it—but for good or for ill, he wasn’t sure. Not then.
At last Havgan spoke. “For many years we have been to- gether,” he said softly as he looked at each one of them. “We have been through much. And you must know that we will be through much more. For God himself spoke to me years ago, on Gewin- nan Daeg. He commanded me to cleanse Kymru. Everything I have done from that moment has been toward that end.”
Havgan fell silent, and Sigerric noticed that the forest it- self seemed to hold its breath. No birds nested in the branches above them, no small animals rustled in the undergrowth, even
the splashing of the brook seemed hushed.
“In everything I have done, you have been with me. You have been faithful to me and to our God. Momentous things are in store for us all. And so, my brothers—for that is how I feel for you in my heart—you shall truly become my brothers today.”
They all stirred at Havgan’s words, for now his meaning was clear. He had brought them here to take part in the Brother- hood Ritual, one of the most sacred ceremonies in the Empire. Once having taken part in it, it would be impossible to ever break the ties that were forged. A man who broke faith with his blood brother would be outcast, denied even the simplest neces- sities, denied even the smallest of rights under the law.
Knowing what Havgan was offering him, knowing even at that moment that he would not refuse, though he had a dim un- derstanding of the fate that awaited him, Sigerric did not move. He felt the dry taste of ashes in his throat. He knew the words he would speak would come with dif fi culty. But he knew he would say them. He knew. With Havgan, somehow he had not had a choice. Not even, he thought confusedly, in the begin- ning all those years ago.
The others were taking in this news in their own way. Catha’s handsome, cruel face lit up at Havgan’s words, and Baldred’s dark eyes shone with glee at the offer, his heavy face bright. Those two would blithely take the oath and never think twice.
But Penda swallowed hard. His dark eyes were unreadable, but he did not protest or demur. Talorcan paled considerably, and his green eyes in his too thin face held the look of a man suddenly realizing that he had made a bad bargain long ago, a bargain already regretted but too late to walk away from.
But Havgan was going on, and there was no more time for
thought. “Will you, then, my brothers, truly become my broth- ers today?”
They all nodded—some hesitantly and some eagerly, but they all gave their consent. In that silence the world felt heavy and still, as though the earth itself sagged beneath the weight of their assent.
At Havgan’s gesture they all turned east. Havgan lifted his hands, then spoke in a powerful voice, “O place of air, write our words before the wind.” At his words a slight breeze did indeed swoop through the clearing and then was gone.
Without comment, Havgan then faced south. “O place of fi re, burn our words in the sun.” The sunlight that dappled the clearing glowed brighter, burnished gold on the breast of the earth like precious coins.
“O place of water,” Havgan continued, facing west, “write our words upon the sea.” And the smell of tangy saltwater, the cry of a gull, the rushing of the surf came faintly to them.
Lastly, Havgan turned to the north. “O place of earth, chisel our words in stone.” And they heard the faint sound of tools scraping against rock, hollow and huge, but from a long, long way away.
Havgan bent to the brook and fi lled the cup with water.
He poured the water on the ground and sank his foot into the wet earth, forming a footprint. Sigerric stepped forward fi rst and placed his foot within Havgan’s print. Then Catha, then Penda, then Baldred, and lastly, Talorcan set their footprints over Havgan’s.
Havgan took the gleaming dagger and sliced his thumb. As the rich, red blood welled up from the wound, he held it over the footprint,
At last Havgan spoke. “For many years we have been to- gether,” he said softly as he looked at each one of them. “We have been through much. And you must know that we will be through much more. For God himself spoke to me years ago, on Gewin- nan Daeg. He commanded me to cleanse Kymru. Everything I have done from that moment has been toward that end.”
Havgan fell silent, and Sigerric noticed that the forest it- self seemed to hold its breath. No birds nested in the branches above them, no small animals rustled in the undergrowth, even
the splashing of the brook seemed hushed.
“In everything I have done, you have been with me. You have been faithful to me and to our God. Momentous things are in store for us all. And so, my brothers—for that is how I feel for you in my heart—you shall truly become my brothers today.”
They all stirred at Havgan’s words, for now his meaning was clear. He had brought them here to take part in the Brother- hood Ritual, one of the most sacred ceremonies in the Empire. Once having taken part in it, it would be impossible to ever break the ties that were forged. A man who broke faith with his blood brother would be outcast, denied even the simplest neces- sities, denied even the smallest of rights under the law.
Knowing what Havgan was offering him, knowing even at that moment that he would not refuse, though he had a dim un- derstanding of the fate that awaited him, Sigerric did not move. He felt the dry taste of ashes in his throat. He knew the words he would speak would come with dif fi culty. But he knew he would say them. He knew. With Havgan, somehow he had not had a choice. Not even, he thought confusedly, in the begin- ning all those years ago.
The others were taking in this news in their own way. Catha’s handsome, cruel face lit up at Havgan’s words, and Baldred’s dark eyes shone with glee at the offer, his heavy face bright. Those two would blithely take the oath and never think twice.
But Penda swallowed hard. His dark eyes were unreadable, but he did not protest or demur. Talorcan paled considerably, and his green eyes in his too thin face held the look of a man suddenly realizing that he had made a bad bargain long ago, a bargain already regretted but too late to walk away from.
But Havgan was going on, and there was no more time for
thought. “Will you, then, my brothers, truly become my broth- ers today?”
They all nodded—some hesitantly and some eagerly, but they all gave their consent. In that silence the world felt heavy and still, as though the earth itself sagged beneath the weight of their assent.
At Havgan’s gesture they all turned east. Havgan lifted his hands, then spoke in a powerful voice, “O place of air, write our words before the wind.” At his words a slight breeze did indeed swoop through the clearing and then was gone.
Without comment, Havgan then faced south. “O place of fi re, burn our words in the sun.” The sunlight that dappled the clearing glowed brighter, burnished gold on the breast of the earth like precious coins.
“O place of water,” Havgan continued, facing west, “write our words upon the sea.” And the smell of tangy saltwater, the cry of a gull, the rushing of the surf came faintly to them.
Lastly, Havgan turned to the north. “O place of earth, chisel our words in stone.” And they heard the faint sound of tools scraping against rock, hollow and huge, but from a long, long way away.
Havgan bent to the brook and fi lled the cup with water.
He poured the water on the ground and sank his foot into the wet earth, forming a footprint. Sigerric stepped forward fi rst and placed his foot within Havgan’s print. Then Catha, then Penda, then Baldred, and lastly, Talorcan set their footprints over Havgan’s.
Havgan took the gleaming dagger and sliced his thumb. As the rich, red blood welled up from the wound, he held it over the footprint,
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