The test of climbing was different from the ones Ezril and his brothers knew, different from the ones they had. The older boys were not present for it, having left the seminary on a task of sorts. Their spiritual work, the priests called it. It was a stipulated period of time when they would be at different churches, offering their services to the sisters of the church, whatever it may be, as long as it fell within the confines of the Credo.

Father Talod trooped Ezril and his brothers out of the seminary in the morning before the commencement of the morning mass. They gained the employ of an Osun, as had been done for the test of the winter and rode for over three hours.

They came to a stop at an uninhabited strip of land. The sand was black as night, a contrast to the blue of the broken dawn above them. They set their eyes on the large mountain before them. Black as the sand beneath their boots, it stood tall.

The black mountain.

Over the years their tests entailed different things, amongst which was the possibility of death. Even the least harmful of them, the test of awareness, had left a potential for a mental fate apparently worse than death. And yet, none had spelled death as vividly as the mountain before them.

“Today you will embark on the test of the climb,” The Monsignor addressed them. They were near fifty in number, at most two-third of what they were meant to be. “This is a test that will test your strength against the parts of Vayla corrupted by the evil of the Tainted,” Crowl continued. “Do not misunderstand this, the mountain itself bears no power. We are children of Vayla, Hallowed by Truth. Where we do not feel her, Truth will guide us. This is a test every priest must pass…”

Ezril knew the but was coming. He waited for it like a deer waiting to die.

“…But we will not force anyone to their death.” Crowl continued. It was a warning that had never come with any of the other tests. “I will not coat the truth, for that is not what the Credo teaches. Some of you will not make it up this mountain, and more of you will not make it down.” He scanned the boys. “If any of you wishes to return, do so now. The carriage will take you to the seminary where you will pack your things…”

There were only two ways to pass this test. The realization came to them all. Either admit failure and live, or climb the mountain and die. And yet, like others, Ezril knew the Monsignor’s words to be a test of their own.

“This is a test for the Hallowed. Understand that there is a reason no one comes to this mountain.” Crowl finished.

Ezril ignored the feeling the Monsignor’s final words summoned within him. They festered away and, gaining no attention, faded away. But he knew they were not gone.

They never truly left him. None of them ever truly left any of them.

There were a few shuffles at the end of Crowl’s speech. They had known the tests of the seminary bore a possibility of death and had embarked on them. But it was different when the possibility was addressed before the test. It made it seem less of a possibility and more of a certainty.

Nobody wants to die. The words crossed Ezril’s mind as a few boys returned to the carriages, feet dragging through the dark sands, and heads bowed in defeat.

Not long after, the carriages departed with Crowl in them, leaving the rest at the hands of the priests. It left Ezril with a feeling of hazard. He could almost taste the loss of safety. Nothing about this has ever been safe, he reminded himself.

Father Talod stepped forward to address them next. “You will find Father Fravis at the top of the mountain,” he said in the lazy way he did when he seemed to hate where he was. “He will give you an item which you will then return with as proof of your success.”

He turned to leave, and stopped.

“Also,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, “a piece of advice: As you go higher, the mountain will grow as cold as it is black.” When he turned again he did not stop. The scowl he bore told of his reluctance to offer up that piece of advice. Perhaps it had been a demanded act.

Thirty minutes later the boys found themselves over forty feet above the ground. Finding pieces of rocks jutting out at odd angles to serve as leverage, they latched onto them. Their clothes were dusted in the black sand of the mountain, and their fingers almost ached from their grips.

Ezril found himself wondering if Takan would be able to pass the test since the boy had a fear of heights. He is a Hallowed. He shook his head, reminding himself of his priorities. You should be worried more about yourself.

The boys spread out at a distance as they climbed. Climbing a few feet away from each other, the rocks made the sight of each other almost impossible to attain. Ezril could see a few of the boys below. Around him they moved with a honed determination. The wind proving a complete enemy to their cause, blew against their already faltering grips, carrying particles of sand along with it and throwing it in their faces.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ezril watched a few of the boys wrestle to keep themselves upright against the flapping of their cloaks. They knew the risk before they climbed: sacrifice the cloak for ease and suffer the chilling hand of the oncoming winter, or keep it, knowing the discomfort, and protect themselves from the cold. Olufemi had discarded his like it was a burden before he’d even begun climbing. Ezril trusted the boy’s decision, so he had done the same. If there was anyone whose decision he would trust in such a situation it was his brother.

Over fifty feet above ground Ezril’s grips on the rocks were beginning to wane. He was far behind the others. He may have taken the step to pass the test, but to be the Hallowed the seminary was more than the step. It had not taken him long to learn this. He tried not to give it too much thought. But he could only ignore it for so long.

The mountain seemed to keep climbing, with every advance Ezril made its peak took two of its own. He looked up and saw the clouds. Their beauty was nonexistent today. Here they were as tainted as the mountain, swirling in a cascade of black clouds and purpling madness. It was odd how from the ground it was unnoticeable. The thought stroked Ezril to look down. He did not.

He could see the clouds, but no sign of an end to the mountain. It went straight up, bearing no ridges as far as he could see. And the weight of his body only served to worsen the climb. It felt as if he was climbing with weights double his size on his back and limbs and he found himself wondering if the oddity of the mountain had anything to do with it.

In time Ezril lost sight of the ground beneath them. His body protested at having climbed for days but he knew better. A simple glance at his surrounding told of a day not yet at its end. Dusk had crawled but it would still be a time before darkness fell on them. The thought of it brought a mild panic. How will they see where to hold in the dark? He thought, worried for his brothers.

The arrival of night came with a behemoth of a moon. A dazzling, full white illuminating the expanse of the mountain. It was not enough to see clearly, but it was enough to see something. Anyone who paid enough attention would be grateful for the little sight.

Ezril saw more.

He often found gratitude for the times he spent in the darkness of the seminary’s nights. He put it to good use now. Midnight? he guessed as fatigue drew a yawn from his lips. Looking around revealed exposed rocks and boulders tempting enough to convince himself they would hold his weight. He just had to lie still while he slept.

He traversed the mountain, making for the promise of a bed. He reached a boulder jutting out. it was large enough to hold him. It was also strong enough. Holding on he thought better of his decision. He wouldn’t lie still. The thought itself was a delusion. It had been his need for sleep talking. He knew if he listened now, it was going to get him killed.

Only the best become priests of Truth. The realization hit him like a gust of wind.

This was also a test of endurance. If it was, then sleeping was certainly not the answer here.

The seminary expected them to keep heading for the top. Ezril doubted anywhere above him had any place big enough to sleep. It didn’t matter because the decision to sleep was a decision to die.

He continued, fighting the heaviness of his eye lids. The mountain didn’t simply diminish confidence with its size, there was something else. It turned his mind to lead. It raged for the control he had over it. In the battle for supremacy he felt his hold on it failing. Each climb was a step in defeat, like a game of war against Salem.

Sand sprinkled down on Ezril’s face and he closed his eyes against it. There had been no wind. Perhaps there was someone not too far ahead of him. The possibility brought a little calm to him. A grating sound teased his ear, then a slight tremor so brief he would have missed it. Ezril looked up and found a problem. Something that looked like a person was falling.

No! The thought wasn’t his, to be precise. In fact, it tore from his mind with a will of its own.

Ezril had no time to attend it. Despite its foreign existence, it echoed his feelings perfectly. He spared a quick glance beneath him. The action was quick, done within the breath it takes to draw a finger span of a blade from its sheath, and he spotted over three places he could catch if he dropped. Father Zakarid’ words prattled in his mind: “We humans are like animals. We preserve our lives first before we think of another’s. When it comes down to it, we will always save ourselves. The Hallowed are not so different. At best, we are more like the Titans of humanity.”

It felt like a twisted conscience. But the event of the night he had been made a pariah of Green Horn had been enough lesson for Ezril. He was duty bound to save himself. Saving Lenaria had done his life enough harm.

We think of ourselves first. He looked up, again. But this is not the Underbelly, it will not ruin my life.

No, an answer came almost immediately, it could end it.

Ezril hadn’t been wrong the first time. It was a body cascading down the mountain to meet. He found it strange that the person did not cry out, neither did his arms flail for purchase. He had known who it was the first time. Now, he was certain of it.

To save the boy from where he hung would be suicide. At thirty feet it was a daunting decision to save a life. He’d never thought it would be. He bowed his head from a touch of shame, unwilling to succumb to it. He closed his eyes, holding tight, his body pressed against the mountain side. Then he let go.

I don’t want to die.

It was not the first time he’d thought the words. But every time he thought them only one memory came to him: the night he’d burned in shadows.

He dropped. The breeze did nothing to blanket his fall. He felt it parting under his weight. It rushed past his ears, a whirl of sounds that reminded him of the rustling of a thousand leaves in the Elken forest. He braced himself against it, his muscles tensed in anticipation of what must be done, his eyes remaining focused, never leaving his falling brother. He would save him. Or we will die.

Then everything changed.