Frantically searching his wounds while trying not to touch his body more than she had to, Yiral’s face told Raeln much about his condition. After a moment, Yiral said, “If it is any consolation, you are in better shape than most are when they return from this trial…if they return under their own power.”
Raeln could do little more than grunt as he rolled onto his back, letting her check the rest of his injuries. His limbs refused to move, as though he had been tied down. Breathing proved difficult, consuming most of his remaining strength.
“I can heal these, though most will scar badly,” she explained, holding a hand over his chest. From what he could gather, while most healers he had ever known required touch, the Turessians—with their aversion to contact—had somehow leaned to heal without laying a hand on their patient. Given how his skin burned, he was thankful for her discretion. Most days, he would have preferred Estin tending to him, but with the rawness of his nerves, the lack of contact was a welcome relief. “It will take me some time to heal everything. You will pass out once I start healing you, as your body works with me. It will take a great deal of attentiveness to keep you from dying from the healing as much as the original wounds.”
“What about the others?” Raeln managed to croak out. “Don’t they need to see these wounds?”
“Not at all. If I say you completed the trials, there is no further question. Our people will not lie to one another in such matters. Honor is all we have, and it will be enough. Do your people not trust one another?”
Raeln turned his head to look at her, though even that small movement hurt. “You could lie. Why should they believe? Leave the wounds if it furthers my place with them. I can do this.”
A familiar warmth spread through Raeln’s body as his wounds began to close. With it, a sense of drowsiness threatened to put him to sleep against his will. He fought it, still afraid of anything else coming out of the fog. He had to be ready for something. Anything.
“No, I would not lie to them about a trial, Raeln. Our people do not do that. Honesty is beaten into us at a young age with regard to anything that pertains to status or honor. If I were to kill you, I would be required by my own honor to do it with you aware of why. Besides, much of this will scar, despite my magic. There is only one possible objection they can make.”
“What’s that?” he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open. The more his pain faded, the more exhaustion pushed down on him. Healing magic was a burden he did not need this close to the fog. His mind screamed at him to crawl away before he lost consciousness, but he could not move.
Yiral’s answer was lost to Raeln as he fell asleep.
When Raeln woke, he lay atop his own horse, propped in the saddle by ropes holding his legs in place. Shaking his head to clear the grogginess, he looked around and saw they were just coming into the clanhold, where dozens of people waited, silently watching their approach. Foremost among the people were many of those who had objected to Raeln speaking in the first place, as well as Dalania, who was wringing her hands nervously as she watched him. Yoska was noticeably absent, as was Ceran.
“They have made up their minds to object,” Yiral warned, her eyes on the people who had insisted on the trial. “Have you thought on what I said before you slept?”
Raeln did not want to admit that he had no recollection of anything specific after leaving the foggy hills, but he knew it could mean life or death. Instead, he asked, “How can you be sure they will argue?”
“Part of the training as a preserver is about knowing what people intend by the subtle cues in their behavior,” she explained. “Their cues are not very subtle if these old eyes can see from here. They will claim that you are not yet a member of the clan and so your efforts were meaningless.”
“What do we do to avoid that?”
Yiral studied him with a stern expression, and her annoyance told Raeln she had already explained this, even if he did not remember. That must have been what he missed as he had fallen asleep. “You said you would do anything you had to in order to win this war. Has your decision changed?”
“No.”
“Then we will bring you into the clan.”
“What does that entail?”
Yiral stared at him over her shoulder, saying nothing but silently expressing, “You said you would do anything. Stop asking questions.”
“Right,” Raeln said, sighing. “Do whatever you have to. I won’t fight it, if it will get us even a step closer to facing Dorralt. I need an army, and I’ll do this if it gets me one.”
Yiral led the way into the village, past the angry-faced group who met them on their way in. Halfway through the village, Yoska and Ceran joined Dalania and fell in on the sides of the horses, ostensibly to guide them, but Raeln realized it was likely to keep the more dour members of the clan from getting close to them. Yiral led them straight to the back of the village and stopped at the entrance to the cave where the discussions of war had happened just a day earlier—though to Raeln it felt as though weeks had passed.
Yiral climbed quickly down from her mount. Raeln took a little longer, having to unstrap his legs and then work to maintain his balance. Almost immediately, a Turessian child—he realized with shock that it was the same little girl he had fought when he had first arrived—took the reins from him, smiling up at him as she led the animal away. It seemed some had accepted him, if not all. Where a child’s heart led, surely others would follow in time. He just did not have that much time left.
“Are you all right?” Dalania whispered, stepping up beside him as they walked into the torch-lit cave. Yoska and Ceran worked to keep the large group of Turessians out of the entrance behind them. Dalania touched his brow gently, sending stinging pain through his whole head. Vaguely he remembered fangs coming all too close to that spot. Perhaps not all his wounds had mended. “You look awful…”
Raeln realized that lying about his injuries would be pointless. His rags barely covered enough for him to be out in public, and with all the blood coating the remains of the clothes, there could be little doubt as to how things had gone. He likely appeared the very savage that the Turessians thought his entire species to be.
“I’m hurting but doing much better now,” he said, putting his arm around her and hugging her. “Thank you for the magic. I wouldn’t still be here without it.”
Dalania looked up at him skeptically. It was a failing in her that Raeln always worried about. She saw so little value in her own skills, when she was possibly the strongest of them all. He adored that humility in her, though he wished she could understand how much she meant to him. There was no doubt in his mind that she was a surrogate for his lost sister, but he had yet to find a way to express that affection in a way that she would not find frightening.
“Now what?” she asked, looking pointedly at Yiral, who stood at the table near the middle of the cave, waiting. “Is there a ceremony or something? Proclamation of your deeds? Awards? Tabards? How do they do this?”
“I think some kind of ceremony.”
A group coming into the cave with Yoska and Ceran passed Raeln and went to the table. Most of the humans had remained outside, but the small group that came in included many of the objectors. They went out of their way to avoid looking at Raeln. Apparently they had made their decisions together and were intending to present a unified objection. Even in that determination, he could see anxiety—their honor was making it difficult for them to look at him and still object.
“I should get on with this,” he finally told Dalania, stepping away from her.
Walking to the middle of the room to face Yiral, Raeln waited to see what would come next. He put his hands on the table, trying to look natural and yet hide that the table was all that was holding him upright. Judging by the glare Dalania was giving him, she did not buy into his attempt at all. She wanted to either tend to his wounds or lecture him…possibly both.
Once everyone had approached the center of the large room, Yiral announced, “This wildling…this man…has met the challenges we put before him. I proclaim him a battle leader of our clan this day, with rights to speak and to challenge the decisions of the preservers when it comes to war. By virtue of the meaning of that title, he is no longer of the slave-caste and would gain the status of a fellow ‘person.’”
Raeln bowed to Yiral, but as he lifted his head, he heard the grumbling begin in the group.
Almost immediately, a man shouted, “He is not a member of the Turessian people. He cannot be a war leader, let alone seen as wise enough to be my equal. I object to this. Would you name a southerner to be a battle leader? A child? An animal? You are recognizing all three this day. I will not stand for a barbarian leading the wise.”
Yiral met Raeln’s eyes, and he could see she was waiting for him to tell her what to do next.
“Whatever it takes,” he whispered to her, getting a nod in reply.
Gesturing toward the cave entrance, Yiral waited quietly while the group in the cave continued to object more loudly. Soon their complaints were echoed outside the cave by others. Yiral remained calm and still throughout, until a young boy came running in with a cracked and weather-worn old wooden box, which he put in Yiral’s hands. The boy gave Raeln a horrified look before backing away and running from the cave.
“Raeln,” Yiral said, setting the box on the table beside them, “will you go through even this?”
“And exactly what is it?”
Reaching up, Yiral traced part of the tattoo line on her brow.
Raeln groaned but nodded. He had little choice if he was going to make this work. “Will they be visible through the fur?”
That seemed to amuse Yiral more than Raeln had expected, and she covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Nodding her head, she said, “Yes, we enchant the inks to be visible, no matter one’s skin tone or the dimness of light. They will show through the fur.”
Behind Raeln, the humans who had been arguing against his involvement went abruptly quiet, as though waiting to see what would happen next. Raeln rather wished he could stand aside and watch, but that was far from an option. He had to look strong. With effort, he pushed away from the table and stood entirely under his own power.
“This is normally done by a parent or family member,” Yiral went on, opening the box to reveal a jar of what appeared to be black ink and several small stone tablets, with etched symbols on them. Raeln’s skin prickled at the idea that any of that was for him. “Who would you have do this, Raeln? The chosen person does not need to be a member of our people.”
Raeln turned to Dalania, who stood off to one side of the room, trying to be invisible to the Turessians who dominated the place. At his look, she blinked and stared at him, clearly confused. She likely had not even heard Yiral from where she was. Her slowly widening eyes told him she was starting to reason her way through what was happening.
“Dalania will do this,” he said loudly enough that Dalania would hear.
The panic on her face abruptly turned to sorrow, and she closed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded.
Coming forward, Dalania kept her head down, trying not to look at the groups of people who glared at her and Raeln. Obediently, she came to Raeln’s side, and her green-tinted brows furled as she stared at the box on the table. As he watched, her fingers traced the air with the pattern of the runes on the stones in the box, as though trying to reason her way through what they were.
“Dalania,” Yiral announced so all could hear, “you are not one of us, but as the family of one who we are accepting into the clan, you must mark Raeln as one with wisdom and a place among the Turessian people. This is the act of one he respects and adores. We welcome you to come forward and expect that you will show respect to one who has earned ours.”
Dalania let out a squeak as all eyes turned on her, glaring at Raeln as though he had betrayed her.
Not letting Raeln get a word in, Yiral said, “The act is simple enough. You will be given the plate for the runes that are to be placed on Raeln. While holding the plate, you then put your finger to the ink and then to him. The ink and plate will create the rune on his flesh. Your part in this is simply as the conduit of the magic, passed down from one generation of the clans to the next. It requires nothing of you.”