Goodbyes had been painful. In a small community like his, everyone knew each other. Thankfully, the awkwardness was eased by the fact that nobody expected Sil to stay at home anymore. It was little surprise that word of last night’s events had spread like wildfire - three men were dead, after all, and another had become a Favored.
A part of Sil he hadn’t even known was there relaxed after he spoke to the families of his father’s friends, the two that had not been able to make it out of the room. They didn’t blame him. He explained events as best he could - something went wrong with my dad’s awakening; the Herald did it; no, I don’t know what went wrong, exactly. It was difficult, not providing closure, but no more difficult than not having closure himself.
Sil didn’t know if he preferred the numbness that let him keep going, but he recognized that it was likely the best option for himself and for others. Imfrit had yet to rear her head, so Sil felt stuck under the influence of Medvos fueling his frustration and whispering dark, dark ways to vent it in his ear. Sil shut it out. I should get better at that sooner, rather than later.
After Sil officially tied up loose ends within the village that had raised him and watched him grow up, after he’d buried his past and turned from the grave in the span of a couple hours, he was on to step two: supplies. Sil naturally didn’t have a backpack - most people did not plan on leaving the safety of the Glass Helm into winds and sand that could flay the skin from their face.
It took a long time to pack accordingly. The backpack issue was solved when Sil found one in his father’s room as he searched for mementos. And coin. The process involved the young man crying on the floor multiple times as he found something that sparked a new memory. A poorly-carved statuette of an armored lizard was Sil’s first adventure into woodworking. His father had kept it. A portrait of the two of them had been painted as a birthday present to the family by a hobbyist artist in the town. It was hung up right above his father’s bed. An old shield Sil found propped up in the closet, set up plainly in view for anyone opening it to get dressed. Imprinted right in the middle of the shield was a small hand mark from Sil, years ago, wandering into Mateo’s workshop and touching the shield as the sandspinner resin was drying. He hadn’t known his father kept that - Sil, for one, did not find the memory of getting the resin off his hand pleasant.
Sil felt more drained than ever by the time the essentials were packed. His anger was muted, now, even though it had just burned hotter and brighter than any he could remember. Now, though Sil’s inherited backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders, his chest felt lighter than it had all morning. He had nothing else to do but leave. Leave and accept that he's gone.
He brought all the coin he could find, which amounted to five gold reals and 52 silver ones. Not a bad fortune. Sil tried not to think about what he’d lost for it. He brought his father’s personal woodworking tools - at least, the ones that could fit in his backpack. Everything that looked valuable, but not practical, Sil had packed into a large storage box and left it in the house with instructions not to disturb it.
Of course, the house, or at least the workshop, would be put to use. The town wasn’t so wealthy that they could afford to leave all that living space lying around, especially not when they were out a carpenter. They’ll manage without him. If I could, I'd stay and take his place, but it's not in the cards for me anymore.
Sil was as ready as he’d ever be when he returned to the inn, nodded awkwardly to Emma, and knocked on Kemen’s door. The man opened with a look of surprise on his face to see Sil standing there sporting a backpack.
“I’m ready to go.”
Sil’s voice cracked mid-sentence, but his eyes were resolute. Kemen saw something there, too, and nodded.
“Let’s get Imelda and we’ll be on our way. I doubt we’ll hit another village for a day or two, so be ready to camp. Don’t worry, I have everything we could need. That backpack,” he frowned at the straps running over Sil's shoulders, “is a crude necessity. When we make it back to the Institute, you won’t be needing it.”
Kemen held up his left hand and showed off a gray ring that Sil recognized immediately. “Ever wonder why every Favored wears one of these? We have our marks, right? Impossible to fake. Well, the rings are a more convenient symbol than something on our wrists, but they double as a communication and storage Augury.”
At Sil’s slack-jawed shock, Kemen chuckled. “You don’t believe me? Here.” He cupped his hand and, still making eye contact with Sil, summoned a large sword into it. The sword dangled in his hand while Kemen held it aloft seemingly with ease, despite holding what Sil was sure must have weighed sixty kilograms with one arm. Before he could look too closely at the sword, with a wave of the hand it was gone and Kemen continued.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“You’ll get your own the moment we have access to them. They don’t rust or chip - not easily, at least - and they’re wildly convenient. The more condensed your ether is, the larger of a storage space it can fuel. Imelda’s ring probably couldn’t even hold my sword. Ah! Speaking of Imelda, let’s tell her we’re ready to set off.”
Sil nodded dumbly. His mind was full of the possibilities of such a ring, and the surprising strength Kemen had casually displayed. Is that what it means to be a Favored? All of a sudden, his future didn’t look quite so dull. His heartbeat quickened, and as Sil imagined everything he had yet to see, the wonders he’d yet to feel and create, his ether picked up pace inside of his channels, too. Right now, though, it didn’t feel like pride or ambition - it felt like joy. Sil felt a powerful curiosity and a sense of anticipation for futures yet unknown. He glanced down. I could swear the green feather’s just a little brighter right now. Sil smiled.
Imelda said she needed five minutes before she was ready to be off, and Sil had a short, terse conversation with Emma while she got ready.
“Look, about earlier-” he started, pausing to find the right words.
“I heard. About your condition. Well, not condition, more like-” Emma was no less awkward as she stammered out a response.
“No, I get what you’re saying. What I’m trying to say is that it was still me, yelling at you, and I just wanted to make sure you know I don’t feel that way. Everything’s new. I’m sorry.”
Emma shook her head furiously. “No. You’ve been through something I don’t think I could have imagined in my dreams two days ago. If I held that over your head, what would that make me? Sil, you’re about to see so much and probably do so much and I don’t want you feeling guilty about something so small as yelling at me. Or leaving here - I know you wish you could see Dad, but I’ll tell him everything, don’t worry.”
Nio. That hadn’t even occurred to Sil. Dad’s best friend. Heralds, how will he take this? From the way Sil’s face turned pale, Emma sensed she’d said something wrong again.
“Oh, Sil, it’s not your fault, life will go on, I didn’t mean to say it like that…”
“No, I do wish I could have said something to him. It’s not right that he didn’t get to see Dad, and that he won’t get to see me. When I can, I’ll visit. I will.”
Emma nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say more, and the two spent the rest of the few minutes close to each other, comfortable in sharing their presence. Sil tried to take the opportunity to decompress.
He’d relaxed a little, internally, before Kemen and Imelda came marching down the stairs. The two walked over to Sil and Kemen nodded to Emma before holding his hand out, empty. Sil looked at it in confusion, then flinched when a hooded robe appeared, draped across Kemen’s arm.
“This, my boy, is the good stuff. Enchanted, so it’s technically an Augury - even if it’s the lowest of the low. Until we teach you to Temper, you’re just as vulnerable to the sandstorm as any other unawakened. You’ll need the robe to keep the sand away.”
Sil picked the robe up, almost reverently. It was mostly light brown, with golden-colored inlays that Sil assumed were the enchantments. Soft. He’d never held an Augury before, no matter how mundane. Even the cheapest enchanted items were expensive to make - in relative terms. This? Well, in the Bardenas where it would be most useful, the robe would go for at least three gold reals. 60% of his father’s life savings, gone in a flash.
Sil shook his head and put the robe on.
“Thank you - this is incredible.” He meant it. “I’d been wondering how I was going to make it out there. I heard Favored usually don’t have a difficult time with the sandstorm, since their skin is tough enough to bear it, but I don’t feel any stronger or faster or, uh, smarter? I feel the same as yesterday.”
Kemen nodded and Imelda rolled her eyes.
“Can we get going?” If Sil knew her better, he might be confident in saying that he detected a hint of complaint in her voice. “We’ve spent enough time here, and we still have a lot of desert to cover. Sil, don’t worry, we’ll explain on the way. We have a lot of time for you to learn what you need to know.”
Sil blinked and nodded.
For some reason, saying goodbye to Emma was the hardest. She just gripped his hands and wished him good luck.
Seconds after the three left Nio’s tavern, Sil froze, then turned and yelled, “I’ll come back! I’ll be back, and you won’t recognize me!”
He didn’t know if Emma heard him, but the warmth in his wrist and the new hope in his veins made him think that Imfrit certainly did.