Page 7 of An Archer's Reckoning

I tossed my coat on the floor and stripped off my white linen shirt. As the golden tunic fell across my shoulders, I shuddered. When I’d held the shirt before me, it looked to be sized for a small boy of ten, but the moment the fabric met my skin, a tingle crawled across my chest until the shirt fit perfectly. Its short sleeves molded themselves around my biceps, enhancing my physique in a way I was sure Ayden would appreciate.

Ayden.My heart sank.What will he say? What will he think? He has no Gift, and now—

Órla cooed. “A prince, indeed.”

A grin curled across my lips as I glanced down at my feathered friend. “All right. I’ll admit it. Idolook good in gold.”

Then I realized something else.

The fabric felt cool and dry against my skin. The sweltering tropical heat and humidity that usually stifled my breathing had vanished. I ran my hand across my forehead, and the sheen of sweat I’d come to expect while on the island wasn’t there. I couldfeel the heat of the surrounding air, but it didn’t reach my body anymore.

It felt like being in the mountains all over again. It felt like home.

“I’ve never felt anything . . . I’m not hot or sweating anymore. This is incredible.”

“Just wait. When you get home and face winter’s fury, the tunic will respond. The sleeves will lengthen, and warmth will follow you wherever you go.” The Keeper grinned. “But it will also protect you in other ways. No blade will penetrate its fabric, arrows will bounce away, and magical attacks will have a lessened impact.”

I ran fingers across the silky fabric. I couldn't find words. It felt surreal that I could be gifted with something of such magnitude and strength.

“When you go home, there will be times you will want to hide the gold, moments where you want to be less conspicuous. Imagine you are there now. Think of hiding the tunic. See it in your mind,” the Keeper said.

I cocked my head.

How do youthink something into hiding?

I imagined myself walking through Saltstone, surrounded by golden collars. The tunic would stand out, and not necessarily in a well-accepted way. I pictured myself in my deep-green uniform. I had always felt more comfortable in my Rangers’ Greens than anything else.

When I looked down, the tunic was a dull green. There was no hint of the Phoenix on my chest. My head snapped up, and my eyes shot to the Keeper, dumbfounded.

The old man nodded. “Good. That is good; but know this, an arrow shot into your eye will still kill you. A bolt to the leg will lame. The tunic has power, but it also has limits.”

I looked toward Larinda. “Mother Larinda, I don’t know what to say. This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you.”

Her expression sobered. “The whole world rests on yer shoulders, boy. T’at shirt’s nothin’ compared t’ what ya gonna need. Don’t t’ank me till ya make it through th’ nights to come.”

Some of my childlike enthusiasm drained away at her words.

“It is time, Declan,” the Keeper said, his voice again formal. “You have many leagues to travel, and the weight of men and magic to carry. May the Spirits guide your path and the Phoenix herself shield you.”

“By the Light,” Órla intoned.

“By the Light,” Larinda echoed.

The tunic turned golden and flared brightly once more before dulling to its natural sheen.

I blinked, unsure what had just happened but sensing the fork in the path before me. I could feel it in my soul, as though standing on some celestial road and choosing the fate of mankind.

The Keeper’s hand found one shoulder the moment Órla’s talons landed on the other. The Keeper’s eyes held such depth. Had I not known better, I would have thought it an unbound love, though that made little sense from the mystical old man.

Then he said, “It is time, my son.”

It was midmorning. The Keeper escorted Órla and me to the northern edge of the village. As if my height, blond hair, and pale skin didn’t stand out enough in the tropical paradise, the gold of my tunic reflected the brilliant island sun, sending shards of light in every direction like a lighthouse guiding weary travelers home from the sea.

Islanders gaped as I passed.

The hardy people were rarely shy, but each bowed, and whispers of “Braha” followed in my wake. A crowd of childrenskittered a few steps behind, eager to wish us fortune and a swift return.

“What’s a Braha?” I asked the Keeper.

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