Wisteria Colland has prepared her entire life for the Rider's Quadrant. Why would you go into infantry or the scribes when you could have the chance to bond a dragon? But things aren't as simple as Wisteria had hoped when she gets herself tangled up...
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My rucksack hangs over my shoulders. It's light, bearing only my five specialized throwing knives, various poisons that I had been studying back home, a few changes of clothes, my sketchbook, and a few sketching quills. I wear my two daggers on either side of my hips, and my thick leather vest contains two other small curved throwing knives.
Being the oldest of three girls, I was the first to cross the parapet and join the riders. I had been training for this my entire life, despite both my mother and my fathers wishes.
They had hopes and dreams for me and my two younger sisters to enter society and become children-bearing, stay at home mothers. Fuck that. If these hips were ever going to bear children, it would be with who I choose, not some cranky old pervert.
I move into line for the cross over the parapet. Several people have crossed already. Even more have fallen to their deaths. Three tall men stand at the entrance to the parapet, one with ripped off sleeves recording names as candidates step out onto the narrow stone bridge one by one. The second has a rebellion relic crawling up his arm—undoubtedly very good looking, but he strikes me as the asshole type. Not one I'd like to tangle with. The third gives candidates instructions as they begin to cross. Suddenly, I'm next in line and the man with the partially shaved hair is giving me advice. I tune him out. I've heard it all from Rylan already.
I am confident that I can make it across. I had forced my parents to hire me a trainer when I was eight, and he had done a thorough job sending me across slippery bars of metal in wind, rain, and snow, wet logs in rushing rivers, and stone bridges such as the parapet. The only difference was the height.
But I couldn't let my nerves get the better of me out there. Life or death. Stay focused or die. Don't look down. Those were Rylan's last words to me at the bottom of the stone tower up to the parapet. He had become somewhat of my best friend—he was an older, retired rider who had been granted permission to train me, but he was sweet, funny, and kind.
He knew when to push me and when to go a little easy. He knew when I was having a bad day and would coach me through the steps gently. He was harsh sometimes, but that's necessary. Life or death, you know.
"Violet Sorrengail."
My head whips around, despite it being my turn on the parapet. Sorrengail. Well, that's a surprise. My eyes land on a small girl with brown hair at the roots and silver half way down. She looks frail and unstable. I wrench my gaze away. Don't underestimate her. She's a Sorrengail.
"What are you going to do, stand there all day?" A harsh voice says from behind me. "Your turn." Surely, hands are on my back and I'm being shoved out into the rain onto the slick parapet.
"Shit!" I yelp as I go stumbling forward. My hands find purchase on the stone and I cling to the sides with my thighs. Ok. You're on top. You're still alive. I scramble to my feet and twist my neck to narrow my eyes at the girl who pushed me.
She's a first year, like me, with black hair tied in a complicated braid crowd on top of her head. She sneers at me with dark eyes, her upper lip curling as she laughs. "Fuck you!" I growl, flipping her off.
Then my focus returns to the narrow stone bridge. Don't look down. My hands fling out to either side as a strong gust of wind nearly topples me over, and begin making my way across.
My body finds balance immediately, tilting and swaying easily with the wind. My feet move at a steady pace, and every step is careful and calculated. I keep my eyes narrowed ahead of me, refusing to look down.
While I'm short at only 5'3, twelve years of consistent training has made me strong. The wind blasts into me with vengeful force, but my body holds strong and I continue along the parapet.
About half way across, rain starts pouring heavily. Startled at the thick drops suddenly pelting my face and getting into my eyes, my feet stumble. I let out a sharp shriek as my body jerks forward.
I hurry to right myself, my heart beating at a million miles per hour, my breath quick as I stand there.
"Freezing again, are we?" A shrill voice yells at me from over the wind. "Be careful, someone might just come along and push you out of their way! Long way to fall."
I don't need to turn around to know that it's the dark haired girl, and I forced myself forward.
Twenty more feet. I can see the edge is nearing, although it still feels like miles.
Fifteen. My feet begin to quicken, as though they can feel completely solid ground beneath them just ahead of me.
Ten. I can hear the girl behind me nearing, her footsteps heavy.
I practically run the last five feet, stumbling onto the rain-soaked grass with unimaginable relief. I freeze with my hands on my knees and my head hanging limply. I made it. I'm alive.
I can hear Rylan congratulating me with his rough voice, a small smile lighting up his weathered features. I smile too at the image. Rylan would no doubt be somewhere at Basgiath with his dragon, Reithe, but I would most likely not see him yet.
"Name?" A bored voice breaks me from my imagination and I jerk my head up.
"Wisteria Colland." The girl writes it down and leans her chin on her palm, staring past me. It is obviously a dismissive gesture, and I stare at her for a second. Fine then.
I go to sit on the nearest bench, observing the new cadets. Two older men, probably third years, stand off to the side. Their arms are decorated with rebellion relics. The Sorrengail girl stands at the edge of the parapet, her knife drawn and held at a taller man's crotch. I snort. Well. She certainly has him by the balls.
My eyes skim over the others, and they finally rest on the girl who shoved me. She has soft, round features and narrow eyes, her skin tan and smooth. Her braided crowd is unruffled by the rain, and she surveys everyone with open distaste. Her dark eyes meet my pale ones, and I narrow them in a glare. She smiles at me and gives a mocking wiggle of her fingers in a wave.
I turn my glare away, unable to look at the girl any longer.
It seems like ages when everyone has finally crossed the parapet—or died, that is. A woman begins calling out names and their wing, section, and squad number. I know many others have friends as squad leaders and wingleaders that secured them a position in their wing, but I have no such connections. I know no one here.
"Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today. Good job. Sixty seven did not." Commandant Panchek starts off, gesturing at all of us as he does. I've never seen the guy in person, but Rylan showed me pictures of all the higher-ups at Basgiath. "As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!
"You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts." Well. Good thing my instincts are usually correct. "If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we'll see how many of you make it to graduation." I snort. No sugar-coating around here, I guess.
"Your instructors will teach you," Commandant Panchek says, wrapping up his inspiring speech. He sweeps a hand towards the line of instructors against the doors of the academic wing. "Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved..." Panchek looks around at all of the cadets with a sinister grin plastered onto his face. "Well. You don't want me involved. With that said, I'll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don't die."
