I hold Kyna’s hand as we shuffle along the long road east. Her eyes are ringed by dark circles, the nightmares coming each night. I hold her close in the dark and try to comfort her, but when she asks for Father and Liam it’s all I can do to keep the tears away. The other villages that jostle along beside us don’t look much better. Some drag their feet through the dirt with empty faces, others glance over their shoulders after every step. It’s been days since the attack and nearly all the survivors decided to leave. Only a few buildings still stood when we departed, their shapes blotches of darkness against the ash. Even the men who own the big farms outside the village are with us. Their horses pull carts of tools and crops along, ringed by guards who try and put on grim expressions. But I can see how shattered they are. Broken just like the rest of us.

Mother walks ahead, Davos’ father beside her. He seems to always have a bottle in his hand, taking sips as we sweat our way toward Count Tanner’s home in Isren. I have an uncle I’ve never met who lives there. Mother tells me her brother will take us in, that the big town is safe from attack. But how can anything be safe when those monsters are still out there?

“Damn this unnatural heat!” Mr. Oliver says from the rear. “It’s as if each day the sun shines just a little brighter. I fear I may start to smell of cooked meat before long.”

Despite what Mr. Oliver told me about magic, I haven’t dropped the subject. I sneak away each night the caravan makes camp to question him. He usually ends up ranting about how sore his feet are, but I know if I keep at it, he’ll have to teach me how to twist people. It took me four months to convince Liam to teach me how to fight, but he relented eventually. “You’re annoyingly persistent,” he had told me. He was right.

“Mr. Oliver,” I say, falling back beside him, Kyna keeping in step. “Father told me that complaining doesn’t help anything.”

He tilts his head and sighs. “Sound advice for some maybe, but there are those of us who can’t get by without a good complaint or two throughout the day.”

“So, you’re a whiner then?”

He laughs. “I would prefer to think I’m just old. These bones lack the vigor they once did, it only seems natural that I voice my grievances. If any god or deity happens to be listening, I hope one day they understand how silly this whole aging business is. In fact, this reminds me of—Gah!” Mr. Oliver hops on one leg, his right foot caked in horse shit.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Kyna says, her voice small and soft.

“Oh, not you too sweet girl!” He rubs his brown smeared boot into the dirt. “I fear that you, young Luther, are a bad influence on the girl. Look, see how she smiles to herself. Such deviance! Being mean to the elderly. What has the world come to?”

But she is smiling. It’s hardly there, just a slight upturn of the lips, but it’s there. Most of the others have avoided Mr. Oliver as we’ve traveled, but he’s the only one who seems to lift Kyna’s mood. So, I’ve stayed close to the old man near the back of the caravan, cherishing little moments like these.

“Are you sure you won’t be staying in Isren long?” I ask.

“As I’ve said, I will only remain long enough to shed the weariness of travel. Beyond that, I have a few people I need to see. Once my business is complete, I will be heading for the capital.”

“And will you be staying in the capital, or you will come back to Isren when you’re done?”

Mr. Oliver raises a brow. “Quite inquisitive today, young Luther. But if you must know, I fear that I will not be returning this way for some time. Perhaps never.”

“Why?” It’s Kyna that speaks up, my little sister’s hand tightening around my grip.

“Because times are changing.” Mr. Oliver’s face grows firmer, his eyes holding steady, looking ahead as if he seems some great horror in the distance. “The attack on Hylek village was brutal, far more brutal than the Hafthan are known for.”

“Their animals,” I say, the words coming from somewhere deep inside me. “Monsters.”

“You are mostly correct,” Mr. Oliver frowns down at me, his face softening. “But they did not come to steal, but to slaughter. Such destruction does not happen by accident. They came to Hylek village for more than just a simple raid.”

“I don’t care why they came, only that they pay for what they’ve done.” The images of that night invade my mind. The forest around me melts away, replaced by fire and screams. I see Liam and Father laying in a pool of blood, hear the Hafthan laugh, feel my pulse bursting as I run, terrified. But then I remember how the knife felt, how the Hafthan’s warm blood filled the ground.

“Brother!” Kyna tugs on my hand, the world coming back into focus. “You’re hurting me!”

My hands are clenched, balled into tight fists. “I’m sorry,” I say, letting her go. Her hand is bright red, white outlines where my fingers were only a moment ago.

She stares at me for a moment before she walks away. I reach out for her, but as my fingers get close, I pull them away.

“Kyna…” I mumble, watching her go.

“Anger, my little friend, is a hot thing.” Mr. Oliver says walking beside me. “If you’re not careful, it can burn those around you.”

“I have to apologize,” I say but my feet don’t move any faster.

“Your sister needs you to be her rock. You must let that rage inside you go, little one. For both your sakes.”

My head snaps to the side, and I glare. “How can you say that? You saw what they did to my home, to my friends and family.” I think back to finding Davos crying over the body of his sister. Another person lost to that night, another left broken. “How can I not be angry.”

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“Look around you, boy. Each one of these people are angry.” He waves his arm in a wide arc. “But you are letting it get the better of you. I’ve seen how you stare out at the horizon each day. That look in your eyes is familiar to me, and it’s dangerous. Listen my little friend, you may keep that anger, but do away with the rage. It will only destroy you in the end.”

Part of what he says makes sense, but no matter how hard I try, the fire burning in my gut won’t go away. “How am I supposed to let this go?” As I ask the question a creeping fear sets in. What will replace my rage when it’s gone? What will happen to me then?

“For now, just try and calm your heart. Time will ease all else.” Mr. Oliver squints. “It seems we are stopping for the day, thank the gods both real and imaginary.”

The trees part ahead, and I notice a path leads up the hillside to the south. As the caravan comes to a halt, I see men heading up it in small groups. “What are they doing?”

“I doubt they are taking a communal defecation break. Why don’t we investigate together?”

I nod in agreement and the two of us weave past those making camp for the night. Closer, I see the hill is unnaturally steep, more like a small mountain than anything else. Sitting atop it I spot what looks like a large stone. Its dark shape juts from the peak like a nail and something stirs in my chest as I look upon it.

We find Mother standing with Kyna. Davos and his father are nearby, but they head for the hill as we approach.

“What are they doing?” I ask, spotting a few more men take to the path.

“Making oaths,” my mother says, staring at the peak.

“Oaths?”

“Ah, I see.” Mr. Oliver points at the shard of stone atop the hill. “That’s an oathstone. I didn’t think any still existed in Bladoria. I must report this to my colleagues…”

Seeing how distracted Mr. Oliver has suddenly become, I turn to Mother with my question. “What’s an oathstone?”

“My father used to tell me they are links to the otherworld, that oaths made before them create a powerful bond.” Her face sags a bit as she speaks, as if she’s fighting back painful memories. “A few of the men are making oaths of vengeance.”

Mr. Oliver perks up, his face growing stern again. “A foolish thing to do.” He glances at me. “I suppose many are flush with rage after the massacre.”

I step forward, watching Davos and his father struggle up the incredibly steep hill. “Does it work? Does it really connect to the otherworld?”

Mr. Oliver frowns. “Perhaps once, when the world was young and magic hung in the air like mist. But now it’s probably just a hunk of old, useless stone. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He claps his hands together. “How about I boil us some potatoes, hmmm? I should still have a few tucked away in my pack. Sweet Kyna, I see that face you’re making. I assure you they aren’t spoiled this time…”

I’m not listening to him. The stone absorbs my thoughts, drawing me in.

“Luther,” Mother is gripping my arm. “Where are you going?”

“To make an oath.”

She tugs on me harder. “That climb is too much for you. You’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

“Your mother is right. It might not look it form here, but that’s not a climb many can make.”

They think I’m weak. Maybe they’re right. But if I can make it to the top, doesn’t that prove them wrong? “I’m sorry Mother, but I have to try.” I pull my arm from her grip.

“Luther. Luther come back right now.” I ignore her, my feet firmly planted on the upward slope. “Luther, please. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Listen to your mother,” Mr. Oliver calls. “You’re just going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re just going to hurt yourself.” I’ve been hearing it my whole life and I’m sick of it. Just because I can’t lift and run like the other boys do, just because I tire a little faster than the rest of them. But I’m not as fragile as they think, I know that now. And as I ascend, their voices become distant. It’s like I’m entering a soundless fog, my feet against the hard ground the only sensation I feel.

Men of the village line the path, collapsed and panting like the air was wrung right out of them. Davos’ father is on the ground with them, his son standing over him. But Davos doesn’t look tired. He stands tall and proud, and after a moment, he leaves his father behind. Wordlessly, the two of us forge ahead, the world narrowing, darkening. Suddenly a great weight presses down on me, heavy and wet like great drops of rain. My legs buckle, but I force them forward.

Turn back. A voice whispers into my ear. I ignore it, the pressure on my shoulders growing firmer by the second. Davos is feeling it too, he grunts with each step, his face twisted in pain. But the further I climb, the less pain I feel, as if the stone ahead is soothing me. The memories of the raid come again, but my heart does not race. Instead, a deep need to see justice fill me, one that does not burn from the rage inside. All else melts away until I’m standing before the stone, basking in the hum of its power.

“I have served as oathkeeper for many years, and I have never seen a boy so young make the climb.”

I blink, the world coming back to me. “Who are you?”

A man stands beside the stone, yellow of eye and grey of beard. He leans atop a great hammer, the handle twirling around the metal like the root of a tree. “As I said, I am the oathkeeper.”

Panting draws my attention and I see Davos limp up, his face drenched in sweat. Behind him I see the other men of the village sprawled on the grass, but the deep slope I saw from the base of the hill is gone. There’s hardly a rise in its place, as if the land shortened as I ascended.

“How…”

The yellow-eyed man laughs. “True trials are not made of the body, but the soul. The climb to the stone is different for each man.” His eyes narrow. “But no matter who they are, the climb is hard, and those the stone does not deem worthy will never reach it.”

“Is it true,” Davos says through ragged breaths. “The stone will hear our oaths, make them stronger?”

“An oath before the stone is a sacred thing. Many make oaths in silence to themselves, but these do not bind a man to his path.” He looks right at me, gaze digging into me like he’s searching for something. “But an oath spoken here is recorded, held for all time. It is a true, physical thing, and it cannot be broken.”

The pressure I felt on the climb up hits me, but I stay upright. “How do I make an oath before the stone?”

The yellow-eyed man frowns. “You are both young. In your short lives you have felt little of the world, yet you would tie yourselves to a new purpose? Are you certain what is in your hearts is true?”

Davos hangs his head. “I’m not sure. I…I…”

“You lack conviction.” He slams his hammer on the ground. “You are not ready to stand before the stone. Leave. Now.”

Davos looks to me, but words do not come. I watch him as he leaves us, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.

“And you, do you have conviction?”

I look him in the eye, heart pounding in my chest. “I do.”

He smiles. “Then take this.” He reaches back and pulls a dagger from his belt. The handle is made of white wood but the blade is pitch black. “Draw blood from your palm and place it on the stone. Then speak your oath.”

I take the dagger in hand. It’s cold, freezing even. When I draw the blade across my palm I feel a strange sensation, like a severing of sorts. Things fall away from me, and I somehow know they are possibilities, futures that will now never come to pass.

When my bloody palm touches the stone, a great hum envelops me. Coursing energy floods through my limbs and I feel the world melt away until only the stone remains.

Speak your oath. A voice whispers.

“I vow to kill the Hafthan.”

How many. The voice asks, dry and crackling like the bark of an ice felled tree.

I answer without hesitation.

“All of them.”