CHAPTER 33: The Ordeal
Darkness settled around her, no more terrifying than her own room at night. She looked around cautiously, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Wasn't something supposed to happen?
Her vision began to adjust to the lack of light—no, that wasn't right. Though she could not find any source of light, there was something that made it possible for her to see, like the green fog back in the Black City. Slowly, she made out the stone, undecorated room she stood in. So this was the Chamber. Now, what did it hold?
Suddenly, a door appeared in the wall to her left. She watched, confused, as two alarmed Carthaki slaves hurtled through it, and then she reeled back as she saw herself—dressed in little more than a breastband and loincloth—jump up and smash one across the head.
The real Alanna only just bit back a scream—she couldn't make a single sound! But how could she have done such a thing? The slave had been helpless, unarmed and unsuspecting! How unhonorable for her simply to attack him like that. She continued to watch as she hit the other slave, too, and then just stood there, heart pounding, as the image dissolved.
But then, another picture formed: now she saw herself assault the two men from the back alley in Port Caynn. Yes, they had been cruel to beat Sir Aidan of Queenscove, but how could she expect respectable behavior from two bums when she, a noble, acted no better?
She stumbled back, hands clasping her mouth, as she and Jarinth rode carelessly away from the alley, leaving the two men to freeze to death on the ground. She had been so cruel. And she had yelled at Dain of Melor for his lack of chivalry! She sank to ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to be a knight? She couldn't even be a lady!
Then, with the pictures gone, someone began to shriek. She instantly recognized it as Jarinth. And then Francis joined her, and then the slaves and the bums. Their screams clawed at Alanna's ears as she rocked on the ground and sobbed silently. Why hadn't she saved these people? Where had she been when they died? With her Gift, she should have been healing with all her might, and she had turned away. She should have worried about Jarinth's drowsiness at Hanno's, she should have volunteered her skills at Drell River Valley, she should have never left those poor souls to suffer at her hands when they had no choice but to act as they did—those were the lives they were born into. What had she been thinking? How could she even dream of wearing the shield of a knight when she refused to serve those who needed her?
Ages passed, and the wails finally died away; as soon as they had silenced, however, new voices took their place.
"Alanna?" she distinctly heard Jon ask. She looked up, confused. Wasn't she alone? But, no, there was Jon, standing right in front of her. He stared into the distance, looking lost. She scrambled to her feet and was about to cry out his name, but, just in time, remembered where was. She had to stay silent! "Alanna?" he asked again. Apparently, he didn't see her. "Alanna? Alanna, where are you? I need your help, Alanna, but I can't find you." King Roald, Queen Lianne, Duke Gareth, and countless others suddenly joined him, calling for her.
She could only gape at them, bewildered. How was she supposed to help them? What could she do? She didn't even know what was wrong with them! And, besides, she recalled, sagging under the memory, I fail so miserably at helping people.
Out of the blue, Roger appeared behind Lianne. Alanna frowned: he was wearing a crown, and—was that a dagger in his hand? Roger raised the knife, grinning evilly and preparing to plunge it into the Queen's back. She only just swallowed a scream as she leapt for the duke, and then dug her teeth deep into her lip, drawing blood, as she ran into an thick, invisible curtain. She watched in horror as Lianne fell with a cry. Then Roger turned to Roald. Alanna panicked, clawing at the material that she couldn't even see. She had to get through this! She had to save them, or Roger would kill them all. He'd kill Jon!
She attacked the material, but it refused to tear for many long minutes. Her raking fingernails tore and bled freely. Finally, her hands discovered a tiny hole; more minutes passed as she yanked at it, struggling to make it large enough for her to fit through so she could save her prince. Meanwhile, more and more people dropped under Roger's knife; still, the rest cried for her help.
Alanna broke through just as Roger advanced on Jon. She lunged for him—and he vanished. She fell, and dropped into a foot-deep mountain of snow. A blizzard raged around her, its icy wind roaring deafeningly. The cold cut into her like sharp blades, chapping and then splitting her skin. She stared at white ground, horrified: in her skimpy outfit, she would freeze in minutes.
She scrambled to her feet, her teeth chattering loudly. She had to find shelter.
Already, her hair—still damp from the preceding night's bath—was freezing, as was the blood trickling from her fingernails and cold-cracked skin. She shivered incontrollably, scrunching her small body down in search of some inexistent warmth. Suddenly, she tripped and fell. Her hands shot out to break her fall, and they along with her shins tore on the sharp snow. She watched in dismay as her skin began to turn blue. Try as she might, she could not heave herself to her feet again. She was too cold.
She stopped struggling, instead curling herself into a little ball with her chin tucked into her chest. The wind bit at the back of her neck, frosting her with hard snow. She couldn't move. She was freezing. She couldn't do this. This was crazy. She had to cry out—she had to make them open the door. She couldn't survive this. The cold would kill her. The Chamber wasn't supposed to kill her—it was just supposed to make her face her flaws!
Unless that was it. She, Alanna of Trebond, was never meant to be a knight, and of course the Chamber would not let live those who entered but were not meant to do so. She huddled further under the snow, tears leaking from her eyes and then freezing before they had even fallen from her face. Those conservatives at the council would know that they had been right: she had not survived; girls were not meant to be warriors.
Alanna! she suddenly cried to herself, sitting up wildly. You can't do this—you can't just leave those girls! They need to know that you are capable—that they are capable.
With a sudden burst of strength, Alanna shoved herself to her feet, almost fell again as another blast of glacial wind attacked her with cutting snowflakes, and then determinedly stepped forward.
The ground broke beneathe her, and she gasped as she pitched forward, shards of ice gashing her legs, torso, and arms as she splashed into a cold lake.
Some unknown weight pulled her underneathe the surface, and she watched in alarm as the ice immediately fitted itself back together again over her head. She struggled to swim back to the top as her lungs began rebelling, demanding air. She reached the ice, but it had completely frozen over. She banged on it in panic, willing it to melt, to let her through. She couldn't breathe—she couldn't breathe—she couldn't breathe.
Slowly, Alanna acknowledged the spinning of her head. She needed to stop moving. She needed to lie down.
She stopped pounding on the ice. She let herself sink, let her weight carry her down, down, down, until she hit the hard bottom, and where darkness caved in on her.
The Chamber swung open its door and spat her out. Water cascaded into the Chapel, and she dimly heard people shriek as she gasped for air. She retched, water gushing from her mouth; someone pounded on her back. Then she tried breathing again, and when glorious air filled her lungs, she could only laugh. She was alive.
"Holy shit, she's alive!" someone cried.
She glanced up, and found a multitude of strangers staring back at her in awe. Then, someone dragged her to her feet; she turned to find Myles and Jonathan at her sides, grinning crazily.
"Jonathan!" she cried in alarm, suddenly remembering the Ordeal. "Jon, he's trying to kill you! But don't worry—I won't let him."
Jon smiled. "I know you won't, Alanna." And then he reached up to touch her head, and she slept.