(THOB) Chapter 50: A Friendly Wager (Patreon)

“He’s awake.”

Yes., I am.

Ezril was pulled back to consciousness by something. Perhaps the voice. Maybe it was something else. But he was awake now. He would begrudge whoever it was later, if the grudge was still there to hold on to.

“We thought you were gone when you fell.” It was Salem’s voice.

No. Ezril could see the brother’s face too. All his brothers were present, and his eyes were open.

Unkuti was smiling. “Told them it would take more than that to keep you down.”

Darvi placed a hand on Ezril’s shoulder. The hand was warmer than it should’ve been. “You’ll be on your feet soon enough, brother. But, for now, you must rest.”

Ezril noticed he had been trying to sit up. He resigned to the weight of Darvi’s hand and leaned back down.

Olufemi sat on one of the beds behind his brothers. There was something different about how he watched them. Something Ezril couldn’t quite name.

“Did I pass?” Ezril asked, his voice hoarse, barely more than a choke.

Darvi nodded but Takan was the one who spoke. “Gave every one a scare, brother. You turned it into a bloody test, you did.” He shrugged. “But, yes. You passed.”

Ezril’s brothers stayed a while longer, perhaps deeper into the night than they were permitted. They laughed and joked as they always did, easing the infirmary into a calm facsimile of what their room was during the evenings and Ezril was grateful for it even though it did nothing to make him forget where he was, and how heavy his body felt. But Olufemi remained in his place throughout, odder than he usually was.

The rest of them spoke of the feeling that came with the step, the sense of achievement, the nausea that came with the movement during the earlier days. Ezril listened in silence, happy that they no longer held back as they had done in the past months. But they were different. They described no pain in the step, only frustration whenever they could not make it. Even when they described the step itself, it was in a different accord from what Ezril had experienced. And it summoned in his memory a discussion he had over-heard.

Only after they left did Olufemi approach him. He was cautious in each step, housing a fear Ezril did not understand.

“How did you do it?” he asked when he drew close enough.

“What do you mean?” Ezril replied.

Olufemi’s lips trembled, whether it was pain or rage that incited it, Ezril didn’t know. “What did you do?” he pressed softly.

“I stepped.” Ezril felt his annoyance building. “I just…” he tried to make a gesture with his hand and failed. “I just… stepped.”

Olufemi shook his head. “No, you did not.”

Only when Ezril saw the tears behind his brother’s eyes did his annoyance subside.

“If you had seen yourself, brother,” Olufemi continued, “you would know whatever you did almost cost you your life.”

Ezril forced a smile on his lips in reassurance. “I didn’t want to leave.” It was so fake a smile that he wondered at how it remained on his lips. Then he shook the tension of the conversation mentally. “Let us speak of something else, brother. This sadness is unbecoming.”

Olufemi cocked his head one way in momentary misunderstanding but changed the subject nonetheless. “Shade is outside.”

Ezril hadn’t known what he’d been expecting his brother to change the topic to, but this had not crossed his mind for even a moment.

“Why?” he asked. The absence of alarm in his voice was almost disconcerting.

“Njord said it’s been scaring the other animal’s. So he took permission from the Monsignor to have me bring it.”

Ezril made a sound somewhere between consideration and agreement before he responded. “I understand.” He adjusted on the bed, seeking newer comfort. His body was still heavy, but it bearable now. “Tell me, brother,” he tried to sit up and failed, “what happened after the test?”

Olufemi seemed uninterested, and Ezril knew he would have no answer on the subject. At least not from him.

“Keve from Konvac and Albel from Tink’ris proved that they were not Hallowed.” Olufemi finally said, to Ezril’s surprise. “Some brothers failed the test.” He shrugged. “Fifteen were shown the gate.”

Fifteen, Ezril thought. It could have easily been sixteen.

“How did you do it?” Olufemi asked again. “How did you step in one night, brother?”

Ezril decided it was time to offer him an answer. Any answer.

Although not a complete one, for even he did not know it, he said, “Father Fravis taught us to think of it as grabbing Vayla.”

Olufemi nodded in agreement as he spoke.

“But last night I realized I could try something else. So, I didn’t grab Vayla, I simply reached for her…” he finished. “If that makes any sense to you, brother.”

Olufemi’s brows furrowed in annoyance, and Ezril couldn’t hide his smile. It was a look the boy got when trying to understand what was presented to him. Most times he bore it whenever he heard a word he could not understand.

After a moment, he spoke. “I’m sorry, brother,” he shook his head, “but you did not learn this last night.”

Hard to believe, Ezril thought. I probably wouldn’t.

Olufemi looked at him and Ezril knew something was amiss.

“What?”

“You’ve been in this room for three weeks, brother,” Olufemi told him. “We will have our next test in the coming month. And you have to be ready for it,” He rose to leave. “Get better soon. Shade will only eat what you give him. He has even refused to hunt.” His voice bore a hint of annoyance but nothing else.

Then he left the room.

Ezril wondered if he had imagined it. Olufemi was becoming unlike himself. Regardless, he closed his eyes, leaving his worry for another time, and welcomed sleep.

In the darkness he felt Shade watch even if he never saw the wolf.

The room housed Ezril another week before Father Yesuan set him free with a skepticism in his eyes. Somehow Ezril knew the look not to be for him but for the priest himself. His release had him seen to his continued training and Ezril found he had missed the use of his muscles, no matter how sore they became. During his week of consciousness his brothers visited him when they could, and Olufemi made sure to bring him his meals, along with strips of raw meat. The latter Ezril fed Shade who stood at the entrance, an ever watchful guard.

The priests returned Ezril and his brothers to their normal schedule. Father Fravis proved more demanding in their training, teaching them the employ of the Hallowed step in a fight, something Ezril found he could now perform with ease. Father Talod worked them in the learning of more intricate sword play, his blades blurring through the air in his dual wield as he took forms Ezril had thought him too old to possibly display. Darvi continued to prove himself born for the blade, while Ezril added to his collection of cane marks at the priest’s hands.

The test of climb came early in the month of Dectimer. Though too early in the winter month for snow, the chill heralding it bore its fangs on them, sinking deep where it met exposed skin. Even their fur cloaks proved insufficient for harboring the warmth and keeping the cold from their bones.

“They say we may climb the black mountain this year,” Takan said before he bit into a juicy pork he’d swiped from the kitchen. They were seated in their room, the knowledge of the trial in the morning hanging over their heads.

“And who are they?” Unkuti asked. Takan frowned at him, and he returned it with a baleful glare. “You carry stories of no import and grave inaccuracy too far, brother.”

There was no surprise at Unkuti’s reaction. Like most mysterious things in the kingdom the black mountain was one shrouded in rumors. And the citizens of the kingdom had a tendency of attaching the Scorned to anything ominous enough. And the mountain stood proud up there in the list.

“Pay them no heed, brother,” Darvi consoled Takan, speaking into the brief silence that ensued from his place opposite Salem where they played a game of war. “We value your knowledge.”

Takan said nothing.

Darvi was losing his game, which was unsurprising since everyone lost to Salem.

Salem moved a piece on the board, claiming Darvi’s Tainted piece. “Yes, brother.” Salem smiled. “Right now you serve as sufficient distraction for brother Darvi. I could win him with my eyes closed.”

Darvi’s frown conceded his loss to be true. “That’s what you think, brother.”

Raylin picked his nose and surveyed his finger before flicking it to the side. “If it’s the black mountain, wouldn’t it be white in winter?”

“It’s always black,” Olbi educated him. “Even in winter. Rumor is that it was part of the war of the Scorned.”

Unkuti frowned. “It was not.”

Olbi looked at him. “And how do you know this?”

Unkuti offered no response, simply adjusting his position in his bed. He turned and faced away from Olbi, and that was the end of it. Rumors concerning the Scorned always remained a touchy subject for the boy.

Olufemi shuffled in his bed, drawing Ezril’s attention. The boy remained asleep, a smile playing on his lips.

I wander what animal you are running with in your dream, brother, Ezril wondered as he watched his brother.

Soon after his attention was drawn away by footsteps. He turned and saw Unkuti.

Unkuti had stood taller than him when they’d first arrived at the seminary. Now, Ezril was as tall as the boy, perhaps taller by a slight margin if he was being generous with his height.

Unkuti positioned himself comfortably on Ezril’s bed. “Are you Hallowed or not?” He kept his tone low, his voice soft, merely above a whisper. Clearly, no one else was privy to the words.

Ezril kept his voice as low as his brother’s.

“I passed the test, did I not?” he answered.

If the others wondered what they were discussing, they didn’t show it.

“In the history of the kingdom I have heard no story of such a thing happening,” Unkuti said, then licked his lips. Ezril knew the action. The boy had a story to tell. So Ezril did what he thought best.

He afforded Unkuti his full attention and spoke before the boy did. “I am not someone from one of your stories, brother.” He looked the boy in the eye, met his gaze so there was no misunderstanding. “Do not contrive to make me one.”

Unkuti’s frown was mild. His story was now lost in the confines of his mind. Ezril saw it in his brown eyes: the need to tell his tale battling with the respect to hold it in. The natural warring dissonance.

Unkuti seemed to ponder for a while. After the briefest pause, he said, “But it must have hurt with all that blood.”

“Blood?” Ezril’s brows wrinkled. “What blood?”

Unkuti’s lips drew into a thin line. He wasn’t going to say anything else. It seemed he had said something he shouldn’t have; it was clearer than the night sky was black. There would be no more words on the topic of blood. Still, Ezril pressed on it.

“Unkuti,” he demanded, “what blood?”

“Forget I said anything.” Unkuti rose to leave, a mild panic trailed the movement. “I was simply making a joke. One it would seem to have been in poor taste.”

Ezril frowned. Unkuti rarely ever joked. At least not about such things. They were keeping a secret from him. His brothers were keeping secrets from him. His eyes darted to Olufemi’s sleeping form. You. too, brother? He wondered. The thought worried him. By whose authority?

“Would you indulge me in a game, brother?”

Salem’s request brought Ezril out of his contemplation. He turned to see Darvi exiting the table, heading for his bed.

“Don’t do it, brother,” Darvi advised as he passed. “He’s just looking to make himself good at our expense,”

Ezril nodded, knowing how true it was, then took his place on the spot Darvi had occupied while Salem rearranged the pieces.

“How about a friendly wager?” Ezril asked.

Salem shrugged without looking up from his task. “What would you like?”

“If I win, you will tell me everything that happened to me on the test of the Hallowed.”

Salem paused, then looked at him. He was considering it, picking his next words wisely. Ezril could see the wheels turning in the boy’s head.

“Okay,” he agreed in the end. “And when you lose, brother.” He grinned. “And you will. You will spend your next outing with Farla and I. No questions asked, and no complaints.”

Something told Ezril he was getting the short end of the stick on the wager. He had caught a glint in the brother’s eyes when he had spoken. Nonetheless, there were things he felt he needed to know.

“Agreed.”

The game began. Salem gave him the honor of making the first move, and what followed was an alternating execution of moved pieces. Near twenty moves into the game, and Ezril found his brother was playing him the fool’s tyranny. It was a technique he had learned from Salem. An intricate relay of plays having an opponent believe his bishop under siege, only to end in the loss of an apostle. It reminded Ezril of how much he truly hated the game.

He accepted his loss before Salem had claimed his prize, making a more than obvious move for his Tainted. There was no plan, no idea. If Ezril was to put it into words, he would define it as akin to a cornered animal simply lunging at its oppressor. The move cost him a sacrifice he was willing to make. But in the end it amounted to naught.

They played a while longer, ignorant of the sound around them subsiding. Each piece surrendered its place on the board to another. Whether the piece was of stronger or weaker power, was of no import. Only when a game that began with forty pieces—twenty on both sides—was left with fifteen, Salem amassing ten pieces, including a Tainted which Ezril no longer possessed, did Ezril understand the frustration of war.

Ezril saw a chance. A final form of attack, of sorts. He needed to have Salem believe he sought to take his Tainted in retaliation before wheeling in for his real target.

You don’t always need to take the strongest piece to win, he told himself. It was something Salem had taught him on more than one occasion. Ezril played his move when his turn came. At the end of their fourth compounded moves he claimed Salem’s bishop.

And Salem claimed the game.

Suffice to say, the outcome was not out of the ordinary.

Salem’s smirk when he captured Ezril’s king led him to believe the boy had seen through his final attack. Something about playing the game seemed to slow down the sense of time. When they looked around them their brothers were long asleep.

Ezril, calling it a night, left Salem to himself.

Salem looked at Ezril as he rose, chucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “You’ve gotten better, brother,” he said.

Ezril offered him a bland smile. When it came to the game, he was, after all, a sore loser. I’ll need to cut my hair, Ezril told himself, observing Salem’s. The boy kept his hair long, and Ezril’s was coming to look like it.

“Do not forget our deal,” Salem reminded him before he retired to his bed.

The game had been nothing but a waste of time, as far as games went. Ezril wasn’t sure who succumbed to sleep first, him or Salem. But one thing he did know was that having a nightmare where he bled as he ran from prying eyes of the known and unknown was not the best way to meet a new test.