and blood and sinews. He could not be expected to bestow more under the circumstances. The little boy let go of his mother’s hand and cocked his dark head. Then he repeated the blessing, word for word, his voice high and sweet. Ivo’s irritation disintegrated into the dust on the sanctum floor, but the woman was not comforted. Tears had begun to streak her cheeks.
“I fear strength will not be enough, Master,” the woman whispered.
“Why not?” Ivo grumbled. She did not need to know his heart had changed.
“He is a fine boy, Master. But his blindness is a burden no one will shoulder. And I cannot take care of him anymore.”
“Where is his father? What of your clan?”
“I am of Berne, my father is dead, and I have known many men, Master.” Her voice was unapologetic, and he had little doubt she spoke truth, but she withheld something. Most women did when speaking of such matters. Especially to an ancient keeper who they assumed would not understand.
“Take him to Chief Banruud. It is the responsibility of the chieftain to provide for the children—all children—in his clan.”
She was silent, resistant, and for a moment she hung her head, defeated.
He sighed, throwing his hands in the air.
“I cannot heal his eyes . . . but I can heal you so that you might take care of him,” Ivo offered.
Relieved, the woman nodded, and he motioned her to approach him. Her hands shook with fatigue and her skin burned with fever. He would have to draw runes to ward off illness in every corner of the temple, but it was always thus during the tournament.
In his own blood, he drew three runes across her brow: a rune of breath, a rune of strength, and a rune to expel the sickness from her chest. The fates would decide whether or not to grant his request—life and death were not his to control—but already her eyes were clearing and the rattling in her exhalations was gone.
He waited, letting the runes sink beneath her skin before he wiped the residue away. He would not leave a mark for others to see.
“Go now. And take the boy.”
She backed away, bowing gratefully as she did, but his rune had healed more than her body. It had restored her hope, and she made another request.
“There is word that there is a child, a babe, living among the keepers. Living in the temple. That is what I want for my son,” she said in a rush.
“Word, eh?” He snorted.
Word all the way in Berne? He doubted that. But now he knew which keeper had allowed the woman entrance into the sanctum. Keeper Dagmar was a constant thorn in his side. A burr in his shoe. A canker in his mouth. And he had been from the moment Dagmar had come to the mount, a lanky, insistent boy, threatening to throw himself from the cliffs of Shinway if the Highest Keeper did not allow him to become a supplicant in the temple.
The worst part was, somehow Dagmar always got his way. Months ago, he’d brought a newborn babe, his dead sister’s son, Bayr, into the enclave, and Ivo had relented again. Even though it had never been done. Even though it should never be done. Now this woman was here, demanding the same. Ivo had warned Dagmar of this very thing. The moment an exception was made, the rule ceased to exist.
“Can you not train him to be a keeper?” she pled. “He is so smart.”
“A keeper,” the little boy parroted. He stood beneath the altar, his arms extended as high as he could raise them, so the tips of his fingers could trace the carvings in the wood. The runes were all entangled, each figure indistinguishable from the others, except to the trained eye. It was the way they were protected, even in the sanctum. Even on the underside of the altar.
“Runes,” the little boy said, marveling.
Ivo gasped. “He recognizes the runes.”
“He knows naught of runes,” the woman argued, shaking her head. “I know naught of runes. I swear it, Highest Keeper.”
The runes were forbidden to all but the keepers. Her fear was justified, but Ivo did not scold her. He watched the child instead. The boy was entranced by the texture of the carvings beneath his hands. After a moment, the little fellow crouched, and in the dust of the floor, he drew a rune—two half circles, back to back, one that opened to the left and one that