And many centuries passed since the first Regaleus, and the people of Luquatra were greatly blessed by the Gods. And they were lifted up in the pride of their hearts and the traditions of their cultures, both the Darites and the Ilumites as well as the Terrans. And contentions arose among the people regarding points of doctrine and of rulership, and they established kings and kingdoms among themselves. And from thence the Second Age became known as the Age of Kings.
Now when Odar and Lumea saw the changes being wrought among their people, they went down among their worshippers and counselled them, and they taught them to be peaceable and humble. And to the degree that people listened, so they were blessed. And the Flute of Lumea and the Staff of Odar passed unto many of the Ilumites and Darites. And they were called daltas, or child-gods, for they wielded the Artifacts of the Gods and were blessed with divine power.
But the Terrans were not counselled or taught by Keos during this time, for his anger still consumed him. And his children became a warlike people, prone to savagery and lust. And instead of crafting tools and instruments, they began to forge weapons and armour and arrayed themselves with all manner of fine apparel and jewellery. And when Keos finally rose from Thoir Cuma and gazed upon the works of his people, he was not angered but glad. And he became a fickle God, prone to blessing those possessed of strength and beauty, willing to lend his favour to those who fought well and were filled with passion.
And it came to pass that many years had passed away, yea, even six hundred years had passed away since the first Regaleus. And it was seven hundred years since the day that Myahlai, the Incarnation of Entropy, was cast out of Luquatra.
‘The Fall of Keos’, excerpt from The Book of Odar
Chapter One
‘Annev! Wake up.’
Annev rolled away from the voice as a sharp jab in the ribs brought him to complete wakefulness.
‘Ouch!’
‘Get up,’ Sodar hissed, prodding Annev with the butt of his staff again. ‘You’re going to be late for class.’
Annev sat up and threw off the mound of blankets. ‘I’m awake! I’m up!’ He jumped to his feet and shivered as they touched the freezing floor. He stretched, shivered again, and inhaled the earthy smell of sweat mixed with straw, dirt and cinnamon. He wrinkled his nose and yawned.
With the windows shuttered, the only light came from the guttering candle just outside his bedroom door. As his bleary eyes adjusted, he saw the priest standing before him, staff in hand.
‘Come on!’ Sodar snapped. Then he paused, his face softening as he studied Annev in his small clothes. ‘You can skip dusting the chapel today. You’ll barely have time to wash as it is.’
Annev grinned in spite of the chill. ‘I’ll have time,’ he said as he flipped open the chest by his bed and pulled out a stained beige tunic and matching pair of breeches. The unbleached fabric had once been ecru – almost white – but now his Academy clothes looked more brown than greige.
‘Fine,’ Sodar said, beckoning him to hurry. ‘Water, hearth, kettle. When you’re done—’
‘I know, I know,’ Annev pulled on his breeches. ‘Check the traps and clean the chapel. Same thing every day.’
‘Almost every day,’ Sodar corrected. When Annev looked up, Sodar caught his eye. ‘Tonight is the first night of Regaleus. And tomorrow is Testing Day. The last Testing Day.’ The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Annev nodded, his face turning solemn. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’
Sodar nodded. ‘Good. Hurry up then. I’ll ready your waterskins. I’m starting the count as soon as you leave this room.’ The priest left.
Testing Day, Annev thought, lacing up his breeches. The last Test of Judgement. The next three days were Regaleus, the celebration that signalled the beginning of spring, and that meant tomorrow was the last time Annev’s class could take the test – the last chance any of them had to earn their avatar title.
Annev weighed his own prospects – and sighed.
The Academy held a test at the end of every month to see which student would advance from Acolyte of Faith to Avatar of Judgement. Only one student could advance each month, and after participating in fourteen tests, fewer than half of Annev’s classmates had gained the coveted rank. It might have been more, but becoming an avatar didn’t disqualify the winners from participating in the next Test of Judgement, so boys who had already won kept competing against those who hadn’t.
It isn’t fair, Annev thought – not for the first time. Especially when my reap is the largest the Academy’s ever had.
Annev belted his tunic and pulled on his soft leather boots. As he laced them, he thought of his two friends, a skinny youth named Therin and a plump little boy named Titus, neither of whom had yet earned their avatar title. Remembering that detail pained Annev, for it also reminded him he would be competing against his two friends for the final avatar promotion. It seemed unlikely, too, that either of Annev’s friends would win, for neither excelled at physical combat. Therin’s strengths instead lay in stealth and skulduggery, while Titus was simply outmatched. Almost two years younger than the rest of Annev’s classmates, Titus had come to the Academy in a later reaping and was advanced into Annev’s class because of his talent with the softer skills taught by the ancients, such as history, husbandry, agronomy and arithmetic. But that advancement had also come with an ultimatum: if Titus could not pass the Test of Judgement with his senior classmates, he could not graduate at all.
No student had ever been turned out of the Academy, but those who failed their Test of Judgement were forbidden from ever becoming master avatars. Instead, they became stewards, and in Annev’s mind there was no greater punishment: stewards could never qualify for the highest rank of Ancient of the Academy, they could not teach the acolytes, they could not marry, and they were de facto servants of the masters and ancients, subject to their whims and slave to any tasks the Master of Operations deemed appropriate.
That wasn’t even the worst part, though, which was that avatars were sent on artifact-retrieval missions once they became masters, but stewards could never leave Chaenbalu. They would spend their whole lives in the village, trapped.
Annev always felt for Markov, in particular, a steward who spent most of his days helping Master Narach catalogue artifacts in the Vault of Damnation. A plague had passed through Chaenbalu several years ago, striking many people down, including a good portion of the Academy’s older students, witwomen and master avatars. Markov was one of the lucky few who fell sick but survived. Unfortunately, he had been too ill to participate in most of his reap’s tests, and by the time he had fully recovered his chance was gone.
Annev pulled out a pair of black gloves and stared at them, noticing that the left was more threadbare than the right. He shrugged, flung the second glove back into his chest, and pulled the worn glove up to his elbow. He didn’t always wear just one glove, but he did it often enough that the masters and ancients had come to accept it as his personal idiosyncrasy.