Read The Lightning Wastes (The Traveler's Gate Chronicles: Collection #3) for Free Online Page B

the man-made buildings, the waypoint stood straight and tall, its black spike pointed at the cavern ceiling far above. Its runes shone brightly enough that they lent a soft yellow light to the whole outpost.
    Those were the only constructions that, for one reason or another, needed to rest aboveground. Everything else rested below, in natural tunnels expanded by tame cavern-worms.
    Today, there was one extra feature in the outpost: a wagon shaped like a vast barrel, pulled by four nervous-looking oxen. Rasmus always thought animals from the outside world looked exotic, though he couldn't understand why merchants insisted on using them here. The creatures inevitably hated Naraka's persistent smell, and panicked at the first sight of any native wildlife, so they were less than practical to bring along. But most water merchants insisted on trying.
    A line of people waited behind the water-wagon, carrying buckets, pails, pans, smaller barrels, canteens, flasks, and bottles. Anything they could use to carry a mouthful of water. There were no full Travelers in line, of course; they had people to haul water for them. People like Rasmus and Taichon.
    Petrus nodded toward the water line, as though they hadn't performed this same chore a hundred times. “He'll have buckets for you. Bring two each to the foot of the sanctuary, empty them in the well, then fill them again and take them to my house. If you hurry, we can talk about your Initiation.”
    Rasmus' gut seized up, and he found himself grabbing his teacher by the sleeve. “I'm sorry, sir. Initiation?”
    One of the Tutor's gray eyebrows raised. “Yes, of course. We've spoken of this before. Once you've called your first creature, you're to be made an Initiate. Surely you should know this by now.”
    Rasmus felt his face flush. “Yes sir, I know, but I mean...so soon? I thought we would have time to prepare first.”
    “There's very little to prepare for, really. We call it an Initiation and surround it with ceremony, but really you just walk up to the obsidian tree and confess. Depending on the weight of your confession, it will grow you a fruit. You eat the fruit, and you're qualified as an Initiate. It's a practical requirement more than anything else. Now, if you will excuse me...”
    With that, Tutor Petrus hurried off, his hand raised to wave at another old man in red robes.
    Rasmus was familiar with the obsidian tree, of course. It was housed in this very outpost, so Naraka Travelers from all over the country came here for Initiation. Once the black tree produced its fruit, whoever ate it gained the ability to handle fire and not be burned. Some could only resist a candle's flame, and anything hotter would eat through them as quickly as anyone else. Rumor said that Overlord Malachi could swim through lava and bathe in molten iron without feeling the slightest discomfort. Your degree of protection depended on your confession.
    And there was Rasmus' problem: he had nothing to confess.
    As he and Taichon retrieved their wooden buckets from the water merchant, Rasmus considered his history. What had he done? Was there any crime he committed, anything he had hidden from himself? He wanted as dark a sin as possible: rumor among the other Travelers-in-training said that only the most severe, profane crimes earned the highest degree of protection.
    Taichon tried to start a conversation while they stood in line, but Rasmus was too tied up in his thoughts to pay much attention. He had tried to steal a sack of figs, once, from a stall in the streets of Bel Calem, but the stall owner had caught him with his fingers around the fruit. When they got home, his father had switched him. Surely that wouldn't work: he had already received punishment, which under Narakan law meant that the crime had never happened.
    The merchant worked a pump on the back of the water wagon, and the clean stream flowed out into Rasmus' bucket, splashing his hands. No charge for them; the merchant recognized