Three months.
Wake to the jarring crack of rods. Shove down the functional stew. Endure the physical punishment, be it Grak's grueling runs, the strength-sapping labor, or the obstacle course that now seemed a permanent fixture in the muddy field adjacent to the main courtyard. The ranks had thinned further; Ren subconsciously tracked the missing numbers, the empty spaces on bunks.
The obstacle course itself had grown teeth. Alongside the slick walls and narrow beams, a tall, thick rope climb now reached towards the grey sky, its surface often coated in mud from the landing pit below. Further on, the muddy ditch they'd crossed before had been widened and deepened, forcing a more committed, exhausting struggle through the mire. Grak drove them through it with relentless ferocity, his voice a constant goad, his rod falling swiftly on any who slipped on the rope or floundered too long in the mud.
One day, the routine changed. After the midday meal, instead of Grak's familiar bellow, a different instructor stood before them in the main courtyard. He was older than Vorl or Grak, his face clean-shaven but etched with lines that spoke of countless campaigns or perhaps just years within these walls. His grey tunic was immaculate, his posture rigid. He didn't announce his name or rank.
"Cadets!" His voice was sharp, clear, carrying easily across the assembled ranks without needing volume. "Your initial conditioning phase nears its end. Your first Test commences tomorrow at dawn."
A ripple of confusion went through the cadets, instantly suppressed.
"You will form pairs," the senior instructor continued, his eyes sweeping across them. "Choose carefully. Or quickly. It matters little. Once paired, you remain paired for the duration."
Ren automatically found Liam's gaze across the ranks. A quick, barely perceptible nod passed between them. Done.
"You will be permitted three items per pair," the instructor stated, gesturing towards a trestle table where a collection of objects was laid out, knives, coils of rope, small folded tarps, empty waterskins, flint and steel sets, small pots, and slim, leather-bound books. "This list represents your choices." He recited the items available. "Choose three total per pair. You have one day to prepare. Tomorrow at dawn, you will exit the North Gate. You have one week to survive in the mountains beyond. Return to the North Gate on the eighth dawn. Failure to return, or returning incapacitated, constitutes failure of the Test." He paused, letting the implications settle. "Specific parameters of success or failure will be determined upon your return. Pairs, form up. Make your selections."
The formation broke, cadets shuffling towards partners, voices rising in hushed, urgent whispers. Ren and Liam met near the table, ignoring the jostling.
"Knife," Ren said immediately, his eyes fixed on the short, practical blades. A tool, a weapon, essential.
Liam nodded, his gaze flicking between the items. "Tarp," he decided. "Shelter. The nights are cold up there."
One item left. Ren looked at the options: Flint and steel for fire cooking, boiling water. Rope, utility, climbing, traps. Pot, boiling water, maybe cooking small game. Waterskin, carrying water found. And the book. A closer inspection showed it to be something related to survival…at least the title read book of the wild. Knowledge. What plants were safe? How to track? Basic snares? He knew how to read
"Fire is important," Liam murmured, eyeing the flint.
"Knowledge is better," Ren countered quietly, his gaze settling on the book. Fire could be made other ways, eventually. Knowing how to find water, what water was safe, what plants wouldn't kill you… that seemed more crucial, especially if they couldn't find fuel easily or risked smoke attracting attention. The tarp offered shelter from the worst of the elements. The knife was non-negotiable.
Liam hesitated only a second, then nodded again. "Okay. Book."
They stepped forward, gave their numbers 007, 011 and collected their chosen items: one small, sturdy knife with a simple wooden handle, one square of thick, oiled canvas tarp, and the slim, information-dense book. The instructor supervising the table recorded their choice without comment.
The rest of the day involved minimal training, allowing pairs time for their limited preparation. Ren and Liam found a quiet corner. Ren checked the knife's edge, decent enough steel, needed sharpening but serviceable. Liam examined the tarp, checking for holes, then refolded it tightly. Ren opened the book. Simple diagrams of plants, some marked dangerous, some edible. Basic snare designs. Notes on finding water sources. How to read basic animal tracks. Concise, practical. He committed as much as he could to memory before carefully securing it inside his tunic.
As dusk fell and they were marched back to the barracks, a new kind of tension filled the air, different from the usual exhaustion. It was the fear of the unknown, the weight of the impending challenge. Three items. One week. Just survive. He glanced towards Liam's bunk in the darkness, finding a small measure of something other than cold dread.
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The heavy North Gate ground open with a protesting screech of metal, revealing not the familiar, contained space of the training yards, but a wall of dense, dark green coniferous forest under a vast, startlingly clear blue sky. The air that washed over Ren was sharp, cold, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth, clean, almost shockingly so after three months breathing the stale air of stone and sweat.
Cadet pairs, numbering perhaps forty in total now, spilled out onto the rough ground beyond the gate like beetles disturbed from under a rock. There was a momentary hesitation, a collective blink in the unexpected openness, then movement erupted. Pairs broke off quickly, melting into the trees in different directions, urgency in their strides. Ren caught glimpses as they dispersed, two cadets heading downslope clutched a small, dark pot between them, another pair, one hefting a knife, pushed directly into the woods, a third pair moved with surprising speed along the base of the mountain, only waterskins bouncing at their hips. Different choices, different gambles.
Ren looked at Liam. A brief nod passed between them. They turned away from the others, angling slightly uphill, moving into the deeper shadows of the forest where the trees grew thickest. The gate groaned shut behind them, the sound swallowed by the sudden quiet of the woods. It was a silence different from the enforced quiet of the Mess Hall – this was layered, alive with the rustle of unseen things and the whisper of wind high in the branches.
Their pace was steady, conserving energy. The ground underfoot was a carpet of fallen needles hiding treacherous roots and rocks. They moved carefully, Liam often scanning the trees ahead and around while Ren took point, his eyes lowered, tracking the ground, looking for signs. After an hour, Ren paused, pulling the slim Book on the Wild from inside his tunic.
He flipped through the stiff pages, stopping at a section showing different types of moss and lichen, with diagrams indicating which preferred damp ground or hinted at nearby water. Liam stood watch, shifting his weight, listening intently to the forest sounds.
"Book shows this type," Ren murmured, pointing to a diagram then to a patch of vibrant green clinging to the base of a large fir. "Grows near water."
Liam nodded. "Which way?"
Ren checked the slope of the land, then pointed slightly downhill, perpendicular to their current path. "Should flow that way."
They adjusted course. Progress was slow. The forest floor became steeper, dropping away unexpectedly. They soon found themselves at the lip of a deep, shadowed gully, its sides a tumble of loose rock and exposed roots. It wasn't impossibly wide, but too steep to simply slide down.
"We have to cross," Liam stated the obvious, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ren scanned the opposite slope, looking for the easiest ascent. He pointed. "There. Looks more stable."
Getting down was slow, careful work, testing each handhold, dislodging small showers of dirt and pebbles. Ren went first, finding purchase, then bracing himself to offer a steadying hand to Liam. They helped each other, moving with surprising ease. The climb up the other side was just as easy, much like the obstacle course they had been drilling on for the past month.
They continued their search on the other side, following the contours Ren had noted from the book. Eventually, the sound of running water reached them, faint at first, then clearer. They pushed through a final screen of low-hanging branches and found it, a narrow stream, water running clear and achingly cold over smooth stones.
They knelt, cupping hands, drinking deeply. The water was so cold it made Ren's teeth hurt. As he drank, his eyes scanned the damp earth near the bank. Tracks. Several sets, cloven-hoofed. Game? Good. But beside them, partially overlapping, were others. Larger prints, canine, with claw marks visible. Not good.
He nudged Liam, pointed silently at the prints. Liam's eyes widened slightly, but he just gave a curt nod. Danger was expected.
With dusk approaching, the temperature dropping rapidly in the clear mountain air, shelter became the priority. They moved a short distance upstream, finding a spot where a large, ancient fir offered some protection, its lower branches thick and low to the ground. Ren used the sturdy knife, their most vital tool, to cut away a few of the lowest, dead branches hindering access and to clear the immediate ground beneath the natural overhang. Liam unfolded the canvas tarp. Working together, and following the book's instructions, they rigged it using the tree trunk as a main support and anchoring the corners to smaller saplings or rocks with simple loops, creating a low, angled lean-to that would block the wind and perhaps shed minor rain or snow. It was crude, barely large enough for both of them huddled together.
As the last light faded from the sky between the dense treetops, they crawled under the tarp. The cold was immediate, seeping up from the ground despite the few branches they'd laid down. They had no fire. Ren pulled the book out again, trying to study the plant section in the failing light, matching diagrams to leaves he'd noticed earlier, committing potential edibles and definite poisons to memory.
Later, in the full dark, the forest came alive with unfamiliar sounds, the snap of a twig nearby, the rustle of something in the undergrowth, the distant, mournful howl of a wolf echoing down the slopes. Ren lay still, knife close at hand, listening. Every sense felt sharp, strained in the unfamiliar environment. Beside him, Liam was equally still, equally alert. Day one was done. Six remained.