Page 119 of Of Empires and Dust

The Path We Have Chosen

12thDay of the Blood Moon

Berona – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Rist collapsed,his lungs heaving, sweat pumping from every inch of skin on his body. He knelt on all fours, his palms flat against the stone.

His stomach lurched and his mouth salivated.Don’t throw up.He swallowed hard, holding his breath and tensing.Don’t. Throw. Up.

“Better.” All Rist could see were Garramon’s feet, bare except for a pair of sandals. The man placed a wooden plate before Rist, laden with slabs of fresh cooked beef dripping in gravy and a pile of buttered mashed potatoes bigger than a horse’s turd.

Rist dry heaved, pushing the vomit down.

“If you puke on the food, you’re still eating it.”

That was it. That was what broke him. Rist lurched to his side and retched, the familiar metallic taste sliding up his throat.His puke was orange, made so by the carrots he’d forced down only hours before. Chunks of chewed meat decorated the spew, lying amongst other – completely unidentifiable – remnants of partially digested vegetables.

Above him, Garramon sighed. “Whatever you puke up, we’ll have to replace.”

“I know.” Rist wiped the vomit from the corner of his mouth, then reached his hand up.

Garramon hauled Rist to his feet.

“You’re going to have to learn to keep it down.”

Rist nodded, leaning his head back, cold sweat dripping down his torso. “Water?”

“Can you keep it down?”

“Water, please.”

Garramon handed Rist a waterskin, which he drained in its entirety, savouring the cold as it flowed down his throat. A few seconds later, he immediately regretted that decision as he spewed up a flow of clear liquid.

“Eat,” Garramon said, shaking his head. “And then we will channel.”

Rist dropped to the floor and folded his legs, staring at the slabs of beef as though they were poison.

“You agreed to this, Rist. I warned you.”

“This isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“Your mind is strong. Your grasp of the Spark already far exceeds that of any with your summers. But mind and body work in tandem, and your body, quite simply, is not up to the task. If you push yourself past your limits now, youwilldie. And I for one would prefer that not happen.”

“That would be my preference also.” Rist swallowed hard, then let out a heavy sigh as he bit into a slab of beef. He was absolutely sure it would have been one of the best tasting piecesof meat he’d ever eaten if his mouth hadn’t already been coated with the acrid taste of vomit.

“You will only get one chance at the testing. You need to be ready before that day comes.”

Rist knew what that meant. It had already been made clear to him. Those who failed the test had a high likelihood of dying. The more powerful a mage became, the greater the risks. The larger the flame, the bigger the fire. Young, untested mages were more likely to burn the Spark from their veins, but more powerful ones risked far more than that. “If you and Fane are the last two Arcarians, why not simply admit me?”

“Because an Arcarian by name is nothing at all. That name means something, Rist. For Fane to even consider you is an honour itself.”

“You still haven’t told me what the testing entails.” Rist choked down another piece of meat, raising a closed fist to his mouth as he forced the beef down. “And you’re not going to, are you?”

Garramon shook his head. “Finish that, and come with me. There’s something I want to show you before we spar.”

“Before we spar?” Rist’s pulse quickened at the thought of standing up, never mind sparring. “Can I not just… read and sleep? I would love to read and sleep.”

Garramon claspedhis hands behind his back, filling his lungs with winter air as he gazed out at Berona. The sun was nearing the end of its cycle, hanging above the mountains to the west, but it was not alone. The Blood Moon was carved into the sky just above it. He could feel the moon’s pull, feel the power that seeped from its light. A part of him was furious that he and theFirst Army hadn’t marched east with the others. With the Blood Moon at their backs and Efialtír’s Chosen at their side, now was the time to strike with their full might. Not for another four hundred years would they have this strength. But Fane had chosen patience.

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