A few days passed before anyone visited with Eija again. He studied the books tirelessly, only ever stopping when Lord Isle brought him food or to go to sleep. He wrote down things he thought he would forget on a scrap piece of paper and reread sentences multiple times to reinforce it in his mind. Whenever boredom would strike, he would rise from his seat and do push ups, sit ups, or squats. He didn’t know when he would begin his training, but when he did, he wanted to be ready.

It was early in the morning when the man with the sword returned. “How is the reading coming along?” asked the man as he entered.

“Good,” Eija replied. “Do you wish to review?”

“No need. I can see you have done plenty of that on your own.” The man motioned with his eyes to Eija’s handwritten notes.

“I am Lord Gremmelt, and starting today I will be overseeing your training. You will refer to me as Master Gremmelt until your training has been completed. My blade has been with The Order of the Witches Bane since day one, and you will be the third Initiate to fly beneath my wing.

“For the next few months, I will be testing your resolve and challenging your willpower at every turn. You will not just be learning how to swing a blade—you’ll be learning just when and how you should for any given situation. You will be learning what flowers and herbs can heal you, and which can poison your enemies, how to survive in the wilds with nothing other than your pack, and how to track any manner of curse to its source.

“Every morning, I expect you to be dressed in full gear, already have eaten, and outside in the training pit before daybreak.” His face became stern. “Do not make me come and wake you.”

Eija swallowed his spit and tried to stop the shaking in his legs. He didn’t even know what to say or how to reply. All he could do was nod silently.

“Good, you understand. Now, to get that gear I mentioned.” Lord Gremmelt turned and walked out with Eija following close behind.

They walked through the narrow, stone halls until they emerged into the courtyard. It was still morning, though the sun neared its peak. Several Witch Hunters were outside. Some were sparing in the training pits, others were beneath an awning eating their breakfast. A small group was gathered around a table reading from a book, talking about their mission and planning out their travels.

Life in The Order seems busy. One day I’ll be going on a mission just like them. Eija was conflicted with his predicament. He hadn’t thought much about the events that preceded him, only that he wanted to destroy the one responsible for that terrible night.

He didn’t hate his sister for what she had done, and instead held the coven responsible. To him, his sister was a victim, not an acting member of evil. Eija wanted to free his sister from their clutches, or as a last resort, spare her from further acts of evil.

Torment always listens to those who offer themselves.

The woman's voice was still fresh in Eija’s mind. It had been several days since he encountered her on the path to Witchbane Keep, but what she told him still lingered in his head.

Your Torment is a beautiful gift. Do not squander it, do not fear it. Embrace it.

Eija shook his head. The whole encounter was an uncomfortable blur. The road was barren, the wind was blowing, and out from the woods stepped a woman in a dark red cloak. She had horrible burns that ran up her arms and to her neck, stopping just before her chin. He followed her into the woods, and she showed him a wooden altar covered in nails.

Forget it! Eija bit into his lip, forcing the pain to drown out the memory. He noticed a few Witch Hunters staring him down as he followed behind Lord Gremmelt. What's their problem?

“That's the one,” murmured the woman of the group. Her blue eyes had a haughty gleam and carefully followed Eija as they passed into the forge.

“Morning, Lord Gremmelt,” said the smithy in a deep, husky voice as they entered. He was a burly man with tan skin. His head was wrapped in a dirty, white headband and a large, bushy mustache hung over his lips.

“Good morning, Tamaro,” replied Lord Gremelt, waving to the blacksmith.

“This must be the boy that everyone is talking about.” Tamaro smiled and looked Eija over.

“It is.” Gremmelt pushed EIja to the front. “Go ahead and introduce yourself. You’ll be seeing him quite often.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“My name is Eija. It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a little bow with his head.

“Pleasure. Name’s Tamaro Ghallor. I’m looking forward to working with you, lad. I expect a lot of good things.”

“Why is that?” said Eija in a confused tone.

“Let’s just say that you got yourself a good master.” Tamaro looked up towards Gremmelt with a grin. “And if you're half as good as his prior Initiates, you’ll still be a cut above the average Witch Hunter.”

“You're too kind.” Lord Gremmelt replied with a smile. “Now, do you have everything this young man needs?”

“Of course.” Tamaro motioned to a table off to the side by the wall. There sat a green, hooded cloak, a brown belt, a leather pack, a belt sheath, a back sheath, an arming sword, a longsword, a coat of chainmail, a pair of leather boots, two leather pouches, a vial bandolier, a leather canteen, two off white tunics—one thick, one thin—a thick, tan gambison, two pairs of brown trousers, two pairs of thick, brown socks, and a pair of leather gloves.

“Where is the sword and pack I brought in?” Eija asked.

“They are going to be burned in place of Benard for his Festival,” Gremmelt replied.

Eija examined the gear and said, “I was hoping I would be able to keep them.” He picked up the arming sword that was laid out. “At least the blade.”

“That sword was considerably damaged, as was the pack. More importantly, they were never yours to begin with. Just because you took them from Witch Hunter Benard and claimed them as your own, does not make them so. They belonged to The Order then, and they belong to The Order now.”

“But that blade is important to me,” said Eija, looking up at Gremmelt’s eyes. “It was the first thing I picked up when I resolved to become a Witch Hunter.”

Lord Gremmelt held his stare for a moment.

“The answer is no,” he told him. “That blade was damaged beyond repair. It would have to be melted down and reforged before it was of any use.”

Eija’s eyes lit up. “Then just as a keepsake?” he pleaded.

“Hmmmm.” Gremmelt brought his hand to his chin and rubbed his cheeks, deliberating over the matter. “Only as a keepsake, then. I will bring it to your room this evening. For now,”—he motioned to the gear on the table—“go ahead and put it all on. Anything extra goes in the pack. Once you are dressed and ready, meet me outside.” Gremmelt turned to Tamaro. “Excellent work as always.”

“I appreciate the praise, Lord Gremmelt.” Tamaro smiled wide. “Just send him back if anything needs repaired.”

Lord Gremmelt gave Tamaro a nod and was out the door. Eija stepped up to the table, eyeing everything that was laid before him. All of this is for me? He drew in a big breath and blew it out slowly, trying to calm his anxiety. Well, I better get all of this on.

Eija made his way outside after he changed and found Lord Gremmelt patiently waiting by the wall.

“That doesn’t look half bad,” Gremmelt said as he examined the boy. He stepped over to Eija and shook the cloak with his hand before asking “How does it all fit?”

“Good,” Eija said as he lifted his arms up and moved them around. “I’m just not used to having so much weight on me.”

“Don’t worry. Soon you won’t even notice it.” Lord Gremmelt motioned for Eija to follow him. “First, we’ll eat. Then, we will head out for the day.”

Beneath the awning by the wall on an old, sturdy table, there was a large cauldron full of soup, several pieces of bread with an accompanying bowl of butter, and a plate full of fresh, wild berries. The two filled their bowls and grabbed a piece of bread with a few berries before sitting down to eat. Lord Gremmelt also filled up a cup with some black liquid that was sitting in a large pot on top of a small fire. It smelled pleasant, but Lord Gremmelt insisted Eija drink only water.

“You don’t need any of this yet,” he said as he took a sip.

“What is it?” Eija asked.

“Coffee. It's an Olembian drink that is popular among the nobility of Scrydell.” Lord Gremmelt took a big gulp and let out a sigh of relief. “It's bitter, but it gets the body moving.”

The two sat down at a table by themselves. A few Witch Hunters watched them from a distance, all eyeing Eija down as he ate. Some were dressed in their gear, others were wearing long tunics.

Eija noticed the stares and tried to ignore them, but found getting comfortable to be impossible beneath the weight of all the lingering eyes.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” he suddenly asked.

“They're curious,” Lord Gremmelt replied after he put down his cup. “For better or worse, you’re the most interesting person in The Order right now.”

“Why? I haven’t even done anything.” Eija stirred his soup and took a bite.

“This is most likely Witch Hunter Benard’s fault. He was well respected in The Order. Strong, quick witted, knowledgeable, and dependable—he was nearly perfect. So when you arrived with news of his death and final message, many were interested in knowing exactly how he met his end.”

Lord Gremmelt eyed a few Witch Hunters that were staring Eija down. “Some may even blame you for his death, but pay them no mind. Even if your sister was taken in by the very coven that corrupted his, no one dare hold you accountable.”

Gremmelts eyes glossed over and he stared into the wood of the table. “Benard was careless. After his mission in Sossaboro ended the way it did, he should have fled back to The Order.”

Eija stared blankly into his soup as he replayed the events of the night he met the nameless Witch Hunter. “Oh, I see,” he said, trying to conceal the pain in his voice. It is my fault. They’re right to blame me. If I hadn’t… Eija’s legs trembled in his seat. He feared anyone finding out just exactly what happened. How he tackled Benard off of his sister right as he was about to finish her off.

“Don’t let it bother you.” Gremmelt nudged him with his elbow. “Witch Hunters die every day. It's just the way things are.”

The two finished off their breakfast before leaving the keep and heading north into the woods.