Thilmin

Thilmin

Feryn paced around the base of the Proving Tree, trailing one hand along the smooth, iron-hard bark. There were barely any ridges. It would be like climbing a sheet of ice. She rubbed her hands together, then blew on her palms for luck. She’d already taken off her leather boots, and now she dug her bare toes into the mossy forest floor, one last time.

She drew in a breath, trying to make it deep and even. But already her throat felt tight, her lungs raspy. Gracious God of Breath, watch over me, she prayed. Lady of Trials, give me strength. Feryn stretched up, dug her fingers into the highest ridge she could reach, and began to climb.

She kept her gaze focused up. It was a good thing it was night. She wouldn’t be able to see how far she had to fall. And it meant she could see the distant sparkle of the lanterns above, in the skydweller city. She could tell herself that one of them was his. Lighting his study, as he worked late at night.

Her arms already ached, but she pushed onward. Slow and careful, that was the key. That was what all the stories said. The ones who survived were cautious. They marshaled their strength. It was a long climb. The quickest recorded ascent was two hours.

Feryn felt as if she’d already been climbing for two days. She chanted silent prayers, counting her breaths, willing her lungs not to tighten. The lights seemed closer now. She could make out the brightest constellation, over to the west. The Woven Palace, home of the Lady of the Forest. Resting, wedged against a narrow ridge of bark, she stared at the faint green glow. He was there. Blissfully ignorant of her folly. Feryn hadn’t told him what she planned. She was too afraid he might have tried to stop her. But it was her choice.

Her arms were starting to stiffen. She had to keep going. She wasn’t going to be one of those aspirants who froze part way, and had to be plucked from the Proving Tree by rescuers. She would finish the climb. One way, or another.

She dragged herself up, toes scrabbling against chill, smooth bark. Her lungs were definitely starting to protest. She was breathing too fast. God of Breath, please.

Feryn pushed herself a few more inches. Keep going. She just had to keep going. Then she would be a skydweller too. They would be together. Her throat tightened. Her head spun. Even the lights far above turned hazy.

She reached. Her fingers slid. Slipped.

She fell.

Air rushed past. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breath at all.

Then something soft slammed into her. Pain drummed through her entire body. Her thoughts dimmed, turning black along the edges. She groaned. If it hurt this much, she must still be alive.

The softness hummed. No, purred. Feryn fisted her hands, and found them full of long, black fur. She lay flopped across the back of an enormous hunting cat. Great gold eyes turned back to blink at her, reproachfully. She released her grip on his fur.

“So were you actually trying to kill yourself, Feryn, or are you just that big a fool?” said a woman’s voice.

Feryn’s throat still felt like a vyse, her small, frantic breaths slipping through. She couldn’t answer. Arms caught her, pulling her off the back of the cat. A woman with long black braids woven with red-brown leaves regarded her with a grim expression. Feryn had never seen her sister look so angry, not even when Feryn had borrowed her favorite bow and broken it.

“Where’s your medicine?” asked Loreth, sharply.

Feryn managed to gesture weakly toward her pack, over beside her abandoned boots. Loreth stalked over, then returned with the vial, helping Feryn sip the bitter liquid. She sat with Feryn, the great hunting cat pacing a watchful perimeter, as her throat unlocked, and she finally could speak.

“Thank you.”

“What were you thinking?” Loreth demanded. “You can’t climb the Proving Tree. Not with your lungs!”

Feryn fumbled with the vial, her hands trembling as she fitted the cork back into place.

“And what do you need up there, anyway? The skyborn are useless. Weak. They wouldn’t last three minutes down here and they act like they’re gods, prancing about with their poetry and their fine manners.”

“They aren’t all like that,” rasped Feryn. “Some of them are kind.”

Loreth snorted. “If he’s that kind and wonderful and marvelous, why isn’t he coming down here and living groundside? Why is he letting you risk your life?”

“He doesn’t know,” said Feryn.

Loreth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The great cat gave a yowl of agreement, padding back to their sides. Feryn reached up, to scritch the spot between his silky ears. He began to purr, more forgiving, it seemed, than her sister.

“Look,” said Loreth, finally. “Climbing the Proving Tree isn’t the only way to become a skydweller. Please, Feryn. Try something else. For me.”

Feryn turned her gaze up, squinting at the distant blur of lights. Her chest gave a squeeze that had nothing to do with her weak lungs. But she knew Loreth was right. She would have to find another way.