Tharn reached into a sack he had slung around his back. “I almost forgot. These should fit perfectly. I only finished them the night before last.” From the sack, he pulled two leather belts, handing one each to Rist and Calen.
Calen ran his fingers over the belt. It was a rich umber brown, smooth to the touch and sturdy. Every stitch was neat and as close to perfect as could be. Tharn was widely known as one of the best tanners and leather craftsmen in all the villages. He could have easily sold the belts for two or three silver marks a piece to a trader heading for Gisa or Argona.
“Thank you, Tharn. I don’t—” Calen started.
“Nothing needs be said, Calen,” Tharn said. “We are family, the lot of us. Look after each other in there.”
Calen nodded, immediately fixing the belt around his waist.
The idle chat continued for a while; they discussed what weather to expect over the next three nights, where the boys should set up camp, and other details that they had gone over a hundred times before. Calen’s attention was waning when the crowd shifted towards the podium.
The leaders of each of the seven village councils had assembled atop the podium. Four men and three women, with Erdhardt at their head.
“It is great to see you all here, gathered in such numbers to see our young men off on their rite of passage,” Erdhardt said. “This has long been a tradition in the villages, and I am proud to see it continue.”
Erdhardt stepped back into line with the other elders, giving them each a chance to make a short comment. Each spoke of pride, tradition, and honour; their words mimicked those of the one who spoke before them.
“It is time,” Erdhardt said, when each of the elders had said their piece. His voice rose above the chattering crowd. “Can all the groups please say their goodbyes and then move up to the brazier?”
Calen turned to his mother and father and instantly had the wind knocked out of him as Freis pulled him into a hug so tight that it could have been used to incapacitate a bear. When she finally released him from her clutches, Calen found himself staring at his father. Vars simply placed his hands on Calen’s shoulders and pressed his forehead gently against Calen’s. “I love you, son.” He placed a kiss on the top of Calen’s forehead, and no further words were exchanged.
“Try not to starve yourself in there,” Ella said. “And remember not to let any poison Tharin leaves touch your skin.”
Calen laughed. “Love you too, sis.”
He slowly paced backwards, then turned around. Dann and Rist joined him once they had said their own goodbyes.
“I genuinely wish my mother had even a tiny bit less energy.” Rist laughed. Calen responded with a laugh of agreement while Dann only grunted. “Rough night, Dann? Maybe four or five too many meads?”
“Oh, curse you, Rist. I had planned on going to bed a lot earlier. It was only meant to be one drink.”
“It’s always only one drink with you,” Calen said.
The boys continued to joke together as they approached the brazier that marked the start of The Proving, nodding and saying hello to those they recognised along the way. Calen noticed Kurtis, Fritz, and Dennet Hildom about a hundred paces upward along the line. He felt a slight pulse of anger swell in his chest. He took a few long breaths and focused his attention back towards his friends, who were exchanging insults at their usual pace, with a few delayed responses from Dann. Calen shook his head as he watched the pair of them.
A horn sounded behind them, followed swiftly by a flaming arrow shot overhead, streaking smoke behind it. The arrow landed firmly in the large brazier filled with oil-soaked wood. With a whoosh, the brazier erupted in a burst of flames.
“The Proving begins,” Erdhardt called out.
All along the line, young men advanced towards the forest. Some took a bit more time than others, but eventually followed the lead of those before them.
“Well,” Calen said, letting out a breath that he had held in since the arrow ignited the brazier, “I suppose we’d better get going.”
Rist responded with a quick smile and a nod, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Dann grunted. Calen had a feeling that was the most conversation they were going to get out of him today.
“We should try to find a stream as soon as possible to fill our waterskins,” Rist suggested.
Calen nodded; his eyes fixed on the treeline. As they reached the edge of the forest and made their way through its outer rim, Calen felt the familiar weight in the air with every breath he took. The dense moist air pressed down into his lungs. After about half an hour of walking, he began to acclimatise to the sensation a little – but not enough for his liking.
“It’s so strange,” Rist remarked, inhaling deeply.
“What do you mean?” Calen replied as he stumbled over the unearthed root of a gargantuan tree.
“It’s just odd how hard it is to breathe in here. The other woodlands around the villages don’t seem to have the same effect.”
“Well, Therin always tells of how the giants ruled these lands and used magic to build this forest. He said that they used to sing to the trees and that they could create entire groves in just weeks. Maybe it’s magic?”
“Surely you can’t believe those fairy tales, Calen?” There was a mocking look on Rist’s face.
Calen frowned. “You can’t really think that all the legends are lies? All Therin’s stories, just spun on a wheel to entertain people? The Bards always talk about the Circle of Magii in the North, even the ones who call The Order traitors. Are they all lying?”
Rist shrugged. “Maybe?” He pulled his mouth up into a frown. “I don’t know, maybe there is magic somewhere far away from The Glade – and I’m not saying there
