I chopped the wood with an easy stroke, just as I'd been taught. Few chips flew. The evening struck my eyes as I straightened up for a moment, though I resisted knuckling my back.

“Are you sure about this?” My father asked.

I split another log, using momentum to make up for my lack of muscle, as I'd been taught. My father was a burly man, tall and dark, where I was not. The hurt I suspected was there was not present in his voice.

I'm sure, father. The money alone....”

“Hang the money!” He declared, throwing down his adze, his normally careful work haphazard and the chair leg he had been working on ruined.

He took a breath, gathering himself, and continued. “It's not about the gold, son. We can always do something else for that. I can chop wood again, or go to the castle and try again, or....”

“Father, look at me.” He looked up, squinting. I pretended not to see the shimmer; this had to be done.

“The market for wood is down and the other woodcutters would not appreciate new competition, even if you could find a buyer. The Vasrun family broke your last offering to them, and told you never to come back upon pain of death.”

Father stood, grasping my shoulders. “Then I'll find other work, another way! There has to be something! We can move, or...!

I shook my head. “Father, you know as well as I, it is duty.”

He stared into my face as his own fell. “I taught you too well, it seems.”

What could I say to that? I nodded.

“I'll go get dinner ready.” He said, turning and walking towards the house. You clean up here.”

“Alright, father.”

He disappeared into the darkened doorway of our home. I stacked the wood neatly upon the pile it belonged to and covered it with the pitch treated cloth that would keep it safe from wind, rain and bugs. I shook my shirt out and put it on. It was warm out while working, but the evening chill was fast approaching.

Then I took up the tools, both my own ax and the woodworking tools my father had left, and cleaned them. They were all stored in the house.

The strong smell of turps hit me just before I entered. It was matched by the smell of Dix, a local fish. Neither were particularly appealing or filling, but both were cheap, and the turps were easy to grow. One just had to keep the wild beasts from getting into the garden.

The third sniff had me sighing. The flavor was best when not burned. I reached past father and took the spoon. “Father, you're supposed to stir the stew, not stare at it.”

I carefully stirred while father made his usual stuttered excuses; the stew was a water base, which meant it was a little thin, but some readily available grasses usually made up the lack. Father had not added enough onon grass, however.

“How can you stand that much onon grass? It always makes the stew bitter.”

“It coats the other tastes Father, you know that.”

Father's face darkened, but he nodded; he did not like this stew any more than I did. He busied himself by hanging the tools on their intricately made hooks.

Night finished stealing the light as I ladled the stew into our plain bowls. We ate in comfortable silence; afterward, I sealed the remainder up in the pot with the sturdy wooden lid, carved to fit and lock with the lip. The bowls and spoons I took out to the stream. It was best to clean them now, for the scent could attract wild beasts, and there was no telling what damage they would cause.

The stream was fast moving in the spot I preferred, which made cleaning easy; just dunk the dishes in. The water was sweet and clear; I took a long drink before heading back. Finding the proper path came easily. I shut the door and drew the bar across it; the door and bar were both sturdy but were really no more than a strongly worded suggestion in truth.

With the chores done and the darkness now total, I unrolled my mat and gave it a vigorous shake (insect bites in tender places were an awful way to wake up) and undressed before rolling up in my blanket.

I fell asleep to the gentle scrape of wood carving.

…...

I awoke to the sounds of snoring. It was daybreak, I could see the sunlight through the walls.

Without my constant disapproving presence, I feared for my father. I stretched and sat up; there were things on my carefully folded clothes.

A large comb, the kind that would be used to both brush and set hair, lovingly carved in painstaking detail. It depicting our home with wood nymphs frolicking in the background. It made me glad wood nymphs had not been frolicking near our home, for father would certainly have been spirited away.

I couldn't help feeling touched.

I decided to wash and grabbed my clothes and blanket along with my cake of soap. I made it myself using a recipe of ash, zols oil, and strongly scented herbs. I had no idea how close my efforts were to the real thing, especially since I had to substitute for tallow and animal fat, but it seemed to clean us and that was enough.

The stream was cold, but that was helpful in waking up. Downstream it flowed less quickly and was prone to silting over. I washed quickly, dried with my blanket, and dressed. I turned from doing up my last button to find Father there, watching.

“Won't be able to do that anymore.” He said.

A curious statement. “Do what? You mean not bathe? I'm fairly sure the hallowed halls of the capitol might be offended if I arrived smelling like a midden.”

A ghost of a smile graced his lips as Father answered. “No, not that. Not the choice to bathe, but the location. Soon the very idea of you gracing a country stream with your presence will scandalize our nation.”

Surely he was exaggerating. He gave me a look that said he knew more than he was telling. “You'd best get going, they won't hold the ceremony for you if you are late.”

I followed Father inside to find that he had dug his old travel pack out of his trunk. The trunk was a large thing carved hollow from a solid log and held together with expensive iron hinges; there was a cunningly build combination lock built into it; the correct movement of levers outside opened the chest.

The chest hollow contained all of Father's most valuable belongings. I had seen most of them, watching as Father cleaned and cared for them. The old armor he possessed for example, from our ancestor Thoriv. He had kept the old scale mail, the padded underclothes, and the large sword. A slight revealed the expensive oils used to prevent rust.

Father held the old pack out, and I inspected it; it had several cracks from drying out sometime in the past, but the leather was otherwise whole. I grabbed my change of clothes and folded them carefully before placing them in; they were my best. My own tools for cooking and carving went next, and my kit of herbs – I really should go searching for more of those common around here – and finally my own waterskin, which wasn't a skin at all, but a well made and self-sealing tankard.

I grabbed my sling and my pouch of stones, as well as my fishing line, and I was ready.

I turned to find Father holding out a large dagger, almost a small sword on its own, sheathed in worked leather. “You cannot use a sword, but this will serve you in good stead.”

I took the dagger and unsheathed it; it was a wide and thick piece of shining steel, double-edged. A weapon, that could only ever be a weapon. Well, it wasn't as if the roads were completely safe.

I re-sheathed it. “Thank you, Father.”

I belted it on and looked up to find father holding up another locking container in the fashion of my water skin. “Last night's soup.”

It was a large container. “All of it?”

Father wavered a moment, but finally, he nodded. “Father, that soup was meant for us both. I can get something along the road.”

He shook his head. “No. You'll have less chance to scare up food on the journey than you think. Take it all; I will fish up what I need.”

I bowed. “Thank you, Father.”

The last thing Father held out was another wooden object; this one carved by older hands and stained by tinctures and use. It was Mother's pendant.

A depiction of Hastel the magnificent, the first sorceress, it had been in Mother's family for generations as a good luck charm. I could not deny that it failed her, but it was all that as left of her. I settled it around my neck.

Father's eyes were bright. “You'd... best get along now. You don't have much time to reach the village.”

The ritual would be held at dusk. If I left now, I would reach the village by midday, just as the festival started.

“I'll see you again, Father. Please take care of yourself.” It was a promise.

“I'll be waiting, my child.”

I squared my shoulders and walked straight ahead.

…...

The walk to the village was shorter than expected. The woods had been pleasant but silent, lacking in game; I had found a few berries that would be edible for some time and stowed them in a cloth brought for the purpose.

The village clearing loomed into view; a simple beaten path leading to it, the large rush houses to either side. My father had made the foundations for those. The center, where the well was sunk, was decorated with straw women and colored ropes. The bonfire wasn't lit just yet, and the long tables filled with food were still taking shape, being tended to by girl and woman alike under the watchful gaze of what could only be the sorceress and her retinue from the capital, standing on the large wooden platform for the purpose of holding them above the dirty streets on foul weather.

“Kath? What are you doing here?”

I turned to find Meilan approaching, her face as a thundercloud and bowl of fresh baked rolls forgotten. I tore my eyes from the sight as my stomach growled, turning my attention back to Meilan. She would insist on it.

“Good day to you, Meilan.”

Meilan's eyes narrowed. She noticed the dagger at my belt and her eyes narrowed further. “Good day to you, Kath. Now, what are you doing here?”

It wasn't obvious? “I thought I'd enjoy the festival.”

“But you never come! Your Dad turned down the invitation every year! Mom was always trying to get you two to enjoy!”

I nodded; Father had his pride. “That is true, however this year I come of age.”

Meilan quieted, shooting a loaded glance at the sorceress, even now discussing something with the man dressed as a noble next to her. She laughed, and Meilan's eyes narrowed again. Any further and she would find it hard to see.

“Right. I guess that means you can show up for the free food if you want to.” Meilan responded, turning back to me with a small smile.

The food would not be free. Meilan was also coming of age. Tomorrow she would likely be married. I would wish her well; we had been friends for many years.

Speaking of friends, there was Conrad, Count Vasrun's youngest son, making his way to the sorceress.

“Come on Kath, you can help me set out the wine.”

“Sure.”

Meilan led the way down the path and into her house. Her mother was there, pouring wine into earthenware jars and capping them with their lids. Meilan dipped and brought two up smoothly, and I managed to follow her example before her mother realized someone else was present.

“Oh, Kath! You came!”

“Of course.”

“Your father not with you?”

I shook my head.

“That is a shame,” she replied. “My own Forash misses him. Says he just can't drink like he used to, without your Danja there.”

I considered that. “Probably for the best, then. He'd probably never get out into the fields.”

She grinned, and I followed Meilan out the door.

There were a few more present than mere minutes ago, all boys who also needed to participate in the coming of age ceremony. They were stealing food and staring at the village guests with unabashed interest... and in a few cases, awe.

Garz was among them. I waved and turned to help Meilan again.

“Hey, Kath!”

“Garz. Come help.”

He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “No, I shouldn't be working, and neither should you. It's our big day, and a day free from work for both of us.”

“Only when the festival starts,” I replied, looking pointedly at the square and all the work that needed to be done.

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“Yes,” Zhet broke in, shouldering past Garz. “Don't be like that; you may not have to do day in and day out, but we all work in the fields, and a day's respite is welcome.”

I had worked in the fields before. Many times, in fact.

“Come on, let's not fight,” Garz stated, shouldering Zhet back. No mean feat, that; Zhet was the largest of the boys. There was rumor the Count was waiting to hire him on as a soldier. It was foolish talk, but his chained fury made the rumor believable. The Garz turned to me: “Let's go. The women can handle this, let's go catch the porowogs down by the pond, while we still can.”

Catching porowogs was a child's pursuit. Come tomorrow, none among us would be doing it, no matter what may come. I looked to Meilan and she rolled her eyes dramatically; she had already made another two trips while we had been talking. I shrugged. “Sure. Lead on.”

I could join them at least until midday; that wasn't long and if I was careful I would not need to bathe again before the festival.

Many of my now present company could use a dunk themselves. Perhaps that was a secondary goal here? The pond should be clean enough, for all that the water was sluggish.

The porowog population was low, judging by their croaks. This did not deter my comrades, who gleefully waded into the rushes with reckless abandon, driving the object of their hunt before them.

I made the trap; several sticks pushed into the soft mud together into a circle, angled so the porowogs could not jump out. Some lashing with a handy rush, and it was quite sturdy by porowog standards. A few sticks on one side not lashed together made a serviceable door.

While I busied myself with that, the others busied themselves with laughing and splashing. Porowogs were caught, escaped wet fingers, and caught again. I sat and waited.

“Come on, Kath! Come catch some! If they are big enough, we can eat them!”

I pointed to the cage. “I've done my part.”

Garz marched up to the bank and carefully squelched down beside me. “You know, this is the last day.”

I shook my head. “For me, yesterday was the last day. I spent this morning making myself presentable.”

Garz tapped my dagger. “Is it certain, then?”

I nodded. “We are certain, Father and I.”

There was no need to tell him why we were certain; he could no doubt guess. Some who had the spark within were visited by the Phos, the ethereal ghost lights which led men astray. None knew why or when, but those who lived outside of town saw them more often.

They had been beautiful – and frightening, circling our home the entire night, dashing close to the windows, then away. Only the dawn's light had banished them, and they had not returned. They had not needed to.

Garz saw his answer upon my face. “I see. You'll be leaving, then, come the morning.”

I nodded.

He tapped my sandaled foot with his own. “I make no promises I cannot keep, but I shall do my best to look in on your father while you are gone.”

I turned to him. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Well, back to the porowog hunt! We must find at least two for all of us!”

This early in the season that would run a real risk of emptying the pond of them.

An hour later there were porowogs for all (even me, I'd caught a rather plump outlier well away from the mud of the pond) and it was time. We made a large sack of tied rushes and brought our bounty back to the square. All the preparations were finished, and the women not involved were beginning to trickle in; the men would begin to join them around dusk.

The bonfire was lit, which made the start official.

I sat at the nearest table, poured a cup of rich red wine, cleaned my hands in the nearest bucket placed for the purpose, and snagged a fresh loaf of bread with a sigh.

The bread was a delicacy, as was the wine. With one dipped into the other, it was even softer and the taste of both was enhanced. I shot a glance at the sorceress and her retinue, to find her staring off into the fields from her stage, drinking a cup of wine herself, a table of roots and berries the region was famous for in front of her and her escort.

They even had a slemn fish, each, from the river to the North. I wondered who had gone to fish for those; the journey was not an easy one, and a poacher's noose could await anyone who was caught.

And speaking of the poacher's noose, a red-faced son of a Count was striding to our table. My friends looked up warily as he stopped in front of us.

In front of me, specifically.

“Move, peasant.”

I saw Blizal, Conrad's very experienced bodyguard, shift from his position in a nearby doorway, tensing.

I moved. As soon as I was out of the chair, he kicked it over. I just sat down in another; we were not required to bow to him today; his father was not present and he was not a man himself, yet. It was just our misfortune to share a birth year with him.

Meilan righted the chair and he immediately sat down in it without so much as a glance her way. “So what brings you out of the woods, peasant?”

“The festival, of course.” The ceremony also, but that should be a given.

“I thought it had been made clear to you, that your kind were not welcome, here in the village.”

“I'm just an ignorant peasant count, I don't know anything about welcomes,” I responded calmly, watching his face redden. He had no title but insisted on one years ago, and so 'the little count' was born.

He didn't demand we stop, only that we shorten it. Calling him count was against the law, however, the real Count ignored it. This meant one had to be careful.

“Well, get out. Go rejoin your bandit father.”

“I cannot, Count. I am of age and must take part in the ceremony. To do otherwise is against the law.”

A subtle reminder that even he dare not take things too far here. After all, our guests were watching. And they were watching – with great interest.

Conrad noticed as well, and stood up straighter – then kicked my porowog into a tree. I didn't have to look to know it was dead, and likely too befouled to eat, now.

“There is no place at the feast for vermin.” He stated with more volume than he needed to and huffed off grandly when one of the delegation from the capital took a step, hand on what had to be a fine sword.

The Sorceress laid a hand on his arm, uttering low soothing tones. Blizal took his hand away from his own sword as he passed me with a mutter: “I'm sorry about that, Kath.”

“The fault does not lie with you, Blizal,” I replied just as low. “However the sentiment is appreciated.”

He clapped me quickly on the shoulder as he passed; he was a village man, for all his increase in station, and he knew us. The others, village folk all, ignored Blizal's very presence.

“Never mind that crab, Kath. Let's eat!”

We managed to fill our plates before the men came to sit, freshly scrubbed. The women joined us, waiting until after everyone was seated. Some had volunteered to serve, and for that service would receive special consideration for a service throughout the year.

I had provided more than one of those services, together with my father. Furniture and little touches made from wood were in great demand when free. Meilan's mother still had the little corrow I'd carved for her years ago, still standing as if to take flight in pride of place on her mantle.

It did not deserve the place it occupied; if I could I would throw it into the mantle it resided atop. But that would be a grave insult. I had carved her another; Father was to deliver it and convince her to retire the first bird.

I realized I was staring as Meilan and her mother served the Sorceress and her retinue and averted my eyes just in time. Both could tell when they were being watched, and there were limits to how rude one should be.

The little Count stalked back to his place, the far left of the table on the platform where said retinue waited patiently, sitting down just in time to get served himself. He looked to the Sorceress as the other sat; she remained standing, a delicate glass goblet in her hand.

A metal fork was gently rung against the glass, and the odd noise stopped what few conversations had sprung up.

The Sorceress met the expectant looks and then spoke, her voice not so distant from the musical tones the goblet had made.

“Please good people, eat, drink, and make merry! You are the backbone upon which the kingdom of Hastelan rests. I wish you good harvests, bountiful game, and much joy. I raise my glass to you all in the sincere wish of prosperity for all.”

She drank, and we followed.

She opened her mouth again... then sat with a twinkle in her eye.

We all dug into the main course with relish, roast fowl culled from the coops. Normally there would be a diffyr, hunted legally on the Count's land and donated for the purpose, but it had been many seasons since last we saw such.

I tried to pace myself, to match the Sorceress as she delicately cut her food into small pieces rather than the much more simple spear and bite method used by all. She was elegant in a way that even the Count and his kin would be hard-pressed to match.

Were such manners used at court, or at the school?

Judging by the Count's son they were not in any great use at court. They seemed worthy of emulation regardless.

Once the main course had been served and eaten the murmur of conversation rose again, and old Jokaz and Merle gathered their instruments as the others built up the blaze in the square. Jokaz played the liment, and Merle played the pipes. Neither played enough to suit our tastes, saving their gentle notes for special occasions alone.

The dancing and clapping began immediately, and I joined in both as best I was able, for as long as I was able. As the celebration continued the Sorceress circled with light steps, looking among those of us which brought her here.

She came close, and I could find no flaw in her appearance.

Her dress was pale cream, stitched with threads of gold to match her pale honey hair, done up in elaborate braids. She was smaller of stature and lighter of step than the village women, with an unlined face. The intricate layers of her dress should make it a hazard to walk in, and yet she hadn't stumbled once. Her river-blue eyes met mine and I could almost fancy a spark occurred.

Then with a nod, she moved gracefully on, and it was only after I noticed the man in her wake. Tall and dark, he was built as a great cat, and he stalked like one besides. I would have mistaken him for a man like Blizal if not for his rich clothing and the massive ring that was a family crest if ever I saw one. His gaze was pointed, and I lowered my head in deference.

I looked up a moment later to find him gone, still following in the Sorceress's wake as driftwood in the current, bobbing forward every now and again to glare at the course and people ahead before settling back.

Old Jokaz stopped the music soon after, and all the village crowded in for what was to come next, myself included.

“In the beginning, the beginning of beginnings, there was no kingdom, no empire, no stronghold of Man. Man was bereft of succor, wandering lost and alone, prey to both beast and gods. And then in the East, not too far from here, the good lady appeared before Hastelan the mason and said 'Should you wish it, you shall become a king, and lead all the peoples to greatness.'”

Thus began the Cycle of Hastelan the great, founder of the kingdom, which bore his name. We had all heard it many times... but could stand to hear it many more, for it was an epic tale. The sorceress was just as enraptured, leaning forward in her chair and nodding minutely as if to say 'yes that happened' as old Jokaz described the great battles and tribulations of the gods which Hastelan and the good lady, the ancient equivalent of the Sorceress herself, endured.

The epic was a long one, but we listened spellbound as old Jokaz covered the foundation of the kingdom and the subject of more current import, the foundation of the school, the first institution where magic was learned.

As expected of old Jokaz, he finished the first part of the tale just as the sun slipped under the earth. He finally finished as the Kingdom repelled it's first human enemy, an early empire whose name was lost to the sands of time. I had not noticed the men feeding the bonfire, but they must have, for the light was still bright for all that the shadows cast were long.

It was time; the sorceress stood. “Thank you, honored elder; your storytelling was most talented.”

Old Jokaz's nod was both gracious and grave.

“And now, I'm afraid I must impose upon you all. Would the children to be tested please step forward?”

I did so, one of not quite a dozen, Garz fell in on my right side, and Zhet came to my left. Conrad the little count just beyond him. Perhaps that was Zhet's plan, though I'd not ask.

The sorceress stopped by each of us and pressed something into our hands wordlessly. It was a seed, warm from its stay in her palm. Once she had given the little count his, she spoke:

“We must step away from the fire. This way, if you please.”

This much we all knew. We followed as she led us to the tree line. A few steps into the trees there was only sound.

“Stop, and stay still please.”

I waited. A moment later and my sight was almost clear, so when the delicate hands of the sorceress touched my own I did not startle. She led me gently a few more steps, in front of a tree.

“Now, I want you to focus upon the seed I gave you. Imagine it, full of life, opening for you, sharing all of its secrets with you.”

And then she was gone again.

That was it? That was the secret of the coming of age ceremony, which fathers were unable to share upon pain of death? Perhaps there was something I did not yet know?

With a sigh, I focused on the seed. Completion of the task meant a return to humanity. I opened my hand and looked. The seed looked like a simple Paka nut vine seed; whatever life it contained seemed distant. What sort of secrets could such a seed hold?

A simple inspection revealed nothing.

And yet there was something... I could sense something, beyond the lingering warmth the sorceress imparted with it. Wait, such heat should be long gone...

Light caught in the seed, a small spark matched by the phos which suddenly bloomed around me.

The sorceress was there, helping me to my feet as the phos circled us both. No, not to my feet, to the ground before the tree. “Quickly! Plant the seed!”

I shoved the seed into the soft earth before the tree with my thumb, as taught by the planters. It blossomed immediately as the phos swarmed around it, the branches twining around the tree in seconds. The growth only stopped when it reached my height, and only then did the glow fade.

The bonfire might have obscured the glow, but the phos would no doubt have been noticed by all.

The Sorceress helped me to my feet, her genuine smile easily shown in the soft light provided by the phos, still flitting to and fro. “Well done.”

We began to return, the Sorceress's hands warm upon my shoulder and back. “Now, a few things we must discuss before you re-enter your village square; you are not in any way required to join us, though of course, we prefer it. Many do not, and lead happy lives without magic. Should you choose to, you will have a year to change your mind.” she stated. Her words had the weight of those often repeated.

It did not matter. There was happiness, and there was duty. Even should I never pass that tree again, the pull of the vine I caused to grow there would make itself felt. My path had been clear for a season, and this had merely been a stone placed on it.

The sorceress had continued. “Have you seen the phos before?”

“Yes, Milady.”

My leave-taking preparations had been obvious; it seemed.

“And your decision?”

“I will go with you, of course, Milady.”

“Your name?”

“Kath Thorinsson, Milady.”

She hummed as we entered the light from the fire, a musical note almost lost amidst the noise of life, much of which ceased when she became visible. Her hands were once more at her own, folded into each other.

“Your attention, good people of Vard.”

It was meaningless to ask for attention, she already had it. She continued: “The testing is complete. Kath Thorinsson has passed and has agreed to join the ranks of the Illuminate. Beyond the fire and to the west is the proof and covenant of this successful testing; let all who would doubt bear witness.”

The testing was complete? I saw the others to be tested already around the fire, and yet it felt as if only moments had passed since we left it. However, the moon was out, high and fat in the darkened sky.

From the stories told, trees or vines that gave edible fruit were often used for the testing in poorer villages so that the people would have another source of food; some of the more outlandish tales had the plants lasting for lifetimes. In that moment, I could believe them.

The sorceress clapped her hands together. “Now, tonight is cause for celebration! Doubly so in your case; not only do the ranks of the rare swell, but this is your first successful test in generations! So, to merriment!”

She motioned to Meilan, who would not meet my eyes as she brought us both wine.

The little count glared at me from his position near the fringe of the revelry before the sorceress's male companion drew close, blocking the view