7- Acolyte

Soren woke to the sound of low voices.  He lay there with his eyes closed for a few more minutes, listening to them.  He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he thought he could recognize them.  Master Alred was one.  And there was Uncle Rudan’s deep voice.  And Elder Maebys was there too.  What were they all doing here?  He tried to clear the sleep fog from his mind and think, but his head was still full of the dream he’d been having.  He’d had so many strange dreams.

He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.  His uncle and the elder and the master all rushed to his side when they saw he was awake.  Soren looked up into Master Alred’s kind green eyes and asked, “What does ale taste like?”

His uncle laughed.  Master Alred suppressed a smile and exchanged a glance with Elder Maebys.  “Where did you hear about that?” the master asked him.

Soren frowned as he thought about that.  Where had he heard about it?  His people didn’t really drink ale, though he supposed he might have heard someone mention it after coming back from a trip or something.  But it had been in his dream.  He had smelled it.

Uncle Rudan sat down on the edge of Soren’s bed.  “What I’m more interested in,” he said, “is how you’re feeling.  Can you sit up?”

Soren blinked.  “The Binding!” he shouted.  Somehow he had almost forgotten about that.  Had it worked?  What had happened afterward?  How long had he been asleep?  He tossed his blanket aside and threw himself into a sitting position.  He looked at his uncle, then at Master Alred, then at Elder Maebys, trying to decide which question to ask first, and whom to ask.

But if it hadn’t worked . . .  Was he ready to hear that kind of news?  He watched the elder’s expression, trying to find some clue to prepare him for the answer before he asked.  But her face was the same as it always was.  Soren swallowed the fluttering heart that suddenly seemed to be trapped in his throat and took a deep breath.  “Am I . . . bound . . . ?” he asked her quietly.

Elder Maebys exchanged a glance with Master Alred.  “You are,” she replied, but something about the way she said it made Soren worry.

“But?” he asked.

The elder looked uncomfortable, or confused, or both.  “Well,” she said, “your Binding was . . .”

“Unusual,” Master Alred finished for her.

“But it worked!” his uncle put in cheerfully.  Too cheerfully.

Soren stared at the master.  “Tell me,” he insisted.

Uncle Rudan sat beside him, gently patting his shoulder while the master and the elder explained everything to him in turns.  Apparently his Binding had been a little different from what they had expected, and no one was quite certain what it would mean for him.  Normally, after the ritual was performed, an initiate would appear to glow with a soft light for a few moments, and they would feel a slight prickling and a warm heat that was slightly uncomfortable, but it only ever lasted for a minute or so, and then the newly-bound acolyte would be exhausted and would need to sleep through the next day.  But after Soren’s ritual was completed, his entire body had shone with a blinding whiteness for several minutes, and he had screamed and writhed in on the ground for almost an hour, oblivious to everyone’s efforts to help him, and then he had passed out and remained unconscious for nearly three days. 

“We can’t really be sure yet why this happened,” the elder told him.  “There are many opinions.  Some say that it was simply because the spirits had difficulty breaking through your fae-blessed body to bind your soul– which is nothing but speculation because no one really knows exactly how we become bound after our binding rituals.  Then there are those who think that it was some sort of punishment for asking to be bound when your parents were already bound before you.”  She paused a moment, then added, “And there are also a few who believe that it means your gifts will be more . . . potent than those of the other Covenant-bound.”  She smiled kindly at him.  “But we can’t be certain if it even means anything at all.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Soren knew what it was.  It was the curse.  It was the first taste of his life of misery.  The ill-luck that would follow him for the rest of his life, until an early death claimed him.  But he couldn’t tell them about that.  What would they think of him?

Master Alred clapped his hands together.  “Well I, for one, am eager find out!” he said.  “We’ll get you settled into my home today, and then tomorrow we’ll start your training!”

Soren grinned.  Of course.  He was an acolyte now, and Master Alred was his mentor.  He would live with the master and learn to use and control the gifts of the Covenant-bound until his mentor decided he was ready to move on.  Soren had been waiting all his life for this.  Curse or no curse, he planned to make the most of his time as an acolyte.

It took less than an hour to move Soren into Master Alred’s tent.  Soren’s uncle offered to let him bring along the bed that he’d always slept in, and Elder Maebys insisted that he wear his new acolyte’s clothes before he left his uncle’s tent.  It was a cloth jerkin in acolyte blue and a new pair of brown breeches.  Normally an acolyte’s mother would make a blue tunic or jerkin for wearing after the Binding, but since Soren’s mother had died and his uncle hadn’t yet taken a wife, the elder had been kind enough to find something suitable for him.  The jerkin had belonged to another acolyte who had grown too big for it, but it fit Soren well and was in good condition.  It had no sleeves, but Soren felt warmer than usual today anyway, so he didn’t bother wearing his old threadbare tunic under it.

After he was properly dressed and he and Master Alred had carried the small cot and mattress to the master’s tent, Soren felt like a real acolyte for the first time.  He felt the eyes of everyone he passed.  All of them stole glances at the fae-blessed boy in the blue acolyte’s clothes.  Soren Twice-Blessed, moving into the home of his mentor.  It felt good, and for once he enjoyed the attention.

The master had prepared a separate room in his tent, divided from the main part by a thin wooden partition and a cloth door.  That was where they placed Soren’s bed.  After they had everything set up, mentor and acolyte sat on the edge of the cot and shared a small loaf of bread.

“For today, I’ll let you rest and get your strength up,” the master told him, “but tomorrow, we’ll start your training.”

Soren grinned.  “I feel fine right now,” he said.  “Why wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I’m glad you’re eager to begin,” Master Alred replied, “But your mentor hasn’t slept in three days.  I would like a rest.”