As he neared the south-eastern edge of town, Annev passed through a grove of ochroma trees and dared to look up into their branches in search of ring-snakes. He saw only a few bats, though, and paused to drink from the mill stream. It tasted a bit brackish, but the water was welcome after his long run. He took several gulps then crossed the dam to join the road leading into the village. He weaved through the narrow streets surrounding the plaza, giving the Academy a wide berth, and made doubly sure he stayed out of sight of the stained-glass window in Tosan’s study.
As he hastened through the alleyways, Annev looked down and was shocked to see he had forgotten to remove the bandage from his left arm – a task he’d meant to do before entering the village. He ducked behind the tannery wall, set the lantern down, and peeled back the wrapping at the base of his elbow, feeling a slight pang of guilt as he did so. The pedlar had told him to leave it alone until the wound had fully healed, but Annev couldn’t risk the stigma of a visible injury or the failure it implied. Even after fulfilling Tosan’s mission, a scar of that magnitude would effectively void his achievements, marking him as one unworthy of Odar’s favour. Annev had seen it happen to Kenton, and he had no desire to suffer the same fate.
As the bandages fell away, Annev examined his wrist and forearm. The skin was pink and tender with faint, almost invisible, mottled red spots surrounding the area where the witch had bitten him, but he saw no scratches or scars. The magic prosthetic had healed itself.
Relieved, Annev tucked the bandage into his tunic, reached into another pocket, and retrieved Myjun’s Regaleus glove. The pristine red and gold fabric had been tucked neatly into his breast pocket since he’d left the chapel yesterday morning. In contrast, the black Glove of Illusion, which had survived the Test of Judgement, had been shredded by the wood-witch. Crag had saved the tattered scraps for him, but Annev had only the non-magical glove to cover his arm. He pulled it on now, thinking of Myjun and of finally giving her the promise ring, and even though it could not hide his arm from magical scrying as the Glove of Illusion had done, he was comforted by its presence.
Annev poked his head around the tanner’s wall and glanced up and down the street. When he was certain no one was watching, he sprinted back in the direction of the eastern watchtower, weaving through the small alleys and hoping to avoid any ancients or masters attending to early-morning errands. Outside the village proper, he darted between farmhouses, hastening towards the standing stone where he’d left the palm vine and dragon’s blood; he wouldn’t breathe easily until he’d gathered the supplies, collected Crag’s letter to Sodar, and reached the chapel.
Annev eased the training shed door open and set down the lantern and supplies. As he did so, he took a moment to examine the pedlar’s artifact, twisting it until light became diffused and then focused. Annev marvelled at it, less because of its magic and more because it was an astonishing gift.
Despite Crag’s final admonition about keeping the lantern safe, Annev had briefly considered turning it over to Tosan. It would be dangerous if he were discovered with it, but he also wanted to impress the headmaster by returning from his mission with an artifact – however small – for the Vault of Damnation.
But it had been a gift; surrendering it would be a betrayal of Crag’s friendship, and Sodar could keep it and Mercy safe. So in the end Annev decided to leave the lantern at the chapel. And if he ever needed to, he could collect them both.
Annev placed the lantern beside the sack of supplies, then extracted a crumpled piece of paper. The letter was addressed to no one, but Annev was certain it was the one Crag had written for Sodar. As he held it, Annev heard the priest bustling about in the rectory. He crammed the letter into his empty pocket and caught the faint scent of spiced tea wafting from the kitchen. He sighed, simultaneously relieved by its comfortable familiarity and saddened to exchange that warmth for the Academy’s cold companionship.
Annev eased open the kitchen door and saw Sodar, alone at the table, polishing Mercy. The bright phoenix banner was draped across the table and Sraon’s sheathed axe lay atop it.
The old priest raised his head, saw Annev in the doorway, and was unexpectedly choked up with emotions. Before Annev could say a word, Sodar wrapped him in a fierce hug.
‘You’re home!’
‘Made it back.’ Annev wanted to say more but found he could only mumble into Sodar’s shoulder.
The priest held him at arm’s length. ‘I heard you failed the Test of Judgement, and Tosan immediately sent you on an errand. Have you been gone all night?’
Annev nodded, relieved Sodar already knew about his failure. ‘He set me another test. Did the Academy not tell you?’
‘No,’ Sodar shrugged, ‘but you’re back now.’ He pushed Annev towards a seat and started to make porridge. ‘What happened … and where is your glove?’
Annev pulled out the shredded garment and dropped it on the table. ‘It’s a long story. Tosan said I could still earn my avatar title if I completed a mission in the Brakewood.’
‘He did?’ Sodar looked up in surprise. ‘Annev, that’s fantastic! What was the task? How did you do?’
Annev cleared his throat and reached into his tunic. ‘I was supposed to strike a deal with a lost pedlar, escort him away from the village, and then kill him.’
‘Kill?’ Sodar looked up in time to see Annev place the two bloody ears atop the tattered black glove. ‘Oh, Annev.’ Sodar set aside his cooking. ‘I’m sorry you were put in that situation. It’s not easy, taking a life, especially an innocent one.’ He paused. ‘Wait … you said a stranger found the village? A pedlar?’
‘Yes. A fat fellow with a scraggly beard. He had a funny accent, like Sraon’s but thicker.’
The priest seemed to go weak in the knees. He sat down across from Annev, their breakfast forgotten on the stove. ‘And did you learn this pedlar’s name?’
Annev stared hard at the priest. ‘I think you know it already.’ Sodar was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
‘Crag.’
Annev nodded and the priest looked at the ears on the table. ‘These are his? You killed him?’
Annev shook his head. ‘I would have, I think, but we were set upon by a witch.’
‘A witch? A sorceress attacked you?’
Annev shrugged. ‘She was old, all dressed in black rags. I thought she was blind at first, but she could see things … she knew things.’
‘What made you think she was blind?’
‘Her eyes were clouded white.’
Colour drained from Sodar’s face. ‘This woman … did she give her name? Or say what she wanted?’
‘No. Well, maybe. She was crazy – she called me a one-armed Son of Keos and tried to kill us. She probably would’ve killed Crag if I hadn’t intervened.’
‘So you killed her and took her ears?’
‘I said it was a long story. We killed her, yes, but I took these ears from a feurog.’
‘Feurog?’
Annev nodded. ‘The witch called them feurog. They attacked us after she died. They looked like people but … more wild, and their bodies were twisted with metal and rock.’ Annev paused. ‘None of this sounds familiar to you?’