He kept training.
But always that door within him remained stubbornly closed. He visualised it over and over in every possible way: it opening gently; it bursting open; battering at it; throwing himself against it; heaving at it with all his might. Once he strained so hard that he came out of the trance gasping and shaking. But despite his sweat-drenched clothes, there had been no change in the flame.
‘That’s enough for today,’ the Elder Steward said gently.
‘No, I can keep going. If I just—’
‘Will, stop. We don’t know what the strain will do to you. This is an unknown path for us both.’
‘But I almost had it!’ He spoke thickly, frustrated.
‘Rest and sleep,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘Return tomorrow.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘WHAT DOES HE have to do?’ said Will.
There was a tense, expectant hush that hung over the crowd, every eye fixed on the lone figure in silver who stood on the sawdust with only a sword in his hand.
All the Stewards, janissaries and novitiates in the Hall had gathered to watch the test, filling stands that ringed what must once have been a great amphitheatre. Its arches and columns had crumbled, but it still conjured up a past of mighty contests. The anticipation was a sharp metallic tang, like the sound of a sword unsheathing.
Will sat with Violet and a handful of others, and he asked his question of Emery and Beatrix, who were perched taut on the edge of their marble step, because the lone figure on the sawdust was their friend Carver.
‘We practise triten – sword patterns,’ said Emery, answering Will’s question. ‘He has to finish three triten to pass; any less is a failure.’ Emery drew in a nervous breath. ‘You know his test is a year early. Most novitiates aren’t ready until they turn twenty. But Justice was eighteen. And of course everyone thinks—’ Emery broke off.
Will followed Emery’s glance across the amphitheatre and saw Cyprian sitting beside his father, the perfect straight-backed novitiate. This was a test Cyprian would take at sixteen, a prodigy. Will could see Cyprian’s future in this ceremony, his shining excellence eclipsing quiet Carver, no one doubting that he would pass his test and become a Steward like his brother.
‘Carver can perform the triten as quickly or slowly as he likes, but if the tip of his sword falters, he will fail,’ Emery said.
It didn’t seem like very much. Will had seen Violet practising the Steward sword patterns in their rooms night after night. Most novitiates had mastered them by the age of eleven or twelve. After that, it was just the endless Steward quest for perfection.
‘That’s all? He just has to complete three of the Steward patterns?’
Emery nodded.
Will looked back at the arena. On the sawdust, Carver was walking forward to face the Elder Steward, who sat on a simple wooden stool at the front of the stands. He wore armour, his surcoat the silvery-grey colour of the novitiates. He knelt in front of the Elder Steward in a traditional bow of respect that Will had seen Justice and other Stewards perform, fist over his heart. He has been training for this day his whole life, Will thought.
‘You seek to wear the star,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘To join the Stewards in their fight against the Dark.’
‘I do,’ said Carver.
‘Then rise and prove your strength,’ said the Elder Steward, her touch to his shoulder a benediction.
Carver stood.
Two Stewards emerged from one of the archways, carrying a metal casket between them with poles like a palanquin.
Will didn’t know what to expect as the two Stewards came towards Carver, lowering the metal casket to the ground, but in the next moment the Stewards were pushing back the latches of the casket and throwing it open.
Wrong. That was what Will felt the moment the casket opened. Inside lay a metal belt made to fit around the waist. Seeing it made Will sickeningly uneasy. It reminded him of the armour pieces that he had seen the Remnants wear on the chase across the marsh, the gauntlet reaching out for him. Don’t touch it! he wanted to stand up and shout. His fingers curled as he gripped his seat.
Before he could say anything, the Stewards drew the belt from the casket with metal pincers and put it around Carver’s waist.
The effect on Carver was immediate. He almost staggered, his skin turning grey. Carver was wearing plate armour. The metal belt wasn’t touching his body. But Will had seen Dark objects kill people even at a distance, like the sword and its black fire. The belt didn’t need to touch Carver’s skin to affect him.