Winterskin (Book One of Wrath & Winter)

A Measure of Worth: Part Two

Snow fell the day of our departure.

And this time, I wasn't the cause of it.

Eli promised he'd be on the outskirts waiting for me to come back. He even made me promise not to die and I swore I wouldn't.

And with our rucksacks on, and our weapons hanging at our hips, we stared out at the naked threshold of trees that began Baate Noir. Listened to Hagen's briefing. Me only half-listening because I had heard the same speech before when Horace underwent the crucible.

But there was a change.

"Surviving the Black is no longer enough to pass." Hagen wore her ceremonial furs and warpaint, even her hair had been done up in twisted braids that made her look more warrior goddess than human. "To become a shieldbrother, a shieldsister," her eyes landed on me, "You must bring back the head of a fiend."

And I'm reminded of the head that once decorated the stakes before the Jarl's longhouse. Winter and wind and sun glare have forced it to decay, but more—it seems—will take its place.

Many, many more.

"By sunup tomorrow, if you do not return, we will assume you dead." Hagen said, pacing from one end of our short line to the other. Lifting her voice so that it might be heard by Montbereau and the residents of Remicourt that came through last night and still haven't left. "We will not search for you." She stopped. Centered. Hands behind her back, chest proudly puffed, "You leave younglings, but you will return as shieldsiblings! Go now, and prove yourselves worthy to shoulder the lives behind and before you! Go, now!"

She didn't have to tell us twice.

We sprinted. Thighs burning against the weight of the packs on our backs, axes clanging against our sides. Everything on our backs rustling and tinkling and humming.

I could feel his eyes on me even then.