Chương 32

All things lie within the Infinite Sea. Horrors and glory alike. The knife passed straight through the figure, clattering into the underbrush with nothing more than a ripple. The figure didn't even notice. They're… made of Water? Blue-green liquid stood tall, lit from within by the complicated crossing of silver and gold lines. It formed a body, tall and lanky, and was clad in something between robes and armor. Sleek panels that resembled layered horn clad their chest, shoulders, and hips.

Pale hands lifted to its hood, and with a sloshing motion they tossed it back. A severe face emerged from the fleck of foam, bearing a close-cropped beard atop a strong chin and below an aquiline nose. Eyes as dark as onyx raked across him and Adhira both, his gaze sharper than Harker's lost knife. Harker glanced aside, hunting for Stillwater, but the Eidhrin was gone. A stroke of luck. He had no idea if the figure could detect a Gilken, but there was no reason to risk it.

Pressure pulled his attention back to the Watery figure. It swelled against him, as if something were moving through the Sea in his direction. A sonorous thrum came with it, as if the bells of an ancient shrine were being struck.

"Threllsnacht is three days past." The man's voice was sharp as his eyes, and contained the hint of an accent Harker couldn't place.

"The Charterstones have gone quiescent. All potential Aspirants are on their way…or should be.

"Chartermarked of the Phaar Region, I bid you welcome to the first step toward your destiny." Harker pulsed his Talent, expanding it swiftly to five feet. Seated as he was, the dizziness was far easier to bear, but there was nothing to sense. The figure before them might as well have been made of shadow.

"I am Magister Sivak of the Nine Spires Academy. I speak from the Travelspire, where I wait with the Ordeal Tribunal for your arrival." The man paused as if expecting applause. Harker remained silent, though he did shoot a glance at Adhira. She was likewise quiet, but her brows were drawn and her hand was tight around her axe. She only had eyes for the magister.

"Your mark is an oath, one designed in the forgotten days after the Seas tried to swallow all of Teyr. It calls upon those that would defend our lands from the dark denizens of the Sea, and in so doing, seize the glory of the Depths for their own." There was an almost vicious cast to the man's bearded face. Bubbles roiled beneath the surface of his projected skin only to release from his shoulders with a trailing hiss.

"None of you have taken this oath lightly, but know that it binds your soul as much as your body. As you traverse the islands on your way to the Travelspire, hold tight to that ancient promise. Do not fail the Ancestors or yourself.

"Now." He clapped his hands, and again that deep bell sounded. It was distant and muffled by the Water.

"You all are here today, eager to join the Nine Spires Academy. This is commendable and a credit to your family's name. To master the Spires is to vie for a place amongst legends, and I do not say that lightly. Every momentous figure in the history of the islands has graced our halls at some point in their lives. It was there that they discovered the power of their Talent, and where they learned to fight the Aberrant threat on a scale you cannot imagine."

The magister tilted his chin up, his beard not disguising his sharp jawline.

"We are the first line of defense against all that dwells within the Infinite Sea. The duty of those with Talent is to serve—but power draws power. If you join us, you will grow beyond your limitations and Descend to the greatest of Depths! By the time you reach the top of the Spires, even your own mother won't recognize who you've become!"

"However. While you have taken the mark, your place with us is not set in stone. Strength is earned, Chartermarked. Never forget that. Acceptance into the Academy is not so easily attained. You must all reach the Travelspire in your region and that alone might be an insurmountable task." He bared his teeth.

"From there, you take the Nine Ordeals." Adhira's jaw flexed, and her hand gripping the axe went white around the knuckles. Her gaze was still fixed on the magister in a way that made Harker nervous—as if she was a hairsbreadth away from violence. That…doesn't bode well. Harker leaned closer to the Watery ghost. Who is he to her?

"You have all heard of the Nine Ordeals, no doubt, but in case you are unfamiliar I will list them for all of you. I am a magister, after all." Sivak smirked and gestured. Lines of radiance broke free from his Watery shape, silver and gold arcs that formed into a list of words.

The Ordeal Of Maelstrom's Passage - The Trial Of Power The Ordeal Of Blackwake's Descent - The Trial Of Truth The Ordeal Of Breaking Reef - The Trial Of Change The Ordeal Of Tidal Climb - The Trial Of Resilience This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The Ordeal of Deep Lantern - The Trial Of Harmony The Ordeal of Drowning Sky - The Trial Of Vigilance The Ordeal of Mist and Foam - The Trial Of Stillness The Ordeal of Siren's Undertow - The Trial Of Judgment The Ordeal of Abyssal Plunge - The Trial Of Ambition"Each Ordeal will test you for qualities the Nine Spires prizes, but know that these trials are not for the faint of heart or weak of Talent. Only the best will move onward into the Nine Spires, while all others will be cast aside.

The weak have no place among the Spires except as stepping stones for the ascension of their betters. A necessary sacrifice for the foundation that holds Teyr above the hungry waters.

"It is up to you, marked, which you will be. The fallen. Or the victorious." The magister paused again, and this time Harker was certain he was waiting for applause. They way Sivak spoke suggested he wasn't only talking to the pair of them, but to all Chartermarked in the region. He could easily imagine that somewhere on the islands were a knot of Talented that were absolutely giddy with the contents of the magister's speech. Harker could only muster a dull dread, but it was a familiar feeling.

For all his fancy words, Magister Sivak had said nothing new. The strong rule and the weak… they were disposable resources. Stepping stones. No. Harker's hand found the hilt of his new dagger. While the Vestige had granted him a measure of power, he was still far weaker than people like Adhira. He wasn't a Knack any longer, but it didn't matter. There would always be someone stronger. It doesn't matter. If someone tries to step on me, I'll sever their ankle.

A familiar frustration burned at him, his stomach twisting and skin tightening as an itch crept across his shoulders. He wanted to stand, to shout—to do anything—but he held it back. Attention was not what would serve Harker in the moment. More than anything, he needed information, and the magister was giving it in droves.

"I cannot imagine you'll choose anything but victory," he was saying, his sharp smile turning as if he could really see the pair of them.

"The Travelspire awaits you, Chartermarked. Find us and claim your glory… but you are not alone. Two thousand contenders walk this region, more than ever before, yet the Nine Spires cannot take you all. While it is true that you must reach the Travelspire to progress onward, that is not your only duty. You must also consider your ranking." Magister Sivak gestured and the names of the Ordeals rearranged themselves. Script scrawled across the air, forming a long column marked by numbers from one to one hundred.

Beside them were names. What is this? Chartermark Leaderboard - Phaar Region Temra Kalkos Yvain Staal Viv Gardiva Adhira Demir Janovan Saar … Ashur Fife Adhira is number four. The twist in Harker's gut intensified. And I'm not on it at all.

"This leaderboard ranks all of the Chartermarked in the Phaar Region against one another. As the most astute among you have surely noticed, it does not have enough spaces for all of you. Yet, only those ranked within the top one hundred will be allowed to take their Ordeals." What? Sivak bared his teeth again.

"Yes. I can see that some of you are surprised. It is but one filter to ensure that only the strongest of Talents will proceed onward. Only those who are dedicated to Descending the Sea can master their Spire. Only those that divest themselves of their limitations will find the infinite.

"Only then will you be able to learn what you must." Right. And we'll be the most benefit to the Academy too.

"Your ranking is determined by…eveything. Just as chance encounters will affect your journey, so too will they influence your ranking amongst your peers. From Aberrants slain on the road, your bodily refinement, and even your ingenuity as challenges arise. Most important, however, is your speed." Sivak lifted three stout fingers into the air.

"The first three Chartermark to reach the Travelspire will earn themselves a hefty bonus to their ranking. One that is not easily overcome." The words and the ranking itself were sharpened goads, but Harker held himself still. He hated that the magister's speech, clearly intended to drive him onward, was so effective. Yet he couldn't deny the urge to set off immediately despite the oncoming dark.

"Some of you have already headed out." Sivak laughed.

"It is natural to eke every advantage you can from this moment. But remember, your effort is all that matters. Even the last arrival could win it all. It entirely depends upon you. For within the Sea, all things are possible." Harker narrowed his eyes, searching the bearded man's expresion. He looked…pleased. How did he know some had already headed out? Either the magister was making a logical guess, or there was a way to track them through their Chartermark. Harker couldn't discount anything yet.

"I'm certain the rest of you linger on in the hopes of learning how best to advance up the leaderboard." Sivak laughed.

"I will say nothing. The best lessons are learned by doing. What I will mention, however, is that at the end of this journey the top five in the rankings will receive a gift. A Boon to aid them in their Descent." Harker's mouth went dry. Boons could be many things, from heirloom artifacts to manuals on body refinement, even powerful recipes. He flexed his legs, fighting the urge to stand. To run through the Gnarl.

Harker ached for such a prize, even as his gut twisted at the idea that someone else would take it from him.

"Time is of the essence." The magister gestured, and the lines of silver rearranged into a familiar group of numbers. The countdown.

"This timer will now be available through your mark. Reach your designated Travelspire before the countdown falls to zero, and you will have passed." He snapped his fingers, and the countdown sprang apart, the lines reassembling into formless shapes that swam about the man. Teeth, eyes, and grasping limbs flashed past before fading back into the dark.

"Fail and your oath will be broken. Fail, and you alone will suffer the consequences." He smiled but his dark onyx eyes were flat and empty as a shark's.

"Your Ordeal has already begun."