The Void Test

by Therese Arkenberg

A girl climbed up the mountain path. In the early morning air, mist beaded on her dress and skin, and the blond hair in her braid became frizzy with moisture. She chose each step with care, and held her skirts so high that her bony ankles flashed as she walked. Every so often, she glanced ahead, then looked back down at the path. She stopped and stared when she rounded a bend and looked into a river valley. The path lead across the stream, where the space between the shore and the rise of foothills was just large enough to hold a long stone hall—the temple, her destination.

On a porch of the temple, a tall woman stood and watched the girl approach. Behind her, the bronze doors stood open, and a brazier smoked in the darkness of the sanctuary within. Wisps of smoke twined with the mist rising into the air.

The girl climbed the narrow stairs carefully, skirts hiked even higher than before. She tossed her braid over her shoulder with a shake of the head and looked up at the woman. Beneath the hem of her hiked skirts, her legs trembled.

“Who are you, girl?” the woman asked.

“Sadirin Tuoth Canar. I’ve come here for the test.”
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