“Iron’s hot enough. Are you ready, lad?” Tomaro asked as he leaned away from the fire.

Eija stared at the red hot iron in the blacksmith's hand. Blowing out his breath, he nodded.

“Have a seat and put your arm on that table,” instructed Tomaro.

Eija sat, rolled up his sleeve, and placed his left arm across the wooden table. “How bad does it hurt?” he asked Naja.

She chuckled. “Unimaginably so.” She showed him her own brand. “I was only twelve when I received my flaming crown. And as for when I earned my wings”—she smiled—”I was your age.”

“Here”—Gremmelt handed Eija a small piece of wood, sanded into a rod—”You’ll want to bite down on this.”

Eija took the wood and gently placed it in his mouth. Alright, Eija. It’s just pain, nothing we haven’t had to handle before. Can’t look weak in front of Naja. Stay strong, and you better not cry.

“Hold him still” said Tomaro as he stepped up next to Eija and positioned the brand over his arm. Gremmelt grabbed Eija’s arm and firmly pushed his weight into his wrist and upper arm while Naja gently placed her hands on top of his shoulders.

Tomaro glanced around, locking his gaze on Eija. “On the count of three,” he said.

“One.”

Okay Eija, just breathe.

“Two.”

I mean, how bad could it really hurt? It’s only going to be like a second, right?

“Three!”

The hot iron dropped down and pressed into Eija’s forearm. He bit into the wood, resisting the urge to violently shake.

It’s just pain. It’s just pain. It’s just pain.

With Gremmelt squeezing his arm and Naja pushing down on his shoulders, his body could only slightly tremble. His muffled screams began to die as Tomaro lifted the brand and revealed the flaming crown now burned into his forearm.

“See? Not so bad,” he told Eija.

Eija looked down at the seared flesh and blackened symbol that now marked him as the King’s servant. He spit out the wood and took a deep breath as Gremmelt and Naja let him go.

“Hardly felt it,” he said before wiping the sweat from his brow. Eija’s head fell back and he was now looking up at Naja.

“You sure screamed like you did,” she said with a smile. She moved towards the table and grabbed a bandage that was soaking in a bowl of water and herbs. “Here, let me get it covered so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Sure,” he replied, hiding the immense pain in his voice. I can’t believe anyone would do that again after the first one. Let alone a child of twelve.

Gremmelt watched as Naja wrapped the wound, his mind clearly occupied by other concerns.

She glanced up at him and noticed his distant gaze. “If you need to go prepare, I can take care of Eija. I’ll tell him where to stand and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble,” Naja said as she finished wrapping the boy's arm.

“I’d appreciate that,” replied Gremmelt. He examined the boy a final time. “You're well on your way, Eija. Tomorrow the real training begins.” Gremmelt’s eyes were glossy and his expression belied his heavy heart. “Rest while you can,” he said before taking his leave.

“Will he be alright?” Eija asked.

“Losing Benard was challenging for everyone. None more so than Lord Gremmelt,” Naja replied, her own eye reflecting the same sorrow as Gremmelt’s.

“Benard was like a son to Gremmelt,” a voice added. “He was the first Initiate, and Gremmelt was the first Master.”

Two figures entered, one clad in iron plate and a green cloak with short sandy colored hair, the other strapped in a shining silver breastplate, green cloak, and carrying a large circular shield painted with the symbol of Providence.

“You know, I was just telling Lord Ros that we might as well hand all of the Initiates over to Gremmelt,” said the one clad in iron.

“Evening, Gentleman,” Tomaro said.

“How goes the forge, brother?” replied the sandy-haired man.

“As well as always,” Tomaro replied. He shifted his gaze to the man with the shield. “I have your sword.”

“Glad to hear it,” replied the man. He glanced at Naja and Eija, moving slowly towards them as he spoke. “You must be the whelp I’ve heard so much about. Quite impressive you’ve cut down the Shylar tree your first month here. I would say it is unheard of, but I am afraid Naja beat you to the punch.”

Naja smiled. “He is doing quite well for himself, there is no reason to compare him to anyone else.”

The sandy-haired knight laughed. “But that would be impossible. Nameless boy, sister in with a coven, and he’s being trained by Gremmelt.” The knight shook his head and chuckled. “There is no escaping it. Everyone in The Order is thinking the same thing.” He looked intently into Eija’s eyes. “Can you live up to the legend?”

“Let’s not put any unnecessary expectations on the boy, Sir Galiard,” said the other man. He stepped in between them and extended his hand out. “We haven’t properly met. This is Sir Galiard Ghallor, and I am Lord Cavill Bastion. We’ve been with The Order since its inception.”

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“My name is Eija. It is nice to meet you.” Eija shook the man’s hand before shaking Sir Galiard’s. “How come you are not a Lord?” he asked.

Sir Galiard laughed, smiling as he did. “I refused the title. My father is Lord Ghallor, and to avoid any unnecessary confusion, I chose to lean into my knighthood instead of my Lordship with The Order.” He shrugged. “Besides, my brother Gregous will become the next Lord Ghallor. Well, once my father steps down, that is.”

“Father is getting quite old,” Tomaro added.

“Unfortunately so. It’s amazing he can still lift the Axe of Ghallor, let alone keep up with the affairs of every town and village in his domain.” Sir Galiard puffed up his chest and slammed his fist into it proudly. “We Ghallor men aren't slowed down or addled by age. When his time comes, it will be abrupt and unexpected.”

“Perhaps you should go to him,” said Tomaro.

“Perhaps we both should,” replied Galiard, gesturing broadly at the smith. “After all, you may not have been born my brother, but brothers we are now. Father loves you as his own, always has, always will—and I am no different. ”

“Well if I ever get a chance to tear myself away from this forge, I just might,” replied Tomaro.

Sir Galiard threw back his head and chuckled. “That would be the day!” he exclaimed.

“If you two are done reminiscing, I would like my sword,” said Lord Bastion as he folded his arms.

“Right away, Lord Bastion,” replied Tomaro. He moved behind his counter and picked up a silver arming sword. “Here you are,” he said as he handed it over.

Lord Bastion grabbed it with his right hand and gave it a few practice swings. “Perfectly balanced as always. Thank you, Tomaro.”

“Anytime,” he replied.

“The Festival is almost upon us”—Lord Bastion looked to Naja—”you should probably get the boy and yourself in position.”

“Yes, Lord Bastion,” replied Naja.

“Galiard, let's make our way to the other Lords, I think I saw Sangun and Derbish already,” said Lord Bastion.

“Well, let's get it over with, then,” replied Sir Galiard as he and Lord Bastion made their way to the door and left.

“Come on,” Naja said, grabbing Eija’s arm and pulling him along.

The two pressed out into the courtyard and were greeted by the sight of torches and nearly forty green hoods standing around. Some were beneath the awning, others grouped in the fighting circle with a few slowly making their way towards the stone tablet near the west wall.

“Listen closely, Eija,” Naja said as she looked around. “Because you aren't officially a Witch Hunter, you won’t be a part of the formation, so after I leave you, stay where you are. Once the ceremony starts, remain silent and still, and don’t walk away.”

“I’ve been to Festivals before, I know common courtesy,” replied Eija.

“Good,” Naja said with a smile. “But pay attention to what we are doing. The Order handles Festivals a little differently than what you would have seen in town. Don’t forget, one day you’ll be standing in that formation.”

Four Witch Hunters slowly stepped into the keep from beyond the gates. They slowly walked together as one, each of them holding up a different part of a corpse. As they passed through the courtyard and made their way to the tablet, five crows circled overhead, each cawing at different intervals. They gently placed down the body on the tablet and freshly placed tinder. As they did, everyone made their way to the formation.

“Does that mean it's time?” asked Eija.

“Almost. It means our Crow Clan brothers have completed their own rituals of passing for Taucki,” Naja replied as they walked closer. “Now, you’ll stand over here.” She pointed out a spot a few paces back from the formation.

“Tomaro and Dr. Avena should be there as well, so you won’t be alone.” Naja’s face slowly shifted to gloom. Just as she was leaving to join the others, Eija spotted a tear gleaming in her eye.

“Will you be okay?” he asked before she could step away.

She stopped and paused, slowly turning back to him. “I will be once this is over,” she replied, quickly wiping her tears with her wrist and softly smiling at him. The two locked eyes for a moment longer before Naja joined the others.

Eija lowered his gaze until it was at his feet. Sorrow and regret swam in his chest. He pictured Lord Gremmelt, Naja, Lord Ros, and Benard all standing together. It's my fault he’s dead. He clenched his fists, brooding over the sight he created in his head.

Ignoring everything around him, Eija stared impassionately at the dirt. His aching forearm and own thoughts consumed him to the point where nothing else registered.

Damn it, Father. You’re the one who drove her out in those woods in the first place. As for you, Mother… It was like you didn’t care. You knew what he was planning… we all did. I should have killed him when I had the chance. I should have killed them both. Him for the deed her for letting it happen.

Aleya… My poor little sister. What have they done to you? I wish we could just talk.

Bitter rage replaced the sorrow in Eija’s heart. He took a deep breath and looked around, noticing how full the formation was. The Witch Hunters stood in four separate rows bisected down the middle by a gap. They faced the tablet while the Lords took the front and faced the formation. Unable to spot Naja in the sea of green hoods, he looked to the front for either Lord Gremmelt or Lord Ros.

Lord Ros was beside Lord Isle and a few others, mostly people he had seen before, but two of the Lords he didn’t recognize. One was a tall bald man of a strong build with black predatory eyes. He was pale and stood with his arms folded, looking out at all the Witch Hunters.

The other unrecognizable figure was a woman with long black hair and ivory skin. Her eyes were sunken in from lack of sleep, and she swayed back and forth slightly, fidgeting with her hands and chewing on her lips.

“He will be out soon,” said a voice from behind Eija. He turned and saw it was an older man in blue and white robes with a brown wizard hat. The man’s wide brimmed hat was tilted back, revealing his magenta colored eyes and smokey gray beard.

“How do you know?” Eija asked.

“The same way I know the blacksmith will trip as he walks from his forge and the good Doctor won’t make it off the chamberpot before the Festival is over.” The man slowly turned his head, slightly nodding towards the forge. Eija’s gaze followed just in time to see Tomaro trip in the mud and fall to his knees. The smith rose up, rubbed the mud from his apron, and looked around to see only Eija had seen.

With a smile and a nod, Tomaro lifted his finger in front of his lips and made his way over to Eija and the stranger.

“Glad only you saw that, Eija,” Tomaro whispered to the boy. He looked up at the Wizard. “You must be Lycon.”

“That I am, master smith,” replied the Wizard. “And to answer your question, I am simply here waiting for the Commander.” Lycon looked up at the night sky, fixing his eyes on the dark looming clouds. “Of course, he won’t beat the rain.”

Lightning lit up the northern sky and a thunderous roar soon followed. Eija stared at the Wizard in awe. Lycon stared back, studying the boy with his fastidious gaze as if he were looking at an old friend.

“How?” Eija muttered.

The Wizard smiled and playfully raised his eyebrows. “Shhh. The Festival has begun.”

Eija stiffened up and placed his arms at his side. Looking out at the formation, his mind drifted back to Naja.

I can’t let Naja find out about what happened that night. She would never forgive me if she knew I’m the reason Benard died.