Page 107 of An Honored Vow

“Both,” Gerarda answered, lacing her fingers through Elaran’s with a smug smile.

I shook my head and nodded at the stairs. Gerarda’s nose wrinkled at the scent of cedar smoke and took the first step. I followed her to a landing that widened to a hallway and then to the room at the end of it. There were no windows, only a small hole along the ceiling for the smoke from burning leaves to escape through.

Syrra turned, her golden sword stowed along her back. Her jaw was hard as she spoke to me. “Did you bring it?”

I nodded and tossed her the contents of my trouser pocket.

“What is going on?” Gerarda’s eyes widened as Syrra opened her palm to reveal the thin, gold tube I’d given her. “Is that …” Gerarda’s voice cracked then trailed off.

Rheih added more Elder birch leaves to her bowl. “A mage pen.”

Gerarda’s lip quirked to the side. “I’ve always wanted to see the ceremony done.” She turned to Rheih. “Do you pick where to cut or does she?”

Everyone in the room fell silent. Elaran squeezed Gerarda’s hand. “Dearest, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

“I have earned enough branches.” Syrra lifted her chin. “Today it is you who shall receive their markings.”

Gerarda’s mouth clamped shut.

Rheih snickered. “The little one finally has nothing to say.”

Gerarda ignored her comment and turned to me. “Was this your idea?”

“Not at all.” My lips stretched into a wide smile, sincere and proud. “Though I will be the one to imbue it.”

Tears welled at the corners of Gerarda’s eyes. “How do we begin?”

Rheih waved her hand over Gerarda’s torso as she mulched thick purple leaves in a wooden bowl. “Take off the vest and your shirt too.”

Gerarda’s hands froze.

“Rheih and I can leave until the end if that’s more comfortable for you,” I interjected, ignoring the old Mage’s grumbling.

Gerarda’s amber eyes raked over my arms and then Syrra’s, our scars proudly showing. She shook her head and started unlacing the ties down the side of her vest. “No need.”

She handed the chest plate to Elaran and then her tunic too. Gerarda was well-muscled for her small stature, her round shoulders pressed against the wrap she wore across her chest. She swallowed as she looked at Syrra. “Is this enough or should I remove this too?”

Syrra shook her head. “That is fine, child.” She grabbed a pillow from the trunk along the wall and placed it on the ground forGerarda to sit on. “Rheih will wash your skin with water then with smoke and then we shall begin.”

Elaran and I stood shoulder to shoulder as we watched the Mage work over Gerarda’s back and shoulders. I winced seeing the thin scar under Gerarda’s left bicep knowing I had caused it. A rage-filled day training together at the Order.

“This ceremony is usually done atNiikir’nabut this will have to do. It is important that this ritual is passed on and not another loss for Aemon’s line to claim.”

My stomach clenched at those words, wondering what Syrra meant by them, but she didn’t look at me. All I could see was the light reflecting from her shorn head as Syrra grabbed the mage pen. She cleansed the sharp blade in the smoke from Rheih’s bowl. “Are you ready?”

Gerarda held the second pillow across her stomach. Her arms tightened, denting the cushion, but she nodded.

“Every warrior is marked with the branch of an Elder birch along their right shoulder. It is what brands us as protectors of our people.” Syrra dabbed a damped cloth over Gerarda’s shoulder. I looked at the long branch with thin, wilting bark and jagged oval leaves cut into Syrra’s shoulder in the same place.

“Usually, this mark is given when you graduate fromNiikir’na, but I think your time training at the Order is sufficient.”

Gerarda didn’t flinch as Syrra made the first cut. Her breaths remained slow and even while my own skin itched along my scars. I knew exactly how the slice of the mage pen was piercing at first but then became smooth like a slow pour of water on a hot summer’s day. Rheih exchanged Syrra’s cloth for a clean one as the first filled with Gerarda’s auric-amber blood. I took the muddled leaves from Rheih’s bowl. The thick paste carried a heavy scent of birch and cedar root.

“Just like we practiced,” Syrra told me with a small nod.

I rubbed the paste over the fresh cut and said the first phrase Syrra had taught me and Vrail had helped me perfect. “Niikir maashith’kazii roq waabathir.”

May this warrior’s strength never waver.

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