Antuas took Sethlzaar by the shoulder and covered him in a thick cloak. He led him through the gates and into the fort. They walked past the field, and Sethlzaar watched the first light of day covet the sky. He knew he was the last of the participants to walk through the gates.
On their arrival at the walls Antuas took the cloak off him. "We don't want the others thinking you get special treatment," he said smiling. "Now go on. You are to remain in your room like the rest of your mates until you all are called for."
Sethlzaar walked into the compound as the portcullis was raised, alone and filled with a loss of achievement. One year and it still doesn't feel like home.
The group he met in the room was not too surprising.
Cenam was rested on his bed with a certain care free nature he only displayed in the wild, Narvi was biting his nails, something Sethlzaar had noticed the boy only did when he was worried. Six other children were accounted for, Soartin was with Canabi, Alsipin toyed around with one of his miniature wooden projects. Frent. Takaris. And Omage.
Three, lost to the mist, Sethlzaar realized. Do they even care?
He took his first step into the room and caught Takaris' eyes on him. The boy had a fresh wound along his cheek and Sethlzaar was relieved to know he wasn't the only one with an injury from the ordeal.
"Sethlzaar!" Cenam announced with zest, his voice odd in the presence of his brothers. "You made it."
Sethlzaar wondered if he had seen Narvi smile when Cenam called his name while Cenam met him.
"You were just lucky this time," Takaris said. It took a moment before Sethlzaar realized that the boy had not referred to him.
"I told him if you didn't make it I would leave the seminary," Cenam filled in for him. It surprised him that the boy had chosen to willingly speak to someone other than him.
"When did you say that?" he asked.
Cenam shrugged. "An hour ago."
"You do know they would not have allowed you," Sethlzaar reminded him. "The seminary doesn't just let people go."
"He almost didn't make it, brother," Takaris commented, as if Sethlzaar hadn't spoken. He shook his head. "So much for being mistborn."
Cenam ignored him and pulled Sethlzaar by the arm all the way to his bed. Sethlzaar's injury throbbed where Cenam held it but he said nothing. The moment Cenam opened his mouth Sethlzaar knew he was going to be involved in a never ending story.
"You met Ulkiniki," Alsipin said suddenly, before Cenam spoke.
Sethlzaar turned a puzzled look on him. "Ulk—what?"
"Ulkiniki," Alsipin clarifies. "The guardian of the forest. How did you survive it? No one is known to survive it. Do the Fathers know?"
He made his way to join them on Cenam's bed, taking an interest Sethlzaar had never known the boy capable of, although it was understandable. After all, it seemed it had something to do with what he was sure was one of the boy's many stories.
"No, they do not." Sethlzaar thought on how to phrase his next words, wondering how Alsipin knew they old man, and how he knew they'd met. In the end he submitted to simplicity. "And who's Ulkiniki?"
Alsipin furrowed his brows, as would a child who discovered that a fascinating rock, upon picking it, was no more than a cluster of sand stones. "The guardian of the forest of the lost. The bear. It is said to be unsouled."
"Would you quit it with that nonsense," Soartin scolded from his place with Canabi. "You know you'd be given a flogging if the Fathers hear you."
"What did he look like?" Alsipin asked, ignoring Soartin, the interest back in his voice.
Sethlzaar was strangely glad.
But he found he did not like the attention. Wanting very much to not be an active part of the boy's stories of the touched, he changed the subject to something more calming, more somber.
"Are we the only ones?"
Alsipin's face took on frustration. "Yes," he replied blandly.
"You should see Dragdi's tower," Takaris said, as if holding a joke. "None of them made it."
Frent turned to him, as if waiting. "And how do you know this?" he berated.
It was no secret that Frent had a silent dislike for the older boy, though he rarely showed it. Sethlzaar never broached it in mind, though. He, too, had a silent dislike for Frent for no apparent reason. Sometimes he wondered if it was because Narvi spent a lot of time with the boy whereas the only time spent with him comprised mostly of hitting him with a stick in the name of sparring.
"I heard it," Takaris retorted, adamant.
"From whom?" Frent asked, unable to completely keep his disgust out of his tone. He didn't even seem to try.
This time Takaris had no response. He bit on his lower lip and looked away, refusing eye contact with any of the others that had taken an interest in their conversation.
It was like watching two children stick their tongues at each other.
Sethlzaar turned to Cenam. "How long did it take you?" He had believed from the start that Conan would make it back first; the boy always had the aura of a wanderer who knew his way.
Cenam smiled a wry little smile. "Not long."
"How long have you been back?"
"I've been here since noon yesterday. I think the Fathers placed me very far from the gates knowingly."
Alsipin, not seeming too happy with their conversation, returned to his bed. Sethlzaar had an idea of why the boy didn't like it, and it was not because he had stopped telling his story.
He returned his attention to Cenam. "Why would they do that?"
Cenam leaned in closer and whispered, "Maybe they wanted to make it tougher for me."
Sethlzaar looked at him, confused.
"I came to the seminary alone."
"You've walked the mist before," Sethlzaar blurted. His hand covered his mouth and he was glad his voice hadn't been too loud.
Cenam smiled and tipped his head towards Narvi. Sethlzaar had noticed his observation before Alsipin left them: he was watching, and he was listening.
"Both of you are like those two..." Cenam tilted his head towards Canabi and Soartin. "Without the time spent together."
Sethlzaar chuckled. "I wish."
Ulkiniki, Sethlzaar pondered a while later. Is it just a bear or is it unsouled? The question felt stupid in his mind.
It was a question whose answer he felt he would one day come to know and regret. The yellow eyes. The lost knife. The old man. The misty forest.
It was not long before an older boy came to summon them at Father Ordan's instruction. Sethlzaar recognized him as Orctis.
Father Ordan required them to assemble at the courtyard before the hundred and twenty-eighth beat of the heart.
The instruction took them by surprise. Ordan was not one to give time frames in such a manner. It was more a norm of Father Karnamis. At the command the children would run to the intended location without delay, counting their own increasing heartbeat as they did. What beat speed the priest gave the command under was never known, nonetheless, there were always some who failed. They would always receive punishments for it.
They all scrambled to their feet, rushing out the door. They trooped down the tower stairs as fast as they could, Orctis at the head of the convergence. A few flights of stairs down, a thought came to Sethlzaar: why stay behind Orctis if we can outrun him?
Without as much as a warning to anyone, he leapt over the stone balustrade, it was more a massive slab of stonework without actual balusters. He skipped the remaining steps and landed on the next flight. His feet landed on the edge of one of the steps and he skidded down three more before regaining his balance.
In a split moment someone landed on the steps behind him as he trudged forward. Sethlzaar spared a glance behind him. He saw Cenam. The boy had a wide grin on his face. He leapt to the next flight immediately and it put him in the lead. Pulling stunts while tracking your heart is what you would be best at. Sethlzaar smiled.
They arrived at the courtyard not too long after. They weren't the only ones called. Children from the other eleven towers came running. Some came strolling in comfort.
Amongst the buildings present in the seminary were twelve towers, housing the different children of the seminary. Koneric. Nilnard. Shalsial. Nealsa. Djealin. Trakael. Zanujaj. Dragdi. Tink'ris. Vanzael. Grig. And Drael.
All were named after the twelve cohorts of Ingrad Ner Shalhaar.
"How many?" Ordan asked, standing ahead of the Monsignor, Karnamis, and a group of older students.
"Ninety-two, Father," Orctis replied.
"I see," Shrowl said. "Handle them as you see fit, Father Ordan."
Sometimes Father Karnamis did the same thing. He would pick one of them as they arrive or finish the task and ask, "How many?"
If it rose above the intended beat count, then those that followed would serve the same punishment. Sometimes he freed them if his pick fell within the stipulated count, which was ever so rare. Sometimes they lied about their count. But it took a simple glance or touch of the wrist before it came crumbling down and Karnamis would take up the cane and apply it as part of his punishment.
"A man must strive for honesty; it is but the one thing that binds us to Truth," he would tell them amidst the sounds of wood on flesh, "but if you are to lie, make sure you won't atone for it in this life." The latter he would always say with a cunning in his eyes.
As time passed, they learned that the punishments for stealing and lying were severe, a few of them having been caught on different occasions. Sethlzaar never suffered this. There was no question among his peers that he was adept at stealing whatever he had to. Their stay in the seminary helped them understand that the punishments were not designed for the actions, but for getting caught.
Sethlzaar never stole from his peers, only the older children. Even then, he took things of no major importance from the seminary. Honesty was part of the foundation of the credence, a complete opposition to lies, and yet, the seminary encouraged—in their own way—its perfection.
"When most of you first came to us," Shrowl began when Ordan was done counting the late children, "you had no direction in life. Some of you believed you had families, but you were wrong. You were but children, and you are still but children. One day you will grow to understand what it truly means to be a family." He paused. "A few of you had questions when you came, or ideologies you did not fully comprehend..."
Sethlzaar could not help but feel the old man referred to him.
"You were told that you had no family save the seminary. That remains true." Shrowl scratched his head. He seemed to contemplate his next words. When he spoke them it was as if he counted each one. "From the first day you stepped your feet in this fort, you had begun on your path. In the test you have completed you have proved that you can find your way back home. Whereas the others that couldn't find theirs will hopefully make a new one elsewhere. And for that, let us have a moment to acknowledge the time they spent with us."
A moment of silence accompanied it. Sethlzaar wondered just how many of them had simply been unable to find their way home, and how many had failed to remain on the path of life.
"Once, your stay here was one of privilege," Shrowl broke the silence. "But now, it is your right. Nothing can take that away and, even in death, you will remain one of us. We are a family. But it will do us good to always remember that we are also our chains."
The monsignor turned and, with a nod, he left them to the priests.
"Those of you who arrived late, come with me. You know yourselves. The rest of you report to Father Karnamis," Ordan commanded, making his leave. The culprits followed after him.
All that was left of them was Omage, Cenam, Narvi, and Sethlzaar. The others had failed to beat the beat mark.
Sethlzaar walked away with his companions. A single thought preoccupied his mind. The Test of the Lost had left him with one final challenge even after his success.
"I never saw your knife, Sethlzaar," Narvi observed, his first words to him since he came back.
Sethlzaar sometimes found himself wondering what exactly their friendship was. A stupid thing to ponder on, but he could not help but ponder, still.
Sethlzaar frowned at Narvi as Cenam bounded past him happily, with a teasing smile. The gesture itself spoke volumes.
Sethlzaar ignored them. He had graver issues to worry about. He was going to have to face one of the dreaded challenges of the fort....
.... Father Nurudin.