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The bonds snap. He slumps forward with a moan, rubbing his wrists and shoulders in turn. I kneel beside him, my mind reeling.
“What happened to your jaw?”
Father’s shoulders lurch in a mirthless laugh. “I told Dravek we shouldn’t be hunting the solas, and he took it out on my face.”
My eyes widen. He was certain as of this morning that killing the sola was the only way forward. What’s changed?
He gestures for me to help him up. “What I want to know is how you managed to find me.” Leaning against the tree, he coaxes the blood to return to his extremities.
I pale. There is no hiding my disobedience now. Haltingly, I relay how the day unfolded, from my conversation with Orlagh amid the ruckus of the square, to the Foremost’s pompous return. I tell of Dravek’s hardness of heart toward me, and my wild rush into the forest to find my pada.
Father gives his head a shake and scowls. “That was foolish. Completely foolish.”
Ice water forces into my veins. “I know, Pada,” I cry, desperate for him to forgive me, to understand. “I know you said not to leave the homestead, but I—”
My father holds up a hand. “No. It was foolish of me to hide all this from you. I was an idiot to think ignorance was your best defense. I’m the one who put you in danger’s path.” He draws in a ragged breath. “And I was a fool to desire to kill a sola.”
Something has happened to him, out here in the woods. The closed-off man has been cracked open, and all his insecurities are exposed. He’s punishing himself for the events of the day, taking blame that ought not belong to him. The wounds he sustained go deeper than flesh, and my heart breaks for him.
There are no words to make this right, but one thing may bring him a small measure of relief.
I take his hand in mine. “I want to show you something.”
7. Belwyn
BELWYN
THE FIRE BLAZES WITH UNIMAGINABLE HEAT, crackling and consuming the enormous pile of wood within. This colossal stone-lined pit is one of only a few locations where an open flame is permitted in the Vale. The clearing in front of it is big enough to fit the entire valley’s population—some ten thousand individuals—and it is packed. Even with ignati reaching twenty feet high, only the first couple rows of people are illuminated. The darkness beyond is suffocating.
On the western edge of the blaze, I fidget with my raiment. Having last attended a Reckoning when I was five, I have very little, if any, memory of the rituals the ceremony requires. I didn’t recall that, as a member of the Foremost family, I’d be forced to put on this heavy cloak adorned with thousands of beads carved from sola brossa. I squint down at it with disgust. Ancient and gaudy, the thing’s bones have long since lost most of their illuminating qualities. The scent of the cedar chest from which the robe was unearthed is not enough to conceal its overpowering musk. My only comfort is that each of my brothers is similarly bedecked, the awkwardness spread out evenly among us all.
I crane my neck to see my mother standing next to Rhun. Her endless smile and pearly teeth glint in the firelight. The sight of her makes me forget my own mortification. She’s alive with jubilation, and I can’t fault her for her good humor. Being the wife of the Foremost is, supposedly, a position of honor, but there has been precious little opportunity for her to be in the spotlight. I suppose her moment has come.
Her hair is beautifully arranged, inlaid with glittering gemstones and luscious plumes. The elaborate creation of featherweight fabrics in rich shades becomes her. Delicate designs in thin, golden strokes bloom from the corners of her eyes and across her temples. They catch the flickering light and enhance her striking features. She is a piece of art. I wonder if she has been planning this outfit for thirteen years.
On her other side, my father is more imposing than ever with a heavy mantle of fur draped over his shoulders. It hangs in glossy black folds to the ground, where it pools luxuriously at his feet. A skillfully crafted breastplate laced with Light Creature teeth and claws hangs across his chest. The embellishments still glow with considerable fortitude, despite their age. Illuminated from below, his features are thrown into an eerie relief that makes him appear skeletal.
He holds a twenty-foot-long, spear-like shaft in hand. Instead of coming to a sharpened point, its tip is a half-circle bar of metal that forks to the sky. Its prongs curve downward at the very tips, like the talons of a raptor. Krandel stands opposite him, on the other side of the bonfire, grasping a nearly identical implement. It has small rings atop the crescent instead of hooks, perfectly spaced so the two tools can be latched together. They will form a perfect circle.
The real spectacle, however, is the oversized urn that stands in front of the fire. It issues the most astonishing tendrils of light. The vessel itself is made of clay, unadorned and utilitarian in form, but large enough to hold all the blood of the slain sola. And it is dazzling with a pure, white heat that easily eclipses the inferno raging behind it. The light tumbles from the urn and shifts around its base, fighting to gain ground against the ténesomni. But the shadows are more tenacious than I have ever seen, and for once they hold the advantage.
Father moves forward and raises a hand to silence the valefolk. Their murmurs fall away until the only voice is the breeze whispering through the trees.
“People of the Vale,” he booms, “we have long awaited this day.”
A deafening cheer arises. My father allows it to build and crest before motioning again for stillness. The people obey.
“Year after year, we waited and watched, yet no sola entered our land. We sent out scores of hunters well beyond our borders. Still, the burning creatures hid themselves away. What used to be a ritual of celebration deeply ingrained within our very identities as valefolk has become nothing more than a story our children have begun to pass off as legend.”
A shiver runs up my spine. Even I doubted the old stories, son of the Foremost though I am.
“But tonight we can agree the time of disbelief is at an end.”
The valefolk cannot hold back any longer. They roar and laugh and pump their fists high into the gloom.
“Let us observe the rights of Kuvror Erovantus once more.”
Blood Reckoning. The ancient Atsunic words for the ceremony are like a noxious vapor in the air. I am jostled as the energy of the throng surges. My father does not wait for it to calm this time but rides the swell, his deep voice projecting with unusual volume above the tumult.
