and ran in grassy shelves, and she tumbled over one side and down another before she thought better of her decision and picked her way across a clearing to the well-beaten path that led to the bottom of the hill. She didn’t know where she was going, but when she reached the woods she continued on, losing herself in the trees.
I cannot see, my tongue is a traitor.
My flesh is a foe, my heart a betrayer,
My eyes will I blacken, my lips will I close.
And let the runes lead me down paths I must go.
No man can follow. No man can lead. No man can save me, no man can free.
It was the Prayer of the Supplicant, the prayer of all keepers, and a verse that Hod had always felt was written just for him. He had learned it at an early age, preparing for this day.
He had gone before the Highest Keeper and pled for entrance into the brotherhood. He’d sung the song, said the words, and he had been rejected.
Arwin was as devastated as he. His teacher had been so convinced it was time and that Ivo would make an exception. He’d petitioned the Highest Keeper in Hod’s behalf, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.
“You cannot refuse him, Master Ivo,” Arwin had argued. “I cannot teach him anything more. I have not been able to teach him for ages. He knows far more than I. You sent him to me more than fifteen years ago. How long will he be made to wait? He should be here, learning from you, a keeper in truth.”
“The temple has become a sanctuary. It is no longer what it was. We have new challenges, Arwin. And I have no place for him here. Not now.”
“But . . . Master. It is what he has been trained to do. All these years. I have done what you asked. You said he was special. Chosen.”
“I cannot see the future, Arwin. I did not see this future. In sixteen years, not a single girl child, save the princess, has been born in Saylok.”
“Yes, Master, I know.”
“Do you know why, Arwin?”
“No, Highest Keeper,” he whispered, dejected.
“Nor do I. I have petitioned Odin. I have looked into the well. I have carved runes into the dust and runes into my skin. I have sheltered daughters in the temple where there were no daughters before. But still . . . there are no daughters in Saylok. And I have no answers.”
The Highest Keeper was adamant and unbending. And Hod had accepted the verdict with hollow resignation. It permeated him still, and he knew Ghisla had felt his despondency.
He had not told her why they’d come. He’d been afraid to raise her hopes, to raise his own. He’d used the tournament as cover, but the contest would end on the morrow, and he would have no excuse to stay.
He should have remained with her longer. He should have soaked up every second and kissed her until the cock crowed. But he had not trusted himself in her presence. He did not even trust himself on the mount.
Arwin had drowned his disappointment in a bottle and lay dreaming about a path that would never be.
“When the scourge has ended, we’ll come back,” he’d mumbled, patting Hod’s shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll go home. We’ll go back to the cave. It is better there. Your purpose will be made clear. The time has not yet come.”
He walked aimlessly, erratically, listening for Ghisla even as he tried to steel himself for the farewell to come.
And then he heard her crying. The wail was no more than a droplet in the sea of sound that was the mount, but it was Ghisla, and he halted, finding her in his mind.
The crying was not centralized; it bobbled and weaved, like she was walking—falling?—and getting farther away. Dread pooled in his belly and apprehension rippled down his spine.
She had left the mount.
15
PROMISES
Ghisla did not hear Hod until he was almost upon her, and she was too despondent to cry out when she saw his shadowy form. She sat in a clearing with her back to a tree, her legs sprawled out in front of her, her head down. She’d not gone far; the stars she’d counted the night before still littered the sky above her, framed by the circle of trees that ringed her resting place. She’d grown tired an hour ago, and once she stopped, she could not find the will to keep going.