The Trials of Desorta Minon

The Trials of Desorta Minon

By Lauryn Turk

The person before her stank with the scent of death. Their sunken eyes a milky white, and their hands weathered and worn.

Cancer, or some other vile disease that ate you from the inside out.

You must complete the task in order to continue in the trials.

The voice sounded as if it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Desorta wanted to turn away from it all.

Turn away from the chance to study with the godlike beings of this world.

Turn away from that alluring voice beckoning her to commit an atrocity.

Turn away from the dying person who had begun to beg her, weeping, to kill them. To take them from this miserable world and onto a better one. Pleading with her to spare them, to allow them to move on.

“P-please…” they croaked out through rotting teeth with a voice rough from disuse.

Desorta felt a shred of her humanity leave as she reached out with her telepathy, weaving in parts of that forbidden power she holds so tightly to and touches the dying person's mind.

It is agony.

The disease festering inside is not one naturally formed, but one made. Inserted there a few weeks prior to take root and take its toll.

There was never any saving this person. There was never going to be any saving for them.

Desorta found what she had plunged in for, a tiny fragment of what was left of the person's soul glimmering from a dark corner. She brushed her metaphysical fingers ever so lightly against it and watched as it caught aflame.

The image flickering in front of her eyes was something similar. Flames lapped at the person's thin skin, eating it until it turned to ash.

They did not scream, the small coating of that hidden thing within her softened the pain, numbed them to the sensation of being burned alive.

She was grateful she could spare them that, spare herself that trauma.

Their last breath whooshed out as their soul flew from them in a rush, invisible to anyone who did not contain magic in their blood.

The scene abruptly began to change, shifting and swirling until she was standing in the High Councilor Aluoner’s office again, feet square on the dark wood floor.

Well done. You have passed. Your next trial will begin tomorrow at noon.

She was dismissed. She had done an awful thing, but at what cost.

The hooded figure behind the desk did not move as she slid out the door, their presence solid and still.

—

Sousa stood at the end of the hall, their face an unreadable mask.

Does he know what I had to do? She thought, dread pulsing through her in waves.

Sousa was her best friend, the one keeping her sane in Altrea. If he found out the disturbing thing she had just done, they would never forgive her.

They were one of very few elite students who possessed the power to heal. He would have been disappointed to know that she hadn’t even tried to save that person, had simply turned them to ash.

“Orty! How did it go?”

Sousa’s face lit up with a grin, pearly whites beaming at her through full lips. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“I passed, but I had to kill someone to do it.”

That was what she would have liked to say, but the rules of the trials were clear. You will never share what you go through.

She would have crumpled on the inside as she watched Sous’s smile fall, their eyes turning sad and distrustful.

Instead she said simply, “I passed!”

His smile grew wider as he fell into step beside her.

“I knew you would.” their casual confidence in her capabilities, and their knowledge of her secret, setting a balm over her frayed nerves.

“It was not all they had made it out to be though. The test was…different.”

“I’m not sure why you expected it to be the same,” his voice lilting with an accent she could never place, “we have known for two years now who the High Council really is.”

This last part was said in a whisper under their breath, a knowledge kept tucked away by them both and all of those who quietly attended Professor Meena’s “extra” study lessons.

There were five of them in total, three of those five being Desorta, Sousa, and Sousa’s partner Cala.

Those meetings were very well hidden and were akin to that of a rebellion group if one was to truly look at it in the right light.

Desorta was thinking about this and what Sous had said when they turned a corner in the dark hallways and almost ran right into Professor Aster. The man stood stock still in the central passageway, the one that led to the caffe and the classrooms beyond, as if he was a sentry guard posted at the door of the King himself.

“Desorta Minon, what a pleasant surprise to find you wandering the halls with…” a pause as he evaluated Sousa, taking in their flowing, pleated skirt, black platform loafers, and tight black mesh top, before continuing, “a, I’m sorry I’m not entirely sure what to call you, student as eccentrically inclined as this one.”

The complete disregard for Sousa and his identity, even though Professor Aster had Sousa as a student, sent the fire that pulsed through her raging. If only she could release some of that little hidden talent on him, right here in this hallway, oh how delightfully quick he would stop talking.

Stop breathing.

Just like that person they had made her kill today.

All that fiery rage and hate flew out of her like a bird taking to the sky. With it gone she felt deflated, defeated morally and emotionally and all she could muster the ability to do in that moment was stare right into Professor Aster’s face and glare.

She shoved past him, Sousa tailing behind her, and hated the way she cringed as his laughter filled the hallway.

The sound of it chased after them as they exited Altrea’s oldest building and crossed the sunlit courtyard, with its green grass and immaculately kept gardens, to the victorian style homes which had been converted into dormitories.

She marched across the greenway, ignoring the way the sun glinted off the many flowers, and threw open the door to the very last victorian on the right.

Sousa, silent behind her, closed the door less forcibly.

She turned around then, getting ready to spew out the incomprehensible word vomit of an apology when Sousa raised up a hand to stop her.

His face was tight, closed off, unreadable. A face she had only ever seen him wear once, she had hoped to never see it again and yet here it was plain as the summer sun.

“Please don’t. I don’t want an apology from you for that asshole. What I do want though is to understand why you let him say it without consequences.”

That stung.

Ripped at her heart more than her trial this morning had, and there was nothing she could do about that pain unless she fixed this.

But she couldn’t fix this without breaking the rules of the trials, and being severely punished herself.

The longer she stood there, the more Sousa began to pull away, a note of disappointment flashing across his features so quickly that she barely picked it up.

She felt like the worst friend in the world just then.

“Nevermind. When you’re ready to explain it to me you will, right now I’d just like to find Cal and hide with them for a while. I know you’re my friend, and you care about me, but right now I am feeling hurt and I’d like some space.”

Desorta swallowed down a thick swell of tears. She felt worse than she could have ever imagined feeling, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Sous was right to ask for time separate from her, but it didn’t mean that her heart did not clench with the pain of it.

“I understand.” It came out in a whisper, one so filled with sorrow that she couldn’t help but be disgusted with herself a little for it.

Sousa nodded sadly, and without another glance back, slipped out through the door in search of Cal and comfort.

Desorta would be going into tomorrow’s trial alone, the backing of her closest friend temporarily suspended as she figures out the best way to apologize to them.

Now she needed sleep, and the faint comfort of her own bed.

Tomorrow was the Trial of Fears.

—

The midday sun is blinding as she emerges from her dorm, the walk across campus making the pounding behind her eyes even more ferocious.

She had not slept, her tears and the emotional stress she had endured the day before had kept her up staring at a blurry ceiling.

She was facing down another trial in a matter of ten minutes, her long legs propelling her across campus. She would not be late for this trial, but she also wished that she had not been chosen, that someone else had to face down this next feat instead of her.

Cal came swimming into view, worry creasing her face.

“Orty, have you seen Sous?” the fear behind the words was tangible and thick.

There was something wrong.

“I saw him yesterday. They left my dorm in search of you. They weren’t with you last night?” a feeling of being sucked into a vortex she does not want to be sucked into, cannot be sucked into, takes a hold of Desorta’s already weakened mind.

That feeling only strengthened its hold when Cal, with welling tears, shook her head no.

Before she could even suggest they go to the dean or Professor Meena, a heavy hand had landed on her shoulder and Professor Aster’s deep voice was talking right by her ear.

“Desorta, Desorta, Desorta,” he started chidingly, talking to her as if she were a child, “I know your friends are ever so important…but you are expected and I wouldn’t want you to be late. High Councilor Ogi is waiting for you.” and with that his grip on her shoulder tightened and he began to drag her away.

The tears in Cal’s eyes spilled over then, silent and steady.

Desorta reached out through their private telepathy link, one that not even this college of vipers would ever have access to, and said the only thing she could think to.

Find Meena, tell them about Sous. Start a search and when I can escape the grasps of these monsters, I will come and find you.

The only confirmation she received was the subtle nod of Cal’s head, and slight dip of her chin as Professor Aster whisked her inside the campus's main building.

—

The rules were being explained again. This time by High Councilor Ogi.

You will not tell a soul of what you do here. You will complete the trial as instructed and if you fail to do so you will not continue. You will do as I say. If you refuse you will be asked to stop the Historastolical. To refuse is to deny studying with the Astolical. Do you accept these terms?

“I do.”

Wooden walls, and granite floor began to spin as High Councilor Ogi used their powers to transport her to their trial chamber.

The room refocused, and she was in something akin to a dungeon. Corridors dimly lit by flickering torches, the silence punctuated by screams.

The Trial of Fears had begun.

Walk down the corridor, your task will be behind the last door on the left.

She walked, her shoes making resounding clicks on the stone floor. Her hands shook as she reached the designated door, the screams echoing out of every room now grew silent.

The handle of the door was cold, smooth metal and when she pressed her thumb onto the latch it swung open on silent hinges.

You are to use this person's greatest fears in order to bend them to your will. You have exactly one hour to do so.

Desorta felt like throwing up.

Realization swelled inside of her and before she could even consider the possibility, the door leading out of this room and away from this awful task, swung shut with a soft click.

Cal would never find Sousa, not where Desorta was sure her and Professor Meena were bound to look.

Sousa was here, chained to the wall of this horrible place, bloodied and bruised.

Desorta’s next task.