Ezril and his brothers were informed of the coming test a week to its arrival: The Test of Awareness.

No information was given on it, not a single detail was offered by anyone. The older children claimed it was different for each person. But one thing they all had in common was the fact that they all seemed reluctant to talk of it. They always seemed saddened by the memory it seemed to summon.

Priestess Ellenel had added a new regime to their training with the introduction of throwing knives. She hung a piece of wood from a high point and let it dangle, expecting them to hit the mark on the wood as it dangled. As expected, Ezril proved himself the best, hitting the mark more times than his brothers.

“Do not strike at where it is, but at where it will be,” Emriss told them. It was similar to what Father Zakarid had taught them in hunting animals in the wild. They weren’t always in place when hunted, sometimes they would have to chase their prey and put it down. But he never mentioned anything about an animal charging at us.

Ezril found he liked the lessons most. It was not only because he was good with the bow, but he found he enjoyed Ellenel’s presence. Her fiery red hair was a dazzle whenever she chose to join them in target practice every once in a while. It flowed in the wind when she breathed before her shots. Ezril found himself amazed by her, and more motivated by her smile than any other form of motivation offered by the other priests.

The test of awareness took place on the morning of Weltiff and, like every other test, they understood that those who failed would have to leave the seminary with whatever belongings they had brought to it. It meant they had to leave with nothing but the cloths on their back. It was a knowledge that haunted them as Father Ulrich led them into a hallway.

“Remember what I told you,” he said soothingly. “There is no preparation for this test. Some will pass, and some will fail. But it does not define who you are as a person. This test defines if you are a priest or not. It does not define you as less than one.”

Although it was said to ease their nerves, they were not used to the priests using kind words on them. Thus, it did naught to alleviate their fears, rather it elevated their tension.

“Takan, you are first. The moment each of you are done you are to return to your quarters.” Ulrich turned as Takan walked into the room before them and took his leave.

“What do you think the test is about?” Divine asked.

“Maybe you get to fight one of the masters,” Raylin offered.

Salem snorted. “Not possible. That is something that can be prepared for. Father Ulrich said it cannot be prepared for.”

Darvi flipped his medallion along his fingers as he sat against a wall in silence. Ezril, finding himself worrying about the test, hummed a familiar tune to himself. It was one the old man had hummed incessantly during his winter test. And while he hadn’t cared much for it, at some point it had come to calm him. Thus, it calmed him now.

“What are you humming?”

Ezril looked up at the owner of the voice. Unkuti was squatted before him, watching in what seemed to be amazement. Something about the way he looked at him made Ezril squirm at the attention. His hum slowly died out.

“I heard it once,” he replied shyly.

“From where?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe when I was littler.”

He wondered at if he would have been able to spin a lie if he had said the words. He had put no serious thought into why he hadn’t said them but the reason was simple. The words spoke of a king becoming a god. It almost seemed, in itself, a prophecy: a heathen superstition; for only the dead knew the end. And yet, the church bore its own prophecy. Tamaron Duret had prophesied in his old age as he succumbed to the poison of a Tainted, his Hallowed body unable to resist it. It is said that so great was his faith in the Credo that he reached from the corruption of the Tainted to reveal a future only the dead should see, delaying his meeting with Truth.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ezril was not Unkuti that he would so comfortably speak of the heathen ways with ease, although the boy’s tales were mostly of the Tainted.

“Do you know the words?” There was hope in Unkuti’s voice as he asked, and Ezril almost felt bad at the thought of dashing them.

“No,” he said.

“Oh…” Unkuti failed to keep the sadness out of his voice. “It’s alright. My grandma used to hum it to me when I was a child but wouldn’t tell me the words. It was said that she was the only one who knew them.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get the chance to ask her again,” Ezril consoled, thinking of Teneri. Although not as her grandson.

Unkuti shook his head in solemn disagreement. “She died shortly before I came to the seminary. It was her last request of me that I be here. Everyone objected but I loved her too much not to obey.”

Ezril found his gaze wandering to where Divine and Salem sat. “We do the craziest things for the ones we love.”

Unkuti remained beside him in silence, waiting as they all did for Takan to come out. Olbi placed his ear to the door in an attempt to listen in on whatever was going on behind it but came up empty.

Ezril’s mind fell back to the old man. Without really meaning to, he hummed again, and his mind sang along.

A man, a king, a god called Fortune.

He fought a war and lost but once.

He waged a war with gods aplenty,

He held his sword abreast, and wary.

With luck but gone, and chances lost,

He stood his ground to slay a god.

As man immortal with naught to gain,

He lost his men and watched in pain.

Upon his throne razed in shadows,

He sat smiling in death’s calm throes.

He lost before but don’t dismay,

He treads a path back down this way.

So when asked why we wait and hum,

We wait an immortal king’s return.

With foes and friends and all our kin,

We stand and wait the uncrowned king…

He felt an odd calm, calmer than that which the hum had given him. It was always the way with the words. They calmed him during the winter cold, hunting prey. They calmed him now. He thought of the old man; of his croaked voice; of how he clapped without harmony; of a voice not meant to sing. His humming didn’t calm him as much as the old man’s had.

Ezril noted that though Unkuti always told tales of the Tainted and of his people, he never spoke directly of his family. It as if he preferred to keep their memories sacredly locked away in the recess of his mind. It was part of the reason Ezril had never spoken of Tolin. Even to Lenaria.

He couldn’t help but feel a touch of kinship with Unkuti in some way but only in this moment.

Moments later the door opened. A man in a black hooded cassock stepped out. He called Raylin into the room. Raylin rose promptly and made his way inside, but not before everyone noted the fear on his face.

Takan has not come out, Ezril noted. Will he ever come out?

After a long while, Ezril, Darvi, Unkuti, Olufemi and Olbi were left waiting in the hallway. Ezril wondered if the wait was part of the test. Everyone seemed too tired and too tense for the test as they sat but, for some reason, Olufemi kept a determined look on his face all through.

When Unkuti was called, he rose from his position beside Ezril where he had stayed from the very beginning and whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“Wish me luck.”

After, Ezril sat alone in the dark hallway as night fell. He was the last of his brothers. The midday meal they had expected to be fed never came. It left them believing the hunger part of the test. It did not exempt the possibility that they had merely been forgotten.

Eventually, Ezril’s turn came.

As he walked past the hooded man he thought he saw an empty eye socket and simple flesh where his nose was meant to be.

It’s just a test, one you cannot prepare for, he reminded himself as he walked through the door.

“Sit,” an elderly woman said. She instructed from her seated position on an elevated platform.

Ezril recognized her as the abbess of the convent, the one who had taken Lenaria last winter. The woman that had protected her from the first prince.

Beside her was an elderly man in a cassock Ezril did not recognize. Beside him another woman of elderly age sat. All of them were weathered from age, their skins seeming almost leathery, a sign that most of their lives were been spent out in the open.

To Ezril’s left stood Father Talod. To the right, Priestess Ellenel stood as Ezril entered. The cloaked man remained at the door. Ezril took a seat, wondering what exactly was going on; the faces before him were entirely alien to him save the Abbess.

“Canvassing the area,” the Abbess said with a cheerful smile. “You seminarians never change. For the short moment that you will be here with us, know that it will do you a lot of good not to lie. After all, Truth is the foundation on which the Credo is built.”

“Undertaking this test is optional,” the elderly man said almost immediately. “If you choose not to undertake it, you forfeit and will have to leave come sunrise…”

…A very tempting offer, Ezril thought ironically as the man continued. “You may not return from this test complete if you choose to undertake it. Some of your mates have, sadly, already been rendered mentally incapable of continuing with life… If you choose to continue, however, all you need do is nod.”

Ezril nodded.

“Good. Let us begin.”