Wrenfrey sat down next to the water, and braced himself before striking steel against flint. Sparks flew, and the small pile of kindling he was crouched over caught fire. A hostile orange glow lit up the dark of the night, throwing slivers of light across the lake and the small pile of bodies that lay a few steps in front of him. Wrenfrey grimaced. Bad light, he thought. He quickly threw a pinch of copper powder into the fire, and the flames dimmed to a soft shade of blue. Better. He added a handful of larger branches, then stacked heavier logs on top of those ones, waiting for the fire to grow.
In the ground a few steps away from the fire, a pole with a slim brazier at the head jutted out of the ground, holding another blue fire. Wrenfrey walked over to it, sat down, and looked to the sky. The fire had ruined his night sight, but his eyes soon adjusted to the darkness again. Years of skygazing had made it easy for him to block out everything other than the stars.
It was the Month of Water, and The Rivers gleamed brighter than any other constellation. Wrenfrey could make out a few of the other autumn starsigns; The Partners, two thin trails of stars joined at the hip, were always easy to find. The Sands, which had shone brightest a few weeks before, was starting to dim. They were only stars, but Wrenfrey was so used to finding the signs that he subconsciously drew lines between them, instantly identifying each constellation and filling the sky with pictures. He craned his neck around, trying to find the tendril-like cluster of stars that made up The Kraken, internally searching for its radiance. That was his starsign- not the one he had been born under, but the one he had studied under. Its light, its unique radiance, was something he was attuned to so deeply that he could identify it amongst the light of a thousand other stars.
Wrenfrey closed his eyes for a moment and basked in the sky’s warmth. Blocking out all other senses, he focused on the different radiances that each star sent down to the surface, searching for the familiar feeling of… There. He opened his eyes, and turned his head towards The Kraken. It glowed weakly, a summer constellation in an autumn sky. With every passing day it was getting harder and harder to find, and every day Wrenfrey felt his invocations grow a little weaker. It wouldn’t be long before The Kraken faded completely, and he would have to wait another year to feel its light. But for now, at least, he could still find it.
Wrenfrey glanced back at the flames and frowned. They had grown, but some of the larger logs weren’t catching; the fire was no where near large enough to properly get rid of the bodies. He turned his face back to the sky, finding the radiance of The Kraken again, and opened himself as a conduit.
Underneath his shirt, he felt the tattoos that snaked along his arms turn cold. In his mind’s eye, incomprehensible rays of light leapt down from the sky, darted along his tattoos and though his body. Celestial radiance surged within his arms, and for a moment, Wrenfrey felt what the stars felt: loneliness, floating amidst the infinite cold. He mentally pushed the radiance out of his body, redirecting it towards the flames. He willed them to grow, inciting them into a hungry blue blaze, feeding the flames with the radiance. The largest logs finally caught flame, and azure light flooded the lake’s edge and the forest behind him.
Wrenfrey sighed, closing off his connection to the constellation, and rubbed some warmth back into his arms. The tattoos, along with the Kraken’s prominence in thermal astrology, allowed him to use starlight as fuel for fire, but the invocation was only as efficient as his connection to the stars. The constellation would only grow weaker as the autumn months progressed, and Wrenfrey’s flames would grow weaker as well. Soon, I will be good for nothing more than lighting lanterns.
He got up slowly, stretching his arms. He took off his coat and folded it on the ground by the brazier. The white coat of a Rightmaker was a symbol, a sign that demanded respect, and he didn’t want to get any blood on it. One by one, Wrenfrey began to drag the first body closer to the fire. There were seven in all, each dressed in a sand-covered cloak, and each blotted with dark red patches. It was heavy work, but they deserved better than just being left out here. It was one of the most important tenets of the Starlit Order; the dead must be respected, even if they were a priest, and Wrenfrey wasn’t above getting his hands dirty. The group had been travelling light; there was no travelling equipment or food. Wherever they had left from, they had left unprepared.
The first body was a heavy one, the largest of the group. Wrenfrey heaved it onto the flames with a grunt, turning the flames into a funeral pyre. As the body burnt, he watched the ashes drift upwards in the wind. We all return to the sky. He walked back over to another body, which was a lot smaller than the others. He turned it over and paused. It was a child, a young girl, no older than ten. A spear wound had cleanly pierced through her chest from the back, and her corpse still carried a small expression of surprise. She had died quickly, wondering what was happening to her. A small blessing, he thought. Her eyelids had drifted half shut, but Wrenfrey crouched beside the body and gently opened them again, turning her face to look at the sky. The reflections of a hundred stars glittered in her eyes.
“Oh…”. A small whimper from behind him sent shivers down Wrenfrey’s spine. It was only a quiet noise, but he had heard many of its like before. It was the sound made by someone who had just had grief unceremoniously forced upon them. Standing slowly and turning around, Wrenfrey saw a man a few metres away from the edge of the forest, holding a double-bladed knife and a dead rabbit. He was older, Wrenfrey realised, perhaps fifty, and wore the same sand-coloured cloak that the corpses had. He was looking at the corpse at Wrenfrey’s feet, his face slack in disbelief. Then he looked up, and Wrenfrey saw furious recognition dawn in his eyes.
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"I know your face. It's on all the Lodge pamphlets.” He frowned. “I can’t remember the name.”
Wrenfrey backed towards the brazier slowly, keeping his eyes on the knife. This man was older than the rest; the only reason they would have sent him hunting instead of someone else was if he was more capable than he looked. You’re hiding something.
“Mine own name is Wrenfrey. I take it that thou art the eighth priest.” Wrenfrey said, and the man nodded.
“I’d forgotten you all talked like that. Yes. You’re Wrenfrey the Second. The only Protege with sandblood in your parentage.” The old man chuckled sadly, and gestured to the corpse. “I suppose it doesn’t stop you hunting us down.”
Wrenfrey didn’t look down. “You violated the Starlit Order when you ran from Winhurst West. Thy chance for mercy hath been and gone. Let it be known I did not want this to happen.”
The old man laughed, then caught himself. “It’s strange. We spent months travelling from Winhurst. I spent every day with these people. I loved them. And now they’re dead and burning, and I can still laugh.” He pointed to the corpse again. “Her. Her name was-”
“I need not know her name.” Wrenfrey had had enough.
The old man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Guilt in a Rightmaker? Perhaps you do have a sense of brotherhood.”
Wrenfrey shook his head, still backing towards the brazier. “I feel no sympathy for invaders such as thee. My loyalty is with the Lodge. With the Starlit Order and Cameron the First. Nay one else.”
The old man remained where he was, but dropped the dead rabbits by his side. “Yes, of course. Cameron. Quite the man, I’ve heard. Quite the Justicar.” He smiled again. “Definitely the best leader they could have chosen”.
Wrenfrey felt his back touch the brazier. “You are trying to anger me. It will not work.”
The old man sighed. “Tell me something. When they teach you that damned way of speaking, does it change the way you think? Does the voice in your head speak in the same way you speak aloud?”
Wrenfrey wrapped his hand around the shaft of the brazier. No. Not for me. Not yet, at least.
The old man sighed again. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’ve killed all of my friends, and I have no doubts that you’d kill me too.” He adjusted his grip on his knife. “And I’ve never claimed to be a brave man. A priest doesn’t get to my age without learning when to run away.” He glanced once more at the girl’s corpse, and tears ran down his face. “But I suppose I had to stop running eventually.”
The old man threw his knife toward Wrenfrey with unnatural precision. Wrenfrey dove to one side, pulling the brazier out of the ground as he did so. The knife passed by him, twin blades glittering in the blue light. He stood up and held the brazier in both hands, with the fire facing downwards. The other end of the shaft sharpened into a spearpoint, still covered in blood. Wrenfrey dropped into a low dash and began to close the distance between him and his attacker. The old man made no attempt to run away. Instead, he stepped to the right, so that Wrenfrey was precisely in between him and the… Knife! Wrenfrey instinctively dove to the left, and heard a whisper of movement as the blade flew through where his head had been moments ago, back into the waiting hand of the old man. Astrology, Wrenfrey thought. Now that he was closer, he could make out the tattoos on the man’s wrist. They were shaped like constellations, circles of impossibly complex drawings connected by thin straight lines. In the largest circle, Wrenfrey recognised the two trails joined at the hip that represented The Partners, the constellation for bonding astrology. No doubt the knife had similar etchings on its handle, allowing the man to recall the blade to his hands at will.
Wrenfrey grimaced. He needed to end this now. The Month of Bonds came after the Month of Rivers; the old man was using his invocations at close to his full capability. Eventually, the knife would find its mark. Wrenfrey checked the fire in his brazier-spear was still burning.
The old man raised his hand to throw the knife again. This time, Wrenfrey was ready- he swung his spear through the air at the same height the knife had flown before, batting it out of its path and sending it flying behind the old man. The man’s eyes instinctively followed the knife, and that distraction was all Wrenfrey needed. He hurled his spear in an overarm throw, and as it left his hands, he invoked The Kraken again, feeling the familiar numbness streak down his arms once more, and instantly directed the surge of radiance towards his spear. The meagre sparks in the brazier exploded and sharpened into a roaring blue flame mid-flight, and the spear rocketed towards the old man in a streak of steel and fire. It caught him cleanly in the centre of his chest, piercing through to halfway down the shaft. The old man blinked, coughed, frowned, then staggered slightly under the weight of the weapon. He looked down at the spear, and a quiet look of confusion fell across his face. Wrenfrey walked over, gently placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. Their eyes met, and Wrenfrey saw nothing but hate. He closed his own eyes, turned his face to the sky, and pulled the spear out in one quick movement. The man sagged to his knees, choking out words as he fell.
“They didn’t choose you-” He coughed, spitting blood onto Wrenfrey’s shirt. “You did everything they asked and… and they still didn’t choose you…” Then he fell forwards, face down in the dirt.
Wrenfrey stuck his spear back into the ground. Priests from Across The Sand travelled in groups of eight, there wouldn’t be any more attackers. He walked over to the edge of the lake and washed the blood off of his face. On the surface of the water, blue light from the bonfire danced in the reflection of the sky. Wrenfrey the Second paused for a moment, looking to the stars once again. Then he turned away, and began dragging the old man’s body towards the fire.