Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 71

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 71.
The Island of the Survivors (13)
“I’m grateful that you would defend my disciple so earnestly.”
“….”
Isolet merely glanced at him without responding.
Yet everyone else gasped, their mouths falling open in shock. It was the word “disciple” that had done it.
“A dis…ciple, you say?”
Hector reacted most visibly, his composure shattered by the revelation as his words stumbled over themselves. His face had turned ashen.
Oizis muttered aloud for the first time since receiving the Priest’s question earlier.
“A disciple, becoming a disciple…. Becoming a disciple….”
Ekion was rendered completely speechless. The other boys were no different.
The Priest of Gwe barely suppressed his shock as he asked.
“Is this truly so, Priest of the Sword? Have you truly taken your first disciple? And it is this child?”
“It is as you say. Come here, Boris.”
Nauplion called the boy by the name he had used on the Continent, yet no one thought to correct him.
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself stepped forward and stood at his side. Nauplion placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“He is indeed my first disciple. When we were on the Continent, I conducted both the initiation rite and the ceremony. There is no reason I should live until death without a single successor.”
“Then… this is surely a matter for celebration.”
Nauplion made no mention of the possession of the sword, but by now that had ceased to be a concern at all.
To become the first disciple of the Priest of the Sword was no trivial matter. Throughout the generations, the position of Priest of the Sword had been inherited by the first or second disciple of the previous holder. Yet Nauplion had broken with precedent, taking not a single disciple until now.
This may have been connected to the fact that Nauplion himself had not been a disciple of the previous Priest of the Sword. But only he knew the truth of it.
Even the adults who had been watching from the shadows until now stirred with astonishment at this revelation. Yet it paled in comparison to the inferiority that now etched itself across the faces of the boys, especially Hector’s.
Only Isolet remained unmoved, as though hearing something entirely expected.
And the Boy Who Knows Not Himself now truly understood that Nauplion had resolved to protect him with genuine conviction. Just as he had said aboard the ship, just before arriving at Ebb Tide Island.
One could gauge the magnitude of this matter simply by observing the reactions of those present.
Above all, when they had lived together on the Continent, Nauplion had even refused to be called “teacher.” Now I understood why.
His words about having already conducted the ceremony were nothing more than improvisation on the spot.
Yet now Nauplion protected the boy as fiercely as a mother tiger guards her young. He believed in him, he supported him. For his sake, he would not hesitate to employ deception, nor would he fear the envy of others.
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself did not yet realize that for this very purpose, Nauplion had shattered a conviction he had long upheld.
It was the vow he had made to himself: that his existence would never influence the succession of the position of “Priest of the Sword,” and thus he would never take even a single disciple.
The boy said nothing. He had already resolved this before coming to the island—that he would not forget the trust he shared with this man, who had been Walnut, then Isildor San, and now Nauplion; whom he had met by chance amid conspiracy, yet who had followed him all the way to this island.
He would follow Nauplion’s decision. No—he desired it.
To become his disciple. To inherit all that he was.
“This matter is indeed grave. You, however… ah yes, you have no name, do you? Then it would be best to advance the naming ceremony as well. Tomorrow morning—yes, how about tomorrow morning? I shall speak to the Priest of the Staff myself. He will surely agree. Oh dear, oh dear, my mind is scattered. There is much I must attend to.”
The Priest of Gwe, who had been solemn throughout, scratched his head in bewilderment before finally seeming to collect himself, releasing a weary sigh.
He approached the Boy Who Knows Not Himself and crossed his hands, placing them upon the boy’s shoulders. He whispered several runes of blessing, and light emanated from the Priest’s shoulders, flowing down his arms before touching the boy’s shoulders and fading away.
Nauplion spoke from beside him.
“Thank the Priest of Gwe. He has just lifted all the prohibitions that were placed upon you.”
Though the Boy Who Knows Not Himself did not understand what it meant to have prohibitions lifted, he bowed his head and said, “Thank you.”
The other boys watched this scene with displeasure in their eyes. Hector’s contorted face in particular could not hide the jealousy that consumed him.
Yet there was one person whose expression stood apart from all the others. It was Liriope.
Believing no one was watching her, she gazed at them—particularly at the Boy Who Knows Not Himself—with a smile that radiated intrigue, her face alight with interest.
It seemed some amusing scheme was taking shape within her mind.
Isolet still said nothing. Rather, she deliberately avoided conversing with Nauplion.
After the greetings concluded, the boy looked at Isolet again, wondering if he should thank her for her help.
In the end, he did not. Yet his gaze would not easily fall away.
I felt I could remember this. For a very long time. I wanted to ask if you would remember too.
Me as I am now. This moment.

“First Walnut, then Isildor San, and now Nauplion, you say? It’s hardly fair that I must memorize three different names for a single person.”
“Just shorten it. Call me Naupl, or Leon, or Nau.”
“They all sound ridiculous.”
“You’re one to talk. Soon enough you’ll be receiving a new name yourself, and who’s to guarantee you won’t be burdened with some impossibly long monstrosity that defies abbreviation?”
“For instance?”
“Thesmopolos, perhaps.”
The boy could not help but laugh aloud. The very man whose name had just been invoked was passing before them at that very moment.
Nauplion had clearly just spotted him and spoken with that timing in mind. He then waved his hand with exaggerated enthusiasm and called out.
“Priest of the Medal! Good morning!”
Thesmopolos waved back awkwardly in return before continuing on his way. Once he had passed, Nauplion chuckled mischievously and spoke.
“He got off lightly. If you’re cursed with names like Britomartis or Terpsichore, you’d best resign yourself to never hearing your name pronounced correctly for the rest of your days.”
“Who could possibly remember such names? People would be fortunate if they didn’t forget their own.”
“Look at me. Didn’t you hear me pronounce both of them perfectly just now?”
“My, who are those two ladies?”
This day marked both the baptism and formal initiation of the Boy Who Knows Not Himself.
The two of them came to a halt upon reaching the spacious courtyard behind the Town Hall. The boy was struck with a subtle shock upon seeing it.
The courtyard floor was bare earth, with a narrow path running through its center paved with flat stones. Its appearance bore a striking—indeed, considerable—resemblance to the ruins he had glimpsed in his hallucination upon first arriving at the village.
Large bronze vessels shaped like bowls were scattered sparsely on either side of the path. Each held water filled to about half capacity.
The water was clear, with only the occasional leaf drifting upon its surface. Upon closer inspection, he noticed small holes bored through the center of each vessel, leading somewhere below.
Though the day was overcast, faint sunlight occasionally pierced the clouds to fall upon various spots in the courtyard. Already, many people had gathered, strolling about in conversation. It was the largest gathering of islanders he had yet witnessed.
“Ah, you’ve arrived. Come here at once.”
At the far end of the stone-paved path, where it met the rear wall of the Town Hall, a stone altar had been erected.
Despoina, the Priest of the Staff, stood beneath the altar and beckoned them forward. Unlike that first day, she wore a flowing brown vestment and upon her head sat a crown of silver.
The crown was of peculiar design, fashioned to resemble upright branches, its highest point reaching a full three spans in height. In her hand she held the crystal-adorned staff she had carried the day before.
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself stepped away from Nauplion and stood before Despoina.
Despoina made a deep bow toward the altar, then rose and turned to place her hand into the water vessel before her.
Though the ceremony had begun, the people merely ceased their chatter; they did not form lines, nor did they cease their movements.
They were merely guests who had come so that the boy receiving his new name might meet many people and have that name widely spoken—they were not participants in the ceremony itself.
Like guests at a birthday celebration, their only obligation was to applaud when the candles were blown out.
Moments later, Despoina withdrew her hand from the water vessel and gently sprinkled water upon the boy’s head.
Many watched this sight unfold. Nauplion, Enios who had been called Dansen, Liriope, Hector, Ekion, Oizis—all the priests as well stood present, observing the ceremony from their places within the crowd.
“From your old homeland, across the Continent you came, a boy who knew not himself for four days, and now you wish to become one of the Pilgrims of the Moon.”
It was unusual for the Priest of the Staff to preside over a baptism ceremony. Among the six priests, the Priest of the Staff held the greatest authority and rarely conducted such minor rituals personally.
The islanders’ names were typically given by the priests, but baptism ceremonies were usually presided over by those one rank below the six priests—the seventeen monks, or the teachers of Skoli. It was also common for an elder to conduct the ceremony.
Of course, such baptisms were ordinarily held in infancy, so a baptism for an older child like this was itself a rare occurrence.
Some whispered that today’s ceremony must also serve as an initiation rite into the Pilgrims, since the island’s children were born as Pilgrims and had no need for such a rite.
“I, borrowing the staff of the Moon Queen, wish to erase the old name and bestow a new one, thereby altering one point in the order that comprises life, letting all of the past existence flow away into oblivion. The woman of the night sky grants stars to those who pray, and henceforth your life shall follow that star.”
Despoina cupped water in both hands and lifted it high into the air. A faint light shimmered there, illuminating the boy’s head. As the light soon transformed into a crimson radiance, exclamations of wonder rose from the crowd.
Hector’s expression darkened. The crimson light that appeared in a baptism ceremony signified the Path of the Sword.
Though he could not remember it, Hector had been told that the same light appeared at his own baptism. From the beginning, as he had recognized, that boy was his rival.
The murmuring voices of people behind him struck Hector’s ears unpleasantly.
“Just as expected of a child chosen by the Priest of the Sword.”
“No doubt about it. That sword at his waist is no ordinary thing.”
“Is the next Priest of the Sword being decided already?”
Moreover, the crimson radiance did not fade immediately but grew steadily stronger as the ceremony progressed to its next stage.
As the crowd’s initial admiration transformed into astonishment, and they forgot even to whisper, the radiance, which had grown to span two hand-widths, suddenly vanished at Despoina’s gesture.
Then Despoina raised her voice as if to quell the commotion.
“Boy who shall come to know yourself, from this day forward you shall be called by the name ‘Dafnen.'”
The islanders did not know well the ancient language in which their names were given, so they did not immediately grasp its meaning.
The boy, now called Dafnen, was no different. Yet he found some satisfaction in the fact that the name resembled Yefnen.
A woman assisting the ceremony approached, carrying large silver shears in her hands. Despoina spoke.
“Now, boy reborn with your new name, let all that is old within you flow away forever beyond your heart.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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