She knew what came first. The Kleesold clan wore their tattoos proudly, though they were usually out of sight. She had seen glimpses of the tattoos withinthe brigade too. Some had them on an arm, revealed only in the heat of exercise with their sleeves pushed up. Other times exposed in the shadows of the hall or around the fort where couples bared each other’s flesh. There seemed no pattern to where the tattoos could be located, and no two looked the same, although each type of magic had its own symbols.
“Who are you?”
Iryana whipped her head up in confusion. “What?”
The Keeper reached for the enameled lid covering the strange jar between them. When he lifted it, Iryana gasped. She could feel the power like she could sense her own magic, but this felt infinite and unreachable.
Almost instinctively, she tried to pull it, and a terrible throbbing echoed in her head.
“This is the magic of the well: the blood of Noshtiz, the Metal god,” the Keeper spoke reverently. “It will not obey just anyone. You must open yourself to it, lower all defenses. That is the purpose of the sacred tattoo. It will be your bond with Noshtiz’s blood that allows you to forge your magic with his.”
She gripped her knees, realizing how unprepared she truly was.
How did one introduce themselves to the magic of a dead god?
“I am Iryana Kleesolda?” she started hesitantly. “Soon to be of the 18th Brigade, but born to the Kleesold Clan, a Guardian of Istri.”
“Those are mere titles; they mean nothing to the blood. You must tell mewhoyou are. This story is what I must tattoo you with to bind you to the blood.”
Iryana bristled as hot panic crawled up her neck. How truthful could she be? She looked at the Keeper nervously.
She could do this, she encouraged herself, and sucked in a shaking breath.
“I was born in Klees and trained in the ways of a guardian, then followed them to the Dovaki post when the dakii came. I became a guardian at 16, but I never fit in, so I left and joined the Brigade.”
“That will not do.”
She clenched her teeth in frustration.
The Keeper raised his hands, concentration pinching his face, and Iryana watched as silver tendrils of magic rose from the small well. They seemed to twistand fight him, recoiling each time he pushed them in her direction. He raised a brow at her, as if to say,see.
“When you’ve given in, the magic of the well will accept you.” His voice gentled. “This bond is a sacrifice, Iryana. Not a judgment. Nothing you say here will leave these walls. You must humble yourself before the god’s blood. You must make yourself so vulnerable that your defenses lower, or the magic has no chance of bonding with you.”
He sank into his perch on the stool, as if readying for a long wait. “We’re listening.”
Iryana clenched her fists, aggravation curling them tight. “I am adrift. Not truly belonging anywhere or to anyone. I take care of myself. I can hunt, forage for herbs, and fight off the dakii.”
“Keep going. Think of the things you’d never say to another. Your shames, your pains, your dreams.” His voice was soft despite how hard his words struck her.
“So you can brand me with it forever?” Iryana shoved herself up, chest heaving. “I don’t want that reminder on my body. Those are things we’re meant to forget and move past, not torment ourselves over.”
He watched her with patient eyes. “These things are already a part of you. You can’t pretend they don’t exist. And the magic requires sacrifice.”
“I can’t.” But she had to; she knew she did. Her family would be lost otherwise, and she was so close.
The Keeper was silent for a moment. “Then you will never be forged.”
“You ask me to share things I don’t even know how to say to myself.”
“Then let me guide you; that is my calling.” He smiled gently. “Start at the beginning, and we will find the truth the magic needs.”
She lowered herself back down, trying to find the words. She already felt shaky.
“My life was good before the dakii attacked. I was raised in the Kleesold’s main house in Klees. It was loud and strict, but…” Iryana hesitated, but the Keeper nodded encouragingly. “I was loved.”
“And when the dakii came?”
“I was about to turn five. We only managed to hold up in Klees for a year and a half, and we fell back to Shumskigron. My family was still guardians. We protectedthe people where we could. The Kleesolds, like many other clans, were eventually recruited by Duchess Vrinikolda. We were given a post, a valley to guard. We built great walls and renovated the old village.”
