Annev held up his left hand. ‘About this. I used to think a Bloodlord made it for himself, but it can adapt its size and colouring to the wearer – from an adult to an infant – which made me think it was probably crafted to grow with a child … but why? The Sons of Keos never help anyone.’
Sodar laughed. ‘Did the Academy teach you that? The Terrans worked harder than any race during the First and Second Ages.’ They walked back towards the kitchen. ‘Frankly, I think it was crafted as a gift for a loved one, but not by a Bloodlord. It’d have been made by an Artificer, like Urran.’
‘So,’ Annev said, walking beside Sodar, ‘maybe their motives were good initially, but … things are different now, right? The Terrans were good people back then, but now they’re evil.’
‘The way anyone with a disability used to be good, but now they’re all worshippers of Keos? Like Sraon? Like you?’
Annev’s cheeks reddened at catching himself with Myjun’s words in his mouth, and he found he had no response. He stopped in front of the steps to the kitchen and rubbed his left elbow. ‘No, you’re right. It’s maddening hearing the masters and ancients talk about cripples and magic as if either one was proof of evil. I keep wanting to tell them – to show them – that they’re wrong.’ He shook his head, feeling the burden of his secrets. ‘Sometimes I wish I could tell people – let them see the truth with their own eyes. Instead, I always have to lie about what … about who I am.’
‘Who would you tell?’
Myjun immediately filled Annev’s mind, but the memory of her ugly words quickly pushed that thought away. His heart told him that she was only repeating her father’s words; but he wished he could be certain she would feel differently if she knew Annev’s secret.
‘Other avatars,’ Annev said, after what felt like too long a pause. ‘Then maybe they wouldn’t give me such a hard time. Or I could tell some of the villagers. The way they gossip about Ilumites and keokum and Keos marking people with deformities … I don’t know. I want to show them they’re wrong. I’m not evil. Maybe they’re not, either.’
Sodar put his arm over Annev’s shoulder as they climbed the steps to the rectory. ‘You have good intentions and a good heart, Annev, but have you forgotten how they treat Sraon? He’s a wonderful man with a kind heart and a generous spirit, which doesn’t stop them from cursing him and everything he touches. If any one of them knew you were missing an arm, they would tell the ancients and you’d be stoned to death.’ Sodar looked Annev in the eye, utterly serious. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Not ever.’
Annev gave a small nod.
‘Good.’ Sodar squeezed his shoulders and opened the kitchen door. ‘Now, how about we eat something – and then you can open your presents.’
Annev turned. ‘There’s more than one?’
‘Only if you’re quick.’
Annev sprinted into the house.
Chapter Twenty
A few minutes later, Annev was seated at Sodar’s modest table with a bowl of cold meal in front of him. They both bowed their heads and sat in silence. After a moment, Annev lifted his head and cracked an eye open to peer at his companion.
‘It’s your turn, Annev,’ Sodar said without moving.
The boy snapped his head back down and said a blessing over the food, invoking the will of Odar. When it was finished, he snatched up his spoon and dug into the thick porridge.
‘I hate cold oats,’ Annev grumbled, scooping another overflowing spoonful into his mouth. ‘Any chance of some meat?’
‘No. Arnor’s summons caught me by surprise, so I didn’t have time to cook.’ Sodar stirred his own bowl, tracing a glyph across the surface of his mush and whispering a word. Steam immediately rose from the surface of the porridge, its contents smelling of ginger and nutmeg.
‘Hey!’ Annev said, pointing at the steam. ‘Why didn’t you heat mine up?’
Sodar shrugged. ‘You’ve got magic. You know the glyph and the words of power. If you want hot food, heat it yourself.’
‘But I can’t—’
‘Yes,’ Sodar interrupted, pointing his spoon at Annev. ‘You can.’
Annev rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue. Though when Sodar’s attention returned to his food, Annev quickly traced the glyph for heat on the surface of his oats. He studied it, wondering if the symbol was clear enough and whether the water in the oats was sufficient to fuel the magic.
‘Teasaich,’ Annev whispered, speaking the ancient name for the rune. He probed the bowl with his spoon then brought the porridge to his mouth … still cold.
No surprise there.
He finished eating a few minutes later and tossed the bowl and spoon onto the table.
‘All right,’ he exclaimed, ‘when do I get these presents?’
Scraping the sides of his own bowl, Sodar lifted a finger at Annev. ‘Wash the dishes first.’ Matching words to actions, Sodar licked his spoon and stacked it and his bowl along with Annev’s. Annev groaned, but dutifully took the dishes from the table and carried them outside to be washed in the water trough abutting the exterior of the training shed.
When Annev returned with clean bowls and utensils in hand, Sodar was still seated. This time, though, a large red and gold piece of cloth covered the table. It gave Annev a start, as it was embroidered with the detailed form of a phoenix. Again, Annev’s mind jumped to the glove Myjun had made for him, which he’d hidden in his tunic pocket along with his lock-picking tools. He studied the cloth on the table, noting as he did so that it lay uneven and bulged in some spots, as if one or more flat objects lay beneath it.
‘It’s a phoenix,’ Annev whispered, still surprised at the coincidence.
‘It’s the emblem of a Halcyon Knight named Breathanas. It’s said that his enemies would flee when they saw the phoenix banner. You’re named after him, in part.’ Annev examined the threading more closely and marvelled again at its resemblance to Myjun’s gift.
‘Was Breathanas a child-god – a dalta?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Ancient Benifew said some of the daltas’ faces were engraved on the Academy walls. He mentioned Breathanas.’
‘He was a dalta,’ Sodar said carefully. ‘Though his line was virtually wiped out in the years after the Gods went silent.’
Annev stared at the flag for a moment longer. ‘Right,’ he said, remembering. ‘When the Gods’ weapons were stolen.’
‘The diamagi weren’t really weapons,’ Sodar said, ‘though the Artifacts of Legend – the flute, the staff, and the hammer – were used as such. They were tools and, like any tool, they could be used to create as well as destroy. But enough of this. You’ve waited long enough.’ Sodar whipped away the red and gold banner, revealing what lay hidden beneath.
On the table lay two exceptional weapons: an axe, its blade covered by a thick piece of rawhide; and a shortsword sheathed in an ornate silver scabbard, its hilt wrapped from crosspiece to pommel with a light blue cord. Annev picked the latter up and slid it from its scabbard.
‘Sodar! This is amazing. How … where did you get this?’
‘It was mine. A gift from a very old friend, which I am now giving to you.’
Annev ran his thumb along the edge of the weapon. Void of nicks and chips, it was perfectly smooth – round even.