I hesitate, then stand. Walk farther into the pool and scoop up the first weapon I see. A knife.
UNWORTHY.
“Rotting … gods-damnedvek.” I drop it again into the soulless water, gaining instant relief from the staining discomfort the impression brings. This test has almost certainly gone wrong: I’ve assumed as much ever since the panicked voice screamed “synchronous,” and I very much doubt that whatever I did to command the statue was an intended part of the trial.
“Don’t suppose you could tell me what to do next?” I ask the symbol-covered silver figure that still stands motionless by the entrance. There’s no answer, as expected, but my weary smile slips as I consider.The worthy or the riven. The first is clearly not happening. The second … gods. I have no idea. But what it does suggest is that the druids’ task is different: If nothing else, there are no staves lying around in this pool to administer the same sort of test.
So perhaps what I managed to do to this sentinel, is at least an approximation of whattheyare meant to do?
I haul myself to my feet and grasp its shoulder. “Get me past the black statues outside. Alive,” I add, as a hurried afterthought.
There’s a long moment where nothing happens, and my heart begins to sink.
Then the silver form grips my arm, and starts to drag me toward the entrance.
“Ow. Vek. Wait!” I wrest myself free again. Shake my arm, glare irritably at the frozen-again statue, and think. Tara’s comment to me as we parted makes more sense now; I suppose that by using thenasceannbefore coming here, my spear has already implied that I am “worthy.” So I could surely use it in battle, rather than one from here. Still. I needsomethingto prove to Lir—truthfully or not—that I went through this gods-damned test. “Just …wait.”
I spend the next ten minutes picking up every sword, knife, and spear in the pool. Some are beautiful weapons, the nine symbols on them gilded and masterfully crafted. Others are roughly made, entirely unremarkable except for their inscribed patterns.
No matter their appearance, though, every single one shivers a sickeningUNWORTHYthrough me, again and again, until I drop it. Without fear for my life coursing through me, I’m barely able to withstand the nauseating wave of sensation that accompanies it.
Eventually, I return to the silver statue. Stand, and peer out over the pool grimly. I just don’t know. Perhaps if this test had gone the way it should, I’d at least have a better understanding of what I need to show on the other side of it.
“Rotting …” I put my hand on the statue’s shoulder once more. “Bring me something I can use to prove to adraoithat I passed this gods-damned test.”
The silver form doesn’t move for a second, and I sigh, assuming it’s not going to work.
Then it turns. Strides through the pool and over to the body of its fallen counterpart. Reaches down and with a series of sharp, twisting motions, wrenches the body’s left arm from its shoulder joint.
I watch the violence with vaguely disturbed horror, even if it’s not against flesh. The statue returns and thrusts the arm at me, an almost angry motion.
“No need to be petulant.” I take it. It’s hollow, though the silver is still thick enough that it’s almost too heavy to hold one-handed.
“Alright. This will work,” I eventually mutter, understanding even as I struggle with its weight. There’s no way I can secure it to the stump on my arm, but it doesn’t matter. The symbol alone will be enough.
I stare at the statue. Motionless again in front of me, but this … this choice was a reaction. Based on situational awareness. Based onme.
I put my hand on its shoulder once again. “Are you able to communicate?”
No answer.
I hold my breath until I’m certain nothing is forthcoming, then let it out witha sigh. Above, the moon has started heading for the horizon. “Probably for the best; I get the impression you don’t like me much. Get me safely out of Fornax.”
The statue moves and before I can resist, wraps impossibly strong fingers around my waist, painfully tight. I shout in alarm, drop the silver arm and try to twist away, but it’s hoisting me, throwing me unceremoniously over its broad shoulder and pinning me there with one hand. Then, as I snarl against the uninvited abuse, it crouches and picks up the arm.
Leaves the massive atrium, and the golden glow of the Aurora Columnae, behind us.
I recover my senses enough to put my hand against its silver flesh. “If it’s … safe for me to … just walk … then let me down … you ass,” I gasp as the air is jostled from my lungs.
The statue keeps on moving.
“Rotting … gods-damned …vek.” I force myself to stop fighting the thing’s grip, and do my best to position myself more comfortably. The statue is moving at the same deliberate pace it adopted when chasing me. We have two or three miles to travel to get to the other side of the lake. Probably an hour of this, at minimum.
I grit my teeth, and try to ignore the powerlessness of the situation. If this is what it takes, then this is what it takes.
I’m carted in undignified fashion out through the short, dark passageway. Can’t help but tense, heart pounding, ears straining, as the dribbling water runs over me and then the outer archway is in my sight behind us.
Cold, thunderous clacking of stone against stone again, and my breath shortens to panic.
