Why didn’t I take the rods when I had the chance? Annev realised he was angry with Sodar for influencing that decision yet again, and then angry with himself for shifting the blame.
I knew what I had to do. I should have done it. If I had picked up the third rod then I’d be the one in brown and everything would be different. Therin would have failed the test, but Annev felt he deserved the title more, and he had more to lose … so why had he gambled the certainty of his future happiness on the faint chance that Tosan would allow all three of them to pass? Would he feel half so miserable if he had betrayed Titus and Therin? Annev didn’t know, but he suspected a future with Myjun would have compensated for the loss of his friends.
After almost thirty minutes, Annev stopped in front of the headmaster’s familiar oak door just as it swung open and a man in dark red came out, bumping into Annev.
‘Excuse me, Master Carbad.’
The Master of Operations rubbed his nose as he squinted at Annev. His temples were streaked with grey and he carried a ledger and inkpot in his arms. After a moment, his eyes brightened with recognition.
‘Ah! Ainnevog.’ The master gestured at Tosan’s door. ‘Elder Tosan is waiting.’
Annev bowed to Carbad and stepped into the room. As he closed the door, his boots shifted from bare stone to the thick, red-and-black rugs Tosan used to carpet his study. Ornamental tapestries lined the walls, and a single bookcase brimmed with scrolls and manuscripts. A massive oak desk occupied the centre of the room with a pile of scrolls sitting atop it and Tosan behind it, reclining comfortably in a fur-lined chair. Yet neither Tosan nor his furniture held Annev’s attention. As usual, that honour was reserved for the immense stained-glass window covering the east side of the study.
From simple shards of coloured glass, the artist had constructed a fantastic forest setting. To the far right, a man lifted a staff to the heavens, his eyes like lightning streaking from a thundercloud. To the far left, a red and gold depiction of Keos completed the artist’s rendition of the Battle of Vosgar: the God of Blood and Bone was amidst a swarm of keokum – depicted as armoured giants, black-skinned dragons and fiery-eyed faeries – a flaming hammer in his massive golden hand; his adversary wielding the silver staff met the attack with a blast of blue-white energy, his face shining with the light of Odar.
Tosan cleared his throat and Annev tore his gaze from the stained glass, then sat in the small, hard chair the headmaster gestured to.
The ancient stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee as if pondering some weighty matter.
‘Do you know what a ring-snake is, Ainnevog?’
‘A what?’
‘A ring-snake,’ Tosan repeated, steepling his fingers. ‘It’s known by other names – codavora, ouroboros – but the one most people seem to know is ring-snake.’
Annev shook his head, unfamiliar with the creature and unable to guess where Tosan was taking the conversation. ‘I’ve only heard it used as an expression. “More tricks than a ring-snake”. That sort of thing.’
The headmaster nodded, expecting as much. He rose from his chair, pulled a thick volume from the bookcase, and flipped through its pages. He stopped at an illustration of a serpent wrapped around a tree branch and set the book in front of Annev.
‘They can only be found in the Vosgar,’ Tosan said, returning to his seat, ‘but the Brakewood used to be part of the Vosgar, so we have some ring-snakes at the southern edge of Chaenbalu. When I was an acolyte, the Master of Poisons sent us to hunt for them … but they’re chameleons – an effect of the toxins secreted by their skin. Master Karrigan theorised that those toxins also helped them shape the trees.’
‘Shape the trees?’
Tosan nodded, tapping the illustration. ‘They nest in ochroma trees, which aren’t very dense, and they squeeze the branches till they form rings. When they’re hunting, they bite their tails and disappear – they look just like the tree rings – and then they ambush their prey, squeezing it like the tree branch. The victim suffocates, but the toxins accelerate things. It’s almost as if—’
Tosan fell silent, leaving his thoughts unfinished. Without a word of explanation, he pulled a time-worn journal from the desk and jotted a note in it with a gold-nibbed pen.
Annev sat in silence, confused, and after a minute wondered if Tosan had forgotten him.
‘You’re wondering why I mention the ring-snakes,’ Tosan said. He set his pen down and reached for the pounce pot.
‘Ah …’ Annev floundered. ‘It’s not my place—’
‘It’s an analogy,’ Tosan said. He scattered sand across the wet ink, set it down to dry, then capped the inkpot and pointed his pen at Annev.
‘You’re a ring-snake, Ainnevog.’
‘I’m what?’
Tosan returned the journal to his desk, then poured the loose sand from the paper back into the pounce pot. ‘You’re a ring-snake,’ he repeated, pushing a scroll across the desk towards him. ‘You blend in with the tree – you pretend to be part of it – but you’re actually twisting it, weakening it. Reshaping it to fit your own needs.’
Annev unrolled the scroll as Tosan set a second and a third on the desk.
‘Do you know what these are?’
Annev studied the paper in his hands. ‘These are your notes from our annual meetings.’
Tosan nodded, then tapped the top parchment. ‘Could you read the fourth line down?’
Annev studied the scroll. When his eyes reached the fourth line, his stomach twisted into a knot. Even so, he read aloud. ‘“Argues with the ancients. Does not accept authority”.’
‘Every year,’ Tosan said, tapping the other scrolls. ‘It’s come up every single time, Ainnevog. A long-standing problem. You’ve never been content with things as they are, and you behave as if the rules shouldn’t apply to you. Sodar has instilled the spirit of rebellion in you.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Precisely,’ Tosan interrupted. ‘You don’t.’ He raised a hand and began counting his fingers. ‘You don’t live at the Academy with the rest of your peers. You don’t receive the same training. You don’t accept what the ancients are teaching you. You don’t question what Sodar teaches you.’ He raised his fifth finger. ‘And I’m sure you don’t agree with the verdict in the testing chamber this morning.’
Annev’s mouth snapped shut. What could he say to that? The last part was certainly true – and he did question the ancients – but the rest was outside his control. Should he be punished for living with Sodar?
‘I question all of my teachers,’ Annev said, finding his voice. ‘Sodar is no exception. As for living at the chapel … I’ve had no alternative.’
A faint smile quirked the ancient’s mouth. ‘You act as if you have no agency, Ainnevog. As if you were a slave to your circumstances and this’ – he tapped the scrolls on the desk – ‘were somehow the Academy’s fault. But we both know that’s a lie. When you disagree with something, you try to change it. That’s what you did this morning, isn’t it? Your stunt with Therin and Titus?’