Blood Song

Dentos, silent for once, smiled back weakly before hitching his strongbow over his shoulder and vaulting over the rail into the river. He swam to the bank quickly and paused to shake off the river water then disappeared into the trees with a brief wave. Barkus was next, theatrically balancing atop the rail before performing a back flip into the river. A few boys clapped appreciatively. Mikehl went next but not without some trepidation. “I’m not sure I can swim that far, Master,” he stammered staring down at the dark waters of the river.

“Then try to drown quietly,” Sollis said tipping him over the rail. Mikehl made a loud splash and seemed to remain underwater for an age, it was with some relief they saw him surface a short distance away, sputtering and flailing before he regained his composure and began to swim towards the bank.

Caenis was next, accepting Vaelin’s wish of good luck with a nod before jumping wordlessly over the rail. Nortah followed him shortly after, controlling his evident fear with some effort, he said to Sollis, “Master, if I don’t return I would like my father to know…”

“You don’t have a father, Sendahl. Get in there.”

Nortah bit back an angry retort and hauled himself onto the rail, diving in after a second’s hesitation.

“Sorna, your turn.”

Vaelin wondered if it was significant that he was last to go and would therefore have the longest distance to travel. He went to the rail, his bowstring tight against his chest, pulling the strap on his quiver taut so it wouldn’t come adrift in the water. He put both hands on the rail and prepared to vault over.

“The others are not to be helped, Sorna,” Sollis told him. He had said nothing like this to the other boys. “Get yourself back, let them worry about themselves.”

Vaelin frowned, “Master?”

“You heard me. Whatever happens, it’s their fate, not yours.” He jerked his head at the river. “On your way.”

It was clear he would say nothing more so Vaelin took a firm grip of the rail and swung himself over, falling feet first into the water, enveloped instantly in the shocking coldness of it. He fought a moment’s panic as his head went under then kicked for the surface, breaking into the air he dragged it into his lungs and struck out for the shore which suddenly seemed a lot further away. By the time he struggled to his feet on the shingle bank the barges had passed him by and were well upstream. He thought he saw Master Sollis still at the rail, staring after him, but couldn’t be sure.

He unhitched his bow and ran the string through his forefinger and thumb to ring the water out. Master Checkrin said a damp bowstring was as much use as a legless dog. He checked his arrows, making sure the water hadn’t penetrated the waxed leather seal on the quiver and made sure his knife was still at his side. He shook water from his hair as he scanned the trees, seeing only a mass of shadow and foliage. He knew he was facing south but would soon wander off course when night came. If he was to follow Caenis’s advice he would have to climb a tree or two to find the North Star, not something easily attempted in the dark.

Although grateful that the test took place in summer he was starting to chill from the swim. Master Hutril had taught them that the best way to dry off without benefit of a fire was to run, the heat of the body would turn the water to steam. He set off at a steady run, trying not to sprint, knowing he would need his energy in the hours to come. He was soon embraced by the cool dark of the forest and found himself instinctively scanning the shadows, a habit he had acquired during the many hours of hunting and hiding. Master Hutril’s words came back to him: A smart enemy seeks the shadow and stays quiet. Vaelin suppressed a shiver and ran on.

He ran for a solid hour, keeping a steady pace and ignoring the growing ache in his legs. The river water was quickly replaced by sweat and his chill receded. He checked his direction with occasional glances at the sun and tried to fight the sensation of time passing quicker than it should. The thought of being pushed out of the gates with a handful of coins and nowhere to go was both terrifying and incomprehensible. He had a brief and equally nightmarish vision of turning up on his father’s doorstep, pathetically clutching his coins and begging to be let in. He forced the image away and kept running.

He took a break after covering about five miles, perching on a log to drink from his flask and catch a breath. He wondered how his companions were fairing, were they running like him or stumbling lost amongst the trees. The others are not to be helped. Was it a warning, or a threat? Certainly there were dangers in the forest but nothing to pose a serious threat to the boys of the Order, toughened by months of training.

He pondered for a short while, finding no answers, before stoppering his flask and rising, still scanning the shadows… He froze.