This fic
was written as a challenge for The Dancing Dove’s
Seanfhocal Circle fanfiction challenge.
The challenge was to describe a squire’s Ordeal, in approximately 800
words. From title to end, this fic
is exactly 800 words. (yes, I’m quite proud.) I’ve done a fragmented style, based upon
the eight rules of Fight Club, adapted to suit the Ordeal. Feedback would be very much appreciated.
Rule #1:
You do not talk about the Ordeal.
When the
Chamber door opened, Roald stumbled out.
His father’s arms steadied him, his blue eyes searching Roald’s
face.
The
prince winced, recalling his Ordeal visions: his father’s bloodied corpse… the
scepter and crown handed to him… He
pulled at the king’s shirt. “I
can’t… you won’t—“ His voice
cracked.
Jonathan
brought his fingers to his son’s lips.
“Shh,” he whispered. “What
you saw is between you and the Chamber.”
His eyes were serious as he wiped Roald’s sweaty forehead. “But remember that these are fears, not
truths, that we do not speak of.”
#2: You
do not talk about the Ordeal.
Cleon’s
shoulders slumped when the Chamber brought its next vision. His mother stood before him, a tall girl
standing next to her wearing the full bridal regalia. Her face was veiled from his view.
“You
must propose,” his mother instructed, urging him forward.
I don’t
want to, Cleon
thought. But he was a dutiful
son. He would
try,
He
stepped forward and lifted the veil.
It was Kel.
His
heart lifted. But he could never
tell her this—love was a forbidden word with Keladry. He would find some other
way.
#3:
Someone yells stop, goes limp, taps out… the Ordeal is
over.
The god
was more terrifying than anything Joren had encountered, and spoke of solemn
truths that Joren had refused to hear.
Only one
thought ran through his mind: Escape.
He
backed away, averting his eyes from the incredible Mithran glow. His hands reached behind him, feeling
for the Chamber door. He turned and
clawed at the iron frantically.
He
sucked in his breath as a surge of heat touched his back. With a tortured scream, the air left his
body. He slumped to the floor,
dead.
#4: Only
one person in the Chamber at a time.
“You’ve
done me wrong, and you’ll pay,” the young girl spat, kicking Vinson with her
heeled boot.
Another
lady hissed at him, clawing at his face.
He
recognized them… from before… but—how could they be in the Chamber? It was sealed. He was alone.
“Your
conscience controls the magic of this room,” a disembodied voice said. “Your guilt brings them
here.”
What
should I do? he
asked, his body sore from the beatings.
So many shared this room with him—all of them trying to hurt him.
#5: One
Ordeal at a time.
The
stood overlooking a valley, a battle raging below them. A legion of soldiers, fresh
reinforcements from the capital, stood at Faleron’s back, waiting his
orders.
I don’t
know what to do, Faleron
realized. His soldiers looked at
him expectantly. I’m not a
leader—I’m a solitary fighter. This
is Kel’s thing.
“She is
not here,” a cold voice echoed within his mind. “This is your
test.”
Faleron
grimaced, turning to his legion.
With a wave, he urged his troops into the battle.
#6: No
weapons, no magic.
They
were innocents, and they were dying.
“It was
bandits,” an elderly man informed Neal.
“They… attacked…”
Coughs wracked his body and blood trickled down his
chin.
Neal
reached inside of himself, looking for that well of dark green magic. But then he remembered—his Gift was
useless in the Chamber.
The man
clutched at his arm, his grip painfully tight. “Help me,” he whispered faintly. All around them Neal could hear the
sounds of death. He could feel the
Black God hovering nearby. But he
could not save them.
#7:
Ordeals will go on as long as they have to.
Kel woke
suddenly. Her sheets were damp with
sweat, and she gasped for air.
It was him again. And
there were even more children.
It had been months since her Ordeal, and the dream was occurring more and
more frequently.
She
needed to go back into the Chamber.
She needed to find out who this horrible little man was—figure out the
mystery of the killing machines.
But would she have to have another Ordeal? Was it even
possible?
Until
she did, though, she would keep dreaming.
Keep remembering.
Final
Rule: If this is your night for the Ordeal, you must have
it.
Merric’s
eyes followed Kel as she left his room.
“I can do this,” he repeated.
But his voice lacked genuine confidence. Why couldn’t my Ordeal come
last? Or first? Any day but
today?
He
straightened out his bedspread, rumpled from the group of squires—no,
knights—who had spent the day with him.
If he was going to die in that Chamber, he would at least do his mother
proud with a clean bedroom.
There
was no turning back, he conceded.
Tonight was the night. He
sat at his desk and waited for the familiar knock of his
knight-master.