“Yeah, Horace. My sister and I are going to test.” Galen looked down at the ground and shuffled back a step.
Noticing this, Horace smiled. “Hold on. There's time before the wagon leaves. Tell me a story.” He slung the heavy harness over his shoulder atop his vest and rough-spun, open-necked shirt while he waited.
“What?”
“Don't you do that anymore? Come on, tell me a story about how a stupid, weak, and touched-in-the-head fisherman's runt goes to Charity, succeeds in the testing, and becomes a priest. Because that could only happen in one of your crazy stories, don't you think?”
As Galen’s heart jumped into his throat, Myra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. “Leave my brother alone.”
Embarrassed, Galen mumbled, “Please, Myra. Let’s go.”
Horace clicked his tongue and smiled. “No one’s going anywhere until I set up the cart, right? So I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you help?” He took the harness off his shoulder and hurled it at Galen. The heavy leather and metal contraption struck the small boy in the chest and knocked him down onto the bank of the creek behind him. He didn't stop there. The momentum sent Galen rolling down the slope.
At the bottom, he came to a stop with a splash. For just a moment, the creek water covered his face and sent him into a panic. Galen tried to scream, but only a gurgling cough emerged.
Horace snarled, “You're going to ruin that harness, you idiot.” He began to climb down the slope.
Myra's breath caught in her throat. She bolted toward the shack, leaving Galen submerged and helpless against the monster bearing down on him.
Horace jumped, landed in the creek, and dragged Galen up by the shirt with both hands. Between ragged breaths—glad to be above the water, at least—Galen choked out, “Let me out of here, please!”
“You don’t like water? That must be why you need a bath so badly.”
Galen shook his head violently, but Horace paid no mind. He shoved the boy’s head back into the creek and held it down.
“Hey! What's going on?” a voice called out from the top of the bank.
Startled, Horace loosened his grip. Galen burst up from the water, wild-eyed and coughing.
“Are you down there, Galen?”
“Gusset? I’m here!” Even though Gusset was only slightly older than Galen, he was much larger, packed with muscle born from working on his father's pig farm. Gusset had been Galen's best friend for most of his life, and the sole reason Horace hadn't beaten Galen into oblivion before.
Horace paused, staring daggers at the target of his wrath. His face betrayed his frustration. He didn’t want to release Galen, but he was too smart not to.
“Galen fell into the creek,” said Horace. “I was just helping him up.” With one arm, he lifted Galen all the way off his feet and swung him onto the bank. After collecting the harness, he added, “This better not be ruined, or my uncle will charge you for a new one.”
Galen raced up the bank and found Gusset and Myra at the top. He realized that she must have noticed Gusset and went to get help. Soaked, breathing hard, and still trembling, Galen said, “Gusset, I'm so glad to see you! You’re coming, too?”
“I told you I would, and I’m not going there just to watch. I’m going to test!”
Galen’s mouth opened and closed. “Test? How?”
“Da told me that, back on my sixth Nameday, my nanna said she’d pay for me to test at any temple I wanted. No one expected me to actually do it, but when I asked, he had no choice!” He hugged Galen. “This is perfect! I’m going to test with my best friend!”
As Horace started to climb back up the bank, Myra cleared her throat and said, “We should leave now.”
The day had not started well. Galen reclined in the rolling wagon, trying to shake off his terrifying experience in the creek and thinking over the details of his nightmare. Absently, he flipped open his mother’s journal. The pages’ margins were covered with doodles, including lots of icicles, hourglasses, and boys—the same three images from the pirate flags. He’d been drawing them for years, but he had no idea why, as if those pictures were lodged in his brain and he could only expel them by putting them to paper or, evidently, dreaming about them.
Nobbin’s knotty face was a different story. He had never drawn that, nor would he. Even the thought of it made Galen shiver.
“What do you think that cloud looks like?” asked Gusset, pointing skyward. “I know! It’s a pig!”
“That’s what you always say.” Galen closed the journal, happy for the distraction. “Nope, that cloud is clearly a giant rat chasing after a fat goose.” His friend had many good qualities, but his imagination wasn’t one of them. Even so, Gusset enjoyed discovering where Galen's stories led them. In fact, Gusset was the only playmate who tolerated his stories, which made him Galen's only friend.
The wagon came to an abrupt stop. Surprised, Galen commented, “We can't be at Charity yet! I don't think we've even left Darron's Bay.”
Old man Carnaubas turned in his seat and spat over the wagon's edge. “Special case,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I have one more passenger to pick up.”
“I thought everyone had to meet at your house.” Galen was miffed that there might have been an alternative to his encounter with Horace.
“Quiet down.” The old man smiled, his unshaven jaw holding quite a few spaces where teeth should have been. “If you paid me as much as this kid, I'd have picked you up wherever you wanted.”
A slim, well-dressed boy in a white linen shirt, tan breeches, and new leather boots hauled himself into the wagon. To Carnaubas, he demanded, “Where were you? I've been waiting for an hour!” He stuck out his weak chin, waiting for an answer, but the driver ignored him.
“Plaice?” asked Galen. The new boy was his cousin, an annoying brat living off the inheritance of his dead priest father. “Why are you testing at Charity? Didn't you already test at another temple this month?”
Plaice sneered a bit as a greeting. “Mama says you can't succeed if you don't test. Why are you here? I didn't think your da could afford a testing.” He spied Myra, and amended, “Much less two.”
Defensive, Galen responded, “We saved up.”
“Whatever.” Plaice settled into a seat and said, “Let's go, driver. It'd be nice to get there before the testing's over, right?”
Hours passed as the wagon rocked like a sea vessel on the rough road. Galen was beginning to nod off when Myra clapped. “There's a fork coming up. Time to choose! Galen, it's your turn.”
On the trip to the temple of Charity, if a testing candidate could point the way without help, it was likely due to the Longing. Myra insisted that they play this guessing game at every crossroads. She chose the correct path every time, but she was the only one.
Galen was tired of losing this game. This time, he had an idea. “Give me a moment. I must search for the Longing inside me.” Both Myra and Gusset stared quizzically as he closed his eyes and folded his hands. Moments elapsed, but he said nothing.