The following week passed quickly. Before he knew it, the day of Sacrament had arrived.

  Raine was woken early by his mother. Olga was a stunning woman for her age; her bright red hair was kept in a neat bun, though curls always escaped to bounce around her face. She always radiated positive energy and excitement.

  “What’s that?” He asked sleepily, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  “Today’s the big day, so we've got to have you look your best.” She answered as she prepared his clothes, leaving them at the foot of the bed.

  It was a new white cotton shirt, brown hemp trousers and a matching leather jerkin. Raine sat up and scratched the back of his head, making his unruly hair fall into his eyes.

  Olga rolled her eyes. “Let me fix your hair for you.”

  Raine's straight, dishevelled hair had grown past his chin, curling behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. Olga grabbed a comb and began to gently brush through his matted tresses.

  “You should really get this cut, you know.” She noted.

  “I know. It’s been getting in my way lately. Though.” He smirked, pausing in thought. “It does give me a wild look, don’t you think?”

  “Not all girls like that, you know.” She gently tapped him on the head with the comb. “Some would prefer a gentleman.”

  Raine opened his mouth to protest, but decided his thoughts were better left unspoken. Olga giggled and lightly flicked his nose.

  “Plus, you've got to show off those gorgeous eyes of yours more often.” She brushed the hair away from his gentle sapphire eyes.

  “Right, go get dressed. Your father is probably already waiting.”

  Once his mother had left, Raine pulled on the formal clothing. The shirt was a bit tight around his shoulders, but the pants fit perfectly. He made sure to snatch up the pendant from the bedside table, securing it around his neck, though it remained hidden beneath his shirt.

  Olga poked her head through the door.

  “Looking winsome.” She noted and clapped her hands in approval.

  “Did you have doubts?” Raine jested.

  “I would never.” Olga replied sarcastically.

  Outside, the air was crisp. It was still early and the streets were fairly empty. The town was covered in a blanket of mist that was slowly dissipating, sunlight peeking through the clouds above.

  Pauel came around the corner with a piece of beef jerky hanging from his mouth. He wore a simple linen shirt and black trousers. Raine gave him a quick appraisal, then chuckled to himself. The clean, official look was a complete contrast to his father’s usual messy attire.

  “That’s quite the outfit.”

  Pauel frowned as he pulled the jerky from his mouth. “I have to look the part for once.” He tugged on his shirt, rolling his shoulders.

  “It suits you.” Raine bit his tongue, holding back his laughter.

  “You both look handsome.” Olga chastised, slapping her husband’s hand away from his shirt.

  The bell tower began to toll. The loud clanging echoed throughout the town, rousing those still curled beneath the heat of their duvets.

  “The priest is coming. We should be on our way as well.” Pauel ushered his family forward, hurriedly finishing his last bite of the jerky.

  Raine watched as his parents arranged their Sun pendants above their clothes, wondering if he should do the same. However, upon seeing his expression Pauel shook his head, he didn’t see any need for Raine to do so.

  A crowd was gathered before the bell tower. A lot more than Raine expected. There had been two Sacraments of Initiation in his time, and though he didn’t recall the first; on the second occasion the weather had been so bad he’d found himself distracted by the roiling sky.

  The young lumberjack counted about a dozen or so parents and their children gathered by the stairs to the stage. The rest of the town stood before the raised platform, the air abuzz with solemnity. When the priest approached, the crowd parted like a river around a rock. His movements were slow, his left-hand waving lazily. He wore an ankle length, hooded cassock and chasuble. Whilst much of the chasuble shimmered in spun purple, the trim was stitched gold, the symbol of Shura – a gold hollow sun surrounded by six feathered wings – had been embroidered on the front from chest to waist. The cassock beneath was dyed a pure white, sharing the same gold trim as the chasuble. Raine tried to see his face, but it was hidden beneath the hood, only a thick grey beard was visible.

  Once the priest reached the stage, he stopped to greet them before walking the handful of steps up and facing the crowd. He grabbed his hood and gently pulled it back, revealing a cleanly shaven head and a shiny golden scrap of material, tied around his head to cover his eyes.

  He lifted both of his hands and spoke.

  ????????

  A suffocating pressure, akin to being crushed against the ocean floor pressed hard onto Raine. The priest’s singular order was accompanied by an orchestra of a hundred voices, clashing in a dozen languages. His demand to kneel was both incomprehensible and perfectly clear.

  Raine frantically glanced around, seeing everyone on the floor kneeling, heads touching the earth, prostrated before the priest. He felt the priest’s command tug at the back of his mind and swiftly dropped to his knees as well. He stared at the dirt, surprised at how zealous the townspeople appeared to be not more so then feeling the priest’s demand in his mind. He wanted to glance over at his parents, to judge their own reaction, but the ominous suggestion kept his eyes to the floor.

  The genuflection seemed to last for minutes, as though as hand had hold of the back of his neck, keeping him rooted to the ground. Raine grew increasingly uncomfortable until finally, the priest lowered his hands, as if releasing everyone from binding shackles. As Raine shakily got to his feet, he saw frustration and fear amongst the sea of faces. However, it was the expressions of joy and pure bliss that took him by surprise. Finally, he turned to his parents. Their expressions were stoic. His mother simply brushed the dust from her skirts, as though it were any other day.

  An uneasy feeling loomed over Raine. A shiver crawled down his spine, and his eyes snapped to the stage. Though he couldn’t see the priest’s eye, he knew they were on him. His gaze was a piercing blade stuck through Raine’s chest.

  “I see many of Shura’s children gathered before me today. Though.” He clicked his tongue in indignation. “There are yet many that still need to be brought to the flock.” The crowd nodded along to his words, like puppets on a string. His lips formed a predatory grin. “Yet, on this wondrous occasion we bless the souls of our young, so they may not stray into the path of evil.” The priest spoke as he moved slow and deliberate, his voice resonating a deep cold.

  A small girl stepped forward, a small bouquet in her hands. She wore a white dress with red ribbons tied in her hair. The priest accepted the gift with a nod of acknowledgement.

  “Bring forth the children so we may bestow upon them the gift of our lord!” The priest exclaimed with a contagious apostolic zeal. It spread through the crowd, and the first set of parents eagerly stepped forth, holding up their baby like an offering. He was only a few months old.

  The parents knelt after placing their child on the stage.

  “May our lord bless this child, so he does not stray from the light.” His tone had become gentle and caring, the complete opposite to his earlier speech.

  “His name is Jonas Erand.” Said the mother.

  The priest reached into his pocket, retrieving a brass pendant in the shape of a sun, and gently hung it by its chain around the child’s neck.

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  “May this pendant represent your heart, and may the wings represent your future.”

  ??????

  Again, the chorus of voices accompanied his command. Raine flinched.

  How does he do that?

  The sun pendant around the young child’s neck began to glow, till it shone as though made of light itself. White rune like symbols appeared around the pendant, forming a perfect circle. One by one, they drifted into the light, which slowly changed shape, becoming the same hollow sun and wings represented on the priest’s garbs.

  “I greet you, Jonas Erand, the newest follower of Shura.”

  The baptism lasted for several minutes. Raine watched on without moving an inch till the priest stepped away from the stage and gestured for the parents to collect their child.

  “Please engrave his full name and birth onto the pendant.” He directed, his tone brokering no argument.

  “We will.” They said in unison.

  The procession lasted just over an hour. After which, the priest pulled out a small, worn book from his garb and flipped to a faded page before addressing the crowd.

  “Shura’s children, today is a blessed day. The newest generation has had their magic sealed, so it shan’t go rampant and turn them into the beasts that plagued our ancestors. This is a gift from the Archangel Ophiel, who has granted us this knowledge and means to save our people from the draconic scourge that lingers within each of us.” He raised his hands high, voice booming over the gallery. “Let us give praise to our Lord and his servant Ophiel.”

  He began reciting a prayer.

  “Our lord, we ask for thy mercy. We are but mere mortals, struggling to fight against our very nature. May your grace guide us towards the righteous path.” The townsfolk began to recite aswell. “Our lord, we ask for thy strength. So, we may overcome the obstacles that threaten the stability and peace of our world. Our lord, we ask for thy wisdom. For we are lost and confused, unable to navigate through the treacherous waters of life.”

  “We ask for thy wisdom.” They chanted.

  “Our lord, we ask for thy compassion. As the weight of our sins is heavy and our hearts are filled with remorse.”

  “We ask for thy compassion.”

  “May the light of your sun, shine upon us and the warmth of your embrace keep us safe from harm.”

  “We honour the holy sun.” The townsfolk bowed their heads, their hands clasped together.

  After a moment of silence, the priest snapped the book closed, placing his hand upon his chest. “This concludes the ceremony.” He stilled, head moving over crowd. “May Shura’s touch keep you warm.” He added. His tone felt mocking to Raine, almost malevolent.

  The crowd slowly dispersed once the priest had left the stage. Raine’s mind raced as his parents conversed beside him. The unease he had felt since the priests first command had not ceased, nor the feeling of being watched. Raine looked at the stage, to the spot the priest had stood and wondered why he was the only one that seemed at all perturbed by the baptism.

  “Everything alright, honey?” Olga noticed her son’s look of concern.

  “Yeah, I just - spaced out, that’s all.” Raine quickly replied, pulled from his reverie, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling.

  With the sacrament finished, the machinery of daily life resumed its repetitive motions, though today felt far from routine for Raine. There was an unsettling feeling in his stomach, a remnant from the ceremony. He had no words to describe the feeling that choked him, only that it moved with him like a veil, as he trapsed behind his parents further into town.

  The cobbled streets of Lobos were now lined with townsfolk in their Sunday best, enjoying the festivities. Whilst those that dealt in food and goods, had already shed their finery for their daily uniform, capitalising on the crowds. The baker had already sweat through his linen apron, pounding the sides of his brick oven and bellowing the virtues of his honeyed loaves. The aroma of cinnamon and yeast filtered over to cider house that sat beside it, though it failed to mask the sickly sweetness of fermenting apples within its basement.

  Across the bridge, two older men argued about the weight of their newborn calves, their words tumbling and clattering like river stones in their drunkenness, punctuated by the sharp peal of the bell tower, an hourly reminder.

  On the corner where the main street bled into the market square, a wiry man in a threadbare coat played a violin with a trembling, feverish intensity. There was something in the cadence of his voice – which held no regard for pitch or decorum - as he sung a waltz about a lovesick adventurer and a vanished bride, that made Raine’s teeth ache. The man's bow movements were jerky, mimicking Raine’s thoughts. It was far from perfect, as far as it gets, but the crowd enjoyed it nevertheless.

  A gaggle of children whirled around the violinist in a grotesque parody of a courtly dance, tripping over their too-big shoes and bumping heads. A tall man with a black kerchief dropped a copper in the violinist’s tin cup, despite the twitch in his eye when the notes became jarring.

  By the fountain sat a trio of matrons. Their faces red as pickled beets and slick with sweat, they scrutinised each passerby with a hostility so intense it felt carnivorous. They embroidered and mended as they gossiped, their needlework precise and violent. One of them pointed directly at Raine, her mouth moving and though he could not hear her words, he felt their judgement.

  “Salmon and mussels. Freshly caught this morning! Got a batch of rainbow trout as well!” Shouted the local fishmonger.

  Other stalls were open as well, people plying their fresh vegetables and cured meats. The crowd, like a sluggish stream, parted momentarily for Pauel, Olga and the boy, granting them access to the smithy. The heavy oak door swung inward on its greased hinges. Olga lingered for a moment, fussing with the buttons of her blouse, before following her husband inside. Raine, however, remained on the threshold, one foot in light and one in shadow.

  His attention had snagged on a figure, shrouded in darkness against the side of a building opposite the smithy. The figure stood unnaturally still in a robe so dark; it seemed to devour the surrounding light.

  A cowl obscured all but the thin line of his jaw. His lower face was covered by strips of cloth, wound tight from nose to chin. Raine couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew they were looking at him, though it felt more like impalement.

  Raine’s first instinct was to avert his gaze and disappear into the smithy. The gaze was so intense, Raine wondered if he would split open beneath it, his thoughts and memories unspooling on to the cobbled street for all to see. Unable to wrench his gaze free from the man, he considered crossing the street to demand an explanation, but the thought of proximity made him quite nervous.

  Instead, he did what any “smart” person would do: he pretended not to notice. He let his body become a puppet strung by panic and followed his parents into the dim, hot interior of the smithy. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and scorched metal. Brent, the blacksmith, was already at work hammering a red-hot bar; his beard scorched at the tips, and the muscles of his arms rippled with each blow against the anvil. Sparks leapt like angry fireflies, dancing in the musty haze.

  “I knew you’d be here right away.” Brent put his work to the side. “I’ve got to disappoint ya, however. Although I have the axe forged, I still need to sharpen and polish it properly. You know some finishing touches here and there.”

  Brent gestured to a shelf lined with axe heads, some blunt and battered, others gleaming razor-sharp. “Should be ready by sundown, lad.” He grunted. “Good steel needs patience, even if you’ve got dragon’s breath in your veins. Wait here, if you’d like. Or see the barber about that mop you call hair.” He chuckled.

  Raine barely heard him. His ears were attuned to the other sounds, the market’s bustle, the creak of the smithy’s floorboards, the faintest trace of movement approaching. When he heard nothing, he moved toward the window, hesitantly peeking out. The black figure was gone. Leaving behind only the memory of those eyes, like the ghost of a migraine.

  “You can have a sneak peek if you want too though.” Brent offered, but Raine politely refused him as he turned back to the forge.

  “I’ll see it once it’s ready. I’ve waited this long, what’s another handful of hours?”

  Pauel laughed approvingly.

  “No need to rush; it has to be perfect after all.” Olga placed her hands on Raine’s shoulders, giving him a motherly wink. “We’ll return later this evening.”

  “Aye, it will certainly be ready then.” Brent confirmed.

  “Do you think I could go to the old Ash tree for a bit? I want to clear my head.” Asked Raine as they walked towards home.

  “I swear you only picked the worst habits from your father.” Sighed Olga.

  “Why question something if it works?” Pauel defended.

  “Just be sure to come home for dinner.” Olga said.

  Raine dashed off, waving over his head, hoping to sort his thoughts beneath the shade of the Ash tree.

  The withered trunk was surrounded by a small sea of moss. The sun was hung high, casting its light through the branches and showering the ground below. A few birds chirped above as Raine took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. He positioned himself and swung.

  Thwack.

  “What was with the priest today? The way he spoke was eerie.”

  Thwack.

  “Could he see me through that cloth of his?”

  Thwack.

  “Or that guy at the smithy.”

  Thwack.

  “What was that all about?” He said, looking up at the branches, as if the answers were somehow written there.

  He was not a superstitious person by any means, but ever since the ceremony, things just felt wrong.

  Thwack.

  The same warmth in his chest from the day before began to spread. The heat pulsed with each swing of the axe, until finally he was forced to stop, hand clutching his chest.

  It was burning, he could barely breathe. His heartbeat quickened, and the blood rushing through his veins felt like boiling water. Yet the feeling dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving his mind blank, senses dulled, and vision blurred.

  He fell to the ground, panting.

  It took a couple of minutes for his senses to return. When they had, the land around him had shifted. Nature appeared more vibrant; the air tasted sweet, and he could hear the chirping of birds and scratching of squirrels in the treetops far in the distance.

  He felt good.

  “This must be it…” He reassured himself as he got back to his feet, axe in hand. His knuckles whitening as he tightly gripped the handle and reached for whatever fire was burning in his chest just minutes earlier.

  He swung, and a big chunk of the trunk flew off. He stared wide eyed at the tree trunk, flabbergasted by his own strength.

  “Again, Raine.” He muttered to himself.

  He closed his eyes and reached again for the throbbing heat within his chest. He could feel the warmth spread through his veins, arms and legs; travelling through his entire body, into the axe he was holding. He took another deep breath, then lifted the axe and swung hard.

  A splintering crack reverberated through the field, followed by the whining of wood and falling branches. He swung again and again, as if he were in a trance. He pummelled the tree with swings that defied human strength.

  The trunk began to lean. It creaked and moaned under the pressure until the old Ash finally succumbed to wounds Raine had caused. It fell towards the ground.

  Raine was drenched in sweat, his muscles ached and his lungs gasped for air. He stumbled forward towards the fallen tree and sat down. He wanted to shout with happiness but only managed a tired laugh.

  He had done it. He had conquered a world tree. His shining achievement.

  He closed his eyes and passed out.