Annev clenched his fist, finally getting himself under control. Accepting, again, that he couldn’t remove the prosthetic. He breathed through his nose, forcing himself to calm. ‘You can go wherever you want,’ he said, his tone cold, ‘but I’m staying here.’ He returned to his bench, folded his arms, and sat down.
Sraon and Fyn exchanged a look but Therin was the first to move. He strolled over to Annev’s corner then plopped himself down on a bench on the other side of the broken aisleway.
‘Why would you want to stay?’ he asked, oblivious. ‘We’ve been cooped up in that Academy for ever – and now we can leave! Go wherever we want. Do whatever we want.’ He leaned back, propping his feet on the toppled bench in front of him. ‘There’s nothing here, Annev. The whole village has been destroyed. If anyone survived, they left at the same time as those metal monsters.’
Titus cleared his throat. Therin looked up and saw the boy was scolding him. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but when Titus didn’t elaborate he shrugged and continued.
‘Brayan’s checking the Academy for survivors. He hasn’t found any women or children yet, but he thinks some of the masters ran in there after the fighting ended. If you ask me, though, that was really stupid of them. I mean, that place is crumbling.’
Titus cleared his throat meaningfully again.
Therin crossed his legs, getting more comfortable. ‘Not that any of that was your fault, Annev. I mean, some of it was, but it was mostly the feurog that destroyed the village.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘The Academy, though, that was—’
‘Therin!’ Titus shouted.
The boy’s feet fell from the bench. ‘What?’
‘Stop talking!’
Therin frowned, looking between Titus, Sraon and Fyn. Fyn shook his head.
‘Idiot.’
Annev studied the faces of all four men: the three next to the dais all had grave expressions, but when Annev looked at Therin, he seemed merely offended, as if he couldn’t fathom what he had done wrong. In spite of how miserable he felt – in spite of all the terrible things that had happened – Annev found a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. This seemed to make Sraon, Titus and Fyn worry all the more, but Therin grinned back and Annev shook his head.
Things were bad, about as bad as they could be, yet Therin made the best of it. He dared to approach Annev when the others hung back, their friendship tempered by a fear of something they did not understand, and which Annev understood no better than them.
He sighed and looked down at his golden prosthetic: the hand shimmered and gleamed, giving off an eerie glow that could be seen even at this time of the evening. He did not want to burden or endanger the others – not with the golden arm he couldn’t hide, the magic he couldn’t control, or the fate he didn’t understand – yet they had chosen to stay with him. He felt guilty even thinking about it and so made himself keep his distance, to weigh his chances of surviving on his own. Yet every time he considered leaving them, he had no idea where to go or what to do.
Annev slowly stood, forcing himself to approach within a dozen feet of the others. No one shied away, but he sensed their uneasiness growing, so he halted.
‘How does Reeve know we’re coming?’
The blacksmith seemed to know what it cost Annev to ask.
‘Sodar sent him word after your Test of Judgement,’ Sraon replied. ‘He was worried. I think he was making plans to leave.’
Annev nodded, knowing that was true. ‘Well, if Sodar wanted me to meet Reeve, that’s what I’ll do. I owe him that.’ He paused, looking around at the assembled group. ‘I’m not sure it’s wise for all of you to come with me, though.’
Fyn snorted. ‘I don’t give a damn what you do. All I care about is leaving this godsforsaken place.’ He turned and pointed at Sraon. ‘He says he knows some people in Luqura who will pay for our avatar skills. That’s why I’m going. We just happen to be travelling in the same direction.’
Therin circled around the chapel then sat on a charred bench facing Annev and the others. Annev looked from him to Titus. ‘What about you two?’
Therin shrugged. ‘When we get to Luqura, I’ll figure out how I fit into things.’
Annev nodded, unable to argue with that. ‘Titus?’
The chubby-cheeked boy smiled. ‘I’m going with you, Annev. So is Master Brayan. We were talking with Sraon and we think we can help … if you’ll let us.’
Annev sighed and looked down at his arm. ‘I don’t know that I want you to. Almost everyone in the village died because of me.’
‘That’s not true,’ said a booming voice at the back of the hall.
Annev turned and saw Master Brayan standing in the doorway with his massive war hammer in his hand. The former quartermaster strode through the hall, casually lifting a bench out of the way. He reached the foot of the dais and closed the gap between Annev and the rest, forming a half-circle. He stared at Annev’s golden hand, wary, then forced himself to look Annev in the eye. ‘I found a path into the ruins. No survivors, but I did find some answers.’ He met Annev’s eyes. ‘You weren’t responsible for this.’
‘But—’
‘Just wait. Let me finish.’ He reached into his tunic and pulled out a crumpled envelope sealed in black wax. He raised it above his head. ‘I found a half-dozen of these in the west wing, along with the bodies of most of our witwomen … and wit-apprentices.’
‘What?’ Annev said, disbelieving. He looked to the others for answers, yet they seemed no less shocked than he. Brayan lowered the hand holding the envelope.
‘Carbad said the witwomen had gathered there for a meeting before the attack, so I kept searching till I found the room – I thought some of them had to have survived.’ He shook his head. ‘They killed each other. They’re all dead. Every last one of them.’
‘Why?’ This from Titus, his eyes brimming with tears.
Brayan shook the letter. ‘I doubt I would have understood this message before the attacks, but its meaning is obvious now.’ He handed the letter to Annev. ‘Read it, boy. Read it aloud for the rest of us.’
Annev swallowed, then fumbled to open the off-white parchment and began to read.
The Vessel has been found. The Last Reap is here, and the Fallen Ones are being assembled and anointed. In an hour, I will open the tunnels and they will purify the village. Execute your charges now and join us in the west wing precisely three hours after dawn. When we are gathered, we will drink from the Cup of Fate, and the unprepared Brides will meet their Lord.
Annev looked up. ‘It’s signed “WMK”. Who is that? Witmistress Kiara?’
Brayan nodded. ‘That’s my guess, too.’ He looked at the others. ‘It frightens me to say this … but I think our witwomen brought those monsters here.’
Annev shook his head. ‘The assassin, Oyru, came for me. You all heard him ask for me.’
‘Aye,’ Sraon said, ‘but this letter tells a second story – a dark one at that.’
‘That’s not all,’ Brayan said. He reached behind his back and pulled out a long, pointed piece of melted metal. He gave the scrap to Sraon. ‘What do you make of that?’