By the end of the two months, Solis was making progress. Finally, progress that even Fudango and his other tormentors could not deny. (Although of course they did anyway.) Solis had begun saying to himself every night like a mantra, “I’m getting somewhere,” as he went to bed with new bruises and aching muscles. Satisfying aches, of course, not meaningless, excessive ones. Thanks, Fudango. His bones were stronger, his muscles leaner, and whatever weight he’d gained therein was more than counteracted with continued flight practice. Just as lifting weights with the upper body inevitably strengthens the lower as well.
They had entire days where they simply worked with the group in the mines, which were mostly wrung out and unused. Dank pits, spiraling into a dark abyss on cramped tracks and narrow clifflike paths, lit by sparse torches. The thought occurred to Solis at least once that digging downward for precious things while being—so they said—already in the bottommost parts of the Earth was a comical notion. Cirius, of course, reasoned that those of so low a rank as they should by all rights be confined to such labor, and it was only by recommendation of the Sky Magnates and the grace of the Lords Above that they were allowed to climb through the Strata at all—thus, they should learn what it was to labor as the lower peoples.
“Don’t worry,” cackled Roberto during Cirius’ warmup speech for that, “You’ll probably fail, so you’ll be at this again anyway. Just in a different place.”
Solis hadn’t found this overly funny, but Kurso said gravely, “They’re not just going to accept you up there if you come close, boy. Take my word for it.”
Of course, the mostly friendly giant was far less so the rest of that day. It turned out that even he and Fudango’s temperament took a nosedive on workdays. Sore muscles, sore temperament. Aching bodies . . . aching pride?
Or were these guys all just faking it? They did claim to be physically superior to him in every way . . .
On a few occasions, Solis could have sworn he saw Sissy in the night. Or a young girl that looked like her. One night he was certain he did. She was walking toward the edge of the camp and, upon noticing his observation, gave him a dramatic shushing sign. And then she was . . . gone.
Telsan made great strides, and began to show Solis up in many areas—much as he hated to admit it. Cirius finally began having them spar together in the last few weeks, with both Fudango and Straid watching. Sometimes Phoenix would be an opponent instead, though both of them had only gained strength over time and their physical differences were more pronounced and unfair than ever. Though competitive as always, the girl didn’t mind as much as Solis would have thought. Her teacher seemed confidant that in a real fight, she could even the odds with her elementalist powers, which she could now use as arms or multiple sets of legs instead of wings. Apparently, that was standard for those of such talents in the Earth, where grasping appendages were of more use in tunnel settings. The boys growing too strong of limb for her to keep up merely physically.
They were also allowed out on regulated excursions to see nearby landmarks and gain experience at spelunking the various types of caverns—which they were required to map and examine, learning by heart how to spot dangerous situations. Faults, weaknesses, local anomalies, volatile Mineral hotspots, all of which supposedly could occur naturally and changed rapidly over time. No Stratum was mapped out accurately for this reason, as pressures both natural and supernatural caused change over time.
But there were also monsters to watch out for, and traps by rival climbers and other hostiles, though they saw none of the latter yet. A large part of what Cirius had them learning was aimed at other contestants or rather—if they were “too squeamish to take an opportunity when it presents itself”—to be used in protection against such. Solis and friends certainly agreed that they had no intention of harming other climbers, but they wouldn’t pretend that all others would feel the same. Phoenix seemed to take this notion with utmost seriousness, and he wondered if it went back to her fateful incident with Colla in that mysterious island.
Finally, the day came. Cirius woke them all with a deafening thunderclap from the main courtyard, jolting the boys awake. Solis nearly pulled a wing as he climbed out of bed, listening to the moans of his fellow beauty-sleepers as they arose as well. The understanding was silent and unanimous, as Cirius had informed them in advance. Just not at the manner of our waking . . . he grumbled to himself, working his jaw to pop his ringing ears. The following amplified call from without was unnecessary at this rate:
“All to the central plaza!”
Cirius had done this on a few occasions now. As soon as Solis’ mind was working, he put on his trousers like a decent human. They’d all known they’d be getting out of here . . . but it felt almost impossible that the day had come.
Cirius’ final test was surprisingly mundane: A long set of pre-arranged exams, both written and physical, testing their knowledge of the lower Earth Strata, physical strength, endurance, flexibility, and proficiency with the basic Mineral building blocks. He seated them at individual stone tables for the first part, and they proceeded to one of the arenas for the latter. The whole thing lasted perhaps a couple hours, until at last he bid them stop.
“You pass. Naturally, it was an easy examination, as I am not allowed to truly test you once more. Otherwise, I’d have pitted you against these eight. Of course, that would also have required that I put some of them on your team to even it out, and possibly grant them freedom for their efforts to incentivize them. Which, again, I had already agreed against.”
With a raised hand, he silently ordered the upper gates of the prison camp to open. “There. You are free to go. You understand how to navigate these lower caverns by now, yes?” They nodded. “You’d better. All this knowledge will be essential in the trials to come; the second Stratum will not be like this one. I will be following your Ascent. Head north and west, and follow the fault line to the place with no orbital suns, and there you will be able to transcend this Stratum. Go with my blessing, and pursue that of the Lords Above. Tarry not long, or the opportunity will be revoked.”
Solis felt a small jolt inside at those last words. He looked at his companions with an uncontrolled grin. “This is it, huh?” Then he sought out Fudango with his eyes, finding the man with arms folded, blending into his companions at the perimeter of the courtyard. “Thanks for everything.”
Fudango grunted. After a moment, he gave a small dip of his head in return, ponytail swishing.
Phoenix, surprisingly, approached her glowing mentor and embraced her tightly. Huh, didn’t think those two were that close . . . He didn’t hear the few words they exchanged before she pulled away and returned to their group. No tears wetted her eyes, and she didn’t look particularly moved, but she was not usually given to such displays of affection.
“Well?” he asked his friends. With a shared nod, they turned to Watcher Cirius and thanked him, and then crouched, preparing for flight. Briefly, Solis wondered how wingless people would normally leave, before remembering the platform that had brought them. No matter, of course. They beat their wings, Phoenix flaring her vibrant flames, and lifted off.
The camp fell away below them, and all its forlorn occupants. They were out. They were done with that dark, grimy place. He would miss the guys, but only a little. Not like Floris and his parents, or Faridi . . .
Once out of the camp’s walls, they oriented themselves using the technique Cirius had taught them on their excursions outside, following the patterns lit up by the distant blue suns in their lazy, chaotic orbits. North, and then west. North, west, and then upward.
Upward. At last.
End of First Stratum