The book was bound in black leather. Birch flipped it over and examined its spine. As with the front and back covers, it was plain. No words or decoration of any kind. He opened the book to a random page somewhere in the middle. It was covered in hand-drawn symbols, and so was the next page, and the one after that. Some had notes underneath them, and, judging by the variety in shades of ink, many looked to have been amended and altered over time. It seemed to be a smaller version of the book that had sat on the Green Man’s table during the Marking Ceremony.

Birch riffled through the pages, stopping at a set of drawings titled Typical Symbols of the Unmarked. There were six drawings on each page, and the collection spanned five pages. Birch quickly cast his eyes over all thirty. Most were variations on a roughly circular dark blob.

He pictured the hands of the other Markless he’d seen during the ceremony. Those that he could remember all looked something like the images in front of him. He glanced at his hand. There was no similarity at all. His mark was made up of several small blemishes and patches of scarring. It was no wonder Buckthorn had wanted to get a better look at his hand if these images were meant to represent what the hand of a Markless should resemble. No. Based on these pictures, his mark was something else entirely.

A panel appeared.

Mark Interpretation +0.01

What? Mark Interpretation? This was new.

He held the panel in place and then used his mind to open the leaf panel attached to it. His score was 4.52. How was that possible? He’d never interpreted any marks before. It was true that he’d studied his own mark, and he might have compared it to the others he’d seen on people’s hands, but he hadn’t tried to interpret it. Until today, he hadn’t had access to lots of examples in the same place. How could he only be a little bit worse at interpreting marks than he was at lying or throwing stones? He’d been lying and throwing stones since he was a young child.

Another panel appeared rewarding him for controlling the panel.

He continued to look at different sections of the book, comparing his mark against the ones shown on the pages. The marks given to cobblers looked nothing like his one, nor did the marks of tanners or candlemakers. He then studied the marks of blacksmiths. None of these were even remotely similar to the shapes the Sacred Oak had burned into his skin.

Although Birch wasn’t getting closer to finding a match, his Mark Interpretation score was steadily growing. Each time he finished reviewing the marks associated with a profession, his score grew by 0.01 and his total had reached 5.00 by the time he came to the collection of symbols titled Typical Marks of Beekeepers, the last drawings in the book.

He carefully scanned his eyes over the drawings, taking his time to take in all of the features. Once again, there was nothing to link the mark he’d received to the ones he’d just studied. His wasn’t the mark of a beekeeper, of that he was certain.

The Mark Interpretation reward panel appeared and Birch dismissed it. He closed the book and tucked it back into the cloak’s hidden pocket.

His eyes were tired from staring at the pages in the semi-dark, his mouth was dry, and his stomach was starting to rumble. He didn’t know how long it had been since Buckthorn had left him, but surely he would be brought something to eat and drink soon.

He sat down opposite the door and waited. His mind drifted to Holly. He could picture her now in her healer’s uniform. Did she know where he was? Of course she would. Vetch would have made sure the whole village knew what had happened to him. It was even less likely that she’d want to be seen with him now.

The sound of footsteps from the corridor was quickly followed by a knock at the door.

“Here.” It was the voice of the guard who had opened the door earlier. “Take this.”

He fed a small bag made of sackcloth and a narrow waterskin through the barred hole.

Birch pulled the items through to his side of the door.

“Thank you,” he said. “Please can you tell me what time is it?”

“It’s evening.”

“What will happen to me tomorrow?”

Birch waited for a response, but the man stayed silent. After a few moments, he heard footsteps again, and then the corridor outside his cell returned to silence.

The guard had left the lantern though, and Birch used its light to identify the contents of the sack. It contained food. A wedge of hard cheese, the heel of a loaf of bread that was still reasonably fresh, and a couple of strips of cured meat, probably venison. He unstoppered the water skin and took a swig. The water was cool and refreshing.

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He spread out the sack and arranged the food in front of him. He’d eat the bread and cheese now and save the meat for later. He didn’t know whether he was going to receive any breakfast, so he needed to be sensible and ration what he had.

Although he tried to eat his meal slowly, carefully chewing each mouthful, he was soon finished. He placed the meat back into the sack to stop him from eating that as well and took a couple more sips of water. Then he placed the water skin in the sack too and stowed it in the corner of the room.

Wrapping his cloak tighter around him, he tried to relax. There was nothing he could do now. He just had to wait.

To occupy himself, he accessed the leaf panel for the Power of Reasoning skill. With his mind, he probed along the panel’s edges, searching for things he might have missed. He knew there was more to be discovered. He could sense it. He just couldn’t work out what he needed to do. He could somehow feel other connections to this one. It was as if the leaf panel was supported by other panels. Built on top of them in some way, or linked to them.

After a few moments of mental exertion, he relinquished his grip on the panel and took a few deep breaths.

Another panel took its place.

Panel Control +0.01

Birch let it disappear. He stretched his arms above his head, then rubbed his eyes and began the process again.

*****

Birch woke up with a start. He blinked a few times and levered himself into a sitting position. Was it darker than it had been when he’d finally fallen asleep? Maybe. Lantern light still filtered in through the bars, but he couldn’t tell whether there was less of it than before. Was it morning? Until the guardsman returned, he had no way of telling.

His head was half-filled with images of vast forests of trees so tall they nearly reached the clouds, grasslands that extended farther than the eye could see, and rivers so wide that they made the Honeycomb River look like a tiny brook. Remnants of a dream that were starting to fade as his waking mind took control.

He fetched the sack, took a sip of water, and started to chew on the cured meat. It was tough and salty.

The thud of boots on a stone floor sounded from the corridor.

“Wake up.” This voice was different. Perhaps the guards had changed. “I’ve brought you some more breakfast, and you’ve got a visitor.”

A face he didn’t recognize appeared in the gap.

“Push the empty sack and your water skin through to me, and then I’ll pass you the new ones.”

Birch placed the one remaining strip of meat onto the floor, gulped down the last of his water, and then followed the guard’s instructions.

He took the new sack and skin that were passed the other way, and set them down behind him.

“Who has come to see me?”

The man on the other side of the door didn't respond. He seemed to be talking to someone else.

“Stand up here, on the stool. You should then be able to see through the gap.”

Something banged lightly against the foot of the door, and then the light in the cell dipped as a head filled most of the barred hole.

“Birch? Are you there?”

It was Holly’s voice. He hesitated for a moment and then stepped toward the door. He could just make out her face through the bars.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I should be asking you that question,” she said. “What were you thinking? Why did you let him get to you? You should’ve been more careful.”

Birch swallowed. He couldn’t tell her that he’d only reacted when Vetch had mentioned her.

“I know,” Birch said. “Still, he wasn’t hurt that badly. I doubt his nose was even broken.”

“But aren’t you worried about what’s going to happen to you?”

Birch shrugged. “I’m Markless. How much worse could my life get?”

“Quite a bit, if what Vetch is saying is true. He says his father will see to it that you get what you deserve.” Holly gripped the bars with her hands. “You must take this seriously. You embarrassed Vetch and he’s out for revenge.”

She was probably right, but Birch wasn’t all that worried about the consequences. Last year, when Elm and Branch had been arrested by the constables for fighting, they were released after a week in the cells. They weren’t even placed in the stocks.

He looked at Holly through the bars. She shouldn’t have come. Her reputation had to be protected. The cells were no place for an apprentice. For her own good, he had to make her leave.

“Did Vetch tell you to come and speak with me? Are you his messenger?”

Holly looked puzzled. “No, of course not. I—”

“You shouldn’t be here. You are a healer and I am one of the Marked, and I’m locked in a cell. We can’t carry on as before. You might try and tell yourself that it doesn’t matter, but we both know that it does. If we try to stay friends, we’ll just end up resenting each other. I am a hog boy and that’s likely all I’ll ever be, but you could one day become a master healer. And then you wouldn’t want to be seen dead with someone like me. It just won’t work.”

Birch turned away. Saying the words had been hard enough, he didn’t want to have to witness her reaction as well. But the sooner she was able to sever her ties to him, the happier she’d be.

“I am sorry you feel that way. But I think you are wrong. The Sacred Oak only identifies which role you are best suited for. Our marks don’t reflect our personalities or our values.”

“That’s not true. What about you and the rest of the healers? The Sacred Oak isn’t going to allow someone selfish to take on that role. They wouldn’t be any good at it because they wouldn’t be able to put the needs of their patients over their own.” He paused to allow his words to sink in. “You were given the mark of a healer not just because that mark runs in your family, but because the Sacred Oak decided that you were suited to the task, both in terms of your natural abilities and your character. And I was made one of the Markless because my skills and personality wouldn’t allow me to become anything else.”

Holly stayed quiet.

“You must leave,” Birch said. “You can’t be seen here. I don’t want your life to be tainted by the mistakes I’ve made. I’ll be alright. I’ve nothing left to lose. But you are just beginning your journey. Focus on that.”

Holly took a deep breath, then nodded.

“If that is what you want, then I’ll go,” she said, “but when you are out of here and all of this is over, I will come and find you. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

With that, her face disappeared from view and the cell got brighter again. A scraping noise, probably the stool being picked up, was followed by a flurry of footsteps.

Birch was alone once again.