall, we build a church to remember their sacrifice.”

“One of the Crim teachers told me about that,” Tamra whispered.

“This great Knight was the first ever found,” the Artisan Deacon said. “He was here, kneeling in exactly this spot, when our first ancestors entered the Tower thousands of years ago. We call him the Guardian. The Cathedral was built around him, and in time our school followed. He never fails to inspire. When you die over and over in your training, when it seems you will never learn enough to be of use, remember him.”

“Why doesn’t he move?” asked the only remaining Healer Neophyte. “Why doesn’t he go fight Above?”

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“He’s done all his fighting,” the Deacon said, looking up at the giant fondly. “He died so long ago we don’t even have a number for it.”

“But…” said the Healer girl, “I heard him. He spoke to me.”

“Dead for a Celestial Knight is not quite the same as dead for us,” the teacher countered. “Besides which, the Tower itself thrums with the power of Sharell. Some echo of our mighty friend stays in this place to strengthen us.”

He straightened and faced us, his voice ringing with fresh conviction. “And make no mistake, my young friends, we need strengthening. The Limness falls a little lower every year, and the forces Above need reinforcement. In my grandfather’s day it was said you could see a line of windows high up on the Tower, but no one younger than him has ever seen them. If the cloud falls all the way to earth, the war will be lost and our world becomes a hellscape and a haven for demonkind, just like the cursed lands beyond the influence of the Tower. We cannot let it happen! You, and you, and you – all of you – will shape yourselves into mighty warriors and wielders of the sacred virtues, and together we will drive the greater demons out of Sharell to the Beyond from whence they came and take our place in eternal glories!”

His voice rang and echoed through the vaults overhead, and my heart leapt. I’d heard bits and pieces of these truths in the weekly worships in Misfell’s chapel, but never so clearly, never so powerfully. The peace and strength radiating from the fallen Knight punctuated every word, instilling a fervor I’d never felt before. Persist, he had said to me. I’d be damned if I let him down. Father could do his worst; I had to help with the Everwar.

The Deacon paced before us, his voice rising to a shout. “Do not relent. Do not rest. Do not let the doubts of the small-minded distract you. Only this matters, and the rewards that we stand to reap are beyond imagining. Make yourselves experts in healing, in fighting, in building, in war. You are needed. You are vital. You are the ones who will win the War!”

He raised his arms overhead, eyes blazing and head thrown back. The other Neophytes leapt to their feet, shouting and stamping their feet…and I was right there with them. All of us were crying. Conviction gripped me. If he’d told us to climb the Tower right then, with no more preparation, we’d have done it.

Instead, he brought his arms down, planted his hands on the altar behind which he stood, and sank to his knees. “Let us pray,” he intoned, and we all followed suit, hands clasped and knees on the floor.

“Holy Aspects,” he said, his voice dropping into a more reverent register, “Guide these Neophytes in wisdom and strength, that they may join the legions Above. Open their minds, strengthen their limbs, and put fire in their souls. Stiffen their spines and harden them against death. Let your virtues distill down to them that they may be useful servants and powerful warriors against the evils of this world and the one we aspire to reach. As above, so below. As in life, so in death. As I strive, so may I serve. Benedat.”

He rose, his shining smile back in place. “Your instruction in your Orders begins today. Be focused, be vigilant. Win now and you will win later. Go now, and remember this moment. Remember the Guardian. He is you, but only if you give everything to your training.” He motioned to the great doors at the back of the Cathedral and fell silent.

Tamra was the first to stand. “Come on, you slugs,” she said to all of us. “We’ve got work to do.”

That broke the spell, and we all stood, the charged atmosphere fading into something more normal as friends began to whisper to each other and we started filing toward the exit.

Sett took me by the elbow. “I didn’t see you at mess. Where did you go? Was that actually your father that met you at the Melee?”

I took a deep breath, fervid confidence fading as my overwhelming doubts reasserted themselves. “It was,” I admitted. “It’s a bit of a story. I’ll tell you as we walk.”

* * *

Sett shook his head in sorrow and bafflement. “Why would he do this to you?”

I’d given him the bones of the story as we trooped toward the Warrior Hall. Tamra and Aldric took my presence for granted, which I appreciated, but the other red tunics were throwing me sidelong glances, confused that someone not of their Order seemed to be accompanying them. I ignored them as best I could. “My father hates this place, I think. He couldn’t measure up, he can’t escape, and he doesn’t believe.”

Sett chewed on his lip. He looked so much stronger, so much healthier than I was used to. “And do you? Believe?”

I laughed. “Before today I’d have said I didn’t know. But now? Yes. How could I not?”

He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. It hurt. “Then you have to stay. We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. If anyone belongs in the Tower, it’s you.”

His eyes were open and trusting, and his smile was genuine. He couldn’t possibly know how much his unquestioning faith in me meant. “I don’t know how I’m going to stay on my feet until the final five in the next Melee,” I confessed.

“We’ll figure something out. We all will.”

“We?” Aldric said. “You’re throwing that word around pretty easily.”

“Yes, we,” Sett said firmly. “You heard the Deacon. We need all the fighters we can get, and Maphen belongs.”

The other boy huffed and walked on, but didn’t argue. With Aldric, that was as good as it got, apparently.

We arrived at a wide archway filled with row upon row of glittering swords hanging point-down, and I pulled up short. The others were pushing through, some gingerly and some without thought, but I had no idea how. The edges of those blades looked sharp enough to shave with. Sett batted the first one aside carelessly and didn’t notice that I’d stopped until he was three blades deep. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked. “You’re supposed to spend some of your time with us Warriors, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I’d rather do it with all ten fingers attached. Is there another way in?” In the back of my mind I heard the Summoner Elder tell my father she’d deny me entrance to the Halls until my situation was resolved, but I hoped the word hadn’t been passed to the Heads of Hall quite yet. One less night sleeping in the hallways sounded like a good idea to me. Maybe if I try to only touch the flats of the blades? It was lunacy. I’d come out the other side a bloody mess.

As I dithered, the choice was taken from me. Aphos came out through the sword curtain, bigger than ever and glowing even more strongly than he had when I’d first seen him. The blades might as well have been silk streamers for all he cared, and there wasn’t a nick on him.

“You’re not to be given entrance, little man,” he said, his tone guarded and his face flat. “Our Hierophant gave me the order no more than an hour ago. You can join the Neophytes in the training arena and for their classroom instruction, but you will not set foot in this Hall until and unless you are sworn to our Order.” He crossed his massive arms. “Don’t make it difficult.”

“Please,” Sett said, still partway through the gauntlet of blades. Aphos raised a hand and cut him off before he got any further, never looking away from me. I would not be getting past him.

“It’s all right,” I told Sett. “I’m going.”

I turned my back on them and walked down the long, lonely hall. When I turned the corner, Aphos was still there, watching to make sure I really left. I sighed and scrubbed a hand through my hair. For all Sett’s assurances, for all the Knight’s soul-stirring injunctions, I still had a hopeless task before me. A demonic snicker sounded over my shoulder, and I ducked instinctively. That little shit-imp was still trailing me, and come nightfall, I had to sleep out here somewhere. It felt like insult added to injury.

At least you know one thing, I told myself. It can’t get any worse.