Witch Hunter

Chapter Eleven: Initiation

His eyes flew open just as the first rays of light pierced the window of his tiny room.

He rose instantly, and dressed in the nondescript grey tunic and trousers. Barely a minute later, the door opened and he walked out without a word.

These things he did automatically, just as he had for every day of the last three months.

The twisting stone corridor he navigated without thought and even the sudden bite of cold as he stepped out into the open did not faze him. These were all expected.

He barely registered the lines of other boys and girls filing out of nearby corridors. They stood in perfect lines in front of a wide bridge that spanned a sharp drop between their platform and the forest beyond.

A whistle blew at precisely when he had expected it to, and he jogged forward. The bridge had no railings and its wooden planks were spaced far apart. Secured by ropes, it shook viciously underfoot. He had been awake for scarcely five minutes but already his mind was crystal clear. Months ago, he had learned the hard way what became of those who could not maintain alertness instantly after waking. It required a great deal of concentration to cross the bridge without losing footing.

By threes, they crossed and as soon as they touched solid ground on the other side, they broke into a run. The ground sloped downwards, making balance precarious. Nevertheless, he ran, dodging branches and other obstacles with practiced ease. These whipped past him as he sped downhill but his eyes located each individual obstacle as if it moved in slow motion.

The lush forest’s beauty was lost on him. He paid no heed to the deep green leaves, the thick trunks of enormous trees and the artistically entangled smaller trees that sought to hinder his passage. The forest’s residents were waking too, birds chittering angrily as he sped past and the occasional, cautious deer, ears up and alert.

He broke through the tree line and stopped on the craggy outcrop, falling in behind the person in front. All around him, others burst through the trees to line up automatically, awaiting the arrival of the last. A single cloaked figure waited with them. When the last arrived, this faceless stranger pointed to his right.

This brought out a sinking feeling in him, the only sign of emotion that he would display all day. He almost looked forward to this moment, where some semblance of inconsistency existed. Without this one moment, every day would have been the same as the last.

To the right, hidden by a ring of thick trees, was a large lake. On the other side was a steep path that led back up to the platform with the wooden bridge. To the left was a rocky wall that sloped gently back towards an outcrop.

Every morning, one of these two directions would be chosen. He preferred the left. They would be forced to climb and it took close to twenty minutes to reach the summit. A few had plunged to their deaths, but while physically demanding, the task was preferable to the alternative. Once they reached the outcrop, it would be a short walk on flat ground back to their rooms.

The right, however, meant that they had to swim through the lake’s waters, still icy from the previous night, and trudge their way up a muddy path. Footing was slippery and while the worst anyone could get from slipping was a muddy face and scratches, the experience was unpleasant.

Silently, the group approached the lake. Forbidden to speak, somehow a sullen mood was still communicated by the way each individual walked. He knew that everybody preferred the left. Right was the worst. Yet there were a few in the group that showed no signs of distress at the forthcoming task. These walked with distant eyes and he knew that they were lost. He thought of these as the Departed.

The daily repetition and prohibition of speech made it feel as if time itself was wearing away at them, sweeping with it the petty concerns of mortals. He could barely remember his name or why he was here. At first he had tried mouthing a few words when alone at night and found that he could, but now even he did not even think about talking. It took all his stubbornness and conviction to hang on to his purpose and identity.