The Last of the Wilds

tests.”

Reivan froze. Imenja’s pet? They had to be talking about her. None of the other entrants had any relationship with Imenja, as far as she knew.

“I can’t understand it,” the first voice added. With a shock, Reivan recognized Dedicated Servant Drevva. “What’s the point of making her a Servant when she has no magical ability? Why not just make her a counsellor?”

Reivan’s stomach sank.

“I heard it’s what she asked for as reward.”

“What! Being a Servant isn’t something to be handed out like sweets to a good child!”

“Hmm,” a third voice said. “This makes me like her even less. If she was meant to be a Servant, she’d have been born with more ability.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Reivan’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. Aware that anyone seeing her lingering by the door would suspect her of spying - and she obviously did not need to give the Servants any more reasons to hate her - she continued on.

Back in her room, she sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed.

So I wasn’t being overly suspicious after all. They are treating me differently. And it’s because I’m unskilled.

Which wasn’t a surprise, really. Being Skilled was what set them apart. Just as being clever gave the Thinkers their standing in society. It was ironic to discover that the Servants were as insecure about their superiority over others as the Thinkers were.

It’s their weakness, she thought. Not a weakness I can easily take advantage of, however. I’m not here to best the Servants at some challenge. I’m here to join them.

The footsteps of someone in the passage outside her door suddenly stopped, and she saw something slide under her door. Rising, she stooped to pick it up.

It was a small scroll, slightly squashed where it had been forced under the door. She chuckled as she saw it was addressed to “Servant Reivan Reedcutter.” I’m not a Servant yet, she thought, amused.

Turning the scroll over, she felt her amusement evaporate as she saw the seal of the Thinkers. Breaking it, she spread open the scroll and began to read.

Servant Reivan Reedcutter

It has been reported to us that you have entered the Sanctuary with the intent to become a Servant. Since this requires the full dedication of your time, assets and life to the gods, clearly you cannot fulfil the requirements of a Thinker. A man cannot be ruled by two masters. Your membership has been revoked.

Prime Thinker Hitte Sandrider

Reivan realized her heart was racing. She muttered a curse. If she didn’t pass the tests and become a Servant she would leave the Sanctuary with no home, few assets and no legal means to earning an income from anything but menial tasks. She was risking her future - her life, even - on tests that she could not possibly pass.

No, she thought, taking a deep, calming breath. Imenja has kept her word. She has ordered Drevva to ignore my lack of magical ability. I just have to hope I passed the other tests.

A knock came from her door. She slipped the letter under her mattress then turned to open the door. Dedicated Servant Drevva stood in the passage, holding out a bundle of black cloth.

“Put this on and come to my room,” she ordered.

Reivan closed the door and let the bundle unfold. It was a Servant’s robe. Her heart jolted into rapid beating again and her hands shook as she quickly changed into it. Smoothing the cloth, she wondered how she looked in it. Did it suit her? Did it give her the look of authority she had admired in other Servants?

There was no star pendant of Servitude to go with it. That would be given to her when she finished her noviciate.

I still have so much to learn, she thought. They’re not going to make it easy for me, but perhaps that is for the best. Becoming a Servant shouldn’t be easy. I need to prove I’m worthy of this.

She straightened. And I will prove it. Even if just to justify Imenja’s decision.

Holding on to that feeling of determination, she left her room. Other entrants were dressed in the black, excitedly running up and down the passage and knocking on each others’ doors. One saw her and grinned. She smiled back.

This chaos quickly resolved into a line of black-robed entrants heading to Drevva’s room. The Dedicated Servant was waiting outside her door. She looked at each of them closely, then nodded.

“It is time,” she said. Turning, she led them down the passage to the main corridor, then began to ascend.

Reivan could not help thinking of Drevva’s words in the baths as she followed the group. She felt vaguely betrayed. Until then Reivan had thought the woman the least unfriendly of the Servants she’d met. Drevva had hidden her true feelings well.

Their journey took them steadily uphill. The Lower Sanctuary was a maze of buildings but the corridor cut a straight line through them. Finally they reached the white rendered walls of the Middle Sanctuary. Drevva left them standing in a line before a narrow door through which she disappeared.

One by one the soon-to-be Servant-novices entered the room. When Reivan drew close enough to see through the door she caught glimpses of a large room with black walls. Black tiles covered the floor. Her heart began to race.

This is the Star Room!

She was about to enter the place where the most arcane of ceremonies were held. The place where the Voices communed with the gods. Inside she could see dark-skinned Dekkans from the jungles of the south; pale- skinned, tall men and women of the desert races of Avven; broad-faced, sandy-haired people of Mur, and some that must have mixed bloodlines. All wore black robes. All would witness her become a Servant-novice. Reivan realized she was chewing her fingernails - an old habit from her childhood - and forced her hands back to her sides.

The youth in front of her stepped into the room. With her view now unblocked, Reivan could see the room properly. It had five walls. A channel of silver set into the floor formed the lines of a star, its points meeting the corners of the room. At its center stood a familiar figure. She felt her heart lift.

Imenja.

The Voice held out a hand to the young man, palm outward, fingers spread, and spoke the ritual words. He nervously placed his hand against hers. Reivan heard him murmur something, then Imenja’s reply. Then the Voice made the sign of the star over her chest and the young man followed suit. He bowed his head and hurried away to join the small group of new Servant-novices standing nearby.

Imenja looked up at Reivan, smiled and beckoned.

Taking a deep breath, Reivan walked into the room with what she hoped was dignified grace. She stopped before the Voice. Imenja’s smile widened.

“Reivan of the Thinkers,” she said. “To you we owe much, but that is not why you are here today. You stand before me now because you wish to serve the gods before all else, and because you have proven yourself worthy of the task.” She held out her hand. “Do you swear to serve and obey the gods above all else?”

Reivan pressed her palm lightly against Imenja’s.

“I swear.”

“Then from this moment you will be known as Servant-novice Reivan. You are welcome among us.”

Their hands parted. Reivan was aware of every sound, every shuffle of feet and smothered cough from the watching Servants. Imenja made the sign of the star. Reivan’s hand moved through the symbolic gesture as if it had