The prophecy followed six arcs: the rise, the quest, the challenge, the defeat, the sacrifice, and of course, the fall. Since the dawn of the first hero, it was High House Gulain that challenged this string of destiny. For centuries, Gulain was the beast in the bush, patient, silent, and ready to pounce the little asshole with the legendary sword. Sinas was taught that forgiveness was for lesser people, for those who could not responsibly bear the weight of resentment or bitterness. The Gulain had strong shoulders; they held grudges like gods held worlds. Sinas knew a great, terrible thing had happened in the beginning, in the Age of the Firsts, and like all great, terrible things, the details had been lost through the generations. Whatever bad blood the heroes and High House Gulain shared now existed in name only, in the shadow of tradition.

If his ancestors wished for the death of the Chosen One, they most certainly had a good reason. But Uri's disgrace was now a matter of destiny. The hero needed to have his journey, and that required a respectable amount of misery.

From the time Uri entered the much-spoken-about Kilburn Academy for spirit-gifted children, he endured all manner of terror and humiliation at the hands of a dedicated Sinas. Nothing was sacred, not even Uri’s most important keepsake, his father’s silver compass. Well into their third year at the academy, Sinas smelt it in smither's fire and gave it a second chance as a teaspoon.

“Why do we have to be so cruel?” Ames asked. It was a horrifically stupid question.

“It is not the gentle wave that makes the jagged rock,” Sinas said, repeating the family mantra.

Sinas was also motherless and talentless, and liked the feeling of towering over Uri’s pale, significant head.

“I don’t like it,” Ames said. He huffed, fussing with a lock of honeyed hair. “I’m tired. I want to be his friend.”

“Don’t be stupid, Am-nim. The Gulains have no friends, only steel.”

“You know I’m terrible with anything other than a comb.”

This was true, but Sinas wasn’t about to hasten Ames’ ascent into goodness.

“This is our duty.”

Ames looked at the ground, making circles in the dirt with the tip of his shoe. “But why?”

“It’s what has always been done. Now stop thinking and look at Milo’s stupid form. Don’t ever dare be that pitiful, or I’ll have Grandfather Ilso sell you for a sack of barley.”

If Ames ever became officially decent, Sinas was looking at an entire lunar cycle in a mean mare's stable hatch.

They watched the students spar in the sand ring, the clang of swords crisp and synchronized. Sinas leaned on the perimeter’s half-wall and chewed on a piece of jerky. He could feel Ames stewing in his doubt. Any more of that and they’d have bone broth for supper.

A shadow fell over them. Not large. Not even overwhelming. It made itself known wordlessly, absent of anything better.

Sinas had always been quick to notice Iago’s presence. The air seemed to shift whenever the boy entered the space, like it was too embarrassed to be caught brushing against him. Understandable. Iago was common folk. Whenever Sinas laid hands on him, it was only to do the right thing—to hurt.

“Han.”

Oh, how he hated that name. As if Sinas needed any reminding he wasn’t a real Gulain. He had the bastard branding to prove it, the silver-and-red Gulain serpent coiled around his ribcage. Sinas turned and rolled his eyes.

“Mutt,” he spat. “Have you come to piss on some poor gatepost?”

It was too bad Iago was not born with the Champion’s marking. Sinas often thought he’d make for a more satisfying victim. Alas, the fates had different, less inspiring designs. They gave him Uri.

“Why? Want a taste of my piss, Han?” Iago asked with a mean smirk. “I’m feeling generous.”

Ames turned the color of berry jam and promptly stuffed his face into his book. It was another one of his creepy plant encyclopedias. Sinas cocked his head and snapped a piece of jerky between his teeth, chewing loudly.

At Iago’s side stood Nadia, her face small and blank, like a bird scroll with secret ink. She was completely unreadable. Sinas minded her the way he would a piece of furniture, which is to say, not at all.

Iago was sixteen. This meant two things: he was insufferable and he would be gone in two years time, leaving behind a pathetic and vulnerable Uri. Where Uri was slight and fair—he had yet to undergo the great hero’s metamorphosis—Iago was not a single bit better off. His frame was thin and unimpressive. He tried to be intimidating, that’s for sure, constantly shooting Sinas a gaze that could kill pheasant. Iago’s academic concentration was beast-taming. He had never actually killed a pheasant, much to Sinas’ vast disappointment.

“Where is it?” Iago said.

Sinas was taller and far wider, but Iago was spirit-strong. The waves of power oozing from his despicably smooth islander skin made Sinas bite his tongue. Nadia politely extended an open palm. Sinas arched a brow at the motion. He pretended to look surprised, then lightly knocked his forehead with an open palm.

“Oh, of course,” Sinas said.

He rummaged through his uniform coat and dropped a little sachet on Nadia’s hand. She frowned, leaned in, and sniffed.

“Lavender,” she said.

“Use it on your dog,” Sinas said, eyeing Iago. “It’s what we use to bathe our bloodhounds.”

Iago moved first. His fist grazed Sinas’ left cheek and struck the wooden signage behind his head. HARROW DUELING CIRCLE. Sharps only. A few of the dueling students stopped to watch their nonsense.

“Ro-shi,” Nadia called.

When Iago’s fist pummeled his belly, Sinas took the punch, and because the Gulain governess raised no boor, he reciprocated with a knuckle to the nose. Iago hissed and cupped his face, the blood spurting like the juice of a squeezed lime. Before they could wrestle properly on the dirt and make men out of each other, Nadia jumped on her brother’s back and yanked tufts of dark hair.

“Ro-shi, Ro-shi. Stop.”

Iago straightened, gritting his teeth. He had the funniest expression. Even the shells of his ears flushed red, the blood too angry and desperate to stay on his face. Nadia clung to him, one small hand rubbing circles on his head as if that would make him less of an animal. Sinas smiled. It was satisfying to see all that aggression spill over, to make a beast out of the boy who claimed to tame them.

“You should crate him,” Sinas said. Ames restlessly tugged on his sleeve. Sinas tore his arm away with a snarl. “What? Clearly, the little savage needs to be crated.”

Nadia whipped around to glare at him. Gingerly, Iago dropped into a clumsy squat and shouldered her off like a valiant steed and his beloved princess. The blood had smeared along his full bottom lip. Sinas swallowed. That was the thing he hated about Iago. He could be drenched in red and grime and still look… Still look.

“You—” Iago began, and Nadia pulled him backwards.

“Don’t,” she said. “That’s what he wants.” She stopped and looked at Sinas. He didn’t like her coolness. Made it hard to mess with her. “Uri’s compass. Give it back.”

“Hmm.” Sinas tapped his chin. He turned to Ames, who was now quivering behind his own shadow.

“Am-nim, how would you describe Uri’s compass?”

“Um. H-Heavy. Ah. Made of genuine silversteel.”

“Was it new?”

Ames gulped. “No. No, I think—it was well-loved—”

“You mean well-worn.”

“I—I suppose one could say that, yes,” Ames hedged.

“Was it special?”

“I. Um.” He scratched his cheek. “From an artisanal standpoint—”

“Was it special, Am-nim?”

“Not, not exactly. That design is commonly found in the northern islands, it being their coat of arms and all.” Ames retreated into the small of Sinas’ back. “But sentimental value is more impor—”

Sinas clapped his hands. “Aha. There you go. Why keep a sorry thing like that?”

He plucked the spoon from his pocket and tossed it at Nadia. She caught the item and stared at it with what Sinas could only describe as ‘sad rabbit eyes.’ Iago made a disgusted sound. He grabbed the teaspoon from Nadia’s hand, clutching it tightly in his fist. He shook so hard, Sinas was waiting for him to shed hair like palm fronds.

Iago stared at the little spoon. When he spoke, his words were heavier than lake stones. It was then that Sinas learned that he did not need to be in water to sink.

“Sinas Han, you are a despicable wretch. Now and forever.”

 

---

 

His father, Lord Bastion Bjorn, came from a long line of blade masters and elemental mages with a preoccupation for small and inconvenient evils. High House Gulain was one of the many enemies mentioned in passing in Vol II of the hero’s prophecy—A Song of Temperate Rain and Disappointing Breeze—although the Gulain name never appeared in the text proper, having in its place the ambiguous reference on page 239, paragraph four, verse seven: those tall people with the sharp sticks and storm magic.

Sinas resented such basic descriptions. It was also pointless to be upset about, since Sinas wasn’t even recognized as a Gulain, and was instead known to the public as the lucky little bastard turned ward to the household patriarch, Lordmaster Ilso.

In order to please his grandfather and carry on the family legacy, Sinas maintained the role of a brutish young master and nanny. When Uri first arrived at Kilburn Academy, it had fallen upon Ilso’s seventh legitimate son, Ames—who was also Sinas’ father’s youngest brother—to initiate the hero’s misery.

“I push him into the needlebush,” Ames said.

Sinas nodded. “Yes. And then?”

“I cover his head with a yute sack.”

“And… ?”

“I… drag him away?”

Sinas crossed his arms. “Where?”

Ames opened his mouth, then closed it. “The stables?”

“No. The old barracks. When did I ever mention the stables? Lock him in the barracks. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

It was simply a fact that all heroes had terrible, character-forming experiences that only surfaced in the dark. In the end, when the time came for Ames to shove Uri into the dilapidated army barracks out in the academy fields, Ames failed, spectacularly so, and was tied to a rotten beam. Sinas could not find it in himself to feel sorry.

“I told you not to embarrass yourself,” Sinas said.

On the other side of the bolted door, Ames cried. “I’m going to die.”

“There’s plenty of Gulain blood to replace you. Now shut up. You’ll attract the hogs.”

“My knee is bleeding.”

Sinas was almost certain it was not. “Lick it.”

Ames sputtered. “I—that’s filthy.”

It wasn’t Ames fault he was about as intimidating as a sack of wet cotton. Sinas blamed Ames’ mother, the tragically whimsical Lady Alvana. Only three days ago, during their rest week, Sinas had found the pair in the courtyard koi pond, breeches rolled to their ankles, palms crackling with light. The fish bobbed along in airborne water bubbles, none the wiser.

“Make them dance,” Lady Alvana had said, waving one koi-filled bubble around. “They get angry and glow.”

And that’s how the two spent the afternoon, drinking lukewarm tea and staring at magic fish. Sinas wondered if irritating garden koi counted as animal cruelty. It was the least they could do. Not that Sinas had any particular grievance against koi fish, but evil had to start somewhere.

“Sin,” Ames called. “Please. I don’t like the dark.”

“Grandfather Ilso said you need to learn from your mistakes.”

Sinas slid against the barrack doors and dropped to his ass with an annoyed huff. The night was dark, and he didn’t need his eyes to make out the guttural and hungry sounds of wild beasts plodding through the foliage. He curled a hand around the dagger in his pocket. It’d been a gift from his grandfather.

“What did I ever do to you?” Ames said, sniffing wetly.

“Nothing. You never do anything and that’s the problem.”

“Are you really not going to let me out?”

Sinas kicked out his legs. “Nope.”

Ames finally shut his mouth, leaving the lone crickets to fill in the silence. Sinas swatted one away from his boot. More rustling came from the trees. A wild hog burst from the underbrush and shot his way, nothing but a blur of hair and muscled fat. The piggish war screech startled Ames.

“What’s that? Sin? What’s happening? Are you—”

“It’s fine,” Sinas bit out.

He took a defensive stance just in time, the hog charging in feral hunger. Hunger or gluttony? The hog’s mass was generous. This was a creature that ate for the pleasure of it, a creature that sucked the marrow of smaller prey because it simply could. Sinas slashed downward, puncturing the nape of the beast. For a moment, the hog stilled, a muted squeal its only utterance. Goblets of spittle and blood drenched Sinas’ pants leg. Then with a savage yank, the creature tore away from Sinas’ grip, dagger and all.

“Sin!” Ames cried.

Sinas clicked his tongue and stumbled to the side, narrowly escaping a bite to the hip. Filthy animal. It scrambled for purchase on the wet dirt, and it lunged again, snatching the lip of Sinas’ pant leg with a crooked bite. He drove his elbow downward, hoping to knock the air out of the beast. The hog released him and wobbled to the side. His dagger stood stiff on its nape, and Sinas went for the handle, prying it loose as a thick spray of jugular blood coated his forearm. Still swaying, the saber-tusked hog snapped at Sinas’ shin, missing completely.

He laughed. The animal slowed to a stop and dropped on its flank, baring its purple underbelly and two rows of swollen teats. Sinas pushed the tip of his boot into her fat and watched a thread of milk spill from a nipple.

“Sin? Are you there?” Ames asked.

“Shut up,” Sinas said. “Just shut up.”

He stared at the hog. It was no more noble dead than alive.

The hog jerked awake. Sinas fumbled backward, watching the beast spit pink foam and lean on her hind legs for support. She shook her mane. The thick pelt was covered in blood. Had his own mother looked like this? Had the ugliness of his birth done her in? Sinas took another step back. It took her a few tries to get steady, but the animal persisted and got on her feet. There was something unusual about her posture. Unnatural. She hobbled forward with a grunt, the foam oozing from her mouth.

It wasn’t that he was afraid. He’d seen transformations like this before. The final dance of a desperate and cornered animal. Her spine shifted, arching and twitching, bristle-like fur standing upright like spines. Sinas had gone hunting with Grandfather Ilso every solar season. He’d seen the man score the belly of a striped deer on the back of a warm lake stone. The motion of his hands had been easy and smooth when they slid into her warmth; gentle when sinking into her stomach to separate the birth sac from her body. That day, he raised the bag high in the air, the sunlight catching two red fawns turning in their mother’s water, and told Sinas to run to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know,” Sinas said.

The hog huffed in the darkness.

“Go back to being dead,” he told it. His heart soared into his throat. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

She screeched and struck like a lance, barreling into his leg and knocking him into the ground. A tusk drove into the meatier part of his thigh. Sinas swallowed his shout. He punched her large head and shoved himself away. Panting against the pain, he dragged his body toward the barracks, clawing the dirt as the beast on his heel snorted piggishly and filled the air with the smell of her spite.

He kicked at nothing with his good leg. “Just die already,” he shouted and clutched his wound. The blood spilled freely and slicked his palm. “Die like they all do.”

The hog stood still, watching him with eyes like seeing orbs. Those things were always a scam. You couldn’t pay Sinas to pay a seer. But the beast that saw Sinas now saw him without a price. She snorted once, and the anger in her gaze snuffed out like a candle, replaced by cool disinterest.

By the time Ames spoke again, she had already gone. Slipped into the clutch of the forest to whatever shadow bore her.

“My arms hurt,” Ames said.

“Give me a minute.”

A minute was really twenty. Sinas tore his sleeve and used it to dress his wound, wrapping it so tightly his leg went numb. It took another good ten minutes to stand and reach the bolted entrance. Inside, Sinas swore under his breath as he untied Ames from a beam.

“You’re hurt,” Ames said.

Sinas pulled on the rope and Ames hissed at the burn. He brought his wrist to his chest, delicately rubbing his fingers over the raw, bright skin.

Sinas tossed the rope to a webbed corner. “Let’s go.”

“I have some medicinal ointments.”

He pushed Ames on the shoulder and nearly lost his balance.

“Move,” Sinas barked. “They’ll be making rounds in the dormitory soon.”

Master Corian was having a late drink by the dueling yards. He was hitting the harder liquor tonight, or Sinas took it as much, considering the man was in the middle of a heated debate with a thorn bush. They slipped past him. Sinas bent over the dueling gate and nicked one of the jugs propped against the barrier. It was only a quarter full, but it would do.

Ames was smart about talking for once and said nothing on the matter for the rest of the night. In their shared room, he rubbed down Sinas’ wound with herb cream and gave him water in a little bowl with a wedge of honeyed lemon.

After properly bandaging his thigh and lecturing Sinas on the importance of circulation, Ames slipped into his own cot, a tired sigh his only bid goodnight.

Sinas waited for his uncle’s wet sniffling to ease and even out before uncorking Corian’s stolen whiskey. The taste was foul. The warmth was twice as bitter. He sipped the liquor until his tongue tingled and fell numb to the heat, and dropped into slumber the way a distraught widow dropped from a cliff. With irreversible, profound relief.

He dreamt of the forest. Her lushness and her dark; the quiet hum of nocturnal birds and waterfalls. And a wild pig roaming through the leaves, sniffing gnarled roots and moss. That was the dream. A dumb pig, shuffling through the limp greenery, pointing her wet snout around. Lame on one leg, slow with the other.

There she was, all alone in the night, not a star in sight. Sniffing the earth for her children.