Chapter 15

It felt different marching through the streets than it had that morning. The gems on the Tower as we left had shown we were just an hour from Dusk. Jaxon had spent almost 11 hours on his single climb. A crazy thing, considering how dangerous the second floor had been. How he’d made it to the fourth, I was eager to know. I had every intention of speaking with him, when I got the chance, to hear his tales.

Without our ceremonial boots, our footfalls were nowhere near as loud as when we’d marched towards the Tower that morning. As if to make up for that lack of sound though, the cheers of the people were even more jubilant. When we’d departed to begin the Reaping, the crowd had been the largest I’d ever seen. This new crowd that greeted us, and all the people that swarmed the streets we marched down as we made our way towards Climbers Rest, dwarfed even that.

No one spoke as we marched. We were serious, somber. The Commander’s speech, our final salute, had sobered everyone. Right now, we were one. The significance of this moment, the finality of this final march, kept our tongues silent. We marched through the cheers, past the smiling faces, with dignity and discipline. It was what Commander Phyr had asked of us, and we were all resolved to honor it.

The path through town was a long one. The barracks we’d lived in for the past eight years had been nestled away from the rest of the city, in a massive, self-enclosed expanse where we lived and trained alongside all the other recruits of all different ages. Every year we got older, the group above us would graduate, and we’d become more senior. At the same time, new recruits would join, and the process would continue. Traditionally, the most senior class would mentor the class beneath them, and I couldn’t help but wonder how my mentor was doing. He’d be at Climber’s Rest. Would he remember me? I thought of my own mentee. He’d been smaller than I was, but fast. How would he do in next year’s Reaping? How far would he climb?

Those thoughts faded away as we continued down the hill that existed near the base of the tower, from which the Cathedral perched above all, into the heart of the city. Stone structures on all sides, streets lit by the tower’s glow and the acolytes magic lamps. There were store fronts, pubs, inns, homes. Smells of all sorts wafted through the air, and colors of all sorts hung in various spots, be they clothing shops, or on art pieces, or even the signs on the stony faces of some of the buildings.

It was a lot to take in, but also brought up vague memories from childhood. I didn’t remember my parents. The city brought kids up together. We’d lived with all the other children who hadn’t yet turned 10 and received their marks, with volunteers constantly overseeing our care from day to day. It had been a carefree life, one of happiness, where we wanted for nought and had plenty to do. Once a week, I recalled vaguely, we’d be taken around the city, our keepers explain the different types of shops, the different roles of the people of the city. Even now in the crowd I could see the occasional child poking their head out or sitting atop an adult’s shoulders.

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Had I watched the parade when I was younger? I think I did, but those thoughts, those memories, had been long buried by the past eight years of constant training and instruction.

Still downward we marched, on and on, until we reached the very base of the massive, cavernous expanse that housed our city. In this, on the final edge of the Tower’s warm light, was a giant building. It looked like a fortress, a monolith in its own right, with perfectly squared edges, towering up and up. There were hundreds, thousands of windows going up the building, and I counted at least fifteen layers to the structure. On each corner of the building, a spire extended even higher. Each spire emitted a powerful glow of light, illuminating the area, amplifying the light from the Tower to bathe the whole area in a warm, comforting light.

We marched to the very front of the building, past an expanse filled with obstacle courses, sparring dummies, and battle pits. Only when we reached the double doors, ornate wooden pillars a good ten feet in height, and equally as wide, did our Commander call for the platoon to halt. We stood there in silence, waiting before the closed doors. An uncertain energy flowed through the ranks as the seconds ticked by.

Commander Phyr’s back grew as he took in a massive breath, his head tilting back slightly, just as the anxious energy within the platoon reached its peak. Then, his voice bellowed, louder than ever, as if he were trying to force the doors open with his voice alone.

“Presenting,” the words reverberated through us. “The One-Thousand, Seven Hundredth Class of Climbers.” He took another breath. “Do you accept.”

The doors rumbled open, bathing the Commander, and our platoon, with an even brighter light. A figure stood there, in the doorway, smiling.

“I do.” she said softly. Her voice was frail, her tone quiet, and yet, there was something about her, some air around her, that screamed power and authority. From my position in the platoon, I couldn’t see all her features, but she looked young. Too young, compared to our Commander, whose skin was weathered and worn, whose eyes were constant shadows. The woman standing in the doorway seemed closer to our age, than his. And yet, there was no doubting who, at that moment, held the power. “Release your charges,” she said gently, but it was a command. “And be released as well.”

The Commander did an about face, spinning to face us. His heels clicked loudly together, and he once again drew in a deep, powerful breath.

“Platoon,” his voice roared once more. “Dismissed.”