Despite her harried speculations, Ember focused on the priest’s calm voice.
A true calling. Where I belong. This must be something more than petty politics.
“Look there,” Father Michael said, pointing to the wall on his left. “Beyond that door you will find three rooms. Each room contains another door. You must choose the room that best reflects your heart. Pass through the door in that room. You may not turn back once the choice has been made. To ensure that you have been truthful in searching your soul to find your office among us, you will face a trial on the other side of the door you have chosen. Should you fail this test, you are not meant to serve here.”
Ember barely stopped herself from flinching. She could fail. She could be sent away. Alistair had lied to her.
“Go now.” The door to which Father Michael gestured was a simple portal of dark wood, neither ominous nor welcoming. “Make your choice.”
In a single-file line the pledges turned and walked to the door. Ember was the third to pass through. On the other side of the door was an oval antechamber split by three archways. Like her companions, Ember hesitated in the small room. She turned with a start when the door to the great hall was closed forcefully behind them. And locked.
FIVE
EMBER AND THE OTHER pledges huddled in a tight cluster like chicks who’d lost their mother hen. No one spoke. Each initiate understood that this was a solitary endeavor and conversation would only serve to muddy any clarity of mind one might have for the task at hand.
Glancing at each of the arched portals in turn, Ember couldn’t see what lay inside the chambers. As the others made their own choices, Ember decided to investigate the room to her left, drawn there by the subtle hint of candlelight from within. She sensed two of the pledges trailing behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the rest of the group drifting into the other rooms.
When Ember passed through the archway, the sight awaiting her stole her breath. The room’s vaulted ceiling stretched toward the heavens. Each wall, each nook, each crevice of the room was bursting with scrolls or bound volumes. Ember stumbled forward, mesmerized by the sight of so much collected scholarship. In addition to the works that were strewn on the walls, massive tomes lay open on table throughout the room. She tentatively came forward to peer at the open volumes, marveling at the illuminated texts. The pages were a riot of colors that rivaled those of stained glass; their exquisite artistry could have been wrought by the hand of angels.
The only space in the room not covered by bound volumes or tightly rolled scrolls was a narrow door in the far wall.
Sneaking a look at the girl and boy who had joined her in this room, Ember saw that they were breathless with anticipation. The girl dropped to the floor with a book the size of her torso wedged onto her lap while the boy scrambled up a ladder to explore the highest reaches of scroll-laden shelves. Ember continued to wander through the room. It would take several lifetimes to absorb the writings contained within this single room. Ember wondered if this room was Tearmunn’s library but suspected that even this enormous collection was only a taste of the boundless knowledge the clerics of Conatus had at their fingertips.
Though she was tempted to read a few pages, curiosity drew Ember back to the archway. She glanced back at her companions, but they were both lost in reading and gave no sign of ever wanting to leave the room.
What had Father Michael said? Each room contains another door. You must choose the room that best reflects your heart. Pass through the door in that room. You may not turn back once the choice has been made.
As wonderful as the room of books had been, Ember wasn’t willing to choose a door without seeing all three of her options. She went to the central room and was surprised to find herself alone in the chamber. This room lacked the striking architecture of the first. Rather than a high vaulted ceiling, the chamber had a somber, plain design. Several long tables were arranged in straight lines at the center of the room. Upon inspecting the tables, Ember found they were covered with maps. The charts didn’t simply show the land’s features and its cities, but also were filled with notes and symbols: arrows suggesting movement, sites marked off for significance. As she compared the maps, Ember realized they were as much history lesson as navigational. Here was the progression of the Peloponnesian War. There she could follow the action of Alexander the Great’s movements through Asia. Another map showed the Norman invasion of England.
War. The center room depicted the office of war. Ember’s pulse quickened, her mind alert as she pored over the charts. The patterns on the maps were fascinating to her. Puzzles of the past waiting to be solved. Why this army’s success while the greater force had floundered? Why this path of invasion when the sea route might have offered a faster course?
Ember pulled herself away from the charts to examine the walls. One wall was covered with the tools of war. Swords of all lengths were suspended in the air. Double-bladed axes, cudgels, quarterstaffs, and flails were there along with an abundance of weapons she couldn’t name.
Her eyes wandered back to the charts and then flicked to the wall of weapons. This was the contradiction of war—strategy partnered with brutality. She shivered and walked across the room so she could gaze at the opposite wall, where she found yet another contradiction. Mirroring the weaponry were images so beautiful Ember felt her throat tighten. Paintings lined the wall, filling the space from floor to ceiling. The scenes depicted varied widely: here Ember found Greeks spilling out of the Trojan horse, there she watched as Judith lifted the head of Holofernes in triumph. Though many of the paintings were severe in their violence, others were sublime. Ember’s eyes stung as she gazed at a portrait of a young woman tearing her hair as she mourned a fallen warrior and her heartbeat quickened when she found a painting of a Templar taking his vows.
The paintings rendered vividly the third aspect of war. Not only a practice of mind and body, this office was also one of the heart. Within these frames she found courage, sorrow, sacrifice, and hope.
Ember paused, closing her eyes and letting the collection of the room sink into her memory. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at the door set in the chamber’s far wall. A part of her was tempted to run to it, flinging it open and casting her lot with this room of battling impulses. Of beauty and horror.
She forced herself to turn her back on the beckoning door. There was no going back once her choice had been made. She passed a boy on her way out of the room and wondered whether he would choose the door she’d walked away from.