‘Sodar,’ Annev whispered, his breath catching in his throat as he recognised the truth.
Tosan nodded. ‘This evening’s Regaleus sermon reinforced my opinion and prompted me to speak with you. The man’s teachings are subversive – appropriate, perhaps, for a deacon or a mindless farmer, but destructive to the Academy and its mission. You claim the priest openly supports you becoming an avatar, but I see how he subtly poisons you against your own interests – and you don’t even realise it.’
Annev turned from Tosan’s gaze, unable to bear its weight. The headmaster’s logic was twisted, yet there was some truth to it. Sodar had been undermining the Academy’s teachings – and in ways less subtle than Tosan was suggesting – but had that really translated into Annev subconsciously sabotaging his own efforts to advance within the Academy?
His stomach churned. He didn’t want to betray Titus and Therin tomorrow, but first Witmistress Kiara and now Tosan were encouraging exactly that. Worse, Annev found himself drawn in by the headmaster’s logic; he didn’t want to hurt his friends, but they had all hurt his chances of becoming an avatar. At the same time, Sodar probably did not mean for Annev to fail his Test of Judgement, but the influence of his ethos might have led Annev to do exactly that. The thought made Annev resentful, and when he considered how secretive the priest remained – even after Annev had confronted him and exposed his lies – he felt angry and confused; he no longer understood Sodar or his motives, and the weight of Tosan’s observations added to that burden.
‘Think on it,’ the Eldest of Ancients said, his tone implying the conversation was at an end. Annev looked around, realising only then that they had stopped a dozen feet from the headmaster’s chambers. Tosan moved towards his door and the boy slowly followed.
‘Consider your priorities as you approach tomorrow’s test, Acolyte Ainnevog. If your desire is to become an avatar, you must place that goal above all else. There can only be one victor in the Test of Judgement. That means allowing your friends to fail – or succeed – on their own merits, even if you could otherwise save them.’
They stopped in front of the ancient’s door and Tosan took the lamp from him.
‘One last thing,’ the headmaster said, the shadows dancing across his face. ‘Do not take my silence as tacit approval of your courting my daughter. Myjun is strong-willed, and I will not deny her what she desires, but neither do I approve of her fascination with you. It is no doubt prompted by your defiance and the novelty of your ancillary role at the chapel – but neither of those things will bring you closer to my daughter. If you are determined to continue this … infantile courtship … you must align yourself with the Academy’s values. Otherwise you will become a steward, and Myjun will always be beyond your reach.’ He paused, allowing the silence to emphasise his point. ‘Do you understand?’
Annev stared at the headmaster, shaken by their conversation and pierced by the truth of his situation; the stakes for tomorrow’s test could not be higher.
‘I understand, Elder Tosan.’
Tosan nodded. ‘Sleep well, Acolyte Ainnevog.’
He closed the door, leaving Annev in darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Annev awoke with a start, his hands reaching for something. His hair was damp with sweat and his chest heaved, but he was alive and whole.
What was that? Where am I?
He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness as his mind wrestled with his disorientation. He was in his bedroom, the faint glow of starlight leaking through the tiny cracks in his chamber walls. As he lay on his pallet, his breathing beginning to calm, he felt beneath the prickly straw mattress for the crimson glove Myjun had given him, safely tucked away. His fingers traced the stitching of the phoenix. Annev felt a lump inside the garment and reached inside for the promise ring he had also hidden. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat as his fingers toyed with the ring.
Why do I feel so anxious? Why are my hands trembling?
And then he recalled his nightmare. The vision had been so terrible – filled with shadows and darkness, blood and stones …
But the details were already fading, and when he fought to remember what had frightened him so badly, he could only recall the barest details: a stone table and a golden mask; red lips and green eyes.
Myjun? Annev wondered. Was I dreaming of her? He clutched the phoenix glove in his fist and thought harder, but the vision had fled, replaced by memories of the previous day which were just as uncomfortable.
As specious as Ancient Tosan’s arguments had been, Annev had to concede the Eldest of Ancients had made some valid points, which had circled his mind on his walk back to the chapel – a journey made all the more difficult as Tosan had taken back his lamp and left Annev in the pitch darkness of the Academy’s unlit halls.
To his relief, when Annev had arrived home he found Sodar already in bed. Unable to sleep, Annev lit a candle and wandered back into the chapel. With barely a thought as to what he was doing, he began sweeping, cleaning the room and preparing it for the morning. When he’d finished, he was still wrestling with his emotions, so he’d given up and gone to bed, hoping sleep would absolve him of his worries. The nightmare proved how foolish that hope had been, and Annev rose again, this time gathering his waterskins to trek back to the village in the moonlight.
When Annev reached the well, he kicked the hand crank and listened to the bucket splash below. He slowly cranked it back up, and as the bucket rose from the depths, he tried to get to the heart of his sleepless turmoil: he resented Sodar for lying to him and for refusing to speak about his parents; he was angry that Tosan blamed Sodar for his failure to pass the Test of Judgement; he was upset with himself for thinking Tosan might be right; and he felt guilty for planning to use his friends to pass tomorrow’s test.
Annev returned to the chapel with full waterskins and a heavy heart. He filled the clay jar in the kitchen and considered going to the Brake to gather firewood. He even took a step towards the shed but stopped short when a wave of anxiety crashed over him.
The dream, he thought, catching glimpses of it again: a bloody table, a disembodied voice, black nightmarish hands pulling him down into the stones … It terrified him, yet he tried to latch on to the threads of it, weaving them into something coherent he could make sense of. Instead, exhaustion overcame him and he retreated back to bed, cold and tired and with a mind full of nightmares, of Myjun, of Tosan’s warnings, and of tomorrow’s Test of Judgement.
Not tomorrow, he realised with growing anxiety. Today.