What was its name? Headsplitter? Toothbreaker …? Annev could never remember; he’d been too excited to see the weapon, too keen to wield it or train with it.
But Sodar wouldn’t allow it; he wanted the past to remain in the past and claimed he had left that life behind when he rejoined the monastery at Banok, though that was not before learning a considerable amount about warfare and the wider world. From there he was eventually recruited by the ancients of Chaenbalu to replace their former priest. That had been decades ago – a lifetime, by most people’s reckoning – so it was understandable when he forgot details or didn’t care to elaborate.
Now, though, Annev saw the lies for what they were, and he wanted to know how deep they went. Questions he had long since set aside were joined by a series of new ones. What was this secret brotherhood? Who were Arnor and Reeve? What was an Arch-Dionach? An artisan? An ageless one? And what did it have to do with him?
He had just gone to lie down when he heard Sodar return. He’d speculated whether the priest would actually come back with firewood, and the clatter and thump of logs dropping onto the drying rack gave him his answer.
Annev wasn’t ready to confront the man, but he needed to heal his wrist; the pain and the swelling were steadily rising, and if it wasn’t treated soon he wouldn’t be able to compete tomorrow. He stood, passed through the kitchen, and opened the back door.
The priest had returned the axe to its place and was stacking logs.
‘We didn’t need any more firewood.’
The words came out before he could measure his tone, and Sodar cocked his head, squinting at the shadowed entry where Annev stood. ‘Are you all right, Annev?’
Annev swallowed, unable to respond without letting his emotions bleed through. Instead of speaking, he stepped into the shafts of light filtering down through gaps in the shed’s roof and raised his injured arm: the swollen wrist was bent at an awkward angle and the skin had turned a mottled purple.
‘Gods!’ Sodar exclaimed, coming forward to examine the injury. ‘What happened? Who did this? What are these bruises on your neck?’
Annev winced as the priest probed his broken wrist and bruised skin. He wasn’t sure how to answer, but it turned out he didn’t need to say anything.
‘It was that Fyn boy, wasn’t it? Him and his friends.’
Annev blinked. ‘Yeah.’
Sodar ushered Annev into the house. ‘I knew it. I’ve seen how they pick on you during exercises. It’s despicable.’
‘What?’ Annev asked, genuinely surprised. ‘When?’
The priest seated him at the table. ‘A month ago. When the ice had broken enough that they had you swimming laps around the mill pond. They kept pulling you underwater when the masters weren’t looking. But I saw.’ Sodar tsked at the injury, then went into his bedroom. He came back with a clay cup and a stick of charcoal, dipped the former into the jar of water near the hearth, and brought both items over to the table.
‘Such violence,’ he said, dipping the charcoal into the water then drawing a glyph on Annev’s forearm. ‘You would think they’d be more careful, with the test tomorrow.’ When Annev only grunted, Sodar stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘Only this didn’t happen in class, did it?’
Annev couldn’t lie, and when he didn’t immediately respond, Sodar had his answer. He opened his mouth to ask something else but stopped when he heard a knock at the front door of the chapel.
‘Who could that be?’ Sodar wondered aloud. ‘It’s too early for congregants to arrive.’ He set down the water and charcoal then propped open the rectory door. ‘Forgive me, Annev. I’ll be but a moment.’
Annev forced himself to nod then watched Sodar enter the worship hall. He tried to stoke his anger at the priest as Sodar marched down the centre aisle, opened the front door, and spoke to someone on the opposite side. Yet when Sodar returned with a sack under one arm, Annev found the rawness of his emotions dulled by his curiosity.
‘Who was it?’ he asked.
‘Yohan, the chandler.’ Sodar set the sack on the table. ‘He brought us some scented candles for tonight’s Regaleus sermon.’
‘That was … nice of him.’
‘Indeed,’ Sodar said, reaching into the sack. ‘He’s usually a prick.’
Annev laughed in spite of his pain, then stopped when Sodar cried out, dropping the sack of candles.
‘What is it? What happened?’
‘That damn chandler,’ Sodar said, carefully picking up the fallen bag. ‘He’s left something sharp in there.’ He reached inside, more careful this time, and withdrew a slender shard of glass that had fallen in among the candles. He set it on the table, tsking. ‘It’s as they say. “Mischief comes from giving gifts”.’
Annev shifted in his seat, remembering that his fight with Fyn had come after accepting Myjun’s Regaleus gift.
‘Do you really believe that?’
Sodar shrugged, sucking the blood off his thumb. ‘You tell me. When Yohan gave me the candles, he also delivered a message from Master Edra.’ Annev tried not to seem uneasy as Sodar took the damp charcoal stick and painted a second glyph in the palm of his injured hand. ‘Edra wanted to be sure you did some sparring practice with me this afternoon, which suggests he doesn’t know about your injury.’ The priest raised a single bushy eyebrow in inquiry. ‘Mind explaining what that’s about?’
Annev groaned, having forgotten his promise to Edra. ‘I missed half of weapons training.’
‘But not because of this,’ Sodar said, nodding at Annev’s broken wrist.
‘No. I was … helping Master Duvarek. That’s all.’
Sodar grunted. ‘We can spar when your wrist is healed.’ He dipped the charcoal again and drew a third glyph in the centre of Annev’s wrist. Annev winced at the pressure, but Sodar’s touch was light and precise.
‘I’ll heal it completely, since your test is tomorrow. Can’t have you failing because of those bullies.’ Annev nodded, grateful. ‘I’m leaving the bruises on your face, though,’ Sodar continued. ‘It’d look suspicious otherwise.’ Sodar examined his work then looked up. ‘Do you recognise these glyphs?’
‘The one on my wrist is the symbol for healing. The other two are …’ He hesitated.
‘Symbols for joining,’ Sodar said. He pointed to the runes on Annev’s palm and forearm. ‘They are two halves of the same glyph. Drawn separately, they can bind two things together – for a time, anyway. This should help the bones knit more quickly, especially in conjunction with the ward of healing.’
Annev nodded his understanding. The priest set the charcoal down, placed both hands on Annev’s injured limb and closed his eyes.