The night was cold and Ezril ran through it on an open clearing. He stopped at one of the buildings around. There, he bided his time.

Why does it have to be tonight? he thought. Especially now that he’s angry.

His mind flashed to Cyrinth, and he shook his head. This was no time to be distracted by the old man, he needed to focus. The old man had taught him the little he could in the little time they had and had informed him that sometimes, to achieved desired goals, one needed to be willing to sacrifice everything.

The night was drowned in darkness, its sky void of stars. Its moon was a crescent so small it seemed nonexistent. In it Ezril could see very little. But sounds aided him. A priest stood a few paces ahead of him. It made reaching his destination without being spotted a forgone option. Stealth tempted him, but logic kept him from succumbing. It, too, would fail. No priest was unskilled enough to not spot him if he darted out into the open at this distance. But it wasn’t his problem, he could find his way around the priest. The problem lay behind him.

Father Talod was drawing close. Each moment Ezril waited was a moment closer to being caught by him. Talod wasn’t searching for him, it was his only luck, but it didn’t matter. It made being caught worse. All Ezril needed was for the priest in front to look in a different direction. A single turn of his head would suffice. He also considered the fact that he could run across. He was fast enough for it as long as he found the space. It wouldn’t be quiet, and the priests would know someone was there, but they wouldn’t know who, unless they caught him, and that was enough for him. He had no plans of being caught, after all. All he needed was a chance.

Three strides, he calculated. It was all he needed to cover. Three mere strides. Perhaps it was more of a dash than a run. Ezril shook the distraction from his mind. It could be whatever it wanted to be as long as he didn’t get caught.

Father Harlick had never been a problem. Even tonight he proved more of an obstacle than a problem. If Ezril was caught, anything could happen.

Harlick turned his head in a cursory glance, and Ezril couldn’t believe his luck. He took to his destination, his first step seeking to be the most important. He pushed off it in a dash. It was placed well. His body lurched forward, like a horse ignoring the canter for the gallop. He moved, his next foot following. Hope begged him to push faster; to cover all the strides as quickly as possible. But he ignored it. There was only so much attention someone in his position could give hope.

Ezril’s boot met the ground and Harlick returned his gaze in the same cursory glance. Ezril watched it happen, but there was no panic. No fear. It was clear Harlick wouldn’t be fast enough. If he had been searching for somebody, maybe he would have caught Ezril. But he was not.

Ezril cut through the strides, quick as a scorpion’s sting. He reached his destination before Harlick’s attention returned. The only sign he had ever been there was the dust left in his wake. Ezril looked back now out of nothing but a basic sense of curiosity. He could scarcely see it. It left him believing the priest would not.

Ezril made his way up the stairs as quickly as he could, refusing a second glance behind him. If the priests were fast behind him, it was all the more reason not to reveal his face to them. The night air had been cold but his cloak had kept most of it at bay. He unclasped it as he entered the room, shook it lightly, and threw it over a forearm.

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All his brothers were long asleep. The silent darkness was interrupted only by their steady breaths, and Olbi’s inconsequential snoring. Ezril sat on his bed. Taking off his boot, he explored the sole of his feet with a hand. Rough, he noted. Walking bare feet in the forest had been a terrible idea.

He laid in bed for a while. His thoughts, though his own, seemed to elude his memory, each one leaving no vestige of its existence the moment it ended. He waited a while for sleep to take him. It didn’t. It abandoned him as if he was poison to it.

A tide of emotions swirled inside him and he shoved them down, demanding and oppressive. But his anxiety demanded it not be ignored. His palms had grown sweaty and he cleaned them against the coarse skin of his mattress before sitting up. One thing was certain. Sleep would not come to him this night.

………………………………

In the morning, the test of the Hallowed was held in the same hall they had prepared for it. They were required to cover thirty strides, back and forth, as Father Fravis had shown them on their first day. Their judges stood paces away from them. They would step towards them and back to their place. No more than four steps were required. Any less, and the brother would be given to the mist, sent beyond the gate.

Before they walked into the hall, Ezril caught a glimpse of Lord Eleren Alif at a distance. His decision was made. He had needed help making it, but it was made nonetheless. After the test he knew who he would follow.

Fighting was all he knew how to do. But he would not do it under so strict a command. He would not serve under the instruction of a man who served the father of a man that had seen it fit to take from Lenaria what she did not choose to offer. The pettiness of his reason was not lost to him but he tried to justify it. If Eleren served the king, then it stood to reason that he would one day serve the crowned prince.

Ezril and his brothers lined up next to each other standing almost shoulder to shoulder. Luckily no one made an objection when they’d chosen to stay according to their towers. Ezril could only imagine how horrible it would’ve been for him if he was required to stand next to children he did not spend enough time with to trust as much as he trusted his brothers.

Father Fravis chose them at random, requiring they step forward at the mention of their name. They proved to have learned well enough. Olbi soaked his shirt in sweat by the time his name was called. No one seemed to hold it against him. Ezril understood the nervousness all too well.

Olbi covered all strides, as was required. In the end his face showed obvious signs of relief. They called this the test of the Hallowed, but clearly, being Hallowed was not enough to qualify. The test seemed to declare that only the best of the Hallowed would qualify. A Hallowed who cannot qualify is as unnecessary to them as a child that is not Hallowed.

Where the brothers from his group completed the test in four steps, Olufemi completed it in three. His first step propelled him to the mark, and the return was made in two. His movements were a vanished blur, like Fravis’. If doubt ever existed of how well he had learned it, they were trampled on in the single display. He hadn’t just learned the Hallowed step; he had mastered it.

Ezril was the last of his group and he found no surprise in it. He knew it—as surely as the sand beneath his feet—to be a conscious decision. They had giving him time. Time to prepare himself to accept his failure when it came.

He wondered if the judges were aware of it. Monsignor Crowl’s face betrayed nothing, fixed in a mask of seriousness. The judges present had also been present for the test of speech. He noticed it now. Today, they all wore the same mask of seriousness. Even Abbess Lyniah, known for her joviality, proved devoid of it.

Ezril stepped forward at the mention of his name. There would be no time for the stand; none of his brothers had been permitted it. Father Fravis’ words teased his mind as his feet bore a hole in the sand. He tested his foot's grip, digging his toes into the sand.

Seek to grab Vayla, he reminded himself.