Sethlzaar let himself into a free fall. He dropped through the remaining distance and hit the ground harder than he planned but did not let it hinder him. He rolled away from the voice on impact and came to his feet immediately, leveled into one of the few variations of the knife stance Yggdra had taught them.
He reached for his knife, and his hand met nothing.
Where is it? he panicked. The bear. The realization clawed at him.
Panic grew to terror. Truth damn it all.
He was left with only a few choices. Not finding himself with the strength to run, nor the mood for it, he turned to the source of the voice.
An old man sat in the dirt. His back rested against a tree as he seemed to mull over his own question. "Of course not," he concluded. "You don't look the kind. Well, that way," he pointed to his right, "will find you in a cloud of fog, annoying thing it is. But that way," he pointed to his left, his voice shaky from age, "you'll find a market. I'm sure from there you can get back to your family."
Sethlzaar kept his silence, not out of fear or a disinterest at a conversation but caution. The terror he'd felt from the voice a moment ago was gone. It was as if it had never been there; as if he'd imagined it.
Is this part of the test? he wondered. He gauged the man's visage. He was too old, too wrinkled, likely too slow. It seemed highly unlikely but he wouldn't put such actions past the seminary.
"You have no reason to fear me, child," the man said, rising to his feet with such sluggishness Sethlzaar had to resist to urge to help him. "Or is your silence a thing of the family?"
This was the second time the man had spoken of family. Sethlzaar understood it to be normal among people to ask a lost child of their family. Yet, the way the old man used it grated at his temper. What troubled him more was the sense of recognition he felt towards him. He was certain he had never seen or met him before. Again, he resisted the urge to speak.
"Come now," the man beckoned with his hand, "we must not delay. The moon is out, and should not be wandered in for too long. Your family must be worried."
"I have no family!" Sethlzaar snapped. The words poured out with such ease, reinforced by the priests of the seminary. You have no family save the seminary.
A sadness crossed the man's face. His weathered skin seemed to age all the more. "It seems you are beginning to accept that." He pointed to the mist. "The path you are about to choose is one I would wish on no boy." He sighed his resignation. "But be on your way, child. It would seem your time is not left with much."
The man's face regained its blank expression as he walked away. His pace would put the sluggishness of a snail and the stealth of a cat to shame. "It should not prove too much of a task for the likes of you," he added with his back turned. He seemed to glide along the ground in his movement. "Also," he spared Sethlzaar a glance, then smiled jovially, "it would do us both good if you kept our meeting from your friends."
Before long Sethlzaar was left alone with the mist licking at his feet and a beckoning to return.
Sethlzaar made in the direction of the mist with a new found enthusiasm. He waded his way into it again. Hope for success spurred him and he plunged into it as Rive once had.
The mist covered his world as far as the eye could see. His ears were plagued by the sounds of birds ever chirping in the dark of the night, and the owls ever hooting. Shadows moved in the dark at the edge of his vision, disappearing each time he turned to look. The darkness of the mist proved unwelcoming, and Sethlzaar wondered if he would ever make it back as he felt the dawn crawling to signal the new day.
He walked, stumbled, and got back to his feet until he feared he could walk no more. Even then he did not give up, dragging himself along the ground.
Failure was beginning to feel quite too close.
Sethlzaar laid on the ground looking to the sky. All around him was mist. Feeling the sting behind his eyes, he closed them and let the tears fall.
He would become a bandit. Join a guild. He could sail the seas with one of the ships, offering his services to the captain in exchange for food. But he would never go home. He wept silently as Groc's words came to him. Family is not about blood. It is about trust and love.
He had found no one he loved or trusted. Those he had were dead, taken away, or did not believe his story. They had abandoned him to the mercy of the conisoir. He could call them family no more.
But did he trust his brothers in the seminary? He knew he had neither trust nor love for the priests. If he had neither love nor trust for them all, then why did he always protect Cenam? Always spar with Narvi? Why even now, did he try to be his best for Fen? Why did he harbor the desire to protect his new brothers in the seminary?
No answer came, but it seemed the questions were enough.
Sethlzaar forced himself to his feet. He willed them with all that he was to move. The mist remained a conquest proving too great. He knew there was a trick to it. He'd once heard some of the older boys talk of it, but his mind could not fathom what it could possibly be.
Then he saw it. A slight ripple in the mist. It reminded him of his time at the vaults. All his worries faded away, replaced with a sense of wanderlust. He forgot his fears, and his tears, and dragged his legs along. He moved towards the ripple. It moved farther from him with each step he took. His feet racked up mud as he followed as far as he could, until he could see it no more.
The sensation that moved him disappeared with the ripple, just as they had arrived with it. He looked up. What have I done?
Before him was something he hadn't been able to fashion the first time. The black eyes of a metal wolf head melded into a black gate, vivid even in the darkness. They seemed to watch him. He wondered if it found him worthy.
I made it? He sighed in relief. Standing motionless before the gate, he stared at the wolf before him.
"You made it."
Sethlzaar turned to his side immediately. Father Antuas stood there. His face was illuminated by the yellow light from the torch he held.
Sethlzaar opened his mouth to speak but no words ventured out. His throat was dry, relief choked him.
"Father Ordan will be very displeased," Antuas added with a smile. For all his disgust when Sethlzaar had come, he seemed to have grown rather kindly towards him. "Come now, boy. Let's get you cleaned up. It would seem you are the last of your kind."
It should not prove too much of a task for the likes of you, the old man's words replayed in Sethlzaar's mind as he followed Antuas.
He smiled.
It wasn't.