The snow fell, and Ayla drowned in it. Their lessons with Father Karnamis increased, adding Elsahel to its day of training.
Karnamis proved more dedicated to their lessons than they expected. He seemed to worry for them more than usual.
It was not their first winter in the seminary, and they had different garments for winter, with a cloak made of animal fur to keep them warm, or at least from freezing to death. Sometimes it seemed as if the priest forgot this.
Karnamis taught them that when in a group, hurdling together was the best way to keep warm. This was something they already knew; a knowledge long since possessed. Canabi and Soartin often slept on the same bed during the winter, sometimes outside the winter. Sethlzaar often wondered if warmth was all they did it for. It troubled him because they risked the consequences of getting caught, as the punishments were severe.
Their second test took place during this period.
They had been in the seminary long enough to hear the older boys giving their opinions of the test. There was rarely any detail about it, but one thing was certain, and gave away its nature: the older boys called it the winter test. So they were not surprised when Father Ordan announced its arrival at the start of winter.
They were taken in groups. Two children from each tower came together to form one group.
Sethlzaar wondered if it was a group test. He feared the chances of a misunderstanding in each group, as his group comprised of him, Alsipin and a few others he didn't know, and had no existing synergy with. Of the others, was Tamael. The boy was proof there had been some truth to Takaris' information of the Dragdi tower. It was not that none of them made it back, but that only one did.
For this test, they were required to carry their bow and arrows, their hunting knife, a water pouch, a blanket, and a flint.
Father Tensril led their group through the mist. Though, they were not exactly led. Tensril simply walked, and they followed under the assumption that they knew how to navigate the mist. Most did, and Sethlzaar had been able to learn how to navigate it from Cenam. Apparently, it was the point of the first test and he'd had a feeling it would be important to learn.
Tensril took them to a village. They did not pass the city gates. They did not come in contact with the city's civilization. Yet, they were beyond its walls. There, Tensril hired a tall man to carry them to a location on a piece of paper he produced from within his cloak.
When the tall man spoke, he spoke with an accent Sethlzaar had never heard before, and he found himself watching the man as they entered the carriage.
The man sat outside, at its front, guiding the horse through the journey.
"He's a tarc," Tensril told them after they had ridden a distance. Sethlzaar knew he spoke for his sake. "They are known for their way with the horse and are mostly employed for long distance or complicated journeys." He looked at Sethlzaar. "Now discard with such pointless thoughts. You have something more important at hand."
Those were the only words the priest said throughout the ride, and the only words Sethlzaar paid any attention to.
They rode into a forest. Its trees were covered in snow. It was a surprise ice did not hang from their branches. Here, they stopped.
After a while, Father Tensril looked out of the carriage then instructed Sethlzaar get down. Thus, it took him but a moment to realize it was not a group test.
"Survive," Tensril said as he closed the carriage door. They rode away, leaving Sethlzaar to himself, knee deep in snow.
Sethlzaar wrapped his fur cloak tighter around himself and went to work on building a shelter. Karnamis always pointed out its importance when lost in the forest. A shelter was a basic need, as necessary as food.
Sethlzaar found an elevation of snow leading to a high ground and committed the location to memory. He left it, found a long tree branch, and returned. He shoved it as deep into the elevated snow as he could until it met resistance. He shoved harder. When it didn't budge, he stopped.
Satisfied with the result, he concluded it to be a high ground and not a simple mound of snow.
He then began the tasking work of gathering branches to serve as walls, resting only after he was certain the walls would hold.
After a well-deserved rest, he took to making a fire. He cleared the snow from the shelter, gathered twigs and small branches. He carved out the damp barks with his knife and kept what was left in the middle of his camp.
That taken care of, he strung his bow, took up his quiver and headed out.
He traversed the snow a good distance, searching out prey. For hours he found none. His stomach rumbled, signaling its need for satisfaction as the sun descended. Sethlzaar feared he would go the night hungry, and unfed. He was torn between spending the night hungry and risking the cold for a chance of food.
He turned around and headed for his shelter, motivated by the stories he had heard of people found frozen in the snow after failing to find shelter before the sun went down.
On his way back he spotted two birds on a tree branch. He slowed his pace, unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, and he took aim.
Will I be lucky again? he thought.
Fear made his hands shake. He slowly lowered his aim. What he sought to attempt was spurred not only by greed, but a sense of curiosity; of adventure.
During one of their trainings, he had witnessed Priestess Emeril and Father Antuas having a target practice. It seemed a competition of sorts. Father Antuas was in the lead. The match was set. Each had one more shot to make, and Antuas led by a single mark.
Emeril, holding her bow in a different manner from which she had taught them, had nocked three arrows. She'd released them, and all three hit their marks. It had roused a friendly argument between them on who'd won. But Sethlzaar had taken only one thing from it. If he could pull of the same move with two arrows, he could have two birds.
He held the bow in imitation of Sister Emeril, wielding it horizontally. He nocked two arrows, took aim and grinned. There's a first time for everything.
Sethlzaar aimed them right. He calculated the distance, the wind, the position of the birds. He pulled them back and released.
The arrows flew.
Each of them cut the wind, like knife through viscid oil. They grew wider apart as they covered the distance. One of the birds snapped its head to the side in the way only birds can. Its gaze settle on the arrows. It didn't move. It seemed confused.
The arrows met their targets within the span of a breath. The first passed the bird. The second cut through the other, moving skywards, unhindered.
The first bird squawked in panic. It took to the sky immediately. Sethlzaar ignored it and moved quickly. His feet dipped into the snow and panic halted him.
The second bird took to the sky, wings fluttering in haste.
He had missed.
The thought of a hungry night sent a different panic through his mind. His hand reached for his quiver. They trembled. Panic gave him no time to attend them. Hunger punished his mind, and his body with it.
He repositioned his bow, nocked another arrow with a frenzy. He released it into the air. His aim trembled with the shot.
He missed, like a drunk threading a needle. His shaking fingers drew another, sloppy. A few fell to the ground. He ignored them, drew back, and let the arrow fly.
The first bird was gone now. The second was a dot in the sky, and his arrow went with it. He reached a hopeless hand for his quiver and found another. The action was merely reflexive, too many days drawing and shooting in quick succession.
He let it fly without aim.
The bird, nothing but a blip in the dying light of the sky, upturned. It dropped like a falling rock, fell from the sky, and hit the snow.
Sethlzaar ran.
He waded through the snow, his eyes forward. Losing track of where it fell was not an option. His feet hit a few things he did not know. It sent pain through him. He ignored it. It was pain he was willing to accept. He'd starved before, during the days between leaving the conisoir and joining the orphanage. He did not want to experience it again. If he failed today, there was no guarantee he would succeed tomorrow.
It took him a while to find the bird buried in the snow. The fletching of his arrow poked above the snow like a beacon. He snatched it and bolted for his shelter, bird in hand.
Father Karnamis often told them running built body heat, and drove the cold away. Sethlzaar's sprint did no such thing. The cold continued to seep into his bones with each step.
A few sparks from his flint and he made himself a fire. He plucked the bird. Keeping some of the feathers aside for kindling, he noticed one of his arrows had nicked its wing. It was most likely the only reason any of the others had hit.
He spitted the bird, set it over the flame, and watched it roast. He forced himself to save some for the morning as he ate. What remained, he wrapped in a piece of cloth, then retired for the night, using his blanket as a covering to the entrance of his shelter, and his cloak as a blanket.
The next morning found him setting traps and gathering more wood for fire. He made his traps from anything he could find. By the middle of the day he was done with them and satisfied himself with a well-deserved first meal.
After, he rose with knowledge of his dwindled number of arrows and went hunting. He surmised to craft new ones when he had the time. To find those discarded in his panic would be useless.
Evening fell and he found no luck with his hunt. His traps proved empty, and he retired with only a flame to keep him company through the night. The last of the bird did not live long enough.