Do birds fear the height upon which they live? Or find shortness of breath in the clouds? When your hands and feet become wings, so should your fear disappear and your breath strong.

-Excerpt from Assassinora Magique

Lisŗa breathed in and out. Slow, steady, draws of air enriched her muscles. The world around her became a muted place. When the sergeant yelled, “Go!” she sprung. Her feet found purchase on the raised logs planted in the obstacle course. She strode upwards, skipping a step if she had the momentum. Impetus was a resource she had spent her childhood honing on the rooftops of Cadeau. And here there were no shingles ready to break if she took a wrong step.

In seconds she was two storeys high. At least two others were immediately behind her, but she hadn’t noticed. She had blinded herself to everything but the path ahead. At the top of the logs was a wall, followed by nothing. A straight ten meter drop onto gravel. Lisŗa threw herself across and aligned herself to the flow of the fall. Her legs bent, her every muscle braced, she rolled into the momentum and lunged forward with it in the grasp of her aching bones. The pain was nothing. She kept moving.

Ahead, wood platforms swung on pendulums tied with vines. The vines were covered in half-inch spikes. The pendulums each began at a different stage of their oscillation. She jumped on the first and felt it wobble beneath her, bucking like an ill-behaved horse. The panic tempted her to grab hold of the vines for support as her foundation shook. It was every runner’s nightmare: to be beholden to the fears of gravity. Instead of submitting to that fear she replaced it with another. The fear of being pinned for a murder she did not commit.

She used the swing of the pendulum and jumped into the arrival of another platform. One had to stop thinking. Thoughts slowed the feet; those were fleeting moments when the pendulums were close to each other. Lisŗa stepped from platform to platform, swinging from one to another in instinctual leaps of faith. All while she kept an eye on what laid ahead.

The final challenge.

Three walls formed an open square, almost fully sheer except for round studs jutting but a few inches out of the cement. Nearly four storeys in totality. At the top was a balcony with a metal railing surrounded by bells. Some were the kind one might find on a house pet, others to call your children home for dinner. Lisŗa didn’t think about why, she only knew she mustn’t slow down. The last platform led straight into the hollow formed by the three walls; there was nowhere to take a break. Below was a humiliating safety net that mocked whoever would need it.

Lisŗa landed on the last platform as it was moving towards her and felt something in her ankle twist. Stopping was failure. She switched to her other leg and jumped, reaching for the studs. Her palms closed around one as the tips of her shoes scraped against the sides of the wall to a dead stop. Brief elation erased the throbbing in her ankle. The next stud upwards was about six feet; far too high to jump to. But the wall to her right had studs that were low enough. She jumped from wall to wall, thrusting with her legs. She could no longer stop by grabbing onto the studs, not while she had the power of her legs behind her movement. Lisŗa followed the spiral pattern of studs, using them as stepping stones. Each complete rotation forced her to jump between the parallel surfaces. The lack of a fourth wall completing the square made matters much more difficult.

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She felt at least two nails splinter. Her fingertips were red. Only two more rotations around the square to go. Her thighs burned, her calves felt as though they might split. One more to go. She swore she felt a toe break when she kicked off the last stud. It didn’t matter anymore.

Bloodied fingers closed around the bars of the balcony. She pulled herself up and jumped over. The tips of her feet landed first, then the rest of her soles, silencing her final step. And her body had missed every bell. A strange pitch rang in her ears. Her hands and feet were numb. Sweat stung her eyes. Her ankle was reminding her vigorously. But when she looked over the balcony, she saw that the only two participants close to her had fallen into the net. The others were even farther behind.

The test was done. She took the stairs leading back down to the ground. Chessie was waiting for her, barely suppressing a smile.

“Think you made it?” She asked.

“I… can’t think right now,” Lisŗa said, panting heavily. Her whole body began to feel like a swarm of bees.

All around the camp, other similar courses had been set up. Some were just like the one she had just completed. She watched a participant topple off a platform and sprawled out, hands first on the gravel. Hollering ensued. In another field, recruits were assessed by levitating objects, or peering into a strange prism. In another, thin blades clinked against each other as sergeant sparred with amateur.

“How did you do?” Lisŗa said. Her throat was hoarse. They walked to the watering stations together. Tables of prepared water canteens waited.

Three pebbles lifted off the ground and suspended above Chessie’s palm. She then began to juggle them without contact.

“Runs in the family,” Chessie said. “As was expected. What is interesting is where you learned to do all… that.”

Lisŗa took a long drink from a canteen and clumsily set it back down on the table. Her hands were shaking.

“I stole things,” she said. “A small number of us did. It was either run or get caught by the lawmen. I was the last one.”

“You were that good, huh?” Chessie remarked.

“No, no no,” Lisŗa replied with a chuckle. “They all grew up.”

They sat on a boulder, watching the other recruits struggle, fail, and succeed. Now that she had passed her course, she felt a brief calm. The ordeal became just a memory.

“They all went to work,” Lisŗa said. “Building cartwheels and steam machines, selling wares, cutting wood, tending kitchens or stables.” Lisŗa wiped her eyes with her forearm. “Valdren, my mother, had enough money to put me through the Academia, and I skipped half the classes. And now I’m here, hoping I don’t get sacrificed so a noble family could save face.”

Chessie thought for a moment and prepared to speak, but a shadow fell over them. Lisŗa looked up and saw a man in an overcoat. The captain. She hadn’t seen him since his abrupt approach weeks ago. Lisŗa leapt to her feet despite how much her joints protested.

“Were you taught what I just saw?” The captain’s voice was low, and very nearly drowned out by the noise all around them.

“No, sir,” she said.

“Hm…” He turned to leave.

“Wait! I… sir. If I may ask what specialization are you?”

“Scoutrunner. Karavane Hawks.”

“Do you think there’s potential in me? To become a valuable member of the Karavane?”

The captain glared through her.

“Not with those eyes,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Lisŗa exclaimed. “Sir.”

“You think you’re already dead.”

The captain left. Lisŗa ran after him, shouting, “Wait!” But in a single movement he had gone, as though slipped through the cracks in the world.