The scene is pure confusion, a symphony of bewildered muttering and frantic glances. A nervous murmur ripples through the crowd, creating a sea of bewilderment that mirrors my own feelings.
The ever-stoic <mark>Ahiras</mark>, however, remain unruffled. As the other participants huddle together in their provincial groups, seeking solace in familiarity, the <mark>Ahiras</mark>, unsurprisingly, form their exclusive circle.
No invitation comes my way, of course. No whispered strategy, no shared knowledge. If this was the Let’s Pretend This Girl Doesn’t Exist trial, they’d already been winners. I’m tempted to unleash a torrent of frustration at these self-absorbed sorcerers. But the words die in my throat, replaced by a weary sigh as I swallow my pride like I have done all my life and approach them to hear their conversation.
“It’s sorcery, for sure,” <mark>Maleed</mark> states confidently. He is the most senior of our group, with a shock of raven hair and five rings adorning his fingers. It’s been a decade since he earned his fifth ring, and the elusive sixth remains out of his reach, a sign that he may never gain it. “Perhaps a sort of <mark>sorcerous</mark> pull, drawing them directly into the castle.”
“Bound sorcery, <mark>mayhaps</mark>,” <mark>Alyzan</mark> adds, his fiery red hair catching the afternoon sun. “Like an invisible tether, connecting <mark>Martysh</mark> folks to the castle.”
“It must be potent magic,” <mark>Kameel</mark>, a soldier of the <mark>Firelands</mark>’ army and the newest member of the five-ringed society, murmurs thoughtfully. “To last so long on each person… perhaps it’s embedded in an object? An artifact they carry that grants them passage?”
“A pilfered key would open the door for any thief. Hardly a secure system,” <mark>Eshavan</mark> counters. His gaze is locked on the fortress, and a contemplative frown appears on his face. Moments later, a spark of understanding lights up his expression, and he declares, “The oath. It has to be the oath.”
A collective gasp spreads among the <mark>Ahiras</mark>. The Oath of <mark>Martysh</mark>, a solemn vow taken upon joining their ranks, is a promise of steadfast loyalty to the order and the maintenance of peace within the Union. This pact is sealed with powerful sorcery, ensuring that any act of betrayal leads to swift and ruthless consequences—death. It serves as a lifelong bond, tying the oath-taker to their commitment. It appears that the Oath of <mark>Martysh</mark> acts as both a <mark>sorcerous</mark> bond and a key, granting those who have sworn it access to <mark>Jahanwatch</mark>.
“We also swore an oath,” Pippin points out.
He is right. Before the <mark>Martyshmen</mark> escorted us here, down in the valley, we all swore a solemn oath: no harm to <mark>Martyshmen</mark>, no blabbing about the trials to anyone except fellow contenders, and no leading enemies to <mark>Jahanwatch’s</mark> doorstep. The same sorcery that binds this oath will also wipe our memories clean if we fail the trials.
<mark>Alizan</mark> retorts sarcastically, “If that oath was enough on its own, getting into the castle wouldn’t be a test, would it?”
“If the key to enter is the <mark>Martysh’s</mark> oath, then there’s no point in beating a dead rock,” <mark>Maleed</mark> declares, gesturing dismissively towards a group of <mark>Jamshahis</mark> already huddled at the mountain’s base, their hands frantically exploring the barren rock for a secret entrance.
I look around in confusion. The oath, then? But what good is that to us? We don’t know the spell, and even if we did, using sorcery is forbidden during the trials.
“Scaling the cliff face seems impossible,” <mark>Kameel</mark> remarks, observing a <mark>Jamshahi’s</mark> futile attempt to ascend the smooth, sheer rock wall. We’ve left all our gear, including ropes and climbing tools, behind in the valley, making this approach <mark>unviable</mark>.
“Perhaps reaching the base of the castle walls would offer a better climbing opportunity,” Pippin suggests. A counsel that sounds funny coming from a man who’s more likely to trip over a pebble than scale a mountain.
“We know that, but how do we get from the cliff to the wall?” <mark>Alizan</mark> retorts, exasperated.
“<mark>Jahanwatch</mark> is <mark>unsiegeable</mark> for a reason. If scaling its sheer face were possible, the castle wouldn’t have stood for three centuries.” <mark>Maleed</mark> asserts.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Then there must be a hidden passage around this rock!” <mark>Kameel</mark> speculates.
<mark>Eshavan</mark>, a portrait of composure <mark>amidst</mark> the growing chaos, finally speaks. “We will search the surrounding area. If anyone finds the passage or even a hint of it, sound the Fire Temple whistle. Don’t enter alone. I’ll examine the rock face.”
And just like that, they all scatter like pigeons at a falcon’s shriek, disappearing into the dense foliage surrounding the rock face. I stand alone, watching <mark>Eshavan</mark> stride purposefully towards the wall. A solitary figure. As always, cloaked in an air of mystery as thick as the mountain mist.
Two <mark>Hamdeni</mark> fellows are scampering up a nearby tree as their eyes scan the surroundings. Taking a cue from their practical approach, I also decide to move. I avoid the area where <mark>Eshavan</mark> is standing and approach the rock. My hand eventually touches the cold stone. It feels solid, with no hidden seams or concealed levers. If there’s a passage behind this barrier, there must be a trigger or some sort of activation lever. Maybe there’s a handle cleverly disguised among the foliage? The <mark>Eyrians</mark>, all seeming to think the same, are carefully searching the base of the trees, using their fingers to probe beneath every rock and branch.
Primitive, I think.
It all feels… unrefined. The prize is a lifetime of glory, and the only skill required is blind luck? Is this how they measure worthiness? By who can stumble upon a hidden door handle before others? It’s a hollow victory at best, I reckon.
Suddenly, a subtle shift catches my eye. The <mark>Izadeonians</mark>, the only group yet to succumb to the initial frenzy, stand huddled together, not far from me. One of them, a towering figure with the body of a seasoned warrior, mirrors my actions. His hands glide across the stubborn stone as the others are engaged in a hushed conversation. Could they have also sensed something amiss, and that is why they are not moving like others? Is there a hidden layer to this peculiar rite that eludes the rest of us?
I survey the surroundings once again. The <mark>Jamshahis</mark> have abandoned their futile assault on the rock face and are now venturing into the dense foliage on the castle’s right flank. Meanwhile, Lila and her fellow <mark>Kishi</mark> women showcase their resourcefulness by fashioning makeshift ropes from vines, creepers, and sturdy grasses they’ve discovered in the vicinity. A clever tactic, indeed!
There must be a clue, a hidden message, a whisper on the wind that we are all too oblivious to hear—something so obvious that it’s easily overlooked. I scrutinize every unremarkable stone, every babbling brook, every tree, and every bush. But, they all blur together, a monotonous landscape devoid of any anomaly to break the spell of normalcy.
The solution may be beyond this immediate area. My mind wanders back to our trek from the valley, searching for any overlooked clues. The <mark>Martyshmen</mark> were tight-lipped, offering minimal interaction. The only notable event was their instructions to leave all our belongings at the inn. We set off at dawn with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the weight of anticipation.
My thoughts drift to the three <mark>Martyshyars</mark>. Their instructions were cryptic, and the rules were barely explained. The rules are simple, their leader had proclaimed. Each designed to test your strength, cunning, and resolve, he’d declared. The first trial commences now. Mark well, this is a solitary endeavor. This is a solitary endeavor. This is a solitary endeavor.
The words reverberate in my mind. Everyone else is struggling collectively. Only <mark>Eshavan</mark>, myself, and the <mark>Izadeonian</mark> man are standing alone.
Could the key to entry be something only <mark>discoverable</mark> in solitude? If so, then perhaps I am not completely disadvantaged. Solitude has been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. I’ve studied alone, dined alone, and thrived in the quiet company of my own thoughts. Conversation itself was often a foreign language, replaced by a self-directed internal exchange born of necessity. Drawing on this ingrained habit, I turn towards the towering castle walls and plead with a low voice, “Please, let me in.”
Why do you wish to enter?
A deep, unhurried voice unexpectedly echoes in the vast expanse of my mind, causing me to flinch. My heart thunders. A quick glance around confirms that everyone else remains engrossed in their own activities, oblivious to the voice that reverberated within my core. Alarm threatens to consume me, but a flicker of excitement follows in its wake.
My eyes settle on the <mark>Izadeonian</mark> man standing nearby. He suddenly turns his head towards me. A puzzled frown creases his brow as if my startled expression perplexes him. I quickly avert my gaze, focusing once more on the castle walls. Hesitantly, I project another thought while silently mouthing the words, “Are you… in my head?”
I shall not answer questions,
The voice replies, its resonance sending shivers down my spine.
This has to be it, the key to enter the fortress. Taking a deep breath, I implore the unseen presence, “Please grant me entry.”
The relentless voice resonates once more,
State your purpose.
A multitude of reasons floods my mind: adventure, glory, recognition, a chance to prove myself. But as I sift through them, a purer, more genuine motive rises to the surface, eclipsing all others.
“I long for a place to belong,” I whisper under my breath.
And with that, the world fades to black.