Riverside was busy, as usual. Late summer harvests from the plains were weighing down the barges on the river. Eager merchants hovered by the various landings, awaiting deliveries to either buy or sell. Most of these goods would never reach the warehouses that lined the street. The choice fruits and in-demand vegetables would go straight to the restaurants and homes clustered around Temple Square, the rest would go to the less-pricey but still respectable eateries in the Duke’s Crossing district, home to well-off merchants and craftsmen.

Vash peeled an orange as he leaned against a lamppost. He was watching a particular barge, it was smaller than the rest, still heavily laden, but most of its crew were part-elves. Byar had told him that the crew would have a crate for him to bring back to the Temple. It was the first time in the month that he’d been with the Eth Mitaan that he had been given a task to do on his own and he wanted to make sure that it went well.

The past month had been a whirlwind of lessons, tasks, and lectures. Byar could be long-winded, but his discussions on elvish history, and in particular the place of the Eth Mitaan in that history, was often fascinating. Jakus had leapt at the chance to teach Vash his letters and the Vanan language, both were proceeding slowly, even though Vash had thrown himself into the lessons whole-heartedly. The last part of his new life was less exciting. Ionae would have him sitting on the front steps with her, tending her Moonwood saplings, or scrubbing the flagstones. Sometimes she would send him to get something from one of the local shops for her, usually something small. The shopkeeper would always smile in greeting until they saw his gray robe, then they would hastily avert their eyes. When it came time to pay the shopkeeper would insist that he leave with whatever it was, and that payment was not needed. The studious ignorance was unnerving and Vash had told Ionae so.

“It’s something you get used to.” Ionae had shrugged, continuing to work the soil around her Moonwood saplings. “The Eth Mitaan has a reputation, not always good. Most of the folk in the Wood don’t really understand what we do. They just know that if they need a scale balanced with the outside, then they come to us.”

“But if they knew, wouldn’t it make things easier, for everyone?” Vash had asked.

“Byar doesn’t seem to think so.” Ionae sighed. “Besides, it’s better if the ones who come to us really need our help. Getting cheated by a clerk over in Duke’s Crossing isn’t something we usually deal with, but if that clerk tried to put a knife in you—that’s a different story altogether.”

Vash considered this while he munched on a section of the orange. They kept insisting that the Eth Mitaan weren’t a gang, but it certainly felt like it to him. Though it was one of the oddest gangs he had ever seen. They lived well, but not extravagantly, nothing seemed to be hoarded, everyone pitched in. Vash had even seen Byar doing the dishes some nights. Nyx would have beaten someone bloody if they had suggested that he give a hand in the kitchen.

One of the sailors, a tanned and golden-haired part-elf, looked his way. “Got nothing better to do than stand there and watch honest men work all day?”

Vash shrugged. “I was told to wait down here and watch the barges. So, I am.”

“Well while you’re watching you could give us a hand.” The sailor said, exasperated. “The elan sodla won’t work for us, no matter how much coin we toss at them. The faster we work, the quicker we can get down-river to a better berth.”

Vash strolled over, pocketing the remains of his orange. “Not stopping in the city?”

The sailor handed over a crate. “Just pile ‘em over there next to that wagon. And to answer your question, no, we have a berth down in the delta near the main mouth of the lake. The Riverside docks aren’t too friendly to those of us with pointy-ears on the best days.”

The crate was heavy, but Vash had been lugging heavy bags of soil for Ionae for several weeks. That, coupled with the good food at the Temple, had brought some of his old strength back. “I thought that the—that the Riverside docks were open to all, and that if you had problems that you had folk you could report it to?

“Yeah?” The sailor asked, unloading more crates. “Like you gray-robes? Real subtle there, by the way. And no, we don’t fall under the protective branches of the Wood, so we’re fair game to the Pikes, Belay Boys, Redcaps—”

“Oh, the Redcaps disbanded last month.” Vash corrected. The sailor looked at him quizzically. “Uh, they met with a serious accident and decided to take up a new line of work.” Vash said, looking away. It was what Byar had told him to say if anyone asked about the Redcaps but having seen the ‘accident’ firsthand made the lie harder.

“That so?” The sailor said. “Can’t say I’ll miss them. But still, Riverside docks still aren’t the best place to linger if you aren’t paid up to the right folk. Even if you are, been hearing strange things these days.”

Vash continued stacking crates, “What sort of things?”

“Disappearances down in the Lake District.” The sailor said, frowning. “Which isn’t odd in and of itself, it’s a lot of docks, lots of ships coming and going, mostly taverns, warehouses, and brothels down there. But a lot of our folk been going missing. Four or five that I know of in the last few weeks. Young folks too, able to take care of themselves. It’s odd because our people are careful, more than most.”

“Has anyone told Byar?” Vash asked.

“Byar’s a good man.” The sailor conceded. “But sometimes I think he thinks too highly of his little group. You all aren’t exactly Vanan Rangers. Tell him if you want, but I don’t think it’ll change much. The toughs down by the Lake aren’t like the ones up here. And they don’t like us much at all.”

Vash frowned, taking the last crate over to the pile, it wasn’t as heavy as the others and clinked softly as he lifted it.

“Hang on, that one doesn’t go with that shipment.” The sailor said, looking down at Vash as he started to untie the barge from the quay. “I think that got added to our manifest by accident somewhere up-river. Why don’t you keep it, payment for helping me unload?”

“But what about—“ Vash began and then realization swept over him. “Oh yeah, umm, thank you…Blessings to you from the Lord of Hunts and Hunters!”

“Gods kid, you are green aren’t you.” The sailor said, shaking his head as the barge floated back out into the river traffic. “Byar always gets them when they’re wet behind the ears.”

Vash blushed and turned away. The crate was fairly light and if he hurried, he could get back to the Temple before the midday meal. He quickened his pace, weaving around other pedestrians and carts as he made his way to the now familiar bridge to the Wood. The place he was beginning to think of as home. What the sailor had said was worrying him though, if part-elves were disappearing down in the Lake District, how long before they moved into the city proper? At what point did it become a problem for the Eth Mitaan? He was deep in thought when he collided with another person.

They went down sprawling, Vash landing hard on his back, keeping the crate from being damaged. The other landed on his hands and knees away from Vash.

“Liellovash! Lais su goshien!” The other growled, quickly coming to his feet with a strange, almost liquid grace. He was a full-blood elf. His features were sharp and angular and his long, pointed ears reached almost to the crown of his head. Hair like burnished gold framed his face and set off the strange, electric blue of his eyes. The blue glow from the elf’s eyes wasn’t immediately apparent in the full daylight, but it did give his eyes a strange sheen.

Vash swallowed hard. One of the first lessons that Byar had drilled into him was not to attract attention from the full-bloods, and now he’d knocked one down in the middle of the street.

“Do you just not speak the blessed tongue, or are you a mute?” The elf said in the Common Tongue with an oddly lilting accent.

“I apologize, sir.” Vash said, pushing himself up. “I should have been more careful watching where I was going.”

The elf sniffed. “That goes without question.” Then he seemed to notice Vash’s ears for the first time. His disdainful countenance turned into one of outright disgust. “You’re a pash’sodla, ugh, and you touched me!”

“It was an accident.” Vash said, backing up.

“I did not give you permission to speak!” The elf barked. “The fact that they let you creatures run around without a collar is bad enough, but that you touch and speak to me without permission!” The elf’s face contorted into a snarl. Quicker than Vash could follow the Vanan had a blade out and resting against Vash’s neck. “I should teach you a lesson. I really should, it would be good for you to learn your place in this world.”

“And what’s going on here?” A voice asked from one side.

The elf’s eyes flicked to one side. “This does not concern you, elan sodla, be about your business.”

Vash hazarded a look. A trio of men stood not far away, all of them wore the green and white tabards of the Baron. The one in the lead frowned and let the spear that was resting on his shoulder drop so that he held it before him. “See, that’s the problem. I’m here to keep the Baron’s peace, and you’re drawing steel on my street. Since you’re obviously not keeping the peace it becomes my concern. You can see the bind I’m in.”

“Do you know who I am?” The elf half-laughed half-snarled.

The man shook his head. “Should I?”

“Kelsoran vo’Nadris.” The elf said, drawing himself up.

“Still not ringing a bell.” The man said, scratching one temple. He looked at Vash. “You know this man, kid?”

“No sir, I just ran into him. I apologized and—”

“Silence!” Kelsoran barked. “This filthy part-blood attacked me in the street—”

“I bumped into you by accident.” Vash said, feeling anger rising inside him. “And I apologized.”

“Sounds like there’s no problem here, sir.” The guardsman said, turning to Kelsoran. “Unless you make it one.”

Kelsoran looked at the three guardsmen. Then his eyes flicked back to Vash. “You’re very lucky today, little mongrel. Make sure you don’t cross my path again.”

The blade disappeared back wherever Kelsoran had drawn it from. He turned towards the guardsmen. “I will be speaking to the embassy about this…altercation.”

“You do that, sir.” The lead guardsman said, nodding.

The elf glared down at Vash, then turned and stalked away with a strange, fluid gait. The guardsmen watched the elf disappear into the crowd. One of them sighed in relief once he was out of sight. “Harry that was dumb, even for you.”

“He was being an entitled dipshit.” The one called Harry snorted. “Besides the money was right.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at a nearby knot of tradesmen. A familiar bearded part-elf separated himself from the others and approached.

“Worth every copper.” Ruel said, handing the guardsman a leather purse. “Thanks again, Harry.”

Harry hefted the purse and let it clink before nodding and putting it away. “Just watch yourself, the Vanan are wandering out of their enclaves a lot more, and they do not like your folk.”

“I am quite aware.” Ruel sighed. “Thanks for the tip, anyways.”

“Good, but I’d avoid Riverside for a few days. The Nadris clan isn’t especially powerful among the Vanan, but they have enough pull to make things difficult.” Harry said, his eyes dropping to Vash’s robes and the crate that he still clutched. “You one of Byar’s?”

“I am working at the Temple, sir.” Vash said, with as much deference as possible.

Harry nodded and started to turn away. At the last moment a strange look passed over his face and he turned back. “It’s not my business, you folk in the Wood do things your own way and I can respect that. So long as you don’t bring trouble to my watch, I’m fine to let you handle your own business. But I hear a lot of things about that Temple, some that aren’t so good. If Byar goes back to the way he was in the old days…we’ll have to take care of things ourselves, understand?”

“I’ll make sure the Temple gets your message, Harry.” Ruel said, his voice had a bit of an edge, one that Vash hadn’t heard before.

“See that he does, Ruel.” Harry said. “Coin only goes so far, and if the nobles start taking notice, it’s out of my hands.”

Harry turned and signaled to his men, ambling down the street at a lazy pace.

Ruel let out a long sigh. “That could have gone very badly.”

“I got that impression.” Vash said, finally feeling the tension drain from him as the guardsmen disappeared into the crowd. “What was that all about?”

“Full-bloods throwing their weight around and seeing who flinches.” Ruel muttered. “Come on, walk with me a ways.”

Vash hefted his box, glass rattling again, and moved to follow.

“What have you got there?” Ruel asked, frowning at the box.

“No clue. Byar had me pick it up from one of the river boat workers he knows.” Vash shrugged.

“Upriver or downriver?” Ruel asked, suspicious.

“He was coming downriver, I think.” Vash was starting to get concerned at Ruel’s manner. “Why?”

“Someone Byar and I used to know lives upriver.” Ruel said, putting a cheery smile in place. “Just curious if it might be from him.”

“Didn’t say who it was from. Just that it was a gift to the Temple and Byar’s expecting it.”

“I see.” Ruel frowned. They walked in silence for a time, Ruel looking far away, like he had when mentioning Byar in the first place.

“I had wanted to thank you.” Vash said. “For putting me in with Byar and the others at the Temple. Changed my life. I don’t think I would have made it here without your help.”

“I’m glad it worked out.” Ruel gave him a sad smile. “But you know you don’t have to stay with the Temple, right? You can leave, you’re not under any obligation to become a…servant.” Ruel bit back the words, like saying them out loud was something forbidden.

Vash nodded. “I know that, but why would I leave? They’re helping, they keep us safe.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Ruel said, bitterly. “Is that what this is for?” He asked, tapping the box in Vash’s hands. “Did Byar even tell you what it was for?”

“No, but Sam never told me what every package he needed delivered was, just where it was going and how much to collect.” Vash said, getting annoyed. “What’s this about?”

Ruel shook his head. “Nothing, it’s just…be careful with Byar. Sometimes his grasp exceeds his reach and then, well then things go badly. It wasn’t too long ago when the Temple was truly frightening. There was a group—it’s not my place to say, but they took things too far. It took a lot of money and a lot of favors to quiet things down after that. None of us in the Wood want to go back to those times, understand.”

“Not really.” Vash said, concerned.

“You will, someday.” Ruel said, bitterly.

***

“Always with the bad times with Ruel.” Ionae scoffed, she was sitting on the steps of the temple, pruning one of her saplings. It had sprouted quickly once Ionae had found the right combination of earth, water, and sunlight to keep the thing from dying. “I swear, he’s been grumbling about the brothers up in Fenril longer than I’ve been here.”

“Why?” Vash asked, he had stopped to tell Ionae about the incident before making his delivery to Byar. “I mean what happened?”

“Who knows.” Ionae sighed. “Ruel makes no secret that he wishes our temple did more chanting and praying like the one in Temple Square. But that’s not really us, not what we’re meant to be. Still, Ruel has a lot of friends and a good amount of money. Dropping his name with the guard will usually save you a beating when Byar’s doesn’t.”

“I have a hard time imagining you taking very many beatings.” Vash laughed.

Ionae gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t always the hunter I am today. I can still remember the girl who was the hunted. My few years in the city were pretty lean. I didn’t even hear about the Wood at first. Ended up a barmaid in Traveler’s Row. The Wayfarers usually tip well, and most were pleasant enough. But not every traveler wants to be a hero.” She sighed and looked distant for a few moments. “Anyways, there was some trouble and the tavernkeeper I worked for wanted me flogged for a fight with his patrons and some property damage. The guard put in a word with Ruel instead. He got me out of a bad situation, got me in with Byar. But I always remember being that barmaid. Makes me work harder.”

Vash winced at his own ignorance, of course she wasn’t always the beautiful specter of death and pain that he had watched casually take apart the Redcaps. They all had something dark in their pasts, that’s why they served the temple. Byar had explained that knowing the spirit of the hunted, the weak, helped forge hunters in Kyrinos’ service.

“Why don’t you deliver that crate to Byar.” Ionae said, turning back to her work. “I’m sure he’s been waiting for it.”

“Sure.” Vash said, standing and picking up the crate. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She dismissed him with a half-hearted flap of her hand that made him chuckle. Vash hated to admit that he was growing more than a bit fond of Ionae. It was a strange sensation. He had known since he was a little boy that elani girls were strictly off limits to the likes of him. Sam had made the point clear when he’d gone moon-eyed around some crofter’s daughter who came into the shop on errands for her parents. The older man had meant it kindly, but the idea that no one would ever love him, and that falling in love with some girl could mean a beating or even death had been devastating. In the Wood, however, there were no such restrictions. There was nothing stopping him from courting Ionae, except she thought he was a bumbling country idiot and he thought she was a goddess made flesh.

Vash put those thoughts out of his mind. Plenty of time to dwell on the subject of Ionae later, he had a job now. He found Byar by the fire in the kitchen, his usual haunt. Several large sheets of paper were on the table in front of the older part-elf and he kept shifting them around, frowning at the words and symbols. Vash was getting better at his letters, but not good enough to puzzle out the words. The script looked to be in Vanan, though.

Byar looked up as Vash entered, grinning he clapped his hands together. “Ah! You’ve returned with my prize, I see!”

“Prize?” Vash asked, grinning. “Is it valuable?”

“Quite valuable, to me at least.” Byar said, gesturing Vash over.

Vash placed the crate on the table, as Byar reached for it Vash pulled it just out of the older man’s reach. “If it’s valuable to you then it should be worth something to deliver it to you.”

Byar eyed him. “Under my roof a whole month and you’ve already turned mercenary. What if I said it was in payment for room and board?”

“I think I empty enough chamber-pots around here to earn my keep.” Vash said, haughtily.

Byar laughed. “All right, then what’s your price?”

“When are you going to train me to be like the others?” Vash asked. “The other Hunters.”

“Who says I’m not?” Byar countered. “You’re learning our lore, Jakus is teaching you the subtleties of the written word—”

“If I have to read about cats and balls one more time, I swear…”

“And the labor that Ionae has you doing is to get some more flesh on those bones.” Byar continued. “You were wounded and malnourished when you came to us.”

“I’m grateful for that, I really am.” Vash said, lowering his eyes. “But you know what I mean. What Ionae and Jakus did to those Redcaps—I never saw anything like it.”

“And that’s what you’re looking for here?” Byar asked, tilting his head to one side. “To learn to be a fighter?”

“That’s not it.” Vash shook his head. “When I was brought into your service, I was told that it was to show me what a life without fear was like. I’ve experienced comfort, for the first time in a long time. And I’ve found a margin of safety…so long as I remain in the Wood.”

“Did something happen?” Byar frowned. “What brought this on?”

Vash sighed. “I ran into a full-blood in Riverside. Literally ran into him.” Byar nodded slowly and sat back, concern shining in his moss-green eyes. “He called me a thing, a creature, said that I should be collared like an animal. Apparently, I needed to be taught a lesson with his knife, luckily the watch stepped in and sent him on his way.” His voice was trembling, and his hands were clenched so hard that his fingers ached.

“I’m sorry about that Vash.” Byar said, softly. “Normally the full-bloods keep to the western gate and tend to cluster around the embassy. But I see now that we’ve been neglecting some important parts of your training. We were waiting until you were strong and healthy enough to begin, not to mention giving you a chance to change your mind.” The older man’s eyes twinkled, and his lips quirked in a half-smile. “You said to give you time, remember?”

“I did, and I think I’m ready to take the next step.” Vash said, voice firm as he looked up into Byar’s eyes.

Byar shrugged and stood up. “If you’re ready, then you’re ready.” He started out of the kitchen towards the other side of the temple. “Come on then, if you’re ready. Bring the box with you.”

Vash scrambled to follow Byar. He had never been on this side of the Temple before. Some of the older Eth Mitaan had rooms over here and aside from Ionae they largely kept to themselves. The hallways were darker, lit with dim globes of alchemical light, bathing the area in a sickly green color. Byar took several turnings until Vash wasn’t sure if he could find his way back out again easily. They finally halted before a thick wooden door. Byar produced a key and unlocked the large and complex locking mechanism. The door swung open on oiled hinges without a sound.

Within was a room comparable to the kitchens in size. At one end was an altar, above which was hung a deer skull and antlers, the twin of the one above the main doors. Along one wall stood a few alchemical lab tables and racks filled with jars of various liquids and powders. The opposite wall held an impressive array of weapons. Most were small and easily concealed, but a few broadswords and halberds still had places of honor.

“Welcome to the inner sanctum, Vash.” Byar said, gesturing to the altar at the end of the room. “Like I told you, we are a real temple. Just our worship is a bit different from some of the other gods. Now, you aren’t an acolyte yet, so you don’t have to do the full rigamarole, but it is advisable to show respect when you enter Kyrinos’ presence. A simple bow will do.” Byar demonstrated giving the altar a short bow, which Vash copied, feeling a little silly. Gods and magic always seemed like something that rich folks made up to make commoners fall in line and pay their taxes. However, if it made Byar happy then he would bow to the skull.

“To begin your training, we will need to find you some suitable armaments.” Byar mused looking over the wall of weaponry. “Oh, and you can put the crate on the altar.”

Vash did as he was requested, again feeling the contents shift and clink. “What is in here, anyways?”

“A few things I need for my work.” Byar said, giving Vash a wink. “Nothing truly special.” He took down a small sword and felt its balance before frowning and putting it back. “I trust that Lowan didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“No.” Vash said, coming to stand behind Byar. “I think he didn’t want to linger too long.”

“Probably headed to the Lake District to spend his pay on dice and whores.” Byar chuckled.

“He said they don’t tie up in the Lake District, that part elves have been going missing down there.” Vash said.

Byar stopped mid-motion, turning slowly. “What?”

“That’s what Lowan, the smuggler, that’s what he told me. Four or five disappearances in the past few weeks.” Vash replied.

“Strange that I haven’t heard about it.” Byar frowned.

“Lowan said that the Lake District wasn’t one that you had ahold of.” Vash continued.

Byar looked up, his eyes hard. “I choose not to get involved in that rat’s nest, but I sure as hell will protect my people. Damn smugglers spreading rumors.” The older part-elf regarded Vash for a few moments longer then placed the blade back on the wall. “We’ll get to weapons in a moment. There’s something I think we need to do first.”

Vash watched as Byar crossed to the alchemy lab, he began taking bottles and pouches from various cubbies and measuring amounts to place in a bowl. “How has your Vanan progressed?”

“Slowly.” Vash said, ruefully. “My letters are better but Vanan…it’s not at all like the Common Tongue.”

Byar nodded as he began to crush something with mortar and pestle. “It’s comparable to the elani High Malconian, very twisty language. It’s been said that it is closer to the language of the first mortals and is thus in tune with the Great Celestial Song. Your temple back home teach you about that?”

“Uh, yes.” Vash said. “When Uthanwe, the Great Mother, sang the world into existence and brought forth her children, the gods. The echoes of the Song are what keep creation going.”

“Someone paid attention, that’s good.” Byar said, a small grin touching his lips. “And it is our duty to harmonize with the Song, find a way to amplify it and glorify Uthanwe and her children. Then usually they sing some godsawful hymn.”

Vash laughed. “Not much harmony in Durron’s Ford.”

The mortar made a harsh scraping sound as Byar ground harder. “Not much harmony anywhere, to be honest. Too much discordant noise. So few learn to stay silent and just listen.” Byar poured a liquid into the mortar and mixed it with the powdered substance within. It sizzled for a moment and let off a strange, slightly acrid smell. “That’s what we are, we are listeners to the Great Song. We remain silent so that we may hear it all the clearer.”

Something about that tickled Vash’s memory. He had heard it somewhere before but couldn’t put his finger on it. Byar continued to mix more ingredients together until he had a paste in a mossy green color.

“I ask about your Vanan because I was wondering if you knew what Eth Mitaan meant?” Byar asked, taking Vash by the shoulder and leading him to the altar.

“Oh, yes, Jakus covered that the first day. It means Masked One.” Vash said, relieved to know the answer.

“That’s close.” Byar said, with a tone that said it was not really close at all. “But that has more to do with you being unable to read that book I gave you than your real understanding. Do you have it with you?”

Vash nodded and pulled the small book out of his belt pouch. Vanan runes stood out on the cover, and he still wasn’t any closer to knowing what they meant, he still stumbled over elani letters and Vanan oghri were notoriously difficult for outsiders to learn.

“The full name of our order is there on the cover Taeluc Eth Mitaan. Which changes the meaning somewhat. We are the Ones of the Mask Which Silences. A bit of a mouthful, which is why Masked Ones is more popular.” Byar knelt and gestured for Vash to do the same. “We are the silent hunters, those who seek harmony through hearing the Song rather than singing our own discordant notes. Is that something you are prepared to do?”

“The others aren’t very quiet.” Vash said, confused as he knelt across from Byar.

“They are when it counts.” Byar said with a sigh. “Is that something you are also prepared to do?”

Vash took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

Byar dipped a finger into the mixture and drew a line from the top of Vash’s forehead down to between his brows. “I grant you the mask of the spirit. The first mask, the cloak of shadows that conceals you from the cacophony of the world.”

The mixture felt cool on Vash’s skin, though it had a strange bitter odor and began to make his skin tingle.

“Though our masks keep us silent we are permitted sight.” Byar continued, as though reciting something he’d read many times. “I grant you the eyes of the hunter. The first eyes, the sight that pierces the veil of the mundane.”

Byar drew small arcs beneath Vash’s eyes. The smell made his eyes water and he blinked involuntarily. When his vision cleared, he felt very strange. Colors seemed muted and shadows seemed deeper. Byar had sat back on his heels and was watching Vash with a strange intensity. Vash wanted to ask what was happening, but his throat felt tight, dry, unable to form words. A whispering susurrus touched at the edges of his hearing and he shook his head trying to clear it.

His head felt fuzzy, like he had drunk to much. The whispering was growing louder in Vash’s ears, like a crowd of people whispering. He couldn’t make out individual words, just a low muttering of sounds. The room seemed bathed in shadow, only small pools of light from the alchemical lamps. Shadows stretched and writhed, as though thrown by firelight. Vash looked at Byar and beheld a great shadow standing behind him, but it had form and presence. The shadow stood tall behind the older man, it was long and slender, but with broad shoulders with the hint of armored pauldrons. From its head sprouted a series of broad antlers like those of the deer mounted above the altar. Vash gaped at the shadow, his eyes darted to Byar. Slouched forward, eyes staring in a vacant expression, Byar seemed like he neither saw nor heard anything.

The shadow regarded Vash, pools of deeper darkness within the shadow locked on him. It moved around the room, slowly going from wall to wall, those twin pools of darkness always upon him. The shadow ceased its movement and settled behind Vash, it’s darkness enveloped Vash’s own shadow. He stared back at the wall behind him, it was as though he were casting the terrifying form himself. Vash lifted one hand and the shadow did the same, slightly slower so that there was a slight delay between movement and shadow.

Vash tried to speak, but no words would come, his throat remained dry and closed. The shadow shook its antlered head slowly, then lifted its finger to its lips. Vash felt his own hand move, following the motion. The shadow lifted its left hand, Vash’s followed suit. The shadow rolled down Vash’s sleeve. He stared in fear and confusion, not understanding what was happening. The shadow dragged Vash’s eyes back to itself then raised its right hand. It waggled its fingers, as if to draw Vash’s attention. Vash swallowed hard, not knowing what would come next. The shadow slowly brought Vash’s right hand over and clamped it onto his left forearm, holding tight.

For a moment nothing happened. Vash looked from his arm to the shadow and back again, confused. After a moment Vash could feel the heat beginning to build, smell the sick salt-pork smell of burning flesh. His breath came quicker, sweat drenching his brow, the whispers rising to a deafening chorus. Smoke rose from between his fingers. Vash let out a silent scream, air expelled from his lungs in a long, low hiss but no other sound. After an eternity the shadow released Vash’s arm, the burning fading as it did. Tears ran freely down Vash’s cheeks, his breath and the whispers the only sound he could hear. The shadow raised Vash’s left arm, pulling him upright, the horned head turning, moving Vash’s own head to regard his burned forearm.

The flesh of the inside of his arm had the flushed pink color of being in hot bathwater, already fading as his skin cooled. Two marks, however, were burned into the flesh, black as night as though tattooed there. A pair of curves coming down to form a point, a pair of swirls at the tops of the curves gave the appearance of eyes. They had the look of Vanan oghri, but they weren’t symbols that Vash was familiar with. He looked at the shadow, but it was gone, now he only faced his own shadow. The darkness retreated and the whispers faded, replaced with the familiar sounds of the Temple.

“Vash?” Byar said from behind him. “Are you all right?”

Vash blinked and turned. Byar was looking at him with concern. “What—what was that?”

“Just the rite of initiation.” Byar said with a frown. “A kind of introduction to Kyrinos. It’s a little unsettling but that will pass—” His eyes settled on Vash’s exposed arm. “What is that?”

“I was going to ask you about that.” Vash said, still a bit woozy. “There was a shadow…it marked me…and the silence, the whispers…”

Byar sank back against his heels, staring, it was almost as if real fear was touching the older man’s eyes. Suddenly Byar jumped to his feet. “Well, that’s enough for today. Should get you back to your training. Now that you’re one of us you will need a weapon.” With quick motions Byar snatched down a small sword and a dagger. “There, you’ve got something to practice with. Go tell Ionae to show you the basics.”

With a firm hand, Byar ushered Vash out of the door.

“I’m sorry, Byar, I didn’t mean to cause—”

“Just go, Vash.” Byar said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“But what happened—”

“Go!”

The door closed firmly behind Byar, leaving Vash bewildered in the hallway.

***

“And then he kicked me out of the sanctuary.” Vash told Ionae as they set on the temple steps. The setting sun was painting the horizon a reddish gold. “Took me almost an hour to find my way back out again.”

Ionae nodded, a slight frown creasing her face.

“What was that?” Vash asked, rubbing his wrist.

“It’s just the initiation.” Ionae shrugged. “We all go through it. The mask and the eyes, the shadows get deeper for a second and you can hear snatches of the Great Song, but nothing like what you described.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Vash asked, concerned.

“No.” Ionae sighed, shaking her black curls out of her eyes. “Byar is…tetchy about his place in the Temple. There used to be more of us, but there was a falling out.”

“The brothers in Fenril.” Vash said.

“We put up a good show.” Ionae acknowledged. “Hunters in the night, nowhere is safe and all that. Truth is that there’s only about a dozen of us now. We manage to keep the neighborhoods our people work in safe: the Wood, Drover’s Court, Riverside. And we’ve got guards and watchmen in our pockets to make sure we can move freely. Reality is that we operate mostly out of surprise and fear. A strike from us can come at any time, and we don’t give warnings. Deadly assassins in the night. We work hard to maintain that image, even if it isn’t always true.”

“You looked pretty deadly to me.” Vash scoffed.

“Against a pile of Talent-less drunkards who don’t know how to fight?” Ionae laughed bitterly. “I should hope so.”

Byar had told Vash about Talents during one of his lectures. The Eth Mitaan had some proprietary ones that would only be taught to acolytes, but most of their skills were no different than those of any Rogue plying the Glory Road. Vash smiled at her. “Well I’m not drunk, but I am Talent-less and fairly shaky on the whole fighting thing.”

Ionae laughed, she had a good laugh, rarely mocking and usually filled with a note joy. “You’ve got a brand for assault and you’re shaky on ‘the whole fighting thing’.”

“Nyx preferred to throw you into the water and see if you could swim.” Vash shrugged. “Corwin had done a few jobs with him, and he had brought me along that night since I needed the money.”

“Well, now that the Lord of Hunts and Hunters has his eyes on you, I can teach you our secrets.” She said with a mocking seriousness. “I’ve got just the Talent to teach you first. You’ll need it if you’re coming to the Lake District with me.”

“Why would we be going to the Lake District?” Vash asked.

“You’ve got me curious who’s stupid enough to cross the Eth Mitaan.” Ionae said, her eyes taking on the same sheen she had when she was hunting. Vash grinned, it felt good to be the hunter.