Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

not be late, Calen.” He turned away and started for the village, the bundle holding the practice swords gripped neatly under his arm.

They walked in silence for a while, side-by-side, across the practice fields and into the village streets. With the Moon Market over and the peddlers and performers now on their way to the far reaches of Epheria, The Glade had transformed back to its natural calm and relaxed atmosphere. People floated through the square, going about their business in a lackadaisical manner as dusk settled in.

Mara Styr was in a world of her own. She packed up the stall outside her shop, in her typically haphazard manner. She threw carrots, leeks, potatoes, and onions unconcernedly into one big woollen sack before dragging it through the shop door, not so much as flinching when the sack cracked off the doorframe with a thud. The hard-earned lethargy of a hard day’s work was evident in every motion.

Aela Hammersmith nodded at Vars and Calen as they passed across the main square. There was a warmness in her smile as she fastidiously tucked away her jewellery display. Each necklace was placed into its own tiny wooden box and topped with cloth before the lid was placed on.

Calen found it strange to picture her and Erdhardt together. He was easily twice her size, and he was as gruff as she was beautiful. Her dark opal eyes were mirrored by her chestnut brown hair. The softness of her facial features had led many a traveller to mistake her for a woman twenty years her junior. Calen didn’t let his eyes linger too long.

The imposing figure of Rhett Fjorn emerged into the square from a side street. He wore the deep blue of the town guard, with a worn metal breastplate across his chest. His raven-black hair was swept back off his face by the wind. By all definitions, he was a handsome man; even Ella seemed to swoon after him.

He directed a cautious smile in Calen’s direction, then gave a stiff nod to Vars, which was returned with a thin-lipped grimace. With that, Rhett ducked down another street on the opposite side of the square, disappearing as quickly as he appeared. Calen sensed a coldness emanating from his father as Rhett vanished into the night’s cloak.

Calen felt sorry for Rhett. He had been Haem’s closest friend, and he was a genuinely honourable man, kind to a fault. He was the only one who returned two years before, when Haem led a group of men to force the Uraks back through Ölm Forest and into Wolfpine Ridge. He was half-dead when he crawled like a lame animal through the trees at the edge of Ölm Forest and into The Glade. His arm was broken in two places, and his clothes were soaked in the blood of the men he had grown up with. Vars had nearly spat on him when he was finally conscious enough to recount his story to the village council. “You should have brought Haem back or died with him!” Calen remembered him screaming, his face red with pain and wrought with anger. Rhett had just stared at him, his eyes sunken holes of despondency, his lips unable to form words.

Haem and Rhett had been inseparable since they were kids, brothers bonded by time instead of blood. Deep down, Calen knew that Haem’s loss burned as deeply in Rhett as it did in himself.

He had always sensed that Vars knew his words were entirely misplaced, but that he did not have the strength to take them back, so he continued to treat Rhett as if he had swung the sword himself. It weighed heavily on him.

“Have you seen Ella today?” Calen asked, trying to pierce the ice that surrounded his father. Ella always brought a glow to his father’s face, no matter the time or place.

“She went out with your mother this morning to help her gather some herbs. Verna had asked for your mother’s help with a sick peddler. She’s not sure if he’ll see the next moon.”

They continued to make small talk as they made their way back to the house. The dark mood lifted further from Vars’s shoulders with each footprint they left in the dust.

CHAPTER 5

The Proving

“Quiet now. Quiet! Settle down.”

Erdhardt Hammersmith’s booming voice carried through the market square, staving off competition from the deafening buzz that was synonymous with large crowds and a bit too much mead. Many new arrivals had made their way into The Glade over the past few days, and many more would arrive through the night.

Erdhardt stood on a newly erected wooden stage that looked out over the market square; his huge frame made the thirty-foot-wide stage seem something more akin to a large podium. He waited for the noise to die down as the crowd turned their gaze upon him. There were three or four hundred people packed into the market square. Entire families came to celebrate the young men proving themselves – and to join in the celebrations afterward. “It is my honour to welcome you all to our village. Food and mead will be provided to all, as much as it takes to fill your bellies and warm your hearts!”

The crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers.

Rist caught Calen’s attention and rolled his eyes in Dann’s direction. Dann raised his tankard in the air, roaring his appreciation at the sky while his free hand was wrapped around the waist of a young woman from Ölm, evident by the way her hair was braided at the back in twisting knots. Rist and Calen had decided that they would steer clear of mead for the night. The Proving was going to be difficult enough without starting the day with drums banging in their heads.

“As you all know,” Erdhardt continued, “for centuries, the young men of the villages, in their eighteenth summer, gather here on the edge of Ölm Forest to take part in The Proving. They will spend