The Åsten Chronicles: Harmony & Discord (Book 8)

'My only love sprang from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 

That I must love a loathed enemy.'— William Shakespear

 

 

Chapter One: Two Peoples Divided 

 

Part One

 

 

I am an Old Man now, and Old Men Remember Everything. That is both the gift and the burden of Living long enough to see how a Story ends.

I will tell you about two Peoples. I will tell you how they Lived, how they hated, and how that hatred finally broke. I was there for most of it. What I did not see with my own eyes I have pieced together from the accounts of those who did. You will Know when the Voice changes. Pay attention when it does.

Our Worlds were as different as the Forest and the Stone wall built to keep it out. We were the Darmontians. They were the Alytans. We agreed on nothing except that we were different from one another, and that the other side was meant to be hated.

Our People had been at war for countless Generations. No one Alive could say with certainty how it began. But there was always a reason to keep fighting. There was always another Death to avenge.

My People come from Darmonta. Home to our Fathers, and their Fathers before them. A good-sized Village, ringed by Forest so dense that a stranger could walk within twenty yards of our Borders, and never know it. We had no walls. We did not need them. The Trees were our walls. Hidden among the branches, spaced every few yards in a great circle around the Village, stood the platforms of our finest Warriors, the Oraku. They kept Watch, Night and Day, against Man and Beast alike.

In the Village itself, People lived in 'Arompa', dwellings of wood and stone Built to last. Men and Women were regarded as Equals among us. Both Parents raised the Children. Both Parents could fight. Children were Taught early about the War, and Taught to wield weapons not long after they Learned to walk.

On the other side of the River was Alyta. A large Town behind a wall of stone, its Buildings made of tidy brick, its Streets laid out in straight lines as though someone had Decided that Nature itself needed to be corrected. Alytan Women were expected to remain at Home, tending the House and the Children, while their Men went off to work and to war. The only exception was among the Peasant Class, where Women and Children toiled alongside the Men, out of necessity rather than Choice. Alytan Children, Noble and Peasant alike, were kept ignorant of the War until they reached what their Elders called, an 'acceptable age'. Once they Knew, Boys and Girls were separated. Girls were Taught to become proper Alytan Ladies. Boys were sent to School to become Alytan Gentlemen, or Alytan Soldiers.

So different were these two Peoples. So deep ran the hatred between them. So thick ran the blood that coated the battlefields Season after Season, year after year. War had become a way of Life to Alytans and Darmontians both.

Their Leaders bore the weight of it most heavily. Generation after Generation of Alytan Governors and Darmontian Chiefs Grew Up knowing nothing but this world of hate and Death. They became archenemies. Neither would yield. Neither would surrender while the other still drew Breath.

And so the centuries passed.

 

The Darmontian Chief at the time of this Story was, LabecLarmo, which in our tongue means 'BlackTooth'. He had fought and won many battles among the Oraku, and had stood alongside the lesser Warriors, the 'Orah', just as readily. He did not hide inside his Arompa while others bled for Darmonta. LabecLarmo was always at the front.

He once said: 'If I do not Live as my People Live, then I am not Chief.' (Fai ah od enet terku ess meh moatewe, kiah ah enet Ohterkú).

But though LabecLarmo was a great Chief, he could not win the War for Darmonta.

Alyta's Governor in those years was a man named, Ameston Smith. His People called him Governor Smith, or simply Mr. Smith. It had always struck me as strange, the way Alytans kept such distance from their Leaders, even in something as small as a Name. Strange Names aside, Smith was a seasoned Soldier and a brilliant Strategist. He drove back LabecLarmo's Orah, and even his Oraku, more times than I care to count. As it had been for centuries, both sides won victories and suffered defeats, and yet neither could gain any ground. They were locked in an endless stalemate.

 

Part Two

 

As the years trickled by, Life went on in the Town and the Village as it always had. The Seasons carried on their Ancient cycles, indifferent to the troubles of Men. The Harvest was Planted and Sown. Men hunted and held tournaments, ceremonies, and competitions. Women went about their Lives and their business. The Old ones Died, making room for New Life.

In Darmonta, upon the Summer of the Year of the Brown Bear, LabecLarmo's elderly Father passed on into the Spirit World. The next Moon brought the Chief a Son.

I heard that the Birth was hard for LabecLarmo's Wife, FlurTepsa, which in our tongue means 'FlowerStep'. Rumor said she was weak afterward, and kept to her bed. No one saw her for another Moon.

The Child was large and Healthy. The Ohterkú Named his Son Derlycos, 'RedWolf'. When a Darmontian Child is Named, the two words are merged into one, so that the Spirits might acknowledge the Child's Name and, Hopefully, lend the Child the traits of his or her Namesake. When a Child becomes an Adult, the words are separated in pronunciation, though they remain linked. Whether or not this old Belief holds True, Derlycos Grew to show every trait of the Wolf. The Boy was fearless. He was as curious as a cub Learning the World for the first time. Fearlessness and curiosity are never a safe combination. Derlycos got into a great deal of mischief as a Boy.

 

In Alyta, Governor Smith was having troubles of his own. Every Leader needs an Heir. When no Children came, People began to whisper.

Rumors spread like wildfire across dry grass. 'Barren', they said. 'Aleesa is barren'. Ameston tried to silence them. He tried bribery first. When bribery failed, he tried threats. It had been an arranged Marriage, but Mr. Smith had grown to Love his Bride, and he did not want the rumors to reach her ears. They found her anyway. She begged her Husband to silence them. He tried, and could not. They had spread too far. One Night, Aleesa left the Governor without a word.

Smith Married twice more after Aleesa. Neither Woman produced an Heir. In Alytan society, the fault for such things always fell to the Woman. When his Third Wife left him alone and childless, People began to wonder about something they had not considered before.

 

Three happy years passed in Darmonta.

Three dark years passed in Alyta.

Then the tables turned, though not in the way anyone expected.

FlurTepsa was expecting again. Every Darmontian rejoiced when the news was announced. But as the time drew near, People began to worry. She was weak when she went into labor. Everyone prayed that she would pull through. No one prayed harder than LabecLarmo. He spent the entire day in the House of the Spirits, refusing to eat or see anyone. The entire Village gathered around that Building and waited.

When the Healer came through the Crowd, the sea of bodies parted. LabecLarmo finally emerged. All the Healer had to do was shake his head, and the entire world crumbled.

A great wail rose from the Crowd. The People wept. LabecLarmo screamed and ran toward his Arompa.

I do not know what happened within the walls of his Hut that day. Only the Midwives might know, and they have never spoken of it. No one would have disturbed the Chief then. He had lost his Wife. FlurTepsa had Passed On.

 

Later that day her body was taken to the Arompa of the Spirits to be prepared for burial. LabecLarmo came out of his House with his Son. DerLycos was still crying. The Chief's face was dry and set. He was already a shadow of the Man he had been, and the day was not yet over.

With a wrapped bundle cradled in his left arm and Derlycos held by the other hand, he approached the dais at the Village center. People looked on with quiet unease. Eulogies were traditionally held on the day of burial, not before.

LabecLarmo handed Derlycos to FlarNair, FlurTepsa's Sister. The Boy was crying too hard to stand still. She crooned softly to the Child as our Ohterkú climbed the dais steps.

He now held the bundle in both hands. LabecLarmo unfolded the embroidered cloth and held his naked Newborn Son high into the air for all to see. At the touch of cold air the Infant began to wail. A chill went down the spine of every Man and Woman assembled there. This was already a day of bad omens. What the Chief screamed over the din made it worse.

'This Boy is Named, Keeroe!' (Kiameh Ohter ez Nahmeh, Keeroe!)

It was extremely Bad Luck to announce a Child's Name before it had Breathed for Three Days. It was Believed that before that time, the Babe's Spirit was not yet Settled. If others perceived the Spirit before it had situated itself, it would become unsettled further. This could bring misfortune to the Child and to those around it. Worse still, if the Spirit heard the Name of the body it inhabited too soon, it was Believed this could cause the Spirit to leave the body altogether.

LabecLarmo stomped off the stage and thrust the Child into FlarNair's arms. The Woman held the squalling Babe away from her at first, wary of the Bad Luck his Father had placed upon him. But the Boy was tiny and looked so helpless. FlarNair's Motherly Instincts took over. She tucked the Baby into her fur-lined coat, nestled next to her own Newborn Son.

LabelLarmo would not take his Children back. It would be up to FlarNair to raise the Ohterkú's Sons.

And so it would be up to me as well.

 

That year would be known as the Forbidden Year, (Enralba Ona). The Ohterkú announced this at FlurTepsa's burial. No one was ever to speak of that year again. No one questioned him.

He was no longer LabecLarmo. BlackTooth had followed FlowerStep into the Spirit World. From that day forward he was only Ohterkú. He appeared the following afternoon looking thinner, worn, and haggard, wearing only his Ceremonial Robes and Headdress, his face painted with the traditional markings of the Dead. He spoke to no one unless he was addressing everyone. LabecLarmo was gone. Only the Chief remained.

That was Truly the Forbidden Year. The crops were poor. A drought had taken its toll, and because of the lack of water, hunting was scarce. No celebrations were held. We were weak and without spirit.

When the scorching Summer became orange fall, the battle call went up. Ohterkú announced that all able Men were to heed it. I was not able. I had broken my leg on a hunt and was still recovering. I should have felt Lucky. When the news came back to us, all I felt was dread.

A single Man returned to us, nearly dead himself. We had lost the battle. Our Warriors had been massacred. Our Ohterkú had been slain.

Darmonta cried out for a new Leader. The Elders held Council in the House of the Spirits. On the fourth day they emerged and announced our new Ohterkú.

I should have felt Lucky that I had not gone to battle. But when they spoke the Name of LabecLarmo's successor, I wished that I had died with the others.

'The Spirits have spoken! Raise your voices now to your new Chief! Long live Chief HonorHouse!' (Kia Terkuters evah ralban! Otema yea covas owan yea ohven Ohterkú! Ogral terkú Ohterkú HarenArompa!)

I would become the Chief of Darmonta. I am ashamed to say that I did not want to be. I did not know how to lead People. I did not know anything about war.

 

 

Part Three 

 

From the Journal of Ameston James Smith

Spring, Day 31, Year 107.

 

Today I beheld a most beauteous creature. Almara. She has fiery red hair and a smile that could even charm our enemies.

 

 

From the Diary of Almara Wilkins

Fall, Day 18, Year 105.

 

Dear Diary,

Today I turn fifteen, but no one of consequence was at the party. Is it because I am so unbecoming? Aunt Marguerette has always told me how ugly I am. Was she right? I have such wide hips and such garish red hair. My teeth are ghastly and my eyes are the color of swamp water.

 

 

The Journal of Governor Smith. Spring, Day 31, Year 107, continued.

 

Never before have I witnessed such beauty and grace.

 

 

The Diary of Almara Wilkins. Spring, Day 31, Year 107.

 

Diary,

I am so ashamed. I hope that no one noticed. I am loath to even write this, but my physician specifically said that I must write about anything that causes feeling.

The carriage driver took ill today and so I had to walk to town. The hem of my dress caught on a nail. I pulled on the cursed thing but it would not come loose. After a good hard tug the dress tore and I stumbled backward, right into the chicken salesman's cart. Loose feathers flew everywhere. To make things worse I tried to stand but my gown would not allow it. It took the cart's owner and two anonymous passersby to help me up.

I am such a clumsy woman. I always manage to bump into something. Aunt Marguerette calls me a klutz.

 

 

Ameston Smith. Spring, Day 31, continued.

 

Almara.

Oh, just to write her lovely name again.

I watched her dance today at the Spring Ball. I did not ask to join her. I fear that I am too much a coward. But just to watch her dance made me feel as though I were standing beside her. Oh how she floated upon the dance floor. How I envy the young men who danced with her.

 

 

Almara Wilkins. Spring, Day 31, continued.

 

Perhaps she is right. I must be a klutz, whatever that is.

I fear that I was a horror at the annual Spring Ball. To begin with, my curtsy was not quite right. I dipped much too low, I am sure. Afterward I proceeded to step on every young man's foot at least once. I am sure that they will never ask me to dance again.

 

 

Smith. Spring, Day 31, final entry.

 

Beautiful, graceful, wonderful Almara.

Such sinful things I write. As you know I am married yet again. Sadina has been a good wife, loving and devoted. And yet still no heir. This entry should be burned.

 

 

From the Journal of Governor Ameston Smith. Spring, Day 10, Year 109.

 

Why do women always leave in the dark of night without so much as a note?

Sadina has left me, and I still have no heir to become Governor when I am gone. I grow older. I will not only remain heirless. I will die alone.

I suppose there is only one other option. I will dedicate myself fully to the war effort. Tomorrow I will assemble the Council. For now, the wine cellar is calling.

 

 

From the Diary of Almara Wilkins. Spring, Day 13, Year 110.

 

Dear Diary,

Today I attended Aunt Marguerette to the theater. It was an opera. How they make me yawn so. I try to keep my Alytan composure like a proper lady but I fear that such is impossible. The yawns escape me every time.

This time, however, I found it quite enjoyable. We were not alone today. Today we were accompanied by the Governor.

 

 

Smith's Journal. Spring, Day 13, Year 110.

 

This day has become one of the most intriguing of my life. I was off to the Masons' manor for tea and cakes. As I was walking — yes, for once I was walking — I found myself stopped in my tracks. I had forgotten entirely where I was going.

It was her. Almara. I have not seen her since three years prior. How she has changed. She is still lovely and still holds the same grace I saw in her before. Now, however, she carries a certain quality I cannot name. Before I knew it I was standing before her. I learned that she and her aunt, whom I at first mistook for a rotund older sister, were going to the theater, and I asked if I might join them.

Looking back I remember nothing of the play. It was all Almara. She seemed to glow in that satin dress. She was no longer the girl I had known before she went to live with her Uncle Yorin in Fenchire. She has grown into a fine young woman. After we left the theater I kept finding her around town. At the end of the day I accompanied them home.

Almara is a remarkable woman. Tomorrow, if I am not too much a coward, I will ask permission to court her.

 

 

A Letter from Marguerette Bagsby to Beatrice Botham. Day 20, Year 110, Spring.

 

Dearest Beatrice,

How are you? I hope that the years have been kinder to you than they have been to me.

I trust that by now you have heard the news of my beloved Yorin's passing. He died at sea when a storm took his fishing fleet. Why couldn't he have been a normal businessman and stayed on shore like all the others? Well, I suppose there is no sense in hoping for what might have been. I only hope that he finds peace in the next life.

Do not worry over me, Beatrice darling. I am doing as well as can be expected. I have family in Alyta. They own a milling industry here and are quite wealthy. They have taken me in, and the girl.

Almara is doing better than anyone could have dreamed. I believed that she was unmarriageable, what with her turning the age of twenty this year. I thought that she would never marry. Well, it appears as if fate has other plans for our little Almara. She is engaged. Due to wed at the start of Summer.

I know what you are thinking. What kind of man is the future groom? I have always pictured Almara in the house of some greasy factory worker. That could not be further from the truth. Her fiancé is none other than the Governor himself.

I swear by my husband's grave that it is not a lie. That is, in fact, the very reason why I write to you now. You are invited to attend the wedding. No excuses. I hope that you will come.

Sincerely, Your best friend and confidant,

Marguerette Isabella Bagsby.

 

 

A Letter from Lord Gregory Anthony Veristone to his wife, Lady Agetha Merie Veristone. Summer, Day 5, Year 110.

 

My Dearest Love,

I hope that this letter finds you in better shape than when we parted. How are the children? I trust that Charles is not too much a handful.

I went to the Governor's home as promised. The wedding was a fantastic affair, though not a traditional Alytan one. The Governor lacked the proper composure for such an occasion. He smiled, laughed, and even danced. There was such gaiety that one may have mistaken it for a party. I saw many turn up their noses and leave early. I found it quite splendid.

I know you would have too, Love. I have but a little more business to attend before we can meet again. I should be back within a fortnight. My heart is with you always.

Yours,

Gregory

 

 

From the Journal of Ameston Smith. Day 105, Year 110, Winter.

 

Today I am the happiest man in the entire world. At first I was terrified. My Almara took ill again this morning. I bade her stay in bed and fetched a doctor. After he examined her we went into the sitting room and opened some brandy. He told me the best of news.

Almara is with child.

 

 

Part Four

 

 

Records from the Alytan Council. Fall, Day 35, Year 110.

 

Smith: Are all present and accounted for?

Andrews: Yes, sir.

Smith: Very well. I motion to begin the meeting.

Johnson: I second our President's motion.

Smith: All in favor.

Unanimous.

All stand to recite the Alytan Pledge.

Alyta. Holy and pure. For honor and glory we stand. We pledge to thee our strength, our might, and our hands. For you we stand. Never shall we falter in the way of the One and Only, God on high. We stand for the good and preservation of our people. We stand for the Alytan way. All others stand apart from it.

All sit.

Smith: Now, to business. Does the Secretary have any old business?

Me: No, sir.

Smith: Good. Good. Now to new business. I propose a military plan to crush Darmonta once and for all.

 

The rest of the pages are missing.

 

 

A translated retelling from the perspective of SparrowFoot, a Darmontian Warrior. The only Veteran.

 

We were outnumbered. That was my only thought as I looked out at the Alytan lines. Ohterkú had brought only a handful of Warriors compared to the forces that stood against us.

Our Men were lined up, ready to fight for Darmonta or die trying. We wore the traditional war paint of our People. Red for the Blood to be spilled. Black for Death.

I glanced at our Leader. He did not look as focused as I Remembered from past battles. He looked detached, as though he were somewhere else entirely.

Stillness hung in the air as we awaited our orders. But there was something else in the air as well. Something about this battle felt different. Almost wrong.

Ohterkú made no orders, not even when the Alytan lines began to move. We watched as the first row of men stood aside. The second row rolled out small wagons from within their ranks. They were no ordinary wagons. Each one carried what looked like a hollowed out tree trunk on top, though it was not wood at all. More like smooth rock. Our Warriors sat on their Horses and watched.

The Alytans who had rolled out the wagons lit a piece of rope at the top of each stone trunk with burning sticks. We just watched. Then sounds like Thunder exploded from the wagons. Men and Horses on our side went flying. Finally Ohterkú woke. He ordered the Men to run back to the Woods. The Thunder Wagons kept booming.

Men and their Mounts fell. Something exploded near me and the impact knocked me from my Horse. The fear and carnage were indescribable. As we made a mad retreat toward the Protection of the Forest we watched our Brothers fall around us. Our numbers were greatly thinned by the time we reached the Trees. The Alytans had killed more than half of us with these Magic Thunder Wagons.

Most of the remaining Men wanted to leave and go Home, but Ohterkú would not allow it. The Alytans advanced. Their Magic Wagons could not reach us from where they stood. Ohterkú ordered the Warriors to stand at the tree line and shoot the Alytans with their bows. A few of our enemies fell, but not many. The Archers were killed and the Alytans drew closer and closer. Soon there were only four of us left. Me, Ohterkú, and two of his finest Oraku.

Ohterkú told us to run. We could not.

He was our Leader. We could not let the Alytans take him so easily. We stood in a triangle around our Chief. EagleHeart was in front. LionClaw and I were at his sides.

Only ten Alytans entered the tree line. They Knew our numbers were few. They ordered us to surrender. We would die as Warriors before we became slaves. We fought beside our Leader and for a moment it was glorious. Had it been only those ten Men we might have stood a chance. But more and more came. A Man shot an arrow at Ohterkú. EagleHeart jumped into its path. He was killed as he lay wounded. LionClaw and I fought back to back so that we could not be stabbed from behind. An Alytan broke every rule of swordsmanship and ripped a gash in my side as I fought another Man. LionClaw killed him as I killed the Man before me.

'Promise me something,' LionClaw said.

'Anything,' I said.

'When you escape, tell my Son that I will see him in the Spirit World.'

He pushed me and I fell into a pile of leaves. A Man stabbed him in the back. He swung around and killed that Man but was simultaneously attacked by two others. It was over.

The Alytans clustered around Ohterkú. They either did not see me or thought me Dead.

I crawled behind a Tree. I listened while Ohterkú traded words with the Alytan Governor. I regret that I did not catch his final Words clearly. When I could hear nothing more, I ran. I am surprised that I made it back to Darmonta alive. I would like to think that the Spirits of the fallen Warriors guided me Home.

 

 

From the Journal of Derek Marsh, an Alytan soldier. Fall, Day 70, Year 110.

The same battle. The other side of it.

 

'Where's your strength now, BlackTooth?' Smith asked the Chief. 

'There is strength in defeat, My Friend,' said the Chief.

He laughed then. A laugh that had no business coming from a man in his position, at the end of everything. It was the laugh of someone who knew something his enemy did not. Smith silenced him with his sword.

'Search the area,' Smith said, cleaning the blood from his blade. 'No survivors.'

The men scattered, searching the bodies of the dead. I knew that a man had crawled behind a tree but I could not bring myself to report it. I am ashamed to say that I spent my time keeping my own men away from it instead. If anyone ventured too close I diverted their attention.

Now we have made camp, and I am sitting in front of that same tree. I will not sleep tonight. I will remain vigilant until the men fall asleep.

This is a sin. But I hope that God will forgive me.

 

 

Part Five

 

 

That Winter was the coldest, harshest Winter I can Remember. Darmonta did not weather it well, and I, their new Chief, had to Help them through it. The snows nearly buried us alive.

Enralba Ona, the Forbidden Year, was not yet finished with us. It took the lives of many of our People. Darmonta was starving. The Summer's drought had made for poor gathering and harvesting. The meats and greens that had been preserved were not enough. Hunting during the Winter was not easy. The high snows made it all the worse.

But starvation was not the only killer that Winter. Our people were dying of sickness. It began with Derlycos. The child fell ill, terribly ill. My Wife could do nothing for him, and not even the Healer could cure his affliction. After a time FlarNair grew ill as well.

People blamed the sickness on Keeroe. They adamantly Believed that LabelLarmo's youngest Son was Cursed, that his Bad Luck had spread like the sickness itself. More and more People fell ill, and after a time People began to die. When the Healer died, Darmonta came to me, their Ohterkú, begging me to kill the Cursed Child. They Believed that perhaps then the sickness would go away.

Death is not something to be taken lightly. My People Believe that the Spirits Call to their World whomever they Choose. To interfere with the affairs of the Spirits is to invite eternal suffering.

The Priests of the House of the Spirits were the only ones who could determine the plans of the Spirits, but I did not consult them about Keeroe's Fate. They were just as sick and just as frightened as everyone else in Darmonta. Their Minds were too clouded. I Knew that they would not be able to Speak for the Spirits without being blinded by their own fear.

I Decided to use my own judgment. If I killed Keeroe, I risked angering the Spirits. If I let him Live, would his Bad Luck condemn the entire Village? Neither Choice sounded wise. I did not want to anger the Spirits, but neither did I want to condemn my People. I Decided to spare the Boy's Life, for now. Whether or not his Bad Luck had caused the sickness was, and still is, an uncertain thing. Even if he were Unlucky, it was not his fault. I looked at the facts. FlarNair had fallen sick but she had not died. She had been closest to the Boy, had raised him alongside our own Son, Beneveon, 'BraveHawk'. He had never caught the sickness at all.

Because I did not know what to do, I Decided to consult the Spirits myself.

 

On the night of a Full Moon I went to Arompa Terkuter, the House of the Spirits. I took nothing with me. You need nothing in the Spirit World, and material things cannot go there. After telling the Priests my wish, they stripped me down and washed my body with sacred water. They took me to the centermost room of the Building.

People came to Arompa Terkuter for Spiritual Guidance. It was Believed that if one were to Sleep in that Sacred Place, one's Prayers or questions might be Answered. A Woman might go there to ask the Spirits to Bless her with a Child. A Man might go to seek Guidance before a coming Hunt. The centermost room was crowded with Men, Women, and Children covering the cold stone floor.

I stepped carefully around their Sleeping forms as I followed the Priestess to my designated spot. I curled up on the floor like all the others, though my station as Chief granted me a place closer to the Altar, where the Priests and Acolytes burned some kind of plant that filled the room with smoke. It was potent, whatever it was. Before you were even asleep it made you feel loose, detached from your worldly body. It was a long time before I fell Asleep.

 

I woke feeling sore but no wiser. There was no longer smoke in the room. The Priests had removed the mat of woven sticks and grasses from the skylight. A cold breeze swept through and I shivered despite the fire burning in a corner hearth. Before I could stand, the same Priestess who had escorted me the previous Night appeared before me. She led me to the Temple's bathing room. I washed and dressed in the clean robe she had left for me, missing my own fur-lined clothing. I would stay for Three Days. If I did not receive a Message by then I would return Home on the fourth Morning.

After the bath the Priestess led me to another room to meditate with the other Seekers. It was hard to find Peace when so much troubled me. Everyone fasted that day because of some celestial alignment. By the time the sun was highest I was so hungry. We meditated and prayed all day until the offerings arrived in the evening. There were no fine bulls to be sacrificed. The famine had taken them all. To make up for the loss I offered the Priests several baskets of gold and silver. The Seekers were assembled in the center room to watch as the Priests, Priestesses, and Acolytes received my late Brother-in-Law's riches. It was a sickening sight, but if it pleased the Spirits. There was more meditation and prayer before we were once again washed in Sacred Water and led to the center room to Sleep.

Again I woke without any sign from the Spirits. The second day was as the first. We bathed, prayed, and meditated. On this day we were allowed to eat. The meals were sparse, only bread and a few vegetables. The Priests would not make themselves impure by consuming flesh. Despite the lack of meat, the previous day's fast added flavor to the meal.

 

The Third Night passed. The Third Day passed. Nothing.

I was very homesick by then. I woke missing my Wife and the softness of my bed. I dressed, missing my own clothes. I prayed and meditated, missing my Family and the Joy that they gave me. I missed my bow and arrows, my carving knife. I ate, missing the wholesomeness of meat. Even fish, which I had grown sick of, sounded good. Another offering came, this time of gold and jewels. I found myself resenting the Priests, even the Temple itself. The only thing that kept me from leaving was the Knowledge that I would be returning Home the next day.

I woke the fourth morning feeling refreshed and at ease. I was taken once more to the bathing room, but instead of a robe my own clothes were set out for me. On that day I would not have even minded the robe. I walked out of Arompa Terkuter with a Smile on my face. The sun was peeking out from between the clouds. It was a New Day.

I walked up the Hill, up the stone steps embedded into the hillside. At the top sat a Beautiful House made of white stone. It was the House of my Brother-in-Law and all of the Chiefs who had come before him. It was my own Home now. There was an ancient Tree that grew beside the House atop the Hill. Some said that the Tree had been there since the Beginning of Time. I ran my hand over the bark before going inside. My rugs and wall hangings had been moved there when I became Ohterkú. All of my things were there. LabecLarmo's things had been burned and buried, sent after him to the Spirit World. I was Ohterkú now. This was my Home.

The first Person I came upon was young Derlycos, sitting on the floor of the Main Room playing a game with rocks and sticks. When he saw me he gave me his biggest Smile, ran across the room, and jumped up for me to catch him.

'Harem!' he yelled. It was what he had Learned to call me. He could not yet pronounce my Full Name.

I hoisted the Boy into the air and tickled him mercilessly. He giggled and squealed and made all kinds of fuss. I put him down when I noticed my Wife in the Bedroom doorway.

The expression on her face was the one she wore when something troubled her. She held Keeroe in her arms as he Slept soundly, warm and Safe in a blanket. I assured Derlycos that I would play with him later and joined my Wife in the Bedroom to Talk. She had grown fond of Keeroe in the months since he had become ours. We had all come to Love him as one of our own. She was worried that the Spirits wanted him.

I assured her that the Spirits had no such intention. I explained that the Spirits had Blessed me with a Vision that Night. The sickness would go away in a matter of days, and Spring would bring abundant food. I would tell this to Darmonta the next day.

What I never told her was the Dream that came after.

A young Buck stood against two armies of Men, carrying a flower in his mouth, holding it close to his Heart with his head bowed. A Wolf stood beside him, ready to fight. The Stars burned brightly in the heavens. One Star, brighter than the rest, fell upon the battlefield, exploding and casting light over the two dark armies. The Deer, his Flower, and the Wolf seemed to glow with the same blinding light, and the two armies melted away.

At the time I had no inkling of what that part of the Dream meant.

Then the Battlefield vanished and LabecLarmo stood before me. He looked like himself again. The LabecLarmo I had Known before, when he was young and carefree. Beside him was FlurTepsa, more Beautiful and Radiant than I ever Remember her being. Together they Spoke, and I will never forget their Words.

'Our Son will end this war. Our enemy's Daughter will aid him. Their Love will end all strife, and bring our two Nations together.'

That Night, when my Family had fallen into the Realm of Dreams, I found that I could not join them there. Sleep would not come for me. I found myself watching Derlycos Sleeping soundly in his sleeping furs, and I could not help but wonder how many more Peaceful nights awaited him. If the Prophecy was True, I Knew that a great weight would one day fall upon him. I would make sure that the Son of LabecLarmo was prepared for that day. I would name DerLycos Heir to the Title of Ohterkú. No matter what, I Promised myself, he would be Ready.

I stood there a moment longer before wandering back into my Room. FlarNair was fast Asleep in our bed, so Beautifully and Peacefully settled in her Dreams that I longed to join her. And yet something still bothered me. An ancient wooden cradle sat in one corner of our room. It was made by LabecLarmo's Father long ago, before LabecLarmo was even Born. Both BlackTooth and his eldest Son RedWolf had slept in that cradle. Now in it slept Beneveon and Keeroe. BraveHawk and FightingBuck.

What parts would they one day play? I Knew in my Heart of Hearts that they would all face innumerable dangers and hardships. All I could do was pray to the Spirits to Protect them.

 

Chapter Two — Children of Change

Part One

 

Nine years later…

 

He ran for his Life.

The thud of his bare feet against the damp ground matched the rapid beating of his Heart. His dark hair snagged on a branch and he cried out at the tug — a small delay, but he couldn't afford any lost time. He could hear them behind him. He ran faster, concentrating so hard on gaining speed that he stopped paying attention to where he was going, and when the ground disappeared beneath him he had no time to do anything about it.

He slipped in the mud and tumbled down the steep bank.

"Yuck," he said, standing up from the muddy pool he'd landed in.

A chorus of Laughter followed. His Brothers and their Friends stood at the top of the small Hill, looking down at him with the particular satisfaction of People who had been chasing someone and didn't need to catch him after all.

"We found you, Keeroe!" Beneveon said between sniggers.

"Don't — don't Laugh at him, Bene," Derlycos said through his own guffaws. "He'll start a new fashion. Mud."

"Here," said their Friend Merkyto, "why don't you get a closer look, Derlycos?"

With a shove, Derlycos fell down the Hill and landed in the puddle next to Keeroe.

"Ehhh!" he exclaimed. "Thanks a lot, Merkyto."

"No problem. You might want to move over though."

Merkyto ran down the Hill and jumped in. The other Boys followed. They Laughed and played in that mud hole for hours — wrestling, throwing mud, hollering at nothing in particular. By the time they were finished they were caked head to toe, and not one of them cared even slightly.

 

FlarNair had built a habit of watching the Hill.

She and her Friend BeaSong sat on the low bench that HarenArompa had made the previous Spring, in front of ArompaOhterkú, watching the sun go down and painting the sky pink and orange above the treeline.

"Where are they?" FlarNair wondered aloud.

"Don't worry," BeaSong said. "You know our Boys. Always getting into mischief, always Home by Supper."

She was right, as she usually was about such things. FlarNair had barely finished the thought when four figures came running up the Hill — Derlycos, Beneveon, Merkyto, and Keeroe, all of them moving with the particular energy of Children who have spent the afternoon doing something they probably shouldn't have.

"Where have you been?" FlarNair asked, standing. "I was worried sick. Look at you — covered in mud. What do you three have to say for yourselves?"

"FlarNair!" Merkyto cried. "There's a spider in your hair!"

The woman screamed, jumped, and brushed frantically at her hair with both hands. The Boys erupted. That's when she realized, and the Laughter died on their faces one by one as she turned toward Merkyto with an expression that sent him running around the yard, FlarNair in pursuit, BeaSong Laughing so hard she had to hold the bench.

 

The Town was dark and Calm.

The streetlamps were lit, giving the Houses and cobblestones an almost ethereal glow, and she Loved this time of Night — when everything was still and no one was around. Despite the emptiness of the Streets she kept to the shadows. She walked slowly, enjoying the cool air, the quiet, the feeling of being no one in particular.

Then the siren wailed, and the Town morphed into panic.

Lanterns flared in windows. Citizens hurried into the Streets. Lyree started to run.

In Truth, Alyta was more City than Town — so large that it would be an easy thing to become lost in it. Lyree could never get lost in Alyta. The Streets and alleyways were as familiar to her as her own Bedroom. She wasn't lost, but she didn't know where she was running to. All she could think of was the need for flight, the need to escape, the need to put distance between herself and everything that waited for her on the other side of it.

She climbed over a low Garden fence, ran through the yard, and ducked into the little shed beside the House. Her Heart hammered as she crouched in the corner next to a workbench, hugging her knees, making herself as small as she could.

She prayed to the One God of All that they would not find her here. Then she wondered whether the One and Only would hear the prayers of a nine-year-old Girl who had already Decided she didn't believe in much of anything.

The dogs started barking. A commotion outside. She clenched her eyes shut.

She opened them when she heard boots on the wooden floor.

The man's face, lit by his lantern, was blank. No anger. No sympathy for a frightened Child cowering in the corner of a Garden shed. She looked away from his face and stared at the floor. She stood up slowly, eyes downcast. She Knew that she had been caught.

 

He shoved her roughly through the doorway and she stumbled. She righted herself and glared back at him — but when she met her father's eyes, she became the very picture of contrition. She stood before Governor Ameston James Smith like a beaten dog, head bowed, hair falling forward over her face.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. He spoke not to her but to the man behind her.

"Where did you find her?"

"In a Garden shed. On Cherry Street, Sir."

She heard the jingle of coins and a drawstring being tightened.

"For your trouble," Mr. Smith said, and the man stepped forward to claim his reward. He clicked his heels together and saluted.

"May the All and Only Bless your way, Governor."

"And yours, Mr. Masters."

Reward in hand, the man left. When the door closed, Governor Smith turned his attention to his daughter. Lyree looked at her father through the veil of her hair. His Alytan composure was gone. Anger covered his face — not the hot, uncontrolled kind, but something colder and more deliberate, the kind that had always frightened her more than shouting would have.

She looked back at the floor. She heard him walk across the room until his shiny black boots stopped in front of her.

Without a word, he slapped her across the face. Then he grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him.

"Never run away again."

 

A Servant escorted her to her Room and locked the door as he had been ordered. Lyree collapsed on her bed and wept. On her wrist was a bruise where her father had held her. Her back was covered in welts from the riding crop. She cried herself to sleep with no one to hear her, in a room full of stuffed animals that couldn't answer back, in a house where no one was coming to check on her.

 

Part Two

 

The Children of Darmonta grew up in two parts: training and play. Training took the larger portion.

It began as soon as a Child could walk, though it was made to look like a game. A Parent would grab the Child or start to chase it, and the Child would wriggle free or dodge away, then run as fast as their legs would carry them — usually screaming or Laughing — and hide, coming out only when they heard the call: It's Safe.

Around five or six, a Child received their first practice weapons. Birthdays brought toy bows with pointless arrows, wooden daggers, carved shields. Sticks were shaped to resemble spears, marked with Sacred Symbols. Children were taught early that weapons were not for those who couldn't defend themselves — not for the weaponless, not for younger Children, not for the Elderly. Beyond that, they were largely left to sort things out among themselves, which sharpened their reflexes considerably.

At eight, formal training began. Boys went to VeyexBorae, a retired Oraku Warrior who had seen enough killing and Decided that he wanted to Make things instead. He still Taught — the Boys feared and Respected him in roughly equal measure — but in his free hours he tinkered at the forge, and the weapons he made were things Worth looking at. Girls went to ErdaSora, who had lost her right eye in battle and retired to Teach, and who was stern in the way that People are stern when they have genuinely seen what they're preparing you for.

By ten, wooden weapons gave way to blunt ones. By Adulthood, a Darmontian could ride standing in the saddle, hang from the side of a Horse at full gallop, and Navigate a charge through Terrain that would stop most Soldiers cold. They had been on horseback since before they could walk on their own — their Mothers had ridden while Pregnant, and ridden again with Infants strapped across their chests. It was not something they Learned so much as something they simply always Knew.

Keeroe had Lived through ten Season cycles. He and Beneveon were the same age, Born a Month apart — Bene in the Winter, Keeroe just after it turned. They did almost everything Together. Derlycos, at thirteen, was the eldest of the Three and led the pack the way eldest Brothers do: by assuming it was his Right and being right often enough that no one argued.

This was a hard age for Derlycos. The Adults were pushing him in his Training, trying to give him everything they Knew before he turned fourteen and formal classes ended. HarenArompa had been preparing him for years as his Successor — a Decision that raised quiet questions in Darmonta, since Beneveon was HarenArompa's Blood Son and the Traditional Heir. HarenArompa had made his Choice and his word was Law, but Derlycos carried the weight of it. He was stressed at Lessons and he was stressed at Home, and the hours after Training when they could disappear into the Woods or wander through Town were the hours all of them Lived for.

They were a rowdy pack: Derlycos, Beneveon, Keeroe, Merkyto — twelve that Summer — and occasionally a few other Boys from the Village. Pranks were a serious hobby. They once painted Sacred Symbols on Craft Master DorícAye's wagon, using berry juice, and the Adults, Believing it to be some kind of Divine Message, spent a day Praising the Man as a Holy Figure. When the rain washed it away the next morning everyone went to the House of Spirits to pray for Forgiveness. When the True culprits were Discovered the following day — attempting the same thing on a Chicken Vendor's booth — they fasted for a day as punishment. It did not stop them.

Their next venture was petty thievery. Pretending to be a small band of Outlaws, they went around Town collecting things they were fairly certain no one would miss, gathering at the end of the day outside the Village to compare their haul — carved silverware, arrowheads, small woven baskets, scraps of good cloth. The game ended when Beneveon gave FlarNair a gold and sapphire brooch for her Birthday. It was one of a kind, worn only by the Wife of the Ohterkú's Second-in-Command, who rarely took it off. Beneveon had always been a terrible liar. The brooch was returned, FlarNair gave him a scolding he would not soon forget, and the thefts stopped.

Each Morning they woke, ate, went down to the River to wash, trudged to VeyexBorae's Arompa for weapons training, then to Equé Flahs, the Horse Feilds, for horsemanship, and after that they were Free. Off they went until Supper, returning reliably muddy and usually in some form of trouble.

It was the sixth Day of Summer in the year of the Azure Lark. The day was warm and still, the sky a deep, unbroken blue. Horsemanship had been cancelled for the heat, and the Boys headed to the River. They stripped to their loincloths and jumped in, hooting and splashing, and played in the water for hours.

Afterward they sat on the pebbled beach letting the sun dry them off, skipping rocks.

"Hey, Derlycos," Merkyto said, "you almost hit my mark. Just think — someday you might be as good as me."

"Here," Derlycos said, with a particular kind of Smile. "Let me help you Improve your Skill."

He grabbed Merkyto from behind and shoved him into the water.

"It's important to become One with your Surroundings," Derlycos said, quoting VeyexBorae from that morning's lecture.

Soaking wet, Merkyto stood in the shallows and bowed deeply.

"I will Remember this Lesson well, Master."

They were still Laughing when the Girls appeared — five or six of them, all around their own age, already standing at the edge of the beach before any of the Boys had noticed them coming.

"Hi!"

The look on Merkyto's face was one of pure horror. The Boys spun around.

"Rosafay!" Keeroe shouted — and tripped over his own feet and sat down hard in the water.

The Boys Laughed. The Girls giggled. The Girl named Rosafey Laughed the hardest of all.

"Oh, Keeroe, you're so funny!"

Keeroe's face went red as he stood up, dripping.

"Hey," another Girl said, "do you Boys want to play with us?"

Silence. Every Boy looked at Derlycos.

"Ahhhhhhh!" he screamed, and started running for the Forest. The others followed, screaming, running, not looking back.

"Hey! Where are you going?" The Girl crossed her arms and shook her head. "Boys."

 

They crouched at the edge of the Trees, watching the River.

"When are they going to leave?" Beneveon muttered.

"I'm getting tired of waiting," Merkyto said, scratching his arm. "The mosquitoes love me."

Derlycos scratched his own bites. "We can't stay here. I wish I'd thought to grab my clothes."

"We can't get them now. The Girls are still there. What do we do?"

Derlycos considered this for a moment. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and howled. The others joined in. The Pack ran off into the Woods, howling, and the game began.

Predators and Prey was simple: one predator, everyone else running and hiding. If you were caught, you became a predator too. The game ended when everyone was caught, or when someone gave up. Derlycos counted on his fingers three times and then gave chase, reading the Forest the way VeyexBorae had Taught them — a broken twig here, a footprint there — until he found the first one, who screamed and ran and couldn't escape him.

Keeroe had been watching from behind a Tree not far off. He was good at this game. He Knew how to move quietly, crouching low, placing his feet carefully. He slipped from Tree to Tree like a shadow until he could no longer hear Derlychos or the Boy he'd been chasing, and then he ran.

He found the River again without meaning to — or rather, he found himself at the edge of the clearing, looking out at the water, the sky going gold with the start of evening. He sat in the grass and watched the light change.

From the Forest behind him, a howl.

Ahhooooo.

He sat up.

Ahhoooooooo.

By the sound of it, Derlycos had quite a Pack behind him now, and they were close. Keeroe got to his feet and looked around. There was nowhere to hide. The River was right there. The other bank was right there.

He told himself later that he hadn't really thought about it. He just ran toward the water and dove in.

The current was strong, but by swimming diagonally he made it across. He didn't look back. He ran into the darkening Forest on the other side.

 

"There he is!" Beneveon said when they reached the clearing.

They watched Keeroe dive in. They watched him swim. They watched him run into the Trees on the opposite bank and disappear.

Nobody said anything for a moment.

"No," Derlycos said. Then, louder: "Keeroe!" No answer. He called twice more. When there was still nothing, he started toward the water.

Merkyto grabbed his arm. "Are you crazy? What's over there? The edge of the World, Monsters, and Alytans." He stamped his foot on each one. "Keeroe's probably already—"

"No," Derlycos said. "He can't be." But even as he said it, he wasn't sure.

He pulled free and walked into the water. Merkyto stood on the bank for a moment, then jumped in after him.

When Derlycos reached the other side he stopped and waited.

"Is anyone else coming?" he called back.

Beneveon stepped forward.

"No, Bene," Derlycos said. "We need you to stay and cover for us. Tell them we went Rabbit hunting."

"Ok," Beneveon said.

"Anyone else?"

No one else stepped forward.

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Derlycos said.

Then he turned and ran into the Forest.

Merkyto followed.

 

 

Part Three

 

Keeroe ran.

Not from his Brothers now — from the Forest itself, from every shadow and rustle, from the Stories he'd Grown Up with. Trolls. Goblins. Witches. Alytans. He fled from the wind in the Trees and, once, from his own shadow before he realized what it was. He ran until his legs gave out and he sat down hard on the ground, dizzy and short of breath, in a small Grove of Pine Trees.

When he recovered he stood and looked around. The Woods were quiet — wind through the branches, birds, a squirrel somewhere overhead. Ordinary sounds. He was shaking, but the Forest didn't seem to know or care that he was there.

This was the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

He looked at the ground and found where his feet had disturbed the pine needles, and followed the trail back. It led him in a wide circle and deposited him in the same Grove.

He ground his teeth and fought back tears. VeyexBorae had told them that panic was the worst thing in a bad situation. He took a few slow breaths, Chose a different direction, and started walking. When he came back to the Pine Grove a second time he stood very still for a moment, then sat down on a root and thought it through.

He had crossed the River. If he could find the River again, he could cross back and find his way Home from there. Simple. He just had to find the River.

He stood up and started walking with purpose.

 

"Keeroe!"

"Keeeeerrrroooooe!"

Derlycos and Merkyto moved through the strange forest at a walk, having Decided that running blind was more dangerous than moving carefully. They'd each picked up a heavy stick. The Forest looked like their own — same Trees, same birds, same kind of light coming through the canopy — but they couldn't afford to get comfortable. They followed Keeroe's footprints to the Pine Grove, where the tracks went in every direction and told them nothing.

They started calling his Name, Hoping he'd answer and give them something to follow.

It was like Fishing, Derlychos thought. You might not catch anything. Or you might pull up something with teeth.

Right now all he could think about was his Brother.

When Keeroe didn't answer, they Chose a path and kept walking.

 

Lyree jumped before she could think about it.

She landed hard on the angular slope of the next roof, scuffing her palms on the shingles. Her shoes — ribboned, smooth-soled, built for parlors and not rooftops — couldn't grip. She took them off and flung them and began to make slow progress upward. When she reached the flat top she stopped to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her face.

She didn't stop long. She didn't want to be up here when it got dark.

From this roof the going was easier — the Houses had been Built close together, and mostly she just had to step across the gaps. When she finally reached the wall the sun was low, and what she saw on the other side of it stopped her completely.

Forest. Miles and miles of it, stretching in every direction, broken in the distance by rocky snow-capped mountains. And flowing through all of it, catching the last of the light, a glittering ribbon that could only be a river.

"Look, Capius," she said to the plush Dog in her bag, not taking her eyes off it. "Look at all of it."

Then she looked down the other side of the wall and her Heart sank.

Alyta had been Built on a forty-foot man-made cliff of stone. The wall itself added more. The face was perfectly smooth — no footholds, no vines, no ladder, nothing. She stood there for a moment, then started walking the wall, looking.

She found a Tree growing close to the outer edge, one thick branch reaching toward the stone without quite touching it. It was a bushy, many-branched thing — climbable, if she was careful. She slung her bag over her shoulder and started down.

 

Keeroe saw grey through the Trees ahead and smiled. Rock meant something to climb, and something to climb meant a view, and a view might show him the River. He started toward it at a jog.

Drawing closer, he slowed. It wasn't a cliff or a boulder. It was a wall — enormous, smooth, taller than anything he'd ever seen. He crept up to it and touched it. Cold hard stone beneath his hand. He looked up and couldn't find the top.

Something fell out of the Tree beside him.

It landed with a thud and a small noise of surprise, and when he spun around there was a Girl sitting on the ground, looking up at him. He had never seen anyone who looked like her. She had never seen anyone who looked like him. They stared at each other.

She started to get up. Two Boys came running out of the Trees behind Keeroe and stopped short. The Girl took a step back, looking at all Three of them.

She opened her mouth to say something.

A shrill whistle sounded from the other side of the wall.

The panic that crossed her face was immediate. She turned and grabbed the Tree and started climbing, fast, not looking back. The Three Boys watched her go up and over the wall and vanish.

 

"Well," Merkyto said, after a moment. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," Keeroe said.

They stood staring at the place she'd disappeared. Then Derlycos grabbed Keeroe by the shoulders.

"What were you thinking? Why did you come here?"

"I'm sorry, Derlycos—"

"Stop it," Merkyto said. "Stop. It's getting dark. We should go Home."

Derlycos let go. He looked around as if he'd forgotten where they were, then turned and started walking back the way they'd come.

"Let's go Home," he said, as if it had just occurred to him.

Merkyto rolled his eyes and followed. Keeroe moved to follow too, then noticed something on the ground. He crouched and picked it up — a soft blue bag, the fabric unlike anything he'd ever touched. The Girl must have dropped it. Not knowing what else to do with it, he slipped the strap over his head and trotted after the others.

 

Lyree ran across the rooftops, hopping the gaps, and finally dropped onto the porch roof of her father's house. The window opened before she reached it.

"What in Heaven's name are you doing out there?" Matilda asked, taking a whistle from her lips. She helped Lyree through the window. "What were you doing on those roofs, child? You nearly stopped my poor Heart."

"I'm sorry, Matilda." Lyree wrapped her arms around the Maid's waist and held on. "I just wanted to see what was on the other side of the wall."

"The other side of the wall?! I've told you time and again, Lyree, there's nothing over there. Promise me you'll never try that again."

"I won't try again, Matilda."

The Maid smiled and patted her head. "There's a Good Girl. Now let's get you to Bed."

She helped Lyree out of her clothes and into her nightgown, tucked her in, and bid her goodnight. When the door closed Lyree reached for Capius.

Capius wasn't there.

 

Their walk back to the River was nothing like the journey to the wall. They encountered no danger, though a raccoon startled them badly enough that Merkyto refused to mention it. By the time they reached Serpen they were joking and Laughing, and they crossed back into their own world without ceremony.

It was dark when they reached the Trees surrounding Darmonta. An owl call sounded from somewhere in the branches. Derlycos answered with the screech of a bat — the signal that told the Oraku on Watch that what was coming through the Trees was Friend, not foe. Merkyto peeled off when they passed his Mother's Hut.

"Just so you know," Derlychos said to Keeroe as they started up the Hill, "Haren and FlarNair think we went Rabbit hunting."

HarenArompa and FlarNair were sitting by the fire pit in the main room when the Boys came in.

"No Rabbit?" Haren asked, standing.

Keeroe shook his head.

"We almost had one," Derlychos said. "He was too fast."

HarenArompa looked at each of them in turn. "Is that right."

Both Boys nodded.

"You'd better explain yourselves," FlarNair said. "We Know you weren't Rabbit hunting."

Keeroe and Derlychos looked at the floor. Then Keeroe looked up and met his foster Father's eyes.

"It was my fault," he said. "We were playing Predators and Prey and I had nowhere to hide." He took a breath. "I swam across the River. I went into the Forbidden Forest."

HarenArompa was quiet for a moment. "Is this True, Derlycos?"

"Yes," Derlycos said, still looking at the floor. "It's True."

"How could you have let him go in there alone?"

"It wasn't his fault!" Keeroe said. "I was the one who crossed. Derlycos came after me."

"It doesn't matter," said the Chief. "Derlycos was supposed to Protect you." He looked at his elder Son. "I'd like a word with you alone."

HarenArompa's voice left no room for argument. Keeroe nodded and turned toward the Bedroom — and FlarNair stopped him.

"What is this?" she asked, eyeing the bag around his neck.

"A bag, I think."

"Can I see it?"

He handed it over. She took it to her Husband, who turned it in his hands, then took out his knife and cut it open. Keeroe winced as the fabric tore. If it had Belonged to that strange Girl, he Hoped she hadn't prized it too highly.

From the bag HarenArompa pulled several small dresses — nothing like Darmontian clothing, made of some fine smooth material, decorated with ribbons rather than beads or bone. He handed them to FlarNair one by one. They were far too small for her, but she could use the fabric.

The last thing he pulled out was a stuffed Dog.

He looked at it with an expression Keeroe couldn't quite read, then handed it to FlarNair along with the remains of the bag. FlarNair beamed and kissed her Husband's cheek, arms full of her new treasures, and Keeroe had to open the Bedroom door for her.

He stood in the doorway while she went to put her things away in the chest beside the bed. The stuffed Dog sat on the bed. Keeroe looked at it.

It must have Belonged to that Girl. Something that small and carefully made — it would have Mattered to her. He walked over to FlarNair, who was bent over the chest, and tapped her on the back.

"Mareh? Can I have the stuffed creature?"

He had Learned that calling FlarNair 'Mother' made her likely to give him almost anything he asked for.

"Of course. After all, you're the one who found all of these lovely things."

He hugged her, kissed her cheek, and carried his prize carefully to the room he shared with Beneveon. His foster Brother was already Asleep, snoring softly in his hammock. Keeroe crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of his own, turning the toy over in his hands.

It looked something like a Bear, he Decided. Small and brown and soft.

"You must have been very Brave," he whispered, "to have hidden in that Girl's bag all day." He thought about it. "That settles it. From this day on, you shall be known as Benegera. The Brave Bear."

He Smiled at his own joke, then carried Benegera to the low shelf beside the wall where he kept his collection — smooth stones, oddly shaped pieces of wood, small things that had caught his eye over the years. He cleared a space in the middle and set the Dog there, giving him the Best spot.

Then he climbed into his hammock and lay in the dark, listening to his Brother Breathe, thinking about a Girl falling out of a Tree.

 

 

Chapter Three — Bewitched

 

 

Part One

 

 

The next Morning, Lyree was sitting at Breakfast with her family when, for the first time in a long time, Almara spoke to her.

"Lyree Smith, it is high time that you and I had a talk. Your father and I have noticed your unusual behavior of late. We went to see Dr. Kram yesterday afternoon. He told us it would be best if we allowed you free run of the Mansion for a while. It is with deepest regret that I say you will not be able to mingle with any of the visiting Nobles' Children for a time, and—"

"Oh Thank You, Mother!" Lyree cried. "Thank You so much!"

She stood and ran out of the room.

"But that does not mean you are allowed to act like a crazy Child, Lyree!" Almara called after her.

Lyree stopped only long enough to take off her shoes. Then she ran — through the Entrance Hall, up the gilded staircase, down the long corridor, back down again. Drunk on her newfound Freedom, she ran through the entire Building, her bare feet slapping the polished floors, her voice bouncing off the high ceilings. She stopped in the Ballroom and whooped at the top of her lungs just to hear the echo carry it back to her. She sat down at the piano and played as loudly and with as much Feeling as she wanted, every note she'd been told was too much, too expressive, too undisciplined — all of it, at full volume, for no one.

She played hopscotch on the floor tiles. She slid down the banister. She pressed her nose against every window she passed.

When she finally ran out of rooms, she went to the front door. The handle wouldn't turn. She jiggled it, pushed, pulled. Locked. She ran to the back door. Also locked. Through the glass she could see the backyard — her mother and father side by side in lawn chairs under the Oak Tree, Tairen rolling in the grass with Preston White, her parents laughing at something Lady Ophelia had said. They looked genuinely Happy. All of them, Completely and Blissfully Happy.

Lyree stepped back from the glass.

She walked to her room and closed the door quietly behind her. She went to her bed to get Capius — and Remembered. She sat down on the floor instead, and stayed there for a while, not crying exactly, just sitting with it.

 

Throughout the Days that followed, Keeroe seemed distracted. In Weapons Class he forgot to block. In his free hours he could be found staring at nothing. Those who Knew him had no idea what was wrong. Those who didn't wondered if the Unlucky Child was Cursing them — even after ten years, the whispers hadn't stopped, and his odd behavior over the following weeks would only give them more to talk about.

He couldn't explain it himself. He just kept Thinking about her — the strange Girl by the wall. The way she'd looked at him. The way she'd gone up that Tree without hesitating.

By the end of the Week he couldn't sleep and wouldn't eat. Each afternoon when Classes were done he went to the pebbled beach and sat looking across the River.

"I wish I knew what was bothering him," Beneveon said to Derlycos.

"Me too. Go on ahead with the others, Bene. I'm going to talk to him."

Beneveon nodded and ran off. Derlycos walked over and sat beside his Brother.

"Hi," Derlycos said.

"Hi," Keeroe answered, not taking his eyes off the other bank.

"Look," Derlychos said. "We all have eyes. Everyone knows something's bothering you."

Keeroe was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the rocky beach. Derlycos could tell he was Deciding whether to say it.

"You'll think it's dumb," Keeroe said finally.

"If it's bothering you this badly, it can't be that stupid."

Keeroe met his Brother's eyes.

"That Girl we saw by the Giant's House across the River." He paused, trying to find the words. "I can't explain it, but I Know she's in trouble. I want to Help her."

Derlychos started laughing.

"That's what's been bothering you? That's — that's crazy—"

"I'm serious, Derlycos. Something's wrong. I Know it."

Derlycos stopped laughing. He sighed and put a hand on his Brother's shoulder.

"That is silly, Keeroe. How could you possibly know if she's in trouble or not?"

"I just Know. And I can't go Save her."

Derlycos went very still.

"No," he said slowly, as if making sure each word landed. "You can't go. Keeroe — Promise me you won't go back across the River. Ever."

Keeroe looked at the ground.

Derlycos shook his shoulder. "Promise me."

Keeroe swallowed. "I promise," he muttered.

"Good." Derlycos stood and grinned. "Come on. The others are playing lacrosse."

 

 

Part Two

 

 

(One week ago — two days after Lyree went over the Wall)

 

Lyree Decided that Morning that she was not going to let her family drag her down.

She spent the day wandering the Mansion, Exploring every room she was permitted — which was most of them, as it turned out. She couldn't believe how much of the House she'd never seen, how much detail she'd never noticed. The gilded moldings. The embroidered furniture. The way the Colors in everything seemed Brighter when she wasn't rushing past them. She'd never been allowed to slow down enough to look.

It was nearly Noon when she heard it — a sound so unexpected that she stopped walking entirely. Humming. Quiet, soft, and sweet. In Alyta no one ever hummed, let alone sang, and so Lyree followed it the way you follow something you didn't know you were missing. It was a Woman's Voice, rich and warm, and it led her through rooms and hallways until it brought her to the doorway of her father's Bedroom.

She hesitated. Then the Song pulled her in.

She wandered the room following the sound until it led her to the wardrobe. She pressed her ear to the varnished pine door. The humming was definitely coming from inside — but there was no room behind her father's wardrobe. She opened the doors.

There were no clothes inside. It wasn't a wardrobe at all. It was a small room concealing a stairway, spiraling down into the dark, lit by torches set into the stone walls at intervals.

She was afraid.

She went anyway.

 

Down, down, down. The air grew colder with each turn of the stair. By the time she reached the bottom she could almost see her breath. She found herself in a small stone room facing an iron door.

She tried the handle. Locked.

She stood there a moment, then turned to go back up.

The door groaned open behind her.

The room beyond was circular, stone-walled, lit by torches. Chains hung from the walls. A wooden cot with a straw mattress sat in the center. The smell was damp and close and very old. Two rats crossed the floor without hurrying.

On the cot sat its only occupant.

She was Elderly — how elderly, Lyree couldn't have said. Her face was weathered and deeply lined, her dark eyes sunken and ageless. Her skin was reddish-brown, her hair a frizzy white, and she was twirling a Lyree Flower between her thin fingers, humming that same sweet Melody, as if she had been doing so for a very long time and intended to continue.

When she noticed Lyree in the doorway she stopped humming and Smiled.

"Welcome, Child," she said. "I have been waiting for you for many, many years."

Lyree stood in the doorway and could not move. The old Woman's eyes were dark and steady and held no surprise at all — as if she had simply been sitting here, Waiting, and Lyree had finally arrived at the correct Time. The flower turned slowly between her fingers. Lyree took one step into the room.

Then the old Woman's head tilted. She was listening to something.

"You must go now, Dear One." She was already on her feet, moving toward Lyree with surprising speed. "Your father is coming."

"My father—"

"Now." A gentle but firm hand at her back, steering her toward the door. "Come back Tomorrow. There is much more to tell you. But Tonight — go. Quickly."

Lyree went.

 

She was already in the upper Hallway, shoes back on, heart still hammering, when her father came around the corner. He passed her without slowing. His eyes moved over her the way they always did — registering her presence the way you register a piece of furniture — and then he was gone, his footsteps receding toward his Bedroom.

Lyree stood very still until she heard his door close.

 

He recalled the day she had been born, as he did every time he looked at his daughter. When the Doctor had placed the screaming infant in his arms and informed him it was a girl, Smith had thrust her back and begun overturning furniture. He'd torn his powdered wig from his head, pulled at his hair, and screamed every curse he knew.

In Alyta, women could not hold Office, could not own Property, could not sit at Council. They had few Rights and were treated accordingly by most Men of Standing. None of this cut Smith as deeply as the Dowry — a hefty one, given his position at the top of the Social Ladder. He had gone directly to the Wine Cellar afterward and drunk himself into a stupor.

'Thank God I have a Son.'

Ameston James Smith locked his Bedroom door and, for good measure, drew the curtains before he crossed to the wardrobe. He wanted no one to know the Secret he had kept so carefully. Building the prison for that savage Witch woman had cost him an astronomical sum. Doing it without anyone knowing had cost him more. As he had done countless times before, he descended the hundreds of steps and unlocked the iron door at the bottom.

He stepped inside.

The Old Woman was sitting on her cot.

"Hello, Agatha," Smith said.

"Hello, Smith."

"I still haven't guessed your True Name. Bethany?"

The Old Woman got a mischievous grin. "Not by a hundred million miles."

"Ah, Angela. But a hundred million is a lot closer than a thousand million."

"Too True, Ameston. But Infinity is much farther still, and that is how far you will always need to travel to find my True Name. You will never guess it."

He stomped up to her and grabbed the collar of her dirty deerhide dress, yanking her to her feet.

"What makes you think I'll never guess it, Phany?"

She glared at him. Her gentle brown eyes turned completely black. Smith gasped — and she vanished.

"Where are you, Maria?" he yelled, his voice echoing in the empty room. He started backing slowly toward the door. "I swear, Berenis! I will guess your true name! Your power will be mine!"

Her laughter spilled out of the air.

Never.

Smith ran, slammed the door, and locked it. He stood there a moment seriously considering swallowing the key. He shook his head.

"No," he said quietly, turning toward the stairs. "No. I need her."

 

 

Part Three

 

 

That Night Lyree hardly slept, and in the Morning she was impatient for Breakfast to be over. For once she ate at exactly the right pace, sat at exactly the right angle, made exactly the right small talk. She was the perfect picture of what an Alytan Lady should look like at a meal. When everyone was finished she walked — not ran — out of the room, and as soon as she was out of sight she ran to her father's Bedroom.

Through the wardrobe. Down the spiral stair. In front of the iron door.

She grabbed the handle. Locked again. She waited. She knocked. Nothing.

Disappointed, she turned to go back up.

The iron door groaned open.

"I'm sorry, My Dear," the Old Woman said from the doorway. "I would've opened it sooner but I had an appointment to keep elsewhere. Come in! Come in!"

Lyree followed her in — and stopped.

The Dungeon was completely transformed. Where chains had hung from the walls, silken banners and intricate tapestries now covered the stone. A crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling, filling every corner with light. Colorful rugs covered the floor. A glass table with two glass chairs stood in the center of the room.

"Wow," was all Lyree could say.

"I wanted to make the room look nice," said the old woman, and then paused, as if listening to Lyree's expression. "But — yes, yes, you're right. It is too much."

In an instant all the finery melted away, all but the glass table and chairs.

"I would've fixed the cot too," said the old woman, "but we do need the table."

"How did you do that?" Lyree asked, as the old woman led her to a chair.

"Ah ah ah! We all have our little Secrets, don't we?" She settled into the chair across the table. "In fact, your Secrets are exactly the reason I've called you here. I Know that you've tried to escape Alyta, Lyree. I Know how alone you feel. And I Know that two days ago you slipped over the wall and met Three very curious Boys."

"How—"

The Old Woman held up one finger and Lyree's mouth closed.

"No, no. Secrets, Remember."

"Sorry. I forgot."

"Apology accepted. Now — there is more that I must tell you, so you must listen well. Listening is a practice we will exercise more than talking. Is that clear?"

Lyree nodded.

The Old Woman grinned. "Good. Now tell me about those Three Boys. What were they like?"

"But you Know Everything."

"No one knows Everything. I Know many things, but my Knowledge has limits. Tell me — what were they like?"

Lyree thought for a moment. "Odd," she said at last. "They all looked so much alike but I don't think they were triplets. Black hair, dark eyes, and their skin was the same as yours."

"Were they handsome?"

Lyree wrinkled her nose. "They were just weird."

The Old Woman laughed. "Be careful what you say. You may think differently one day. Can you tell me anything else about them?"

"No. They were just standing there. I was about to ask who they were when Matilda whistled for me."

"But you were already over the wall. Why did you come back?"

"I had to. Matilda would've told Father I was missing."

"Ah. You were afraid."

"No I wasn't! I was just—"

"Afraid. Fear isn't necessarily a bad thing. Fear can be a very useful tool." She waved a hand. "But listen to me babbling. We're getting off topic. About those boys — you will see them again, Lyree. But before you do, there are a few things you must learn."

She waved her hands over the table and a three-dimensional Map appeared between them on the glass surface — Forests, Mountains, Rivers, Plains, all rendered in miniature, with small blue and red dots scattered across the Land.

"You know so little about the World you Live in," the Old Woman said. "The Towns Matilda told you about — Augustine, Fenchire, Coriánth, and Myrna — are not the only Places. There are many, many others, and different Peoples too. Not all look and act like Alytans."

She gestured at the Map. "This Map shows the entirety of this World. It is called, Åsten." She pointed. "The blue on the Map is water. The green, brown, and white show the Land. These large patches of water are called 'Oceans'. In this World there are five." She named them. "These smaller bodies, partly or almost entirely surrounded by Land, are called 'Seas'. And these blue streaks that look like veins — these are Rivers. You saw one when you looked beyond the wall. The Alytans have no name for it, but in the Language of my people, it is called, Serpen. Which means 'Snake'."

"What is 'Language'?" Lyree asked.

The Old Woman looked genuinely flabbergasted. "They honestly didn't Teach you anything, did they." She held up a hand before Lyree could answer. "Rhetorical question. Language is different ways of Speaking — not louder or softer, but entirely different Words for the same things. 'Serpen' to my People is 'Snake' to yours. I'll tell you more about it another time."

She waved her right hand and the Map zoomed inward, settling on a single continent. Several blue and red dots appeared.

"On your Continent, the Western Provinces, there are two different kinds of People. Those like the Alytans, and those like my People — the Darmontians. The red dots are the Towns and Cities of the lighter-skinned People. The blue dots are the Villages of those of us with darker skin. Alyta is here, in the Northwest. And Darmonta is here, on the other side of Serpen." She looked at Lyree steadily. "Those Boys you met on the other side of the wall — they Live in Darmonta."

She clapped her hands and the Map vanished.

"You will see those Boys again, Lyree. And you must be able to speak as they do." She held out her hands across the table. "Take my hands. I will lend you my Power."

"Power?"

"It is the only way to Teach you with the Time we've been given."

Lyree looked at the ancient, gnarled hands, then at the Old Woman's face, then back at her hands. The face was hard to read — serious, focused, the eyes of someone who had already Decided how this would go and was simply waiting for Lyree to catch up.

"Will it hurt?" Lyree asked.

"Only a little. But I assure you it will be Worth it. You must do this, Lyree, or forever live as you are living now. This is the only key to a different Life."

Lyree looked at the hands for a long moment. She thought about what the Old Woman had said. She thought about the locked doors, the croquet, the tea parties, the piano instructor yelling at her, her father's face. She thought about the rooftops and the River and the Boy who had looked at her like she was the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

She reached out and took the Old Woman's hands.

The jolt ran up her arms and into her Mind all at once — hundreds of shapes and images, people laughing and crying and singing and shouting, all of it at the same time with no way to tune any of it out. Then, after what seemed like a very long time, there was nothing.

 

Smith plodded down the last few steps and removed the key from his pocket. He walked up to the iron door, inserted the key, and found that it wouldn't turn. He tried harder. His face went red. He ripped the key out, stood there a moment, put it back in. It popped out and landed with a tink on the stone floor.

He growled under his breath and tried again. After two more attempts he jammed the key in and leaned his full weight against it until the lock finally clicked open.

He straightened his wig, fixed his suit, and opened the door.

The room was empty.

"Where are you, Ophelia?!" Smith yelled.

The only answer was the echo of his own voice.

 

She woke in her own bed.

For a moment she wondered if the past two days had been a Dream. Then she sat up and saw the Old Woman sitting on the cushioned stool of her vanity, and Knew that it had all been quite Real. She lay back down and closed her eyes. Her head hurt terribly.

"Hello, Lyree," said the Old Woman. "How are you feeling?"

Lyree opened her eyes. The Old Woman had come to sit on the edge of the bed. But what startled Lyree wasn't that she hadn't heard her move. It was the way she was Speaking.

Her mouth didn't match her words.

"Lyree — can you hear me, Girl?"

Lyree opened her mouth to answer — and felt it happen to her too. The Words that came out didn't match what her lips were doing.

"What's happening?" she gasped, and covered her mouth.

The Old Woman laughed. "Nothing to fear, Child." This time her mouth matched perfectly. "I've given you the Gift of Understanding. Now, no matter what Language someone Speaks, you will Understand them and they will Understand you."

"Really?" Lyree asked, watching her own lips form a different word. She frowned. "Is there a way to turn it off?"

The Old Woman cackled. "I'm sorry, Lyree, but no. If you don't want someone to Understand you, simply don't acknowledge what they say and don't speak to them. Remember this — it may one day Save your Life."

She stopped. Her head tilted, listening.

"I must go now, Dearest One." She smiled. "But you are Welcome to visit me at any time."

Before Lyree could say anything, the Old Woman vanished. Alone in the quiet room, Lyree lay back in her soft bed and drifted into a dreamless Sleep.

 

"Hello, Ameston," Old Woman said, appearing before the Governor in the Dungeon. "Did you miss me?"

"Tell me where you were," Smith said, his voice full of venom.

"Calm yourself, Governor. All that fury will give you wrinkles. Such a shame that would be.'"

Something flickered across Smith's face — there and gone. He straightened, and when he spoke again his voice was even.

"Where have you been, Hecate?"

"Ah, Smithy, but Hecate is not my Name either."

"I care not."

"Oh, but you do."

An impish smile crawled onto the ancient lady's face.

"I may have given you that potion, and made it so you were capable of fathering an Heir, but that does not make me Hecate, Queen of the Witches."

Smith said nothing for a moment. His jaw tightened briefly.

"It didn't work," Ameston said flatly. "You gave me a daughter, not a son."

"Lies," Old Woman said.

She was in his face faster than he could blink.

"It was your own Seed that gave you a daughter. I gave you your chance with your pretty young Wife. I gave you the opportunity to have Children at all! I gave you so much, Smith. Besides my Name, what more do you want?"

"You Know what I want," Smith said calmly, his eyes focused on some distant point in the back of the room. "I want Darmonta."

"I already told you. If you continue on your current path, then you will have Darmonta."

"No." He turned his eyes on her then, full of fire and fury. His Alytan composure had shattered and emotion drenched his voice. "I want you to tell me exactly how to take Darmonta. For twenty-three years I've planned and fought and bled for it. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything —"

"What would you be prepared to lose for this?"

"Anything!"

"Anything?" she asked. "Anything at all?"

"Anything," Smith said again, his voice full of desperation. "Name it!"

Old Woman smiled slowly. "Not yet," she said. "But I will. And when I do, you will Remember what you just said to me."

She was gone before he could answer.

 

He passed his daughter in the Hallway on the way back up.

He didn't wonder where she'd been or what she'd been doing. He barely registered her at all — just the familiar flicker of irritation, the thought he always had when he looked at her.

That girl is a blight on my life.

He had a Son now. That was what Mattered.

He walked on without looking back.

Lyree watched him go. Then she turned and walked in the opposite direction, her face perfectly composed, the Gift of Understanding humming quietly in her Mind like a second Heartbeat.

 

That Week seemed to zoom by for Lyree. Each day after Breakfast she went to visit the Old Woman, and each day there was something new to Learn — how to Read, how to Write, History, riddles and rhymes. Her time in the Dungeon was the highlight of her days. When she wasn't there she played piano the way she actually wanted to play it, or painted, or drew. She ate her noon and evening meals in the Kitchen with the Chefs, which suited her considerably better than the Dining Room. At the end of each day, crawling into bed, she found herself deeply missing Capius.

And so her Week passed.

 

That Night Keeroe had trouble sleeping. He was exhausted — he hadn't slept properly in days — but still he lay in his hammock staring at the ceiling. After an hour he pulled out his sleeping furs and tried the floor. He tossed and turned, and finally fell asleep.

'Keeroe. Keeroe, can you hear me?'

It was her voice. He didn't know how he knew, but he Knew.

'Help me, Keeroe. Help me. Keeroe, where are you? Help me. Help—'

"Ahh!"

He sat up. The room was dark. Beneveon was sound Asleep in his hammock, snoring softly. He shifted slightly at the sound but didn't wake. Keeroe sat on the floor and looked at the shelf where Benegera sat in the middle of his collection.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He dressed quietly, got his bow, and slipped through his foster Parents' room, through the Main Room, and into the Armory. He Knew this was forbidden — he wasn't allowed in the Armory at all, let alone permitted to touch a real weapon until he was fourteen. But if that Girl was Truly in danger, he was going to be Ready. He took a quiver of arrows, a short sword, and a small shield.

He stopped in the doorway of the Armory and looked back at the weapons on the walls. Then he went back and Chose the short sword more carefully — an old one, well-balanced, with a worn grip that suggested it had been used by someone who knew what they were doing. He buckled it on.

Outside, he stopped and looked up. The Moon was full, the Stars thick, a few dark clouds drifting past without blocking the light. The pale sphere was nearly at its highest point.

He prayed to the Spirits to Forgive all the crimes he had committed and was about to commit. Then he walked through the sleeping Village and into the Forest.

He followed the dirt path that centuries of feet had carved through the Trees, all the way to the Docks at the River's edge. He stopped there and looked at the boats. He Knew that taking the Ohterkú's canoe was a serious crime — punishable by Death. He also Knew he couldn't row any of the larger boats alone, and that if Luck was with him, he'd have it back before morning and no one would be the wiser.

He set his weapons in the canoe, climbed in, and fumbled with the knot. When it came loose the current started carrying him downstream. He picked up the paddle and Learned as he went, the River correcting him until he found the rhythm, and paddled to the Alytan shore.

He tied the canoe to a Tree, armed himself, and followed the River until he found the markers Derlycos and Merkyto had left — a broken branch here, a missing piece of bark there, a small pile of rocks set just so. Even after Time had passed, he could still read them.

 

It is still unclear, even now, why she did it. She felt a Pull — something Urging her Forward, something that had no name. Caught in a half-waking state, Lyree opened her Bedroom window and stepped out onto the porch roof.

 

Keeroe ran through the Alytan Forest. When he tired he walked. When he recovered he ran again. He ran and walked and jogged until the grey of the wall appeared through the Trees ahead of him.

 

Lyree was just climbing down the Tree when he got there.

They stood looking at each other — he with his tanned skin and long unbound hair and borrowed sword, she in her lace nightgown with bare feet — and neither of them said anything for several Heartbeats.

"Hi," Lyree said.

"Hello," Keeroe answered.

He looked around, Remembering why he'd come.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked.

She cocked her head. "Why would I be in trouble?"

He shrugged, feeling slightly foolish. "I don't know."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, turning it back on her.

She Smiled and shrugged. "I don't know."

She started to giggle. Then she started to Laugh. Keeroe couldn't help it — he started Laughing too.

"Why are we Laughing?" he asked.

"I don't know!"

They Laughed harder. They Laughed until tears came and they could hardly Breathe.

"My name's Lyree," the Girl said when they finally stopped. "What's yours? And don't tell me it's 'I don't know'."

They both giggled.

"I'm Keeroe," he said.

 

 

Chapter Four — When Light Becomes Dark

 

Part One

 

Those were some of the Happiest days of their Lives.

Lyree would sneak out of her Bedroom window, across the rooftops, and over the wall. Keeroe would slip away when no one was paying attention, steal Ohterkú's boat, and pick his way through the Forest until he met her by the wall. They did this every day, and neither of them spoke of stopping.

Lyree no longer felt alone. She could talk to Keeroe about anything — her mother's coldness, her father's contempt, the particular misery of being the wrong Child in the wrong family — and he would listen and give his own advice, which she could never use. The things he told her to say to her family were unthinkable in Alytan society. Feelings could not be discussed. But his comments never failed to make her feel better, and she rarely felt upset when she was with him. He saw the World in a way she had never seen it before, and when she was in the Forest with him the cold life inside the walls of Alyta felt very far away.

For Keeroe, Lyree gave him his own escape. Life in Darmonta was usually happy, but he couldn't help noticing the whispers and cold stares that followed him through the Village. He Knew the Story of his Birth — how his Real father had Cursed him with Bad Luck — and People were not shy about letting him know what they thought of him. Only his Family, Friends, and Teachers treated him like a feeling Human Being, and even they, try as they might to hide it, still seemed nervouse around him from time to time.

Lyree was the only one who made him feel Wholly and Completely Himself. She didn't flinch when he sneezed or spit when he walked by. With her, he was just Keeroe.

They spent their time Together in the Forest, climbing Trees, swimming, playing. They Taught each other many things. Keeroe taught Lyree simple Darmontian games, how to swim, how to make various animal sounds, and how to turn rocks and sticks and grass into musical instruments. Lyree taught Keeroe how to read, how to write, how to count, and some Alytan words.

Since the day Old Woman had given her the Gift of Understanding, Lyree had been working to Master it. She found it annoying that she had to speak in one Language or the other depending on who addressed her, so she began listening carefully to the Darmontian words running beneath Old Woman's speech and practicing them alone until one day she surprised the Old Woman by speaking Darmontian in the middle of an Alytan conversation. And as Lyree Taught Keeroe Alytan, he Taught her harder words and phrases in Darmontian. They were two peas in a pod — two pieces of the same Whole.

 

He had been holding onto it since the day she fell out of the Tree and scrambled back over the wall without it. This time he went to see her, he'd brought the small stuffed Dog with him. He held the brown plush animal carefully as he walked through the Forest.

Keeroe held it behind his back as he came through the last of the brush near the Alytan wall. Lyree had been waiting. Not long, just having arrived first. He took the toy from behind his back and held it out to her.

"I think this Belongs to you," he said.

Lyree looked at the Dog for a moment, then at him.

"Capius," she said softly, taking it from his hands.

"I called him Benegera," Keeroe said. "BraveBear. He waited very patiently."

She held it against her chest for a moment. Then she looked at Keeroe the way she sometimes did — like he was something she hadn't expected to find.

"It's a good name," Lyree said. "I think it suits him."

They were both Smiling.

"Thank you for keeping him safe," she said.

"He was good company," he said.

Neither of them said anything else about it.

That day they stayed until the sun was low and the Forest had gone quiet around them. Lyree fell asleep against a Tree root for a little while and Keeroe let her, passing the time by stacking flat stones at the water's edge to see how high they would go before they fell. When she woke she helped him start again from the beginning, and they were both laughing when the stack finally held.

The light through the Trees had gone gold by the time Lyree finally climbed back over the wall, Capius tucked under her arm. Keeroe watched until she disappeared, then turned back into the Forest.

They were Happy.

Every day that they spent Together.

But the Happiness of their shared Time was about to come to an end.

 

Keeroe, Derlycos, Beneveon, and their Friend Merkyto were walking to the Horse Fields with the other Village Boys when Beneveon noticed Keeroe slip away.

"Derlycos," Bene said. "Keeroe just left again."

"Alright," Derlychos said with a nod. "Let's go."

It had been a little over a Month, and each day they had noticed Keeroe disappear. Everyone was curious. When Derlycos gave the word, he, Beneveon, and Merkyto fell back from the rest of the Group and went after him.

 

Keeroe ran through the Darmontian Forest. They were right behind him, calling his Name. There were two reasons he didn't want them to know where he went each day. First, he didn't want them to know he was going to see a Girl. Second, he didn't want them to know he was crossing the River. If they caught up to him now, he wouldn't be able to see Lyree that day. If they found out he was crossing the River, he might never be able to see her again.

He led them in a wide circle, stepping in as many places as he could to confuse the trail. When he was sure they were far enough back, he climbed a Tree and waited. They stopped almost directly beneath him.

"I think — I think we're going in circles," Bene said breathlessly.

"You're right," Derlycos said. "I've noticed that same rock twice now."

"It's official," said Merkyto. "Keeroe runs off every day to run in circles through the Woods."

The Boys waited to catch their Breath, then began scanning the ground. He had stomped all over the area before climbing, so none of them could tell which way he'd gone.

"Come on," Derlycos finally said. "Let's go Home. Wherever he is, he must not want to be found."

The Boys trudged off. Keeroe didn't relax yet — they'd done this before in certain games, pretending to leave and then waiting for him to come out of hiding. He waited fifteen minutes before climbing down, then listened. Nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he started toward the River.

 

Lyree's day began as it usually did. Matilda woke her, helped her dress, and escorted her to Breakfast, where Lyree played the perfect Alytan Lady. She didn't want to lose her Freedom, especially now that she had something to look forward to.

After Breakfast she went to her room. She hadn't visited Old Woman in weeks — she always Promised herself she'd go that afternoon, when she came back, and always forgot. Filled with excitement, she opened her window and stepped out onto the porch roof.

She was unaware that she was being followed.

Mr. Masters tracked her through the Streets as she hopped across the rooftops. He stopped at the wall, staring at the place where she'd disappeared, his hunter's eyes cold with frustration at having lost his prey. After a moment he turned on his heel to report back to the Governor.

 

"Over the wall!? She went over the wall?!"

Smith couldn't contain the anger and venom in his voice.

"I swear upon my Life, Governor," Mr. Masters said, maintaining perfect Alytan composure. "I saw the Girl leap across the rooftops and disappear over the wall."

Smith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He ran his fingers through the little gray hair that remained on his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them he had gained a small semblance of composure — still visibly angry, but his voice was calm and even.

"I always knew that girl would be more trouble than she's worth."

With a shaking hand he finished his bottle of Port and threw it against the wall, shattering it. Then he walked stiffly to the low glass table in the corner. On it sat a shiny black and silver pistol, the first of its kind in Alyta.

"It seems I will have to resolve this matter myself."

 

 

Part Two

 

 

Lyree was waiting by the wall, braiding a couple of pieces of grass, when Keeroe ran up to her out of breath. She dropped the grass, crossed her arms, and frowned in mock seriousness.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"You wouldn't — believe — what it took — to get here," he said.

"There's only one way I'll forgive you."

Slightly bent with his hands on his knees, Keeroe looked up at her. She had a teasing smile on her face. She poked him in the shoulder.

"You're it!"

She started running into the Forest. Keeroe stared after her with an odd look on his face, then stood up straight, shrugged, and began slowly counting his fingers. It was a game called Hide and Hunt — a lot like Predators and Prey, except that when the hider was found, the game was over.

When he had counted all his fingers twice, a scream rang out in the Forest.

He stopped counting. He forgot about the game. He ran.

He followed her trail, his Heart hammering. She screamed again. He ran faster, and then he burst into the clearing and froze.

Three enormous Horses — one black, one bay, one brown. Three men on horseback such as Keeroe had never seen before, but Knew them immediately for what they were. Alytans.

The man on the black Horse held a struggling Lyree in the saddle in front of him with one arm, while the other reached for something at his side. A shiny black tube, glinting with silver. He pointed it at Keeroe.

The noise was like Thunder.

Something like the burn of searing fire spread through Keeroe's left shoulder. All at once everything felt unreal. He heard Lyree scream as he fell, and for the briefest moment wondered why. The world went blurry. Then it went dark, and Keeroe no longer felt anything.

 

"No!" Lyree screamed, struggling in her father's grip. "Keeroe!"

He lay where he had fallen, still and unmoving. Through tear-filled eyes she could hardly make out the shape of him. Pain stabbed her Heart as she called his Name again and again, and got no answer.

An arrow whizzed past Smith's right ear. More came flying from just beyond the clearing.

"There are more of them!" Ameston yelled above his daughter's cries. "Back to Alyta!"

They wheeled their Horses and galloped away.

 

When the Alytans were gone, Derlycos, Merkyto, and Beneveon came out of hiding. Derlycos dropped his bow and ran to Keeroe.

"Is he—" Bene couldn't finish the sentence.

"He's still Breathing," Derlycos said. "You two — run and get Help."

Without question or comment, Beneveon and Merkyto ran into the Forest. Derlycos stayed with his Brother.

There was so much blood.

 

It had started to rain, and then it began to pour. Citizens watched from their windows, porches, and under the eaves as Smith and two of his men rode down the Alytan streets toward the Governor's Manor. Smith had his daughter with him. Lyree was drenched, and it was all too obvious that she was crying.

People stared with cold curiosity at this unusual display of sorrow. It was whispered that she had gone over the wall.

When Smith's party stopped in front of the house, a servant ran out to greet them. The Governor dismounted, pulled Lyree off the Horse, and pushed her toward the servant.

"Take her to her room," he said. "Lock the door and her windows." Then, looking into his daughter's sorrow-filled face, he said coldly, "I Trust you've Learned your Lesson."

 

 

Part Three

 

 

"How is he?" HarenArompa asked the Healer.

They were in Darmonta, in Arompa Hasalu — the House of Healing — standing in the narrow hallway outside Keeroe's private room. Bene and Merkyto had found Haren after Keeroe was wounded. He had summoned the Top Healer and three of his best Oraku, and together they had crossed the River, found Keeroe where Derlycos was keeping watch over him, and brought him Home.

"I've never seen such a wound," the Healer said, shaking her head — for the third time. "It is a Miracle that he Lives at all. The metal piece that we extracted was close to his Heart. He's lost a great deal of blood."

"Will he recover?"

She was quiet a moment before she answered. "Perhaps. He's held on this long. But I still worry. We've done all that we can, Ohterkú — removed the thing that punctured him, cleaned the wound, sewn it up. But as I've said, he's lost a great deal of blood, and he has yet to awaken. With your permission, we would like to keep him here for a while."

"You have my Blessing. Do as you think Best."

The Woman nodded. "We will send a Runner when he wakes."

"Thank you, Hasalu."

"Be well, Ohterkú."

 

With a heavy Heart HarenArompa stepped outside into the rain. Merkyto, Beneveon, and Derlycos were waiting.

"Ohtahn," Bene said — calling Haren 'Father' — "will Keeroe be alright?"

HarenArompa swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked at his Son with tired eyes. "I Hope so, Ohter."

His eyes misted over. He wanted to be strong for them. He started to walk away but Derlycos stopped him.

"Haren — I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Derlycos." He pulled his adopted Son into an embrace. "There was nothing else you could have done."

Beneveon began to cry, and his Father brought him into the embrace too. Merkyto ran Home, shedding his own tears for Keeroe. Standing alone in the pouring rain, HarenArompa, Derlycos, and Beneveon held onto each other and shared their grief.

 

The next morning Matilda came down from Lyree's room without her. Ameston, Almara, and Tairen were sitting at the table, waiting for Breakfast to be served.

"Matilda," Almara said. "Where is our daughter?"

The Maid opened her mouth but nothing came out. The look on her face was one of worry and distress.

"Well?" Smith said. "My Wife asked you a question, Woman. Spit it out."

"My Lord, My Lady — your daughter, she — she refuses to come down from her room. I've never seen the Girl so torn apart."

"I suppose I'll need to go have a word with her," said Almara.

"No," her Husband said, before she had a chance to stand. "I will go speak with her."

He put his cloth napkin on his plate and strode out of the room.

 

Smith found Lyree as the Maid had described. She was still in her nightgown, sitting on her window seat, hugging a small plush brown Dog, and looking out at the Street below. She didn't look up when the door opened.

"I told you," Lyree said, her voice slightly hoarse. "I'm not leaving my room."

"Yes," her father said. "That's what Ms. Maylock told us."

Lyree looked at him then — surprise written on her face, eyes red and puffy, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears. She let all of her sadness and anger hit him at once, and for the first time in a long time Smith's cold Heart felt a touch of something that might have been pity.

"Your mother is concerned for you," Ameston said. "She wonders why you refuse to leave your room."

Fresh tears slid down Lyree's face. Her voice came out in a squeak.

"You killed my Friend."

"Friend? Come now, Child," Smith said, sitting on the cushioned vanity stool. "Surely you must be delirious. I saved you from an unruly savage. What would that creature have done to you if I hadn't?"

"He wasn't a savage!" Lyree buried her face in her toy. "He wasn't."

Smith rose from the stool and sat beside his daughter on the window seat. He wrapped his arms around her and, for the first time ever, cradled her against him and held her while she cried.

"Shh. There, there."

He held her until her tears were spent and all she could do was shiver. Then he held her away from him and brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

"My Dearest Lyree," he said. "The World is a cruel, cold place. There is so much that you do not know. I Believe now is the best time to tell you. Alyta is at war, Lyree. We have sheltered you for so long — perhaps too long. Those people are dangerous. They will stop at nothing to destroy us."

"That's not True."

"Oh, but it is. Perhaps that is enough talk for one day. If you'd like, you may stay in your room today — but Tomorrow we are going into Town."

He left her then, and for the first time he left her door unlocked.

 

Lyree took a nap and then snuck out to see Old Woman. She went through the wardrobe, down the stairs, and found the iron door standing wide open.

"Old Woman?"

Her voice echoed around her. The Old Woman was not there. She called again and again, but she never appeared. Lyree left with a Heart heavier than lead. She couldn't cry anymore, even if she'd wanted to — she was tired of crying. The only thing she could think was that the Old Woman was gone. Gone, like Keeroe.

 

That same Week, across the River, Keeroe's condition only worsened.

One Night his fever spiked so high that he almost didn't last until Morning. He mumbled incoherent things and never seemed to be aware of anything around him. The Healers gave him their greatest attention, doing all they could think to do. His Family and Friends went to the House of Spirits often to pray for his Health and Vitality. Everyone did all that they Believed would Help, and secretly all of them doubted that he would pull through.

Then, one day, as if by Magic, his fever broke and Keeroe awoke — tired, but aware.

Another Runner went out, and this time only HarenArompa and FlarNair went to see him. They didn't want to give the other Children false hope if he wasn't Truly Better. It was a touching Reunion, but brief. The Healer insisted Keeroe needed his Rest.

"Haren," FlarNair said as they stepped outside. "Why didn't you reprimand him for going back into that Forest?"

"He's Learned his Lesson," her Husband answered.

It was Three days before the Healers were convinced Keeroe could go Home. Even then he had to take it easy — no Classes, no Adventures with his Brothers. He grew incredibly restless. It wasn't long before FlarNair consented to let him take short walks.

 

 

Part Four

 

 

The morning after Lyree refused to leave her room, she didn't feel like eating Breakfast, so she picked at her food. Both her mother and father spoke to her at Breakfast, which was unusual enough that she noticed it. After Breakfast Ameston ordered the carriage.

"Slave, ready the carriage. I'm taking my Children to the Infirmary."

The Servant bowed and hurried off.

"Really, Ameston," Almara said. "The Infirmary? Don't you think our Children are a bit young for such a trip?"

"Nonsense, Almara. Our Lyree is more than ready, and I believe it would be best for Tairen to learn sooner rather than later." He looked from his Wife to his Son and daughter. "Children, go play outside while your mother and I have a word."

"Yes, Father," Tairen said, and ran out of the room.

"Lyree?" Smith said.

The girl bowed her head. "Yes, Father," she mumbled, and walked slowly out.

If it had been a Month ago — even a Week ago — she would have run out the same way as her brother. On this day nothing could make her happy, not even the chance to go outside. She found Tairen in the backyard kicking a ball around.

"Can I play too?" she asked.

Tairen stopped mid-kick and turned to look at her with an incredulous expression — one he had no doubt Learned from their father.

"No," he said. "You can't play with me." He kicked the ball away from her. "Father says I'll be Governor one day. You'll just be a housewife."

Lyree nodded and walked swiftly away.

 

She waited on the patio, watching birds and a pair of squirrels fighting in the oak tree, and a trail of ants marching across the flagstones, until a Servant came to collect them.

Smith was already in the carriage. Once Lyree and Tairen were seated and the door was shut, he ordered the coachman to drive, and the carriage started off with a jolt. Through the window, smells of baking bread and roasting meat drifted in, and the scent of flowers was strong through one part of Town. Lyree watched it all in a daze, barely registering any of it.

The Infirmary was tucked away near the front of Alyta, hidden behind false walls that looked exactly like the wall surrounding the Town. She had never seen it before. The Footman opened the carriage door and Smith stepped out.

"This, My Children," he said, as the Footman helped them down, "is why it is so dangerous to go over the wall."

A balding man in a white coat came out to greet them — Dr. Jorken, Smith called him — and at Smith's request showed them in. This place was nothing like Dr. Kram's tidy Office. The Infirmary was made up of only two large rooms: one for the injured, one for the dying. Both were cramped, lined with cots, and crowded with patients.

"You may not have heard this before," Dr. Jorken said to Lyree and Tairen, in the tone of a man who had said this many times, "but our fair Alyta is at war with a savage enemy. Darmonta is a village full of heathens who want to destroy us and our way of life—"

Lyree only heard part of it. She was looking at the men around her. One had his eyes covered with bandages. One had a broken leg. Somewhere a man had a hoarse, wracking cough. Another took deep, rattling breaths.

"Lyree," Smith said from the doorway.

She was standing in the middle of the first room. Tears were falling from her eyes — she hadn't noticed them until now — and she hurried to wipe them away. She expected her father to reprimand her for such a display. All he said was, "Come along, Girl. It's time we went Home."

"Yes, Father," she said.

She stepped carefully around the men on the floor and rejoined her father and brother outside. With one arm around his Son's shoulders and the other around his daughter's, Smith led them to the carriage.

On the ride Home Tairen bounced in his seat. "I'm going to kill every sabage I see!"

Smith chuckled. "Not sabage, Tairen. It's pronounced savage, and you have quite a bit of Growing Up to do before you kill your first Darmontian."

"Isn't there anything that can be done, Father?" Lyree asked.

"About what?"

"Those men back there. Can't someone help them?"

"Lyree, I'm sure Dr. Jorken and his assistants are doing all that they can. Many of them will be well again in no time."

When they reached the Mansion Tairen ran off and Smith pulled his daughter aside.

"Now do you understand why Darmontians are to be feared? Why you should never go over that wall?"

Lyree looked at her feet. "Yes, Father," she said quietly.

 

Even after he was well again, Keeroe would still be seen sitting on the pebbled beach of Serpen, looking out across the River.

 

 

Chapter Five: Celebration and Ceremony

 

Part One

 

 

The final days of Summer brought Derlycos's fourteenth Birthday, and Darmonta did not let it pass quietly. Flowers and decorations went up on every House. The smell of cooking hung in the air from morning onward, and by nightfall the pile of gifts had grown mountainous.

"My goodness," FlarNair said to BeaSong, watching the pile grow higher. "What are we going to do with them all?"

BeaSong had come over earlier in the day to help plan the celebration. While their mothers worked, the Boys played.

"So," Merkyto said to Derlycos. "How does it feel to be fourteen Summers old?"

Derlycos shrugged. "Doesn't feel much different."

"Oh, but you'd better watch out. It won't be long and your back will be crooked and you'll be chasing us with a stick."

"Yeah," Bene said. "You'll turn into old man DoricAye!"

They all laughed as the short, wrinkled, bent old man hobbled by with his cane.

"Speaking of being an old no-fun person," said Merkyto, "where's Keeroe?"

"You know him," Derlychos said. "He's never been big on Birth Celebrations. He'll be back later, after things get started."

 

At Sundown Darmonta came Alive. There was Music, Dancing, Storytelling, taste-testing, and various competitions. The Celebration was held in the center of the Village and veined out into the surrounding Streets. A great bonfire had been built and a Band played on the Village dais.

Derlycos mustered his Courage and asked a Girl to Dance — the one who had spoken for the others at the River. Beneveon won second place in an Archery contest. Merkyto went off to cause mischief. It was almost midnight, the Feast was about to begin, and Keeroe was nowhere to be found.

"Derlycos!" Beneveon burst through the Crowd, then stopped when he saw who Derlycos was with.

"Bene," Derlycos said, with a goofy grin. "This is Stellexara."

"Um — hi — Derlycos, I can't find Keeroe anywhere."

"Ok. Don't panic. We'll find him." Derlychos turned to Stellexara. "I have to go."

"Will I see you during the Feast?" she asked.

"Maybe."

Without another word Bene and Derlycos ran off through the Crowd.

 

They found Merkyto and his partners in crime behind a House on the edge of Town, acting like fools and dancing around a wooden keg they'd apparently stolen.

"What are you turkeys up to back here?" Derlycos asked.

"We're stuffing the turkey," Merkyto said, raising his cup.

"Bobbing for apples," said one of his Friends.

"Digging for snails," said the other.

"Hunting for Rabbits," Merkyto challenged.

"Catching a Fish." "Riding a current." "Polishing rocks." "Spitting at an ox." "Throwing a spear." "Fighting for Darmonta!" they all cried together. They started Laughing hysterically, clinked their cups, and took another drink.

"Right," Derlycos said, rolling his eyes.

"Here, Derlycos," Merkyto said, draining his cup and filling it again. He handed it over. "Have some wine."

"I can't. Really."

"Come on. Just a sip. Just one."

"Well — one sip might not hurt." Derlycos took a drink. "This is grape juice."

"What? Nooo!"

"Here, Bene," Derlycos said. "Try some."

Beneveon looked warily from Derlycos to the others and back again. He took the cup and sipped.

"This is grape juice."

"Awww maaaan!" one of Merkyto's so-called friends said.

"No way!" shouted the other.

"Well," Merkyto said, "I thought it was wine."

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Wait, guys! I'm serious! I had no idea!"

"Merkyto," Bene said, "Keeroe never showed up to the Celebration."

"I take it that means you want my help finding him?"

Bene nodded.

Merkyto sighed. "Oh well. No sense in guarding a barrel of grape juice, I suppose."

 

Stellexara had gathered the Girls together and they began their own search, splitting into smaller groups to broaden the sweep. Rosafay had been quietly watching Keeroe for some time and Knew how he liked to sit by the River. So instead of searching the Village with the others, she started at the swimming spot and followed the bank. She found him in less than fifteen minutes, sitting on the shore, hidden by the Forest.

"Hello, Keeroe," she said.

He jumped and scrambled to his feet. "Rosafay? What are you doing here?"

"Everyone's looking for you. The Feast is about to start."

He shook his head and looked back across the water. "I'm not going," he said, sitting back down.

"Oh." A pause. "Do you — um — do you mind if I sit down?"

"No. Go ahead."

She sat beside him on the rocky ground. "It's beautiful out here," she said.

Fireflies danced over the waters of Serpen, winking in and out of sight. The peepers chirped their nightly chorus. Music floated to their ears from the Celebration — soft, slow, unhurried.

Keeroe nodded. "It is."

"Um, Keeroe?"

"Hm?"

"Would you — um — would you like to dance?"

He looked at her. She was so close, looking right at him, and he felt a blush start in his cheeks. "Sure," was all he could say.

She Smiled. He felt a Smile tug at his own lips as she stood and helped him to his feet. They held hands, swaying and spinning to the distant Music. For the first time in weeks, Keeroe was Happy.

 

Derlycos, Merkyto, and Beneveon finally found him — but not at all how they'd expected. Rosafay was with him. They were Dancing, Smiling, Laughing.

"Well look at that," Merkyto said. He opened his mouth wide to yell some smart remark, but Bene and Derlycos covered it with their hands. They nodded to each other in silent agreement and backed quietly away, towing Merkyto with them, hands still over his mouth.

 

 

Part Two

 

 

In Darmonta, fourteen was a great milestone. It was the age when a Child had to go out alone and find their Guardian Spirit.

The Darmontians Believed that Spirits wandered the World in the shape of Animals, searching for a Mortal Soul to Join with. At fourteen, a teenager was sent out into the Wilderness with only a few provisions and told to wait — alone, without shelter or company — until they received a Vision and their Soul Joined with another. If they failed to see anything, they were no longer considered alive. The Boy or Girl, once sent into the World, was thought of as a Spirit themselves. Real Deaths, however, were rare. Teenagers usually saw something — an odd Dream, a Sign discerned in the Forest, or Visions brought on by hunger and fatigue. But the Ritual was Real, and the stakes were Real, and no one treated it otherwise.

Now it was Derlycos's Time.

It was mid-afternoon. Evidence of the previous Night's Festivities was everywhere — garlands half-fallen, ash from the bonfire still warm, cups left on windowsills. The entire Village was gathered in the center once more, this time in Mourning rather than Celebration.

The Condemned and his Family mounted the dais steps. First Derlycos, then FlarNair, then Beneveon — and then Ohterku HarenArompa stopped Keeroe from following and pulled him aside.

"I don't think it would be wise for you to take part in this, Keeroe," Haren said.

"What? Why not? I'm his Brother too."

"Yes. But you Know how the Villagers are. They would see your involvement as Bad Luck — a Sign that Derlycos will not return."

"So that's what I am. Bad Luck."

Keeroe pushed his way through the Crowd before Haren could answer.

"Keeroe!"

He didn't stop. With a sigh, Ohterku HarenArompa started up the dais steps himself. Perhaps it was best. When he had taken his place on the stage, he cleared his throat and began.

"This Day, we Remember. We Remember where we come from. We Remember our Past and look to the Future!"

"Ah Hoo!" cried the Crowd, raising their fists to the sky.

"This Boy," Ohterkú continued, glancing back at Derlycos with a grin that vanished as quickly as it came, "will soon be a Man. But before he becomes a Man, he must pass the Test of the Spirits. He must be found Worthy, so that their Souls may Join, and so that he will have a Guardian when he faces the challenges of Manhood."

"Ah Hoo!" the Crowd yelled, louder than before.

"Does anyone dispute that this Boy has earned the Right to take this Sacred Journey?"

Silence.

"Then will the Elder bring forth the Sacred Dish?"

An old Man stepped up onto the dais carrying a crystal bowl — a geode, cut in half long ago and passed down from Elder to Elder since before anyone could Remember. He offered it to Ohterkú, then took his place to the side.

"This Bowl," Ohterkú said, holding the geode high, "has been passed down from Generation to Generation since the Beginning of Time. The Bowl Symbolizes Darmonta."

He handed it back to the Elder for a moment and took out his knife.

"Into Darmonta, we put his Family."

He made a small cut on his palm and let his blood drip into the bowl. "The Blood of Ohtahn." He handed the knife to FlarNair, who made a similar cut. "Blood of Mareh," she said, and passed the knife to Beneveon. His Blood followed. "Blood of Ohter," Bene said, and returned the knife to his Father.

Haren sheathed the knife and lifted a stone pitcher from the dais floor, raising it for all to see before pouring some of its contents into the geode. "Into the bowl, we add milk to symbolize the Mother."

He set down the pitcher, stepped off the dais, and bent to pick up a pinch of dirt. He added it to the blood and milk. "We put Land into the Bowl so that he may become One with it, should he fall."

He walked back up the steps. The Elder handed him the geode and he carried it to Derlycos.

"With blood from your Family, milk to symbolize the Mother-Creator who Made All, and soil to receive you should you fail — drink this, and enter the Realm of the Spirits."

Derlycos brought the geode to his lips and drank.

The moment he handed it back to the Elder, it was as if he had become a ghost. People looked through him. If he stood in front of someone, their eyes passed over him as though he weren't there.

"May you find your Guardian and return to us," Haren said, "wherever you are."

FlarNair began to cry. BeaSong guided her gently off the stage. Deciding he didn't want to torment them by lingering where they couldn't see him, Derlycos gathered the supplies that had been set out before the Ceremony and wove his way through the dispersing Crowd.

The only one who seemed to Truly see him was Keeroe. He was leaning against a Tree on the edge of the Forest, waiting.

"I know it doesn't mean much coming from me," Keeroe said, "but Good Luck."

Derlycos grinned. "I'm supposed to be a Spirit, Remember? If you can see me, that must mean you're a Spirit too."

"Nah. Just Unlucky."

"No you're not. Come here."

Derlycos hugged his Brother.

"I'm going to miss you, Derlycos," Keeroe said.

"Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it."

Keeroe watched him go until the Forest swallowed him whole.

 

The next few days were the longest, most boring days of his Life. Without Derlycos, Keeroe and the others lacked direction. Merkyto tried to fill in for their missing Leader, but it just wasn't the same.

Long.

And boring.

Keeroe spent the Time sharpening his weapons Skills, playing with Beneveon, and — increasingly — spending Time with Rosafay. Since that night on the rocky beach they had grown closer. When they weren't in Class, they could often be found walking together, sitting near the River, or Practicing their weapons skills side by side.

It was about two weeks before Derlycos returned. This time everyone could see him. A Crowd massed around him and herded him to the Council House, where Ohterkú was in a Meeting. That Meeting was dropped the moment word arrived.

His Guardian Spirit was a Wolf.

 

 

Part Three

 

 

One year passed, and then another. Keeroe and Beneveon were twelve years old. Merkyto was fourteen — he had undergone his Spirit Rite in early Spring, and his Guardian had come to him in the shape of a Fox. DerLycos had turned sixteen that year and was considered a Man among the Darmontians.

He had changed much in those two years. He no longer spent his days with his little Brothers the way he used to. He had a different Group of Friends now, attended Real Council Meetings instead of Imaginary ones, and had gone on his first real hunt at fifteen. The Streets were abuzz with the rumor: DerLycos was soon to become Ohterkú.

Keeroe had never before noticed how old and worn HarenArompa looked. His once black hair was riddled with grey. His muscle tone was less impressive than it had been. His eyes always looked so tired. For the first time, Keeroe found himself wondering just how much Haren had seen and done — and carried — over the years.

Ohterku HarenArompa was feeling as old as he looked, if not older. The position of Ohterkú was a stressful one. He had to make Decisions for the entire Village, settle disputes, and — worst and most draining of all — manage the war effort.

Since Enralba Ona, the Forbidden Year, there had been five small fights and three major battles. This small number of engagements in eleven years was unusual, and Haren couldn't help but fear that a storm had been building behind Alyta's wall all this time. The cannons had never been used in any of the fights since. That was even more unsettling. Governor Ameston James Smith was planning something. The question was what.

Darmonta needed a fresh mind at its head. Whatever Alyta was preparing, Haren Knew it would be unlike anything he had faced before. DerLychos had a quick Mind and a natural knack for Leadership. There was no doubt in the old Chief's Heart that his Heir was Ready.

But was he ready for the cost?

 

The entire Village was gathered outside Arompa Ohterkú, waiting for Ohterku HarenArompa and their soon-to-be Ohterkú to emerge. DerLycos was Ready — dressed in the Ceremonial Headdress and garb of a Chief — but Haren wanted a word with him before they went out to face the Village and begin the Ceremony.

"Are you Ready?" HarenArompa asked.

"I'm Ready."

"But are you ready to lose something — the most Precious thing in your Heart?"

DerLycos frowned. He hadn't expected a question like that. "What do you mean, Haren?"

"Just what I've said. Are you ready to lose the thing you Treasure most? The Ceremony requires this sacrifice."

DerLycos thought about it for a moment, then slowly nodded. He could surely live without the ivory spear Haren had given him for his sixteenth Birthday.

"I think so," DerLycos said.

Haren nodded. Sadness moved across his face like a cloud. He couldn't tell DerLycos what the Ceremony Truly entailed — it was not allowed. He Knew DerLycos didn't understand. He wished he could warn him. But could anyone really be ready for something like that?

"We'd best be going," HarenArompa said grimly.

Stepping outside, they were met by a thousand Cheers and Smiling faces. The Crowd swallowed them. People patted DerLycos on the back and pressed Congratulations and Wishes for Luck into his hands. Slowly the great throng made its way down the Hill, through the Village, and stopped in front of the House of Spirits.

"My People!" HarenArompa shouted. "Today is the day that we lose our Ohterkú, and a new one will step up in his place!"

The Crowd cheered. When they quieted, Haren continued.

"Let us Remember that Today is not an ending, but a New Beginning — a time to look toward the Future with Hope and open arms. Today, we must smile at sorrow, for it is the gateway to joy.

"Among us there is one who will open that gateway. One of us must go to the Spirit World and tell the Spirits of our new Ohterkú. This Person must go Willingly."

The joy of the occasion turned to serious quiet. No one moved or spoke. Everyone Understood what this Meant. In order for someone to carry a Message to the Spirit World, someone had to Die.

"Step forward," Ohterkú said. "Stellexara, of the Spirit Guardian Horse."

The Crowd parted as she made her way to the front. She was fourteen, and though she held her head high she looked afraid. Her Mother and Father were on either side of her. Her Mother looked as though she might faint. Her Father was as stone. Keeroe, standing at the front of the Crowd, could clearly see the fear and horror on DerLycos's face the moment her Name was spoken.

Stellexara stood before the Crowd — head bowed, hands clasped in front of her, her Parents on either side.

Ohterkú looked to each of her Parents in turn. "Because your Daughter is not yet a Woman, it falls to you to Decide. Do you accept this Honor?"

Stellexara's Father opened his mouth to speak when a cry rang out from the Crowd.

"No!"

Rosafay burst through. Tears fell from her eyes and righteous anger pinched her face.

"You can't take my Sister!" she screamed. "You can't!"

Their Mother left Stellexara's side and stepped in front of Rosafay. She brushed the hair from her youngest Daughter's face and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"It'll be alright," she whispered, pulling her into an embrace. 

"It won't!" Rosafay cried. "It won't!"

They held each other a moment longer before Rosafay broke away. She wiped her tears, sniffled, and walked straight to HarenArompa.

"Take me instead," she said.

The Crowd gasped. Keeroe rushed forward and put himself between Rosafay and his Stepfather.

"No," Keeroe said. "Haren, please —"

"This is not your Decision, Keeroe. Nor is it mine."

HarenArompa turned to the High Priest, FlarKuret, who stood behind him. FlarKuret closed his eyes as if listening to something only he could hear. When he opened them, he nodded.

"The Spirits have decreed that they will take the younger Daughter."

Keeroe felt the world tilt under his feet.

"Keeroe," Haren said quietly. "The Spirits have Spoken."

He just stood there, stunned, until Rosafay turned him gently around.

"It'll be ok," she said. "Just go."

Keeroe swallowed past the knot in his throat. "It won't," he said — throwing her own words back at her.

He walked away, pushing through the Crowd, and didn't look back.

 

Ohterkú nodded to himself and commenced the Ceremony.

"Stellexara," he said. "Stand down."

"No," Stellexara said quietly, to her Sister.

"It'll be alright," Rosafay said.

They hugged and cried together. Stellexara's quiet 'no' grew louder. Finally some of the Girls had to pull her away.

"No!" she screamed. "Rosafay!"

Rosafay took her Sister's place, her Parents on either side of her. Ohterkú looked to them.

"I ask again — do you accept this Honor?"

Rosafay's Mother burst into tears. It fell to her Father to answer.

"Rosafay has Decided."

Ohterkú looked at Rosafay. "Do you accept?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Haren sighed. His face was set stone. "Very well. Rosafay, enter Arompa Terkuter."

Rosafay hugged each of her Parents in turn. Then she turned toward the Priests and the open doorway of the House of Spirits. The Priests stepped aside. It was dark inside — the doorway like a gaping mouth, ready to swallow her. Thinking of her Sister, Rosafey started walking toward it —

Women screamed and People leapt out of the way as a Horse charged through the Crowd. A red and white painted Stallion, and on his back was Keeroe. Before anyone could stop him, he scooped the stunned Rosafay onto the Horse's back and charged off into the Forest.

 

They rode deep into the Darmontian Forest, weaving around Trees and brush. A thin branch slapped Keeroe across the face and sliced his cheek. They didn't stop until they came to a large field-like clearing. Keeroe dismounted.

"We should be Safe here for a little while," he said. "I brought my bow, so I'm going to catch us a Rabbit. The River's not far if you need a drink —"

"Keeroe," Rosafay interrupted. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

She slid off the Paint, who was content to graze. She looked Keeroe straight in the eye. "Why did you take me away?"

"They were going to kill you."

"Yes. So that I could tell the Spirits about DerLycos. Now everyone is angry. It won't be long before they find us."

"Then we'll ride," Keeroe said. "And keep on riding."

"To where? I've never really left the Village before."

"I don't know."

"Besides," said Rosafay, "even if we could find somewhere to go, they would still find us. Some of the Hunters can track a Deer for over a hundred miles. There's no way to escape. We have to go back."

"But you'll die."

"I don't care if I die."

"I do."

They stood in silence for a moment, the fire crackling between them and the dark pressing in on every side.

"I'm not sure there's anything we can do," Rosafay said finally. "Let's stay here for the night. The sun is going down. Maybe Tomorrow we'll think of something."

"Maybe."

They gathered wood and built a fire, but the feeling of doom hung thick in the air. As the flames took hold they sat side by side, staring into them. They Knew that if they ran they would only be caught eventually, and running would make everything worse. It was only a matter of Time.

Sure enough, they soon heard the sound of Horses on every side. They were surrounded. Every instinct screamed at Keeroe to run, but he resisted. He tensed and held still as the circle grew tighter, until he could see the Horses and their Riders in the glow of the fire — Ohterku HarenArompa, Rosafay's Father, and a handful of Oraku Warriors, several of them Women.

Rosafay was made to mount her Father's Horse. Keeroe was made to mount the red and white Paint. A rope was tied around the Stallion's neck and Keeroe was led through the Forest with an Oraku on every side.

They stopped in front of the House of Spirits. One of the Oraku dismounted to speak with the High Priest, who stood beside the door. Keeroe couldn't hear what was being whispered, but when FlarKuret nodded and the Warrior turned back toward him, he began to panic. He tried to make the Horse rear, to back up — anything. The Oraku pulled him off the Paint, pinned his arms behind his back, and forced him toward the open doorway of Arompa Terkuter. He kicked and dragged his feet. It made no difference.

After a time, Keeroe stopped fighting.

They led him through a labyrinth of hallways and rooms before reaching the large central Chamber at the Heart of the Building. The Oraku pushed him inside and bolted the great double doors behind him.

 

As far as he could tell, he was alone. The room was completely empty. He paced for a while, waiting for something to happen, for someone to come. No one did. Eventually he sat down with his back against the wall.

The silence was eerie.

"If you take her," Keeroe said, thinking of Rosafay, "then I will never forgive you."

The only answer was the echo of his own voice in the dark.

 

He woke when the great doors opened. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he had. It was Morning — thin rays of light poked through the woven stick skylight above. Four Men and a Woman came through the doors: two Oraku Warriors, two Priests, and a Priestess.

Keeroe did the one thing he Knew how to do. He ran.

He led them on a chase they would not soon forget. The Priests and Priestess were easy enough to outpace in their long robes and sandaled feet, but the Oraku were a different matter. They came within an inch of him more than once. The hallways were narrow and cluttered — baskets, tools, ceremonial objects stacked against the walls — and when the Oraku were almost on him he tipped a basket of vegetables and bought himself a few precious seconds. One Warrior fell behind, too winded to continue. The other stayed hot on his heels.

Remembering the way he'd been brought in, Keeroe found the main doors and flung them open.

He stumbled into blinding sunlight and stopped dead.

The entire Village was there. HarenArompa, the High Priest, and the other Priests stood just in front of him. Hundreds of eyes stared at Keeroe. Even Haren looked angry. There was no way out.

Huffing and puffing, the Oraku who had stayed longest on his tail came out of Arompa Terkuter behind him. He put a fist to his Heart and addressed Haren. "Ohterkú — I've brought — I've — brought the Boy."

HarenArompa was no longer Keeroe's foster-Father. He was Ohterkú, and Keeroe was afraid.

"Very well. Let the Judgment begin."

A growl rose from every Darmontian throat. Keeroe looked for a friendly face and found none.

"Keeroe has broken every Law," Ohterkú continued. "The Law of the Spirits and the Law of the People. He has dishonored the Spirits, his Family, and the whole of Darmonta by stealing the One who was to travel to the Spirit Realm. The punishment for such a crime is Death."

Keeroe's Heart sank to his stomach.

"However," said the Chief, "one has stepped up to take his place. And the Spirits have accepted her."

Haren's voice strained on those last words. He was trying not to cry. He could barely say what came next.

"Step forward — FlarNair —"

All of Darmonta drew in a breath, drowning out whatever he said after her Name. She made her way to her Husband with her head held high. She had never looked more like Herself — Calm and Certain, as though she had already made Peace with what was coming long before this moment arrived. She put a hand on Haren's cheek and whispered words meant only for his ears. She kissed him deeply, held him, and then turned to face the assembled Crowd.

"I am ready," she said, bowing her head and clasping her hands in front of her.

"No!" Keeroe shouted. "Mareh!"

He started toward her but the Oraku behind him grabbed his arms. Ohterkú looked at the Warrior.

"Release him."

The Warrior let go. Keeroe ran to the only Mother he had ever known.

"Mareh, don't do this!"

"Shh. Hush now. Promise me that you'll be Brave?"

"Mareh, I don't want you to go!"

"There, there. Everything is going to be all right. I Promise." She forced a smile. Her eyes were full of Love and tears. "We will meet again, I swear it. Promise me that you will be Brave. Swear that you will always follow your Heart, no matter what."

Keeroe wiped his tears with his arm. His throat was so tight his voice came out in a croak. "I Promise. I Swear."

This time her Smile was Genuine.

"I'm so Proud of you."

She hugged him tight, then went to BeaSong, who stood at the edge of the Crowd.

"Promise me that you'll look after him?"

BeaSong nodded. "I Promise."

"Thank you."

FlarNair sniffled, dried her tears, and approached the Priests.

"Do you accept this Honor?" the High Priest asked.

"Will it save my Son?"

FlarKuret nodded. "It will."

"Then I accept."

The Priests stepped aside. FlarNair entered the House of Spirits. The Priests followed her in and closed the great doors behind them.

The people of Darmonta began to mourn. The Crowd dispersed. Keeroe stayed where he had hugged her, sitting on the ground in front of those closed doors. He sat there for hours, waiting — Knowing she would not come out again.

 

A Moon passed and the Village held a Celebration for their new Ohterkú — a Housewarming. A new House had been built on the edge of Town for HarenArompa, and Ohterku DerLychos was to be the new Owner of Arompa Ohterkú.

Haren's things were paraded down the Streets for all to see. Usually the Owner would walk at the end of the procession, but Haren was not there. Everyone Knew he was in Arompa Terkuter, still mourning. No burial had been held for FlarNair. No eulogies had been spoken. Such was the way for one who traveled to the Spirit World to announce a new Chief. The only thing that had marked her passage was the burning of her worldly possessions.

There was no procession for Beneveon or Keeroe. The day after FlarNair's sacrifice, they were moved to BeaSong's House. No one helped them carry their things. No songs were sung. Beneveon Chose to go with Keeroe, and Keeroe went as an Outcast.

 

 

Chapter Six: Into the Wilderness

 

Part One

 

 

Summer became Fall, and Fall became Winter. Another year from that Winter and Beneveon turned fourteen. As always, Keeroe hung back from the Celebration, and the next day he waited in the Woods to bid his Brother goodbye.

Two days into Beneveon's Spirit Rite, the storm hit. Every Darmontian was in their Home with their Families, staying warm by the fire.

BeaSong was adding wood to the flames, chattering to herself as she usually did. Merkyto and Keeroe had dragged their sleeping furs from their Room to the Main Room and were lying near the hearth, trying to sleep.

"I'm telling you," BeaSong was saying quietly to herself, "I feel bad for any poor Soul out in this weather."

She was thinking of the Animals. Keeroe was thinking of Bene.

He was out there alone in this. The thought plagued him. Merkyto had fallen Asleep, and BeaSong had joined him not long after, but no matter how hard Keeroe tried, he couldn't follow them. 

He kept seeing Bene huddled under whatever makeshift shelter he may have managed to put together — if he'd had time to build one at all. The storm had come out of nowhere. Had Bene even seen it coming?

Keeroe couldn't get involved with the Spirits again. The last time he'd angered them, his Life had grown twice as hard. Since that day, People had become even more aggressive. Instead of just spitting when he walked by, they threw things — rocks, vegetables, fruit, pottery. He was always looking over his shoulder. He stayed hidden when he could, and often went off by himself. The only times he chanced the ridicule of others was at Weapons Classes. He'd been banned from Eque Flahs, the Horse Fields, since the day he stole the painted Horse to rescue Rosafay. Even she wasn't allowed to be with him anymore. No — he couldn't risk what little Peace and Freedom he had left.

But then he Remembered his Mother. Not his Birth-Mother. FlarNair.

She had made him Promise to be Brave. She had made him Swear to follow hisHeart, no matter the cost. He had Promised.

Keeroe got up and went to find more furs. He was going to Save his Brother.

From the chest in BeaSong's room he took out a piece of flint, a tinderbox, a hide tent, and a pair of snowshoes. These had Belonged to BeaSong's late Husband — Merkyto's Father, who had Died in the War. Keeroe made a silent prayer, Promising to return everything when he came back. Then he stepped out into the storm.

 

The wind blew hard and fierce, and the cold stung his eyes. Despite his fur cloak, fur-lined boots, gloves, and cap, the chill cut straight through him.

"Bene!" he called. "Beneveon!"

The wind swallowed his voice.

The situation seemed hopeless and bleak. He had been walking for a while now and could barely see two inches in front of his face. The wind lifted the snow from the ground and threw it into the air, and with the thick, fat flakes falling fast from above, it created a world of white nothing. Keeroe mentally added this to his list of the dumbest things he'd ever done.

How could he ever find Beneveon now? The snow had no doubt buried whatever tracks there might have been. He looked around — and couldn't even see his own footprints behind him.

"Great," he said to himself. "Now I'm lost."

He wandered for a time. He Knew his best chance was to find shelter and wait out the storm, but he couldn't set the hide tent up just anywhere — the wind would carry it away, or break it.

Then the Spirits Decided to be Merciful. The wind let up just enough for Keeroe to spot a Grove of Pine Trees. He started toward them as fast as the snowshoes and the wind would allow. He had just settled at the base of one, amid the shelter of the lower branches, when he heard something. At first he dismissed it as a trick of the Wind Spirit. Then he heard it again.

His curiosity got the better of him.

He crawled out of his piney refuge and followed the sound. As he drew closer he began to Recognize some of the muttered Words — and then he Recognized the Voice. He started crawling faster.

He crawled until he found a boot. A pair of legs. A torso. A set of arms. And then a face he Knew as well as his own, even with snow covering the hair and eyelashes, even with the cold making the skin pale and the lips cracked.

"Bene?"

His Brother was mumbling incoherent words.

"Bene!" Keeroe said, louder.

He reached out and touched his Brother's shoulder.

Beneveon gasped. His eyes flew wide and he pressed his back against the Tree. "Go away! Don't touch me!"

"Bene, it's —"

"Go away, Spirit! Leave me be!"

Keeroe grabbed his shoulders. "Bene! It's me. Your Brother."

Beneveon sat there panting. Then, slowly, Recognition came into his eyes.

"Keeroe? Are we Dead?"

"No. No, we're not Dead."

At least he didn't think so. For all he knew, they might've been — he'd never pictured the Spirit World as a frozen, storm-swallowed Forest, but then who could say how the Spirit World really looked?

"Come on," Keeroe said. "We've got to get you out of this wind."

He half-dragged, half-carried his Brother back to the shelter of the Pine Grove. He wrapped Bene in the extra furs he'd brought and sat close beside him, sharing what warmth he had.

"It'll be ok, Bene," Keeroe said — perhaps to reassure himself as much as his Brother. "It'll be ok."

 

He stayed awake until the storm died down. He built a fire and set up the hide tent, then Helped Beneveon closer to the flames and looked around to get his bearings.

He wasn't sure where they were — and yet he Recognized this part of the Forest. When he found a distinct marking on a nearby Tree, a faded scar in the bark, he ran to take down the tent.

"Bene, can you walk?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure. What's going on?"

"We're in a bad place. We have to go — now."

Keeroe threw piles of snow onto the fire, bringing up great hisses of steam, until it was out.

"Where are we?" Beneveon asked.

"Somehow we must've crossed the River."

Bene's eyes went wide.

"You don't mean —"

"Yes," Keeroe said. "Give me your hand. I'll Help you up."

 

DerLycos saw the small Crowd coming long before they reached him. He had been Practicing his Archery. His bowstring had been drawn tight, ready to fire, when he caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He released the arrow and missed the target. He cursed under his breath, retrieved the arrow, put it back in his quiver, and set down his bow. Now that he was Ohterkú, he hardly had any time to himself.

"We demand that he be punished!" shouted a man at the front of the Crowd.

"This cannot go without reprimand!" shouted another.

"Wait," DerLycos said. "What are you talking about? Who did what, and why must he be punished?"

"The Unlucky One!" an old, gnarled woman shouted. "He's brought young Beneveon back from the Spirit World!"

"Keeroe brought Beneveon back from his Spirit Rite? Where are they?"

"The Monster took Beneveon to Arompa Hasalu!" someone in the Crowd yelled.

DerLycos's temper flared. He fought to keep his voice level.

"Be careful who you call 'Monster'. You forget that Keeroe is my Brother."

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and pushed the anger down before he spoke again.

"Does anyone know where Keeroe is now?"

"He fled into the Forest," said a woman near the front.

"Thank you," DerLycos said. "I'll look into this matter immediately."

 

Keeroe waited in the Forest until the Streets cleared, then started for Home. He was walking down a narrow side-road when a snowball hit him from behind. He spun around, ready to frighten whoever had thrown it — but no one was there. He looked around, saw nothing, sighed, and started walking again.

A snowball hit him in the back of the head.

"Hey —"

No one was there.

He growled under his breath. He crouched down as if tightening his boot-string, packed a ball of snow in his fist, stood up, and whirled around.

They both froze — Keeroe with a snowball in his hand, ready to fire, and DerLychos holding a huge pile of snow over his head, ready to dump it. Instead, the snow fell on top of DerLycos.

He started to chuckle. The chuckle became a full belly-Laugh. Keeroe started Laughing too — the sight of DerLycos buried under his own snow was just too much. When the Laughter finally settled, DerLychos pulled him into a bear-hug.

"So," DerLycos said, his arm around Keeroe's shoulders as they started down the empty Street, "how've you been?"

Keeroe let out a long sigh. "Could be better."

"Keeroe — you know you could always move back up on the Hill. That hasn't changed."

"I Know. It just doesn't feel right."

DerLycos nodded sadly. "I Know."

A pause.

"So — how's Bene?"

"He's fine," DerLycos said slowly.

"You don't sound very sure about that."

They stopped. DerLycos looked at the ground, trying to find the right way to say it. Finally he Decided there wasn't one.

"The Hasalu — they say his right leg will have to come off."

"Oh." A beat. "The storm bit him?"

"Yeah. His leg is black."

"I was too late."

"Hey — don't blame yourself for this. If you hadn't brought him back, he'd have lost more than just his leg."

DerLycos managed a grin then.

"Wait until you hear what his Spirit Guardian is going to be."

 

Keeroe handed BeaSong her Husband's things.

"I'm sorry I took them."

BeaSong held the pack and the hide tent in her hands. She studied them for a moment, hugged them to her chest, and then gave them back to Keeroe.

"No," she said. "I'm Glad they were put to good use. Keep them. I'm sure my Husband would rather they be used than shut up in some old chest. I'm just Glad Bene's Safe."

"Speaking of Beneveon," DerLycos said, "you won't believe what his Spirit Guardian is going to be."

 

"Out of the question!" the High Priest cried. "This is impossible! It is a mockery! It — it — it — this is an insult to the Spirits!"

DerLycos had summoned FlarKuret and his entourage of Priests and Priestesses to the Council House to announce Beneveon's Guardian Spirit. The Council House was one large room with a square fire-pit at its center. Around the pit were positioned twelve large cushions. DerLycos sat on the far side of the fire, facing the doors. His Guests sat directly across from him, and his Councilors sat on either side.

"High Priest FlarKuret," DerLycos said, "I understand that this is unusual. But surely it is not unheard of."

"You speak sacrilege!"

"What our High Priest is trying to say," offered one of the Priestesses, "is that perhaps the Boy, in his illness, became delirious. Having been pulled from the Spirit World as he was, perhaps he could not see his proper Guardian."

"He should be cast out again!" FlarKuret cried. He was entirely red, looking as though he might explode. "Send him back into the Wilds until he finds his true Spirit Guardian!"

"I will do no such thing!" DerLycos shouted. "Beneveon just lost a leg! He'd never survive the Forest in the state he's in!"

FlarKuret smirked.

"Your quick temper betrays your youth, Ohterkú DerLychos."

"And yours betrays your age."

The smirk twisted into a glare. DerLycos felt the room go still — and pressed on.

"In fact — maybe you're getting too old to be High Priest."

A gasp escaped everyone in the room.

FlarKuret rose as fast as a striking snake and pointed a long, bony finger across the fire.

"This is far from over."

He motioned for his entourage to stand, and then — turning so fast that his black robes flared out behind him — FlarKuret strode out of the Council House with the other Priests at his heels.

HarenArompa waited until the doors closed before he spoke.

"My Lord DerLycos — you have made a powerful enemy of FlarKuret. Perhaps you should consider a different approach."

DerLycos shook his head.

"No, Haren. Things need to change."

 

It was a week before Beneveon felt well enough to appear before the People of Darmonta. Four strong Orah carried him to the Village dais on a stretcher of smooth wooden planks. A blanket was draped around his lower half to hide the bandaged stump of his right leg. The Villagers treated him like a conquering Hero returned from Battle.

They cheered and threw bird down and feathers into the air. Girls blew him kisses and chanted his Name. When they reached the dais, the Orah lifted the stretcher so that Beneveon didn't have to feel as though he were lying down.

DerLycos, once again wearing the Ceremonial Robes and Headdress of Ohterkú, addressed his People.

"This is a day of Celebration. This Day we Remember the Courage of our People."

"Ah hoo!" the Crowd shouted.

"This Boy has demonstrated the Bravery of his People. He has Braved the World of the Spirits and Returned to us!"

"Ah hoo! Ah hoo! Ah hoo!"

"But this Boy did not Return alone. This Boy has been found Worthy, and has been Blessed with a Guardian Spirit."

A great hush fell over Darmonta. Every Villager held their Breath, waiting. A Lynx? A Snow Hare? A Pheasant?

"Beneveon's Spirit Guardian is — Keeroe!"

The Crowd exploded into shouts and whispers and frantic gestures.

"The Unlucky One? How can this be?"

"Outrageous!"

"Preposterous!"

By the smug look on FlarKuret's face, DerLycos could tell he was enjoying every moment of it.

"You see, Ohterkú DerLycos," FlarKuret said, "such an idea is obscene."

DerLychos ignored him and looked out over the chaos unfolding around the dais. He Knew he had to do something.

"Quiet!!!"

Silence fell. Every eye turned to their Ohterkú.

"A Spirit Guardian is a Protector. Beneveon would have died if Keeroe had not brought him back —"

"But he is not a Spirit!" someone shouted.

"No, he's not, but —"

"Then he cannot be a Spirit Guardian!"

Several voices rose in agreement. DerLycos raised his own above them all.

"But! Can any of you deny that he has shown both Courage and Bravery?"

Silence.

"Keeroe has shown more Courage than anyone in this Village can claim! He braved a blizzard to bring Beneveon back to us! Can anyone here say the same?"

Silence.

"Therefore, because Keeroe has shown extraordinary Bravery, and because Beneveon saw no other creature while he traveled the Spirit World, I hereby name Keeroe — Beneveon's Spirit Guardian!"

"But such is not your Right, Ohterkú!"

FlarKuret stepped forward and addressed the Villagers directly.

"Good People! Speaking for the Spirits is in my Power, and I say that this Boy returned to us without a proper Spirit Guardian! The loss of his leg is proof that his worldly form has returned, but from this day hence, Bad Luck will follow him wherever he may go."

"How is he Unlucky?" DerLycos demanded. "He Returned to us Alive!"

"Do not speak of things you do not know," said FlarKuret, icily.

"You will Remember who is Ohterkú, FlarKuret."

"And you will Remember who has the most Power here, Boy."

The Crowd watched in wrapped silence, feeling the full weight of the rivalry between their young Leader and the Priest who spoke to the Spirits.

"Until a final Decision can be made," DerLycos said, addressing everyone, "we will discuss this on another day. Until then, Beneveon will keep his current status." He turned to FlarKuret. "And you will Remember this."

 

The opinions of the People were split. Some Believed FlarKuret fervently — in their Minds, Bene was another person to watch out for. No one spat at him or threw things; they simply kept their distance. The rest of the Village didn't know what to make of Beneveon's having no Guardian Spirit, but they didn't believe he was Unlucky. As a result, they treated him about the same as before — except that the people Keeroe had always found most unpleasant now tended to leave Bene alone.

Except for his missing leg, Bene didn't seem any worse for wear. As Time passed he started using a crutch. He could walk, but his other activities were severely restricted — no Classes, no weapons Practice. He could use the dagger he'd received for his fourteenth Winter, but the rest of his weapons hung on his Bedroom wall.

His inventive Mind soon found new hobbies. He became interested in burning designs into hides. He took up sculpting, and when he was steady enough on the crutch, he started working with ice. Beneveon was well on his way to becoming a fine Craftsman.

As for Keeroe, DerLycos's speech had earned him a small measure of Respect. He didn't need to watch his back quite so much, and People were a little more pleasant — at least the ones who didn't side with FlarKuret.

Because no decision could be made regarding Beneveon's Spirit Guardian, the subject was never brought up again.

 

 

Part Two

 

 

That Spring Keeroe turned fourteen, but no Celebration was held in his Honor. His Birthday had never been Celebrated — because he was the Unlucky One, because people believed Enralba Ona had been his doing. Keeroe Knew about the first part, that his father had Cursed him with Bad Luck, but he didn't know about the Forbidden Year — the famine, the plague, the battle where Darmonta had been massacred. No one ever spoke of the terrible events of that year. And so, year after year, Keeroe watched other Birth Celebrations but never had one of his own. He turned fourteen and everyone acted as if it were any other day.

After Weapons Class he went off into the Forest. He walked for a time without paying much attention to where he was going, and eventually found himself standing at the River.

This was the place where he had first crossed over into the Alytan Forest. Looking back, four years felt like a Lifetime. He sat down. The ground was wet from a springtime shower, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the sun and the occasional chill of the wind. He listened to the sounds around him — the chaotic symphony of birds in song, the River carrying its water away, the wind moving through the leaves, the distant tap-tap-tapping of a woodpecker somewhere deep in the Trees.

He opened his eyes and looked across Serpen.

Unwelcome Memories flooded in. He Remembered her — Lyree — as he did every time he looked across the River. Happy Memories that now seemed sad. Racing, Fishing, walking through the Forest Together. The Night they snuck out and climbed a Tree to count the Stars, and she made up Stories about the Constellations he showed her. The time they traded lunches and she made a face at the first bite of his seasoned salmon. The afternoon a thunderstorm drove them under an outcropped boulder and they drew pictures on the rock with a sharp stone to pass the time.

Thunder —

The Alytan man, pointing that shiny black and silver tube at Keeroe —

He gasped back to the Present. Real Thunder sounded in the distance, signaling a coming storm. He looked up to read the time by the sun, but the sky was overcast. How long had he been sitting there? He stood, his feet half-asleep, and started limping Home.

 

BeaSong, Beneveon, and Merkyto were gathered in the Main Room around the fire when Keeroe got Home. Small packages wrapped in furs and tied with leather strips were piled in one corner. An assortment of sweet meats, cakes, and candies were laid out on the eating mats.

"There you are!" BeaSong said. "What took you so long?"

"I'm sorry, BeaSong. I was in the Forest and lost track of time."

According to the time-candle burning on a low shelf in the corner, it was at least a half-hour past the midday meal. BeaSong had scolded him before for missing it.

"Don't worry about it," Bene said. "We weren't going to start without you."

"What's the Occasion?" Keeroe asked, only now noticing the packages and the rare spread of treats.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten," Merkyto said. "Well, I suppose it's not every day you enter your fourteenth Spring."

"We've Decided to throw you a small Birth Celebration," BeaSong said. "HarenArompa and DerLycos were here earlier, but Haren isn't as young and spry as he once was, and your Brother had important business at the Council House."

"So all of this is for me?" Keeroe asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"No," Merkyto said. "We're throwing the food into the Forest and giving the gifts to the Spirits." He grinned. "Of course it's for you, you mad buffalo!"

"Merkyto!" BeaSong scolded. "I will not be having name-calling in my House."

"Ah, Mareh, it's all in good fun. Right, Keeroe?"

"Whatever you say, Merkyto," Keeroe said. "You delirious turtle."

"Keeroe!" BeaSong said.

"Oh, BeaSong," Bene said, "don't listen to that rabid rabbit!"

The boys left BeaSong speechless as the name-calling contest escalated. In the end they were all Laughing too hard to continue. BeaSong shrugged, rolled her eyes, and waited them out.

 

After they ate, Keeroe opened his gifts. BeaSong gave him a blanket and a new vest lined with rabbit fur. Merkyto's gift was a new water-skin with a long shoulder strap.

"As much as you Love long walks in the Woods," Merkyto said, "I figured it would come in handy."

Keeroe wouldn't have noticed Beneveon's gift if Bene hadn't pointed it out.

"It's an amulet," Bene said, seeing the questioning look on Keeroe's face as he turned it over in his hand.

It was a carved circle of bone, almost perfectly round, with a septagram — a seven-pointed star — worked into its face. A piece of fine leather was threaded through a hole at the top.

"I carved it out of deer antler," Beneveon told him. "It's for Luck."

Keeroe looked at it for a long moment. Then he put it around his neck.

 

A Runner arrived later that day with word that DerLycos wanted to see him at Arompa Ohterkú. It was strange, walking through that House again. Keeroe hadn't been there since he'd moved out. Strange to see the place he'd Lived in for so long with different furniture, different wall hangings. He found DerLycos in the Armory, mid-argument with a Smith.

"No!" DerLychos was saying. "I paid you a great deal for those weapons!"

"Then take back the jewels!" the Smith roared. "Take them all back! I will not see my work wasted in such a manner!"

"They won't be wasted! They'll be put to good use — and besides, what I do with them now is my business!"

"If you will not see sense, then I will make no more weapons for you!"

"Let's not be irrational —"

"I will only work for you again," the Smith said, "if you give them to someone else. Anyone else."

"No. I had them made especially for him. I Promise you, Forge Master — he will use them well. I swear they will be kept in good condition —"

"No! I will not see my weapons in his hands! If you refuse to see sense, then consider any future business between us dissolved."

Without another word the Smith stormed out, purposefully bumping into Keeroe as he passed. Keeroe rubbed his sore shoulder and approached his Brother.

"What was his problem?"

DerLycos shook his head. "It's not important. Come on — there's something I want to show you."

He led Keeroe to a low shelf against one of the walls. On it sat a long, thick piece of rolled leather. DerLychos took it, crouched down, and rolled it out on the floor.

"Wow," Keeroe said.

Inside the leather were four weapons, all finely crafted and beautifully made — craftsmanship the likes of which Keeroe had never seen. They were, perhaps, the finest weapons ever made by Darmontian hands.

A spear, with a sharp, deadly metal tip. The staff was smooth and soft as the finest hide, made of polished hardwood.

Beside the spear, a longbow curved at just the right angle to give the archer extraordinary range. The string was perfectly twined sinew, without a single strand out of place, and like every bow it was carved with Sacred Symbols for range, accuracy, and Luck. Polished to the same glossy sheen as the spear.

Next to the bow, a short-sword that the Spirits themselves might have envied. The blade was slender and bowed at the sides, shaped like a leaf, razor-sharp on both edges. Diamonds were set into the hilt.

Last, a dagger shaped like a large fang. There was no doubt in Keeroe's mind that it would bite if given the chance.

"They're yours," DerLychos said.

Keeroe made sure he'd heard right. "What?"

"They're yours. I had these made for you, and only you."

"Really?" He could hardly contain it.

"Mm hm. All yours. It's your fourteenth spring — you couldn't have expected to use blunt weapons your entire Life."

Keeroe was almost afraid to touch them, as if they might vanish. But as he lifted the sword, it didn't disappear into the air. It was solid and Real. He took a fighting stance to feel the balance of it.

"Everyone says you're the best fighter of our Generation," DerLycos said, watching him.

Keeroe swept the sword through a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and set it back on the leather. He raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone?"

"Well — not everyone. Merkyto, Beneveon, BeaSong, Haren, and even VeyexBorae say you're the Best he's ever seen."

Keeroe Remembered — only a couple of days ago, practicing with a blunt sword, besting person after person, when people had started throwing rocks. VeyexBorae had chased them off, but not before they'd called Keeroe a Demon and a Monster. He thought of DerLycos's argument with the Forge Master, and understood now what it had been about.

"What's wrong?" DerLychos asked, reading his face.

"Sometimes," Keeroe said, "I just wish people didn't fear me so much."

"Don't worry about them. They just don't know you yet." DerLycos put a hand on his shoulder. "I have a plan. We'll show them."

 

 

Part Three

 

 

The next day, around midday, DerLycos summoned the entire Village to Gather around the dais.

"This Day," DerLychos said, "we Remember where we come from. We Remember our Past and look to the Future!"

People looked around in confusion. Ohterkú DerLycos was beginning a Spirit Rite — but who was going through it?

"This Boy will soon be a Man."

At his cue, Keeroe climbed the dais steps and took his place on stage. DerLycos had to holler to make himself heard over the mutters and shouts and curses rising from the Crowd.

"But before this Boy becomes a Man, he must pass the Test of the Spirits! He must be found Worthy, so that their Souls may Join, and so that he will have a Guardian when he faces the challenges of Manhood!"

Then came the part they had both been dreading.

"Does anyone dispute that this Boy has earned the Right to take this Sacred Journey?"

"I dispute it!"

The Crowd parted. FlarKuret came walking through, climbed the dais steps, and pointed a bony finger at Keeroe.

"This is no Boy! He is an unholy Demon, sent upon us by malevolent Spirits! This creature should be put to Death!"

"How dare you!" DerLycos shouted. "Keeroe is my Brother, and I will not tolerate —"

"See!" cried the High Priest. "The Demon has influence even over our Ohterkú! He is a Monster who does not deserve to live!"

"Enough!!!"

The sea of bodies made a pocket of air near the front of the Crowd. In the center stood HarenArompa.

He was standing straight and tall — no longer the shadow-of-a-man he had become since FlarNair's passing. He had changed much in the years since. It was as if he had aged a decade overnight; his hair entirely grey now, deep creases in his face. But in this moment he looked like Himself again. Like the Man he had been.

He walked toward the dais with the unhurried Certainty of someone who has already Decided what he is going to do and is simply doing it. He climbed the steps. He faced FlarKuret.

"He is no Demon," HarenArompa said. "He is no Monster."

He turned to face the Crowd.

"Keeroe is my Son."

He let that sit for a moment. Then:

"I say — let him take the Spirit Rite. If he Returns, we will know that the Spirits find him Worthy. But if he does not gain their favor — if he does not return — then he will die."

Several People in the Crowd nodded at this last part. If the Unlucky One died, he could plague their Village no more. And if the Spirits did find him Worthy, then they had all been wrong about Keeroe. Either way, the question would be Answered.

"I call for a vote!" HarenArompa said. "A vote of all the Men and Women of Darmonta! If you Believe this Boy should undergo this Rite, raise your hands to the sky!"

Slowly, hesitantly, every hand rose. It was unanimous.

"No!" FlarKuret cried. "This cannot be allowed! He is unnatural! An abomination!"

"I do not believe you have a say in this matter," Haren said. "The People have spoken. Stand down, FlarKuret — before your Ohterkú summons his Oraku."

The High Priest got within inches of the old Chief's face.

"You will rue this day, Old Man. I swear it."

And then, like a beaten dog, FlarKuret slunk off the stage — and like a shadow in the sun, he disappeared into the Crowd.

"Let the Ceremony commence!" HarenArompa announced. "Elder — bring forth the Sacred Bowl!"

The old Man handed the geode to Haren, who gave it to DerLycos. HarenArompa bowed his head, put his fist to his Heart, and took his place on the stage as Keeroe's Father.

DerLycos closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. When he opened them, DerLycos became Ohterkú.

"This Bowl," he said, holding the geode up for all to see, "has been passed down from Generation to Generation since the Beginning of Time. The Bowl Symbolizes Darmonta. Into Darmonta, we put his Family."

Haren took out his dagger, cut his palm, and let the blood drip into the bowl. "The Blood of Ohtahn."

He handed the knife to DerLycos, who handed the geode to the Elder and did the same. "Blood of Ohter."

He passed the knife to Beneveon, who stood at the edge of the stage. Bene's blood followed. "Blood of Ohter."

Bene handed the knife back to DerLycos, who returned it to their Father. HarenArompa sheathed the dagger as DerLycos lifted the stone pitcher from the edge of the stage, held it up for all to see, and poured milk into the bowl. "Into the Bowl we place milk, to Symbolize the Mother."

He set the pitcher down, jumped off the dais, crouched, and pinched a small amount of dirt from the ground. The dirt went into the bowl. When DerLycos took his place on the stage again, the Elder handed him the geode. DerLycos carried it to Keeroe.

"With Blood from your Family, milk to symbolize the Mother-Creator who Made All, and soil to deliver you should you fail — drink this, and enter the Realm of the Spirits."

Keeroe emptied the geode.

He watched as all eyes clouded over. The Crowd began to disperse immediately, moving around him as though he weren't there. He looked for Rosafay in the Crowd, and BeaSong, but couldn't find either of them.

DerLycos sighed.

"May Good Luck go with you," he said quietly — to his feet, not to Keeroe — and then he turned and walked away too.

Keeroe stayed a little longer, watching his Brother go.

'I won't fail,' he Promised himself.

Then he gathered his supplies and headed into the Forest.

 

This was the Place where he felt he Truly Belonged. The Forest was where the best and worst of his Memories lived. They lingered in the shadows of the Ancient Trees, standing silent watch. The Darmontian Forest was a Peaceful Place where no one judged him. The Forest accepted the Boy with open arms.

Unsure of what he should be doing or where he should be going, Keeroe traveled without direction. He Explored, pushing deeper into the Forest than he ever had before. It was easy to lose track of the days. He never lost track of where he was.

When his food supply ran low he hunted small game and Fished the River. He gathered roots, plants, and mushrooms, knowing which ones were safe and which would kill him — a Lesson Darmontian Children were Taught young, in a society built around Hunter-Gatherers where the next Village was many miles away, and Trade was rare.

He never traveled too far from the River. He used it as both compass and water source. Merkyto's water-skin proved its Worth many times over.

Keeroe saw many Animals on his trek through the Darmontian Forest. He determined none of them to be his Guardian Spirit. He was Certain that when he saw it, he would Know — without any doubt at all.

 

Rosafay stood on the hillside of Arompa Ohterkú, looking out into the surrounding Forest. Her Sister, Stellexara, Knew where to find her without looking.

"Hey," Stellexara said. "Dinner's ready."

"I'm not hungry," Rosafay said, without taking her eyes off the shadowy Woods.

"You should come Home. Mareh and Ohtahn are worried about you. We all are."

"I'll go Home in a while."

Stellexara leaned against the wall of Arompa Ohterkú and crossed her arms. "Rosafay — it's been twelve days. I don't think Keeroe is coming back."

"He'll come back," Rosafey said. "You don't know that he won't."

"And you don't know that he will. This isn't good for you. You've been here every day since he left." A pause. "Please — come Home?"

"In a while."

Stellexara gave up and went Home. She Knew that once her Sister got something in her head, it was nearly impossible to move her from it. Rosafay waited on the Hill until the Day faded into Night and all was darkness. Then, with sadness in her Heart, she went Home to Sleep through the remaining hours — and at dawn she would wake, eat a quick Breakfast, and go back to the Hill to wait for him again. And the cycle would continue.

 

By the fifteenth day, everyone — even Rosafay — had lost hope that Keeroe would return. He had died. His Soul was with the Spirits.

They had no body to bury and none of his possessions to burn, none but a wooden shelf, his hammock, and a few wooden carvings. BeaSong, Merkyto, DerLycos, Beneveon, HarenArompa, VeyexBorae, Rosafay, and her Family stood around the small fire and watched Keeroe's belongings burn. They stood and sat in silence, watching the licking flames until they turned to nothing but coals and ash.

When there was no more fire, Haren dug a hole in the dirt beneath the ashes, and one by one Keeroe's collection of rocks and petrified wood went into the ground and was buried there.

Nothing was said. No eulogies, no Words in his Honor — such was the custom for one who died during their Spirit Rite. When the last bit of dirt was shoveled in and a good-sized rock was placed over the burial site as a marker, the mourners began to leave, Knowing in their Hearts that though they spoke no words, Keeroe would Know the depth of their feeling.

 

One day, Keeroe woke to the sounds of snorting and pawing.

He had fallen asleep in the late hours of the night, watching his fire burn down, and woke now curled at the base of a Tree. He kept very still and slowly opened his eyes — his first thought was Wild Boar. If that was the case he didn't want to provoke it. He'd never encountered one himself, but the Hunters told Stories about the ferocity of an angry Hog.

What he saw was not a Wild Boar.

Small black hooves connected to tall, brown, bony legs, which led up to a lighter brown, cream-colored underbelly. A young Buck. The Deer lowered his antlered head and tore a small clump of grass from the ground. He raised his head and chewed for a while, no doubt listening for predators. Then he lowered his head again — and their eyes met.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment.

The Buck raised his head. Pawed the dirt. Snorted. And ran off into the Forest.

That day, Keeroe packed his camp and started back to Darmonta.

 

It was Afternoon — twenty-two days after Keeroe had departed for his Spirit Rite.

Keeroe had returned from Death itself. He returned as a Hero. He returned as a Darmontian.

 

 

Chapter Seven: Coming of Age

 

Part One

 

 

Six years had passed in Alyta since Lyree had last gone over the wall — six years that felt like a thousand. Since she'd Learned about the War, her Life had changed dramatically. She was no longer given free run of the Mansion. Her days now followed a strict schedule built around her parents' schedule. If her parents had a Lord over to visit, she was expected to visit also. If they went to visit a Lord at his Manor, unless it was strictly her father's business, she was expected to go along. They went to the Theater on occasion. She was made to wear different clothes — finer dresses, tighter shoes — and on her thirteenth Birthday she was introduced to a corset. Thus Lyree, dressed like a porcelain doll, went through her days like a silent puppet on invisible strings, and the days trickled by s-l-o-w-l-y.

She hated her life, but she believed she had no choice but to accept it. She knew that even if she did escape, she had nowhere to go. In her Mind, since her father had shot that Boy, there was no longer anything for her beyond the Wall.

Lyree's vent for her everyday living in Alyta was her free time. She painted and wrote Stories. She never played the piano anymore, unless her parents asked her to, and even then the tune was dull and lifeless.

She had become the perfect Alytan Lady — and soon she would become a woman. In Alytan society a girl became a woman when she turned fifteen, and especially for Noble Women, they were Married off soon after. Not only would she be Married to someone not of her Choosing, but on the day she turned fifteen she would be given a new Name, Chosen by her father. "Lyree" would become her middle name. She felt as if she were being thrown into a storm. She would have no Choice in the woman she would become; her Future would be Chosen for her.

She sat on her window-seat — something she hadn't done in a long time — and stared out at the starry sky. It was Autumn and the stars were radiant.

Three knocks came from her Bedroom door, and Matilda's voice came from the other side.

"My Lady? May I come in?"

"Yes, Matilda," Lyree said. "Of course you can come in."

"My," the Maid said as she came through the door. "But you are up late, Dearie."

She stopped in the middle of the room and folded her hands in front of her.

"Is there anything that I can get you, Lyree? Maybe something to help you sleep?"

Lyree flashed the Maid a smile, but it didn't touch her eyes.

"No thank you, Matilda. I don't need anything."

With a sigh the Maid walked over and sat beside her.

"I know that this must be a hard time for you, M'Dear."

Matilda pulled her into a quick hug.

"Not to worry, though," said the Maid with a small smile. "We'll find you a wonderful Husband."

Lyree gave Matilda a weak smile.

"Well," Matilda said, "I'll leave you to yourself, then." She stood and went to the door, opened it, and turned back. "Get some rest, Miss. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

Matilda gave Lyree one more small grin before she shut the door behind her.

 

That next day, at Breakfast, Ameston announced that the family would be going to Lord White's Home in the Town of Augustine, and that they would be leaving after they finished their meal.

"Father?" Lyree asked, keeping her tone neutral, as was expected of her.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I was wondering — what is Augustine like?"

"You shall have to see when we get there."

"How long will it take to get there?"

Ameston finished chewing the piece of egg he'd just put in his mouth and swallowed before he answered.

"Three days."

"Three days?!" Tairen said. Surprise and upset were clear in his voice.

Almara gave him a stern look and Tairen readdressed the question, veiling it in a thin coating of composure.

"Um — Three days, Father?"

"Yes," Smith said coolly. "I know that it will be a long trip, but it will be well worth it in the long run."

"I find the notion exciting," Lyree said, still speaking dully through her Alytan composure.

"It is exciting," Almara said monotonously. "That is, if you don't mind long carriage rides."

"I believe we have conversed enough," Smith said. "Now let us finish our meal so that we may depart."

 

Running through the Forest, his moccasined feet crunching the new leaves that carpeted the ground, KeeRoe kept the Deer in his sight. It was a Doe, and he had been Hunting her all the previous night. It was virtually impossible to keep stealthy with all of the leaves underfoot.

A few times the Doe had been alerted to his presence and bolted before he could get a shot in — but not this last time. She hadn't noticed him. He drew his bow, sure that this time he would have her. He loosed the arrow, but she'd turned and the arrow just grazed her side.

Now the chase was back on. If he could fell a Deer he had claim to most of the meat. The Family would need it for the coming Winter Months. True, the Village did have a Community Store of preserved meats for the needy, but just once KeeRoe wanted to prove that he could support them.

MerKyto now had his own Family, and BeneVeon could Fish but couldn't Hunt. BeaSong was getting older and suffered from arthritis. It was up to KeeRoe.

He couldn't believe the Doe's stamina. It was as if the Spirits themselves lent her some of theirs. She'd never once tired.

The Deer ran, swerving past Trees, kicking up the debris of leaves as she went, and yet KeeRoe somehow managed to keep up with her — always trailing a ways behind, but never losing sight of her. After a time she broke through the curtain of Forest and found herself trapped between the Hunter and the River. In a maddening attempt to keep her Life, the Doe plunged into the murky water and started to swim. KeeRoe stopped and watched her go. He could not follow her. Once on the Alytan side of the River the Doe ran on, leaving the Hunter staring after her from the opposite shore.

He needed a Deer. A Deer meant so much more than just meat. It meant hide for new clothes, wind-flaps for the windows, leather for crafting. A Deer meant bone for needles, tools, weapons. Its innards could be made into pots, water-skins, and so forth. Fat could be used as fuel for fire or for cooking. He'd spent all night Hunting that Doe. He needed that Deer.

Absentmindedly his fingers found the Amulet that BeneVeon had made him for Luck. It hung around his neck now, and it had become a habit to rub the smooth, round pendant whenever he was deep in thought. He stopped when his hand accidentally brushed the puckered scar near his Heart.

No. He couldn't go after her. Thunder. Burning. A scream as he fell. He could never go back across the River — not even for a Deer.

He started to walk back the way he'd come, but stopped, turned, and looked back across the River at the spot where the Doe had disappeared. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it. Maybe he had been possessed — by a wicked Spirit who had a knack for meddling. Automatically, as if he had no control over his own actions, KeeRoe slung his bow across his back and started into the water.

 

The carriage creaked, rattled, and bumped along the poorly kept dirt road. Governor Smith and his family were now outside of Alyta, going through the Forest at a painfully slow pace. There were so many deep holes and ruts in the road that the carriage bounced and jiggled all the way.

"Will this really — take Three days?" Tairen asked his Father.

"Sadly — Oof! — at this rate — Gah! — maybe four!"

"Wouldn't it be better," Lyree said, stopping when they hit a particularly nasty bump in the road, "if we — walked?"

"Heaven's sake, Ameston," said Almara. "Ouch! Perhaps we should walk!"

"Walking," said Smith, "would be too dangerous."

"I think I'd — prefer the danger of — Ah! — walking!"

When Smith said nothing to his Wife's outspoken remark the carriage continued on. The jostling pace went on for a bit longer when the carriage stopped.

"Thank goodness," Almara said with a sigh. "Any more of that and I fear I would've had to jump out."

"We weren't supposed to stop now," Smith said.

He poked his head out the window and looked up at the armed Guards atop the carriage.

"What's happened? Why have we stopped?"

"It's a Deer, Sir," said one of the Guards. "It's stopped in the middle of the Road and won't move."

"Make it move," Smith said matter-of-factly. "We haven't got all day."

The Governor ducked back into the carriage, sighed, and crossed his arms.

"What is it, Father?" Lyree asked.

"Nothing really," Smith said, sounding quite disinterested. "Just a Deer standing in the road."

"A Deer!?" Tairen said loudly.

The thirteen-year-old Boy hurried to look out the window. His entire front half was leaning out before Almara could stop him, the only thing keeping him from falling being a metal bar attached to the side of the carriage. Of course Tairen ignored his mother's command. Having been allowed to do anything he wanted as a Child, Tairen had grown to be a very spoiled teenager.

"It's just standing there," Tairen said. "Why isn't it moving?"

Smith leaned out his own window and looked up at the men on top of the carriage.

"You heard the Boy — why can't you get that blasted thing to move?"

"We've tried yelling at it," said an older Guard, "but it refuses to move."

"We've even tried throwing rocks at it," said another — a young man, possibly fresh out of his Schooling, climbing the metal ladder to get back up on the carriage. "She still won't budge, Governor."

"Let's shoot it, Father!" Tairen yelled excitedly.

But just before Ameston could order his men to do just that, the Doe turned her head, moved an ear toward the right side of the road, snorted, and bolted in the opposite direction, disappearing into the Forest on the left side of the Road.

 

KeeRoe cursed his Luck. He had just caught up to her, and the Doe had been in the perfect position for a shot. She must have heard him somehow. The Deer fled yet again.

KeeRoe growled under his breath and started to run after her — then came to an abrupt halt when a shiny wooden wagon such as he'd never seen before pulled in front of his path.

"Stop!" one man atop the wagon yelled.

The Language pricked the edge of KeeRoe's Memory. He no longer Knew the Meaning of the Word the man shouted, but it was Familiar to him all the same.

He took a couple of steps back as the wagon stopped. Alytans. He Knew them by their white wigs, strange clothes, and the Language he no longer Knew.

"Shoot it!" a man inside the wagon yelled.

Seeing the face of the man who'd shot him all those years ago, KeeRoe stumbled back another step, eyes wide with fear as the Memory of that awful day flashed through his Mind. He heard the audible click of reloading crossbows and looked up. The Guards on top of the shiny wagon were taking aim.

A woman who sat in the wagon opposite the man who'd shot him screamed, "Save me, Ameston! Save me!"

A bolt from one of the Guards' crossbows whizzed by KeeRoe's right cheek, and it was then that KeeRoe came to his senses. He turned and ran.

 

The Guards had all missed their target. They started to climb down from the carriage.

"No!" Smith hollered, venom in his voice. "There may be more of them!"

He ordered the Coachman to drive on and the carriage lurched into motion. Tairen and Lyree got off of the floor and took their seats as the carriage bumped faster down the hole-and-rut-infested dirt road. The pace was much faster than when they had started out and the carriage jumped and rattled violently.

Lyree never knew that the "Darmontian Savage" they'd encountered was actually her long-lost Friend.

 

KeeRoe ran through the Forest, not daring to look behind him. He put every muscle into this run. His Heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears, feel the blood pulsing down his neck. When he got to the River he dove in and swam like his Life depended on it. He finally stopped when he reached the Darmontian shore and looked back across Serpen. He was shaking — but was it from the ice-cold water, or the even deeper cold that spread through his very Soul? He didn't stop running until he got Home.

BeaSong was in the Main Room, cooking a bubbling stew in a cauldron over the fire, when KeeRoe came in. When she saw him she set down her wooden spoon and stood up abruptly.

"Are you alright?"

He could tell that she was concerned. It was written on her face and etched in the tone of her voice.

"I'm alright," he said.

But he couldn't fool her. She grabbed his arm and towed him to the fire. She made him sit down and draped a blanket over his shoulders.

"You're pale, wet, and shivering," she said, ladling some stew into a bowl.

She handed him the bowl, sat down on the cushion beside him, and gave him a fierce look.

"What happened?"

It was hard enough to lie to her, but when she gave him that look he Knew it would be nearly impossible. So he told her the Truth — at least most of it. He told her about the night's Hunt, but when he got to the part where the Deer crossed the River, he said, "I had my eyes on the Deer and wasn't watching where I was going. I tripped and fell into the River." He couldn't look at her. He watched the flames dance in the fire pit. He could only lie to her if he wasn't looking directly at her.

She Believed the lie.

"Oh, that water must have been freezing," BeaSong said.

"It was. I'm sorry I didn't get the Doe."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. After all, your Brother is Ohterkú. We won't starve. Somehow everything seems to turn out fine. We've never been without what we really Need. You've had a long night — eat your soup, get warmed up, and then it's off to bed with you."

He didn't argue. The long night and the stress and drama of the day left him hungry and physically drained.

He wasn't surprised when he woke up with a cold the next day.

 

 

Part Two

 

 

The carriage made good time, though everyone was tired and jostled when they got there. They'd made it to Augustine in two days' time. As the carriage pulled up in front of Lord White's Mansion, a Servant ran inside to inform Lord White of the early arrival of his Guests, while other Servants came out to get the luggage. It wasn't long before Lord White came out to greet them. By the light of the lantern carried by a Servant who walked beside him, Lyree saw Lord White bow to her father.

"Governor Smith," White said, maintaining a flawless composure.

"Lord White," Smith said, and the two men saluted each other.

"You're early."

"Yes, well — we had a bit of trouble on the road."

Lyree tuned out the conversation between her father and their host as she looked over the great silhouette of Lord White's Mansion. It was not quite as large as her father's House, but still quite impressive.

"My Servants will show you all to your Rooms," Lord White said, loudly and slowly, like a bad actor rehearsing his lines. "I hope you will all enjoy your stay here."

 

"Good morning, M'Lady."

Lyree groaned.

"I'm tired, Matilda. Let me sleep."

"It's time to wake up."

"No it's not."

"M'Lady, it's nearly noon. Your parents have ordered me to wake you."

"Fine."

She groaned again and slowly forced her eyes open — then gasped. The Woman hovering over her was not Matilda.

"Who are you?" Lyree asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, M'Lady. My name is Olivia, and I will be your Maid throughout the duration of your stay here. Please forgive this intrusion. Your father, Governor Smith, and your mother, Lady Almara, have ordered me to wake you and escort you to them."

If it had been Matilda, Lyree would've smiled and admitted she'd mistaken her for someone else. But this was not Matilda. Olivia held perfect composure and always spoke in a dull, neutral tone. She didn't share Matilda's spark of energy or her easy-going nature. So instead Lyree nodded and said coldly, "Very well."

She got out of bed and picked out one of her gowns from the wardrobe. Lyree did most of her dressing herself, behind a painted screen that secluded one corner of the room. She only needed Olivia's help when it came to tying the corset and buttoning the back of her gown.

Once Lyree was fully dressed, Olivia said, "Follow me," and led the way to a parlor where everyone was gathered. Ameston and Almara were sitting in two armchairs across from Lord and Lady White. The men were drinking brandy and their wives were gossiping, while two people were sparring in the center of the room. The Maid curtsied and left as Lyree took a seat on a small couch near her parents.

While sitting there, the Girl listened in on the Adults' conversation, occasionally glancing at the mock swordfight. Lyree Learned that Lord and Lady White — whose names were Horatio and Ophelia — had four sons and two daughters. Ohh! That strike came within an inch of one fighter's gut before he parried. Both of the Whites' daughters were already Married off, their last having Wed that previous Spring. Two of their eldest Sons were also Married and had Estates and Titles of their own. Their Third Son had run away and become an Artist — of all things! How scandalous! The taller fighter jumped as his opponent brought his blade down toward his legs.

"What of your youngest Son?" Ameston asked Horatio. "How has Paden been?"

"As well as can be expected," Lord White answered. "He's taken up a number of Studies lately." Mr. White raised his glass of brandy in the direction of the fighters. "I'm not sure why he Chose sparring, but he's quite good at it."

"So is your Son," Lady Ophelia said, allowing her admiration to glow through her words. "He's certainly giving our Paden a good sport."

"It's Truly nothing," said Almara in a disinterested tone. "He's only been Practicing for Three weeks now."

This was a lie, Lyree Knew. Her Brother had been Training in the field of sparring since he was eight. In the society of the Alytans, Augustinians, and other pale-skinned People of the continent, lying was quite common to gain better status and admiration. Almara's lie got its desired effect.

"Truly?" Lady White squealed. "How marvelous!"

Now that Lyree knew that one of the combatants was her Brother, it was pretty easy to tell which he was — and which one Paden must have been. Her Brother was the shorter, less skilled fighter. Paden was taller and showed a natural ease with the sword. Each of Paden's moves seemed to flow into the next with a fluid sort of grace. At the end of the match, Tairen had tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his back. Paden stood over him, victorious, his sword pointed at his throat.

"Do you yield?" Paden asked, his voice muffled by the mask over his face.

Tairen nodded and took off his mask. His face was red and his hair was a mess.

"I yield."

Paden offered Tairen his hand and helped him to stand, then took off his own mask. At that time Paden White was a young man of seventeen. He had a dreamy face, one that had caused many girls to chase after him. His brown hair was, like Tairen's, disheveled, and his forget-me-not blue eyes seemed to glow with an inner light.

"Don't worry," Paden told Tairen. "You'll get better with time."

'If you knew him a little better,' Lyree thought, 'you wouldn't have said that.'

"Paden!" Lady Ophelia called. "Paden, Darling! Come and meet Governor Smith's daughter!"

At his Mother's command, Paden strode up to Lyree, took her hand, and kissed it.

"This is Lyree," Lady White said.

Paden smiled at Lyree. It was a smile that had, no doubt, melted many young women in the past.

"I've heard much about you, Lyree," he said, still kneeling and holding her hand.

"Odd," Lyree said, yanking her hand out of his. "I haven't heard anything about you."

"Lyree!" Almara said. Her scolding tone held a hint of warning, but Lyree ignored her.

"It's quite all right," Paden said, standing. "We have met before, however. You may Remember me as Preston."

"Preston?!" Lyree shouted. "I do Remember you, and you are the worst person I've ever met!"

"Lyree Smith!" Almara yelled.

"Why have we come here, Father?" Lyree demanded.

"Simply to visit an old friend," Smith said.

"Don't lie to me!" She glared at Paden. "I Know why we're here."

Pushing Paden aside she ran out of the Parlor, ignoring her parents calling after her as she ran to her Guest Room.

 

A little later there was a knock on the Bedroom door.

"Lyree? It's your mother. May I come in?"

Lyree was lying in bed. She hastily wiped away her tears. She Knew it would do no good to dismiss her mother, but she did it anyway because it gave her some tiny feeling of control.

"No!" she yelled. "Go away!"

Just as she'd expected, there was a brief pause and then she heard the door open. Because Lyree was facing away from the door, lying across her bed facing the wall, she only listened as her mother shut the door, walked into the room, and stopped a few feet away from the bed.

"Do you want to talk?" Almara asked.

"No," Lyree said, as another tear slipped from her eye.

Almara sighed.

"Listen. Paden is a fine young man. He's of Noble Birth. You'll never find a better match."

Lyree sat up and glared at her mother.

"If you like him so much then you can Marry him."

"Lyree, you're just being ridiculous —"

"No, you're being ridiculous! I can't Marry Paden!"

"Then who, I wonder," Almara said, losing her composure, "do you intend to Marry? Some low-class Factory Worker? Or maybe a Stable Boy who comes Home smelling like pigs?"

"I'd rather have a Man who smells like pigs than Marry Preston!"

"His name is Paden now. Paden Preston White."

"I don't care! I hate him!"

"Hold your tongue!" Almara shouted. "If the Whites hear —"

"Then let them hear!" Lyree yelled. "Let the whole World hear! I will not Marry him."

Almara's cold demeanor fell away as her daughter started crying again. Pity replaced the anger on her face.

"I Know that you're scared, Lyree. But I promise you — Paden will be a wonderful Husband."

Almara walked over and leaned against the wall at the head of the bed.

"When I was young — I was Born a Peasant."

Lyree looked at her mother in disbelief. "Really?"

Almara nodded. "Yes, really. It was a hard life. My Father was a Laborer in the Governor's Stables and my Mother worked in the Manor-House as a Maid. Her hands were always raw and blistered from scrubbing the floors. It was hard, living like that. I was expected to work long hours in the Garden, under the baking sun, and when I got older I worked shining Noblemen's shoes.

"When I was thirteen my Mother grew very ill, and died just after my thirteenth Birthday. My Father was broken by the loss. He took me to Aunt Marguerette's Home one day and left me there. He never came back. It was the best thing he'd ever done for me. And here I am now — the Wife of a Governor. I've never been happier.

"This is why I want you to Marry Paden. His Family is the wealthiest in the Country, save for us and some of the other Governors. Governor Johneston has three daughters, so sadly that's not an option —"

"All you care about is money?" Lyree asked.

Almara tucked a few curls behind one of her ears before she answered, and even then she couldn't look Lyree in the eye.

"Well of course not," she said quietly — but that was all she said on that subject. "Your father is smoothing things over with Lord and Lady White at present. I want you to apologize for your little outburst as soon as you see them again."

She started toward the door, but stopped as she was opening it.

"And Lyree — you won't find a better match anywhere."

 

 

Part Three

 

 

Five days had passed since KeeRoe's encounter with the Alytans across the River, and DerLycos had sent a Runner to fetch him. KeeRoe hurried to the Council House, where his Brother was waiting. It felt strange to see his Brother so formally. Upon arrival, the Runner who had accompanied KeeRoe announced him to DerLycos and his Councilors.

With so many eyes on only him, KeeRoe couldn't help but feel just a little nervous. He put his fist on his Heart, as he had been instructed, and then sat on one of the cushions reserved for Guests. DerLycos bowed his head and saluted KeeRoe, putting his fist over his own Heart.

"I Welcome you, KeeRoe," DerLycos said, "Officially as Ohterkú."

Now KeeRoe Knew that this was something Important — his blood-Brother never spoke to him as just the Leader of Darmonta.

"I have called you here for a most urgent matter. The prior day, two Hunters were pursuing their prey when they came upon an Alytan Messenger in the Forest. For the Safety of this Man, and our People, I have had the Messenger imprisoned in a secret Arompa outside of Darmonta. When one of the Warriors questioned him, the Man said that he was a Messenger and had fallen into the River and lost his way. He said that the Governor's Daughter will become a Woman, and the Celebration of her Birth will be held in eleven days. You, KeeRoe, are not yet Orakú, or even Orah, but because you show exceptional skills in combat, this Council would like you to join an expedition to capture the Alytan Princess, for the good of Darmonta."

KeeRoe's head was spinning.

"Let me get this straight — you want me to Help you capture the Alytan Governor's Daughter? At the Celebration of her Birth?"

"IKnow that you want to Know why," DerLychos said before KeeRoe could ask, "but the Council has agreed to keep this matter Secret. I swear that all will be revealed in Time. Just Know that this Mission will be more dangerous than going to Battle, but it is for the greatest Good of our People. We will be going into enemy territory, and if the smallest thing should go wrong, we would all be in gravest peril. I will head a small team to enter the enemy stronghold. Will you Help us, KeeRoe?"

DerLychos was definitely asking no small thing. It could mean a sure and slow death at the hands of the enemy should they fail. It was well-known that Alytans liked to torture their prisoners. KeeRoe couldn't help but wonder why DerLycos would try such a feat — but he did say that it was for the Good of Darmonta.

"Alright," KeeRoe said. "I'll do it."

DerLycos Smiled. "I Knew I could count on you."

HarenArompa loudly cleared his throat.

"Oh!" DerLycos said. "Right."

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he became the serious Chief once more.

"I am pleased that you have Chosen to Aid us in this most Important endeavor. When you can, meet with MerKyto to further Learn of our plan."

Once more DerLycos bowed his head and put his fist over his Heart.

"You are dismissed."

KeeRoe nodded, stood, saluted, and then set off to find MerKyto.

 

He found his Friend hacking away at a wooden dummy with a blunt sword at the Training Grounds.

"MerKyto!" KeeRoe called.

MerKyto faltered in his swing and missed the dummy. The tip of his blunt sword made an audible thunk as it connected with the hard-packed earth. Quickly MerKyto lifted the sword, brandishing it like a Hero, as if he had never missed the target.

He turned to his Friend with a grin on his face, squinting in the sunlight.

"Hello, KeeRoe." He lifted his sword high into the air. "Care to join me for a bit of sword-play?"

"With you," KeeRoe said, "everything is play."

He Chose a blunt sword from a rack that sat not too far away, took his place, and got into a fighting stance.

MerKyto's grin widened. "I'm going to make you eat those words."

MerKyto took his own fighting stance and the Match began. MerKyto struck first. He faked to the right, then the left, and tried hitting KeeRoe's right side. KeeRoe jumped back. KeeRoe faked to the left and then quickly brought his sword around in a swipe that resembled a backwards C, bringing it down on MerKyto's neck — but checked the blow just before the cold metal touched his flesh. MerKyto dropped his sword.

"Again," KeeRoe said. "Pick it up."

KeeRoe took his sword away from MerKyto's neck, and just as MerKyto bent to pick up his sword, KeeRoe's eyes alit upon RosaFay. She was at the Archery part of the Training Grounds. She was now a Woman — the most Beautiful Woman in the Village. He stood there, eyes frozen on her perfect form as she drew her bow. Then MerKyto stood up and blocked his view. KeeRoe blinked a couple of times, as if coming out of a trance, and then looked over MerKyto's shoulder.

"What are you looking at?" MerKyto asked.

"Nothing," KeeRoe said — but it was too late.

"Ohhhh! I see! Ah, but the sun will blind you if you stare too long." He took another fighting stance. "Come on. Let's see if I can win this time."

Three strikes and KeeRoe had won again.

"Honestly, KeeRoe," MerKyto said, "I don't know why I bother Practicing with you. I never win."

"I've got to admit," KeeRoe said seriously, "you are getting better. Again."

This time KeeRoe struck first. He brought his sword up and then, faster than the blink of an eye, brought it down, expecting to win by MerKyto's right shoulder. But on the upward swing MerKyto had anticipated KeeRoe's next move and — gambling on which way to go — moved his right side back enough so that KeeRoe missed. MerKyto swiped to the left but KeeRoe's sword caught his before he could get close enough for a win.

"KeeRoe," MerKyto said, looking over KeeRoe's left shoulder, "I think RosaFay is watching us."

"What?"

KeeRoe turned his head. MerKyto brought his sword up under KeeRoe's chin while he was distracted. KeeRoe dropped his sword in defeat.

"You cheated," said KeeRoe.

"All is fair in Love and War, My Friend," MerKyto said.

KeeRoe bent down and picked up his practice sword.

"Did you make that up?"

"No," MerKyto admitted. "But I've heard it — somewhere."

KeeRoe took his sword back to the weapons rack and watched RosaFay shoot arrows at a target. MerKyto sauntered over to his Friend's side and put his own weapon away.

"Are you going to ask her?" MerKyto asked.

"Ask her?" KeeRoe looked questioningly at his Friend. "Ask her what?"

"You know." MerKyto nudged KeeRoe with his elbow. "You. RosaFay. Together. Little KeeRoe babies running around the Arompa."

Now KeeRoe was the one looking sheepish. His face reddened.

"I've thought about it."

"You should. I can see it now — the Spring Festival. You are standing on the dais with her, pronouncing your Love to the World."

The Spring Festival was an event specifically for Love and Marriage. Young Couples would parade to the Village dais to proclaim their Love for one another, make their Vows, and announce their intention to Join and become Partners Forever — in this World, and the Next.

"Speaking of Joined Couples," KeeRoe said, "how is TahLea?"

"She's fine," MerKyto said with a mischievous grin. "No worse than usual. Still a noisy old crow."

KeeRoe grinned. "Don't let her catch you saying that. She'll make you sleep outside again."

Now MerKyto was blushing. The last time he'd made her mad, she'd pushed him out of the Arompa and barred the door. All the windows were shut and hooked. He had been as naked as the day he was Born. He was drunk and started shouting for her to let him in. His shouting woke up half of the Village and gossip spread quickly.

"Ahhh, let her try!"

They watched RosaFay practice a little longer before KeeRoe said, "Maybe we should go to your House. There's something important that I Need to talk to you about."

"And what's that?" MerKyto asked as they started out.

"Plans."

 

The carriage rattled along the brick roads of Augustine. After the long trip to get there, Lyree would've much rather walked — however, her mother had insisted that she ride in the carriage. Her father had business to attend to with Lord White. She was tired of sitting in the Manor, so Lyree Decided that she wanted to tour the Town.

Augustine was quite different from Alyta, but at the same time very much the same. Augustine was so much bigger — at least three times the size of her father's City. It too had Businesses and Houses of brick, yet the Houses were styled differently. There was a central Square with a bubbling fountain in the center — Alyta didn't have a fountain; in its Square stood a statue of the first Governor of Alyta, who looked just as serious and blank as the other Alytans after him — and a bustling Marketplace that made the one in Alyta look like a Flea Market.

But what intrigued Lyree the most about Augustine wasn't the rich silks, the architecture, or the numerous Nobility of the City. It was the absence of a wall. There was nothing to separate the City from the vast, Wild World around it. She ordered the Coachman to drive around on the outskirts and looked at the Forests, Feilds, and Mountains surrounding Augustine.

"Whoa!" the Coachman shouted to the Horses.

They obeyed their Master and the carriage jerked to a halt.

"Excuse me, Sir," Lyree said to the Coachman. "Why have we stopped?"

"I'm sorry, Miss," the Coachman said, not sounding one bit sorry. "But Governor Smith ordered me to go no further."

He turned the carriage around — and Lyree saw something that Interested her even more than the absence of a wall. Just outside of the City was a small Village of log Houses. It was a Village of red-skinned People with dark hair.

 

"No! No! No!" Governor Johneston yelled, whacking his book on the pine table for emphasis.

"But Governor Johneston," Ameston said quickly and loudly, "please — I beseech you —"

"Not another word, Smith!" Johneston shouted. "You may be the Governor in Alyta, but here you are in no position to demand anything of me that is against my will! I've told you before and I'm telling you now: Augustine will not become a part of your war with Darmonta! We are at peace with our own indigenous people. To attack another Tribe may spark a war of our own."

"Governor Johneston, I know how you feel, but if we do not crush them soon, who knows what they might do?"

Johneston set his book down on the table and fixed Smith with a long, level stare.

"Then that," he said quietly, "is a problem for Alyta — not for Augustine."

He walked to the door and opened it, holding it for Smith in a way that made the invitation to leave unmistakable.

"Good day, Governor Smith."

 

 

Part Four

 

 

Lyree's fifteenth Birthday was celebrated at Lord White's Manor. It was to be a Masked Ball. Lords and Ladies of Noble Families came from miles away. Carriage after carriage came to a stop in front of the Whites' front door.

This day seemed to come all too quickly for everyone, but especially for Lyree. This night was going to change her entire Life. A sense of doom hung about her. She felt like her world was ending. Around sundown, the Maid, Olivia, helped Lyree dress into her large, silken gown, pinned up her hair, and painted her face. The whole time Lyree felt like she was being prepared for an execution.

When Olivia had finished preparing Lyree for the Ball, she left her alone, going off to perform some other task in the Manor-House. Looking at herself in the mirror, Lyree didn't recognize the young Woman staring back at her. Feeling very unhappy, she went out onto the balcony, separated from her room by a pair of fancy glass doors. She watched the carriages rolling in, and her sense of dread only increased. It was going to be a very long night.

 

A shiny black and bronze carriage pulled up to the doors and six men got out. They all wore the finest clothes — embroidered top-coats, short pants, hose, gloves, and shiny black shoes with golden buckles. They all wore white wigs and fancy porcelain masks over their eyes. Their faces were painted white. One man, who had a golden-topped cane and a ring on every finger, turned to the Coachman.

"We'll be out in an hour, when the Moon is at its highest," the Man whispered in Darmontian. "Be ready."

The Driver nodded and flicked the reins. He would take the Horses to the Stables and return just before Midnight.

DerLycos — the Man with the cane and the rings — led the way inside. A line of Servants stood on either side of the red carpet, which the Darmontians walked upon as they went through the entry parlor and up the grand staircase. Two Servants opened the large double doors to the Ballroom. The Darmontians couldn't help but gape at the finery and splendor around them.

"Snap out of it," DerLycos whispered. "We must blend in. Spread out and try to keep a low profile."

They did as they were commanded, melting into the Crowd.

This type of grandeur was alien to the Darmontians, and they were swallowed by it. They'd never seen such architecture and attire. They'd never seen great vaulted ceilings — so many colors! They'd never seen Women with peacock feathers in intricate buns, or Men with tall top-hats. In Darmonta they didn't have painted murals or marble floors.

KeeRoe looked around, intrigued by all that he saw. He listened closely to a few conversations, listening to the words and how they were pronounced. He wandered around aimlessly until everyone turned toward a curtained-off area at the far end of the room.

 

Lyree waited behind the curtain with Paden standing next to her, as her father and Lord White announced them on the other side. It felt awkward standing beside Paden. They hadn't spoken since her first day at the Manor. Lyree and her family had been in Augustine for two weeks, and she'd spent every day since the first trying to avoid Paden as much as possible.

"Listen," Paden said when the silence between them became too much. "I can understand why you might not like me." He looked deeply into her eyes with a pleading, forlorn expression on his face. "However, I would like to think that people can be capable of change."

She wasn't sure what to say — but just as she opened her mouth, the Crowd applauded and the curtains began to rise.

 

KeeRoe couldn't understand most of the Words that the Man was Speaking in front of the curtain, but when he saw Governor Smith, he stood rigid. The Memory of that traumatic event played through his Mind. He clenched his fists. It was all he could do to keep himself from doing something stupid and jeopardizing their Mission.

"And now," Smith said, "it is my greatest honor to present to you — Paden Preston White, and his betrothed!"

The Crowd clapped as the curtain rose. A young masked couple stepped forward, arm in arm. When the applause stopped, Smith spoke again.

"As you all know, today is the day that my daughter becomes a woman! In honor of this occasion, as custom dictates, I, her father, shall bestow upon her a new Name! Therefore, from this night on, let this woman be known as Alora Lyree Smith!"

The Crowd clapped again. Compared to the raucous ovation that the Darmontians were used to, this Crowd sounded half-asleep. But KeeRoe hardly noticed the peculiar style of their applause.

'Lyree?' he thought.

He looked closely at the masked Woman who stood before the Crowd beside the masked man. She had the same color hair. But still —

'No,' KeeRoe thought. 'It must be a coincidence.'

In the middle of the quiet clapping, an orchestra high up on one of the balconies that lined the room began to play a soft, plain melody. The masked man and the woman named Lyree waded down into the crowd, who all started pairing up to dance.

KeeRoe jumped as a gloved hand gripped his shoulder. He nearly drew the knife he had hidden beneath his top-coat, but stopped himself just as his fingers touched the hilt.

"Calm down," DerLychos whispered. "Focus. Listen. Here's the plan: I'll ask the Governor's daughter to dance and lead her toward the doors. When I give the signal, you and the others defend me as I get her outside and to the carriage. Understand?"

KeeRoe nodded, though he wasn't really listening. He kept getting glimpses of this 'Lyree' between the twirling bodies of the dancers. It was as if she had bewitched him. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Good," DerLycos said. "I'll go find the others."

 

DerLycos was speaking with one of the other Warriors when he caught sight of MerKyto over by a buffet table.

"I'll be back in a moment," DerLychos said to the Warrior.

He strode over to the buffet table. He had to speak with MerKyto, and cursed himself for not discussing this sooner. MerKyto had an insatiable love for alcohol. If it was there, he felt like he had to drink it. DerLycos had to say something before it was — too late.

MerKyto was sitting on top of the table, Laughing uproariously with two Young Men from Augustine, a cup in his hand.

"— And then," MerKyto said between bouts of Laughter, "and then — he jumped and fell in the mud!"

MerKyto spoke in the Language of the Alytans and the Augustinians. The Alytan Messenger whom the Darmontians had captured, fearing for his Life, had divulged any information they asked. They'd spent eight days in his company, Learning the Language in case there was a need to speak to anyone. And here MerKyto was — telling Stories, making Friends, and totally making a fool of himself.

When MerKyto saw DerLychos coming, he raised his glass in his direction.

"Ah! Gents!" MerKyto crowed in Darmontian. "This is our Brave Leader! DerLycos! Come meet my Friends! This is — Sam and — and Nate."

DerLycos grabbed MerKyto by the collar of his shirt and pulled him off of the table. He put his face very close to MerKyto's and could smell the alcohol on his breath. MerKyto was definitely drunk.

"What are you doing?!" DerLycos whispered angrily in Darmontian. "We're supposed to keep a low profile — Remember?"

"Ah, DerLycos, I was just having a little fun!"

MerKyto's words were slurred and he swayed slightly in his grip. DerLycos glanced at MerKyto's new 'friends.' They were Laughing at the way that MerKyto was talking. With Relief, DerLycos realized that to these young Men, Darmontian was just gibberish. He knew that there was no point in talking to MerKyto in his condition. DerLycos released him and walked away, praying to the Spirits that MerKyto's drunken stupidity wouldn't jeopardize their Mission.

 

KeeRoe watched Alora as she spun around with her new fiancé. He followed them silently, catching glimpses of her face between the gaps in the curtain of bodies between them. She did look familiar. His hunter's eyes picked out the similarities between this Lyree and the one from the Past. Her perpetual smile was gone, replaced by a lifeless neutral expression, but she still looked very much like the Girl he had known. Not only did she have the same hair color — she also had the same eyes, though the fires he'd seen in them when she was young were now burned down into embers. Her head was the same shape, though now, like the rest of her, it was thinner and more angled. She had the same nose too. Part of him wanted it to be her, but the other dared not hope that this sad-looking Young Woman was the Happy, Spirited Girl he'd Known as a Child.

As the first song ended he found himself walking toward her. All other noise around him, all other People, vanished. All he saw was her. He stopped in front of her and everything rushed back. They were surrounded by hundreds of People and a man stood beside her, his arm wrapped firmly and possessively around her waist. Sound filled the air around them — the clink of glasses, chatter, feet against the floor — and another song had started to play. KeeRoe stood before her and was at a loss for words.

"Yes?" Paden asked. "Is there something that I can help you with?"

"I — um," KeeRoe said. "I was — um —"

Paden raised his eyebrows and a bemused smirk twisted his lips.

KeeRoe swallowed past the lump in his throat, but it did no good.

"It's all right," Alora said. "Go on."

"I was —" KeeRoe said.

"Oh, come now!" Paden said loudly. "Spit it out, man!"

KeeRoe looked back at Alora, who had only Curiosity in her eyes and Patience on her face. KeeRoe cleared his throat and stood up straight and tall.

"I was wondering — will you dance with me?"

Paden scoffed. "Surely you can't be serious! Sir, you are speaking with my Future Wife."

"Surely, Paden," Alora said. "Just one dance wouldn't hurt."

He was quiet for a moment, looking from Alora to KeeRoe, and then back at Alora. He flashed a quick grin.

"No," Paden said. "I don't suppose one dance would hurt."

He pulled Alora to him and kissed her cheek, glancing at KeeRoe as he did. In Paden and Alora's Culture, physical affection was reserved only for Fiancés and Married Couples. In that subtle way, Paden was telling KeeRoe that Alora was his.

"I'll go and get us some punch," Paden told Alora. "I shall return shortly."

He bowed to her, kissed her hand, cast one last warning glance at KeeRoe, and then disappeared into the Crowd of spinning Dancers. KeeRoe and Alora watched him go, and then turned toward each other.

"Well then," said Alora. "Shall we begin?"

"Uh," KeeRoe said with a sheepish grin, glancing at the other Dancers around them. "How?"

It looked simple enough, but he wasn't sure how to start.

His Smile coaxed a tiny Smile from Alora.

"It's quite simple," she said. "Here, let me show you. First we bow."

She curtsied and he mimicked it.

Alora Laughed. There. Her composure had cracked a little more and the fires in her eyes brightened some.

"No, no, no, no," she said. "You're supposed to bend at the waist. Like this."

She demonstrated a gentleman's bow and he copied it.

"Very good. Now, shall we try it the right way?"

KeeRoe nodded. He didn't understand some of her words, but he got the general message.

She curtsied.

He bowed.

"Right," she said. "And now —"

She stepped closer to him and took his right hand in her left.

"We hold hands like this."

She guided his other hand to her waist.

"You put your hand there like that —"

She put her free hand on his shoulder.

"And I put my other hand here, like this."

"And now?" he asked.

"Now we just walk slowly in a circle. You start and I'll follow you."

They began to Dance. The Music was dull — called a "sweet melody" only because the instruments used to play it were quieter and gentler in tone, without any real tune to speak of. But that didn't matter. As they Danced Together and held Each Other, nothing else did.

 

Tairen Smith pushed through the Nobility surrounding his Father, Lord White, and Governor Johneston, who sat on one of the balconies that lined the ceiling of the Ballroom.

"Father!" Tairen yelled as he broke through the Crowd of Lords and Ladies. "Father!"

Ameston was sitting on a cushioned chair near the railing, overlooking the swirling Dancers below. He had a cup of wine in his hand and was just speaking with Lord White when Tairen interrupted.

"What is it, Boy?" Governor Smith asked his Son. "What's wrong?"

"Father," Tairen said, "a strange Man is Dancing with Lyree!"

Ameston chuckled and took a sip of wine before he spoke to Tairen again.

"Her Name is 'Alora' now, Tairen, and it is not so unusual for a Young Man to Dance with an Engaged Woman. Now off with you."

"Yes, Father."

Tairen bowed and left in a much Calmer fashion than when he'd arrived.

Ameston smirked, took another sip of wine, and looked out at the Dancers — until his eyes alit upon his daughter and the strange Man she Danced with.

 

"Is the —" KeeRoe had forgotten the word. "Music. Is the music always this — boring?"

Alora wrinkled her nose. "Unfortunately, yes."

KeeRoe nodded. He understood "yes."

"Would you —" KeeRoe paused to think. He wasn't sure how to word it.

"Yes?"

He looked into her eyes and saw the Lyree he had Known as a Child. It was Her. He Knew that it was Her, without a doubt in the World. His Heart hammered in his chest and a conflict of emotions played through him.

Alora watched the emotions play out on his face — anger, sadness, pain, and happiness all rolling together. She wasn't sure what to think of this bizarre, rare show of feeling. Such a thing was unheard of in her society and Culture. It had been so long since she'd seen so much emotion that it scared her a little. She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let her go.

KeeRoe, forgetting himself — and having long forgotten the Mission they were here for — spoke to Alora in his own Language.

"Would it be alright if we made up our own tune? And danced to that?"

She blinked in surprise and for the first time really looked at this stranger. He seemed to be the same as any other masked Gentleman, but his eyes — so different from the eyes of her People. In her Ethnicity, eyes came in a vast array of colors: various shades of blue, green, gray, amber, and even purple. But no Alytan, Augustinian, nor any other of the lighter-skinned Peoples had eyes quite like his — a warm brown that reminded her of Forest floor or Tree bark.

"Who are you?" she asked, leaning closer to better study his eyes.

He opened his mouth to answer — but was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. Paden had returned carrying two glasses of punch. When he saw KeeRoe and Alora Together, so close that their bodies were touching, Paden dropped the glasses. The music stopped and everyone became still and silent.

"What in the name of God is going on here!?" Paden yelled.

KeeRoe and Alora jumped apart.

"Well?!" Paden shouted. "Answer me!"

Everyone was watching them now.

"Paden," Alora said, "there's no reason to shout. I can explain."

But just as those last words escaped her lips, KeeRoe took out his dagger, wrapped his free arm around her, and put the blade to her throat.

"Another step," KeeRoe said in the Language that everyone could understand, "and she dies."

KeeRoe glanced behind him and started to back up, pulling Alora with him. She didn't know what else she could do. She went along with it — didn't scream, cry, or beg for her Life as so many other Young Women would have. Instead she kept her head held high, trying to keep her neck away from the blade of his knife.

DerLycos saw what was happening and cursed. He raised his head and howled, calling his Men scattered around the Ballroom.

"Aaahooooooo!"

They howled as one, sending a shiver down the spines of every Noble gathered there as the sound reverberated off the walls and ceiling. With knives and short bows in their hands, DerLycos and the other Warriors flanked KeeRoe as they made their way to the doors.

MerKyto was eating a piece of cake at the time — using his hands and getting it all over his face. When he heard the howling he dropped it on the floor and smeared the rest on his shirt, trying to wipe his hands clean. He slid off of the table.

"I'm — I'm coming!"

He stumbled a couple of steps and then collapsed on the floor, unconscious. DerLycos looked at the Warriors on either side of him and nodded in MerKyto's direction.

"Bring MerKyto!"

The Warriors nodded and ran to get their fallen Brother. They returned — one Man towing MerKyto's front half, the other carrying his rear.

Smith stood up from his seat on the balcony.

"Unhand my daughter, you beasts!" He turned around. "Someone — summon the Guards!"

An arrow whizzed by, grazed his arm, and then embedded itself in the top of his chair. Smith growled and put a hand to his bleeding arm. Turning back, he watched as the kidnappers disappeared through the Ballroom doors, taking Alora with them.

 

 

Chapter Eight: Held Captive

 

Part One

 

 

The Servants in the Entryway, upon seeing their weapons, cowered, shrieked, and ran. With some effort, DerLycos and another Warrior barred the doors of the Ballroom. KeeRoe took the knife away from Alora's throat and sheathed it. Taking advantage of the situation she rammed KeeRoe in the stomach with an elbow. He grunted and doubled over for a moment. Alora ran but she didn't make it very far. DerLycos caught her and pinned her arms behind her back.

"None of that," DerLycos told her in Alytan. Then he spoke to his Men in Darmontian: "Move out! To the Stables! I don't know how long that door will hold!"

Even as he spoke, he heard the wooden beam that barred the door start to splinter, as Men on the other side rammed something — probably a table — against the doors. The Darmontians spent no time making their retreat. They hurried outside and, slipping through the shadows, made their way towards the Stables. Alora stumbled, trying to keep up with the fast pace as she was pushed along. Just as they entered the Stables the wooden beam snapped in half and the double doors of the Ballroom burst open. Paden and a few other men, young and old, spilled out into the Entryway.

"Alert the Guards!" Paden shouted as he righted himself. "They mustn't escape!"

At that same moment in the Stables, the Stable Master hadn't had time to even comprehend what was going on. Before his Mind had had time to register that someone was being kidnapped, one of the Warriors ran into the Stable and knocked the poor Man unconscious.

"What's happened?" the Warrior atop their carriage asked.

"The plan was compromised," DerLycos said. "Hurry. Make ready."

He took some baling twine from a hook on the wall and tied Alora's hands together, while the Warriors who'd carried MerKyto hoisted him up and pushed him into the carriage. DerLycos wanted to tell Alora that it was nothing personal — that this was only necessary for the Good of his People. But he didn't know how to put that in her Language. He remained silent as he tied her hands, and then gagged her with a piece of his coat, which he tore with his knife. He put her into the carriage next to MerKyto.

Everyone else climbed into the carriage and DerLycos ordered the man driving to go. He flicked the reins and screamed "Hah!" The Horses took off and out of the Stables at a gallop.

The Streets were empty. The Peasants were all in their Homes, probably fast Asleep or preparing to Sleep. The Nobles had all been at the Ball.

As the carriage rattled by the Whites' Manor-House, Paden and his mob of angry Men stepped outside and started running towards the Stables.

"Stable Master!" Paden called. "We need twelve Horses saddled and —"

He came upon the unconscious Man. Paden laced his fingers through his hair and yelled in frustration, cursing loudly, and started kicking the wall. With the Stable Master out of commission, the Darmontians had a good head start.

 

They were Free and clear. No Guards had been placed on duty that night. The carriage sped out of Town without incident.

No one spoke inside the carriage. It bounced and rattled so violently that opening their mouths would've surely resulted in bitten tongues. Instead, DerLycos and the Warriors glared at KeeRoe. Ashamed, he stared at the passing scenery out the window — but still, he felt their eyes on him.

About five miles down the Road the carriage slowed to a stop. Everyone got out. They left MerKyto on the ground, and DerLycos held onto Alora as KeeRoe and the five other Warriors dragged Seven Men out of the brush that lined the roadside. The drugs had worn off and the Seven Men complained indignantly, muffled by their gags. Their hands were tied together and they wore nothing but their undergarments. One by one the Warriors shoved the bound, nearly naked Men into the carriage. The Darmontians stripped down to their loincloths, threw the stolen clothes — the wigs, hats, topcoats, shirts, hose, shoes, masks — into the carriage with their owners, and shut the door. Someone would find them eventually.

When that was taken care of, two of the Warriors picked up MerKyto and, at DerLycos's nod, everyone started walking off into the Forest.

Alora wasn't sure how long they had been walking, or how far they'd gone, but eventually they came upon eight Horses with rope reins, bridles, and leather saddles, tied to a group of Trees at the edge of a clearing. Unexpectedly, her captor picked her up and slung her across the back of one of the Horses like a sack of wheat, over the saddle. She started kicking but DerLycos neatly avoided her flailing feet as he tied her down to the saddle. The Men slung MerKyto over a Horse in the same manner, making sure to secure him to the saddle before they mounted their own beasts. When everyone was atop their own Horse, their Leader signaled them to ride on while he rode in the middle, pulling Alora's Horse behind him.

It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of her Life. Trotting through the dark Forest, the orse jostled her. Every time it bounced, her stomach and chest hurt. On top of that, her hair had come undone and kept getting in her eyes. Protruding branches slapped her face. This went on for who-knew-how-long.

After what felt like hours, the Horses finally came to a stop at the edge of the River. The men dismounted and led the tired animals onto a large raft. Alora had never traveled by River before and felt incredibly vulnerable on this flat, sideless vessel, tied to the saddle of a Horse, left to the mercy of the current and a few Men with long sticks.

This had to have been the worst Birthday she'd ever had.

 

 

Part Two

 

 

The World was covered in a blanket of gray as night began to lighten into dawn, and as the sky brightened, Alora grew more and more uneasy. They went with the current, letting it carry them farther and farther downstream. The men used long sticks to keep them out of the shallows, and to steer them clear of any protruding rocks and logs. In this way they made it faster towards their destination, rather than riding the entire way on horseback.

KeeRoe sat on the raft, his legs crossed under him. He was trying to avoid the occasional glares that the Men threw his way. He stared out at the River. He watched the water trailing behind the raft. He saw a couple of dragonflies and once, a blue heron. Yet he couldn't stop glancing her way. Every once and a while he caught himself staring at the delicate strands of her hair, and looked away.

He couldn't help but wonder what DerLycos planned to do with her. At the moment, his blood-Brother was looking ahead of the raft, watching for obstacles. Throughout this entire trip DerLycos had never once looked at her. What was he planning? KeeRoe couldn't help but feel afraid for her. If push came to shove, what would he do if DerLycos meant her harm? He already felt bad for her, slung over that Horse as she was.

KeeRoe made a Decision. He approached DerLycos. For a moment they stood side by side without a single word passing between them.

KeeRoe looked at Alora — still bound to the saddle, the Horse standing motionless on the raft — and then at DerLycos.

"She doesn't need to be on the Horse," he said. "We're on the water. Her hands are tied. Where would she go?"

DerLycos said nothing for a moment.

"She's been like that since last night," KeeRoe added. Not an accusation. Just a fact.

"Then get her down," DerLycos said, still looking at the River.

KeeRoe moved to the Horse without waiting to be told twice. He cut the twine that secured her to the saddle, lifted Alora carefully, and set her down on the raft, her bound hands in her lap. She didn't look at him. He didn't expect her to.

"I Know that you can Understand me," he said quietly. "If you want that thing off your face, don't scream or make a sound."

She didnt acknowlage that she heard him.

He knew she did.

He untied the gag.

Alora made no noise and said nothing.

She looked at the River.

He wondered if she was thirsty or cold or hungry. He thought about asking.

His thoughts were interrupted when one of the Horses groaned — but it wasn't a Horse. MerKyto screamed when he opened his eyes and saw the edge of the raft.

"Help!" MerKyto yelled. "Get me off of this thing!"

KeeRoe got up and, using his dagger, helped to cut the ropes that held MerKyto to the Horse's back. He and DerLycos helped MerKyto down.

"I'm glad you're with us again, MerKyto," DerLycos said bitterly.

"Shh," MerKyto said, putting a hand to his head. "Shhh. You're too loud, DerLycos." MerKyto groaned, sat down, and held his aching head in his hands. "Oooh — my head —"

"You take care of it," DerLycos said to KeeRoe, jabbing him in the ribs. "I've got better things to do than play nursemaid."

KeeRoe watched DerLycos take his place back in the front of the raft. He Knew that he was still angry at him for compromising the mission. KeeRoe rubbed his head and, still rubbing his sore side, went and untied a small canteen from one of the Horses' saddles. He took the canteen to MerKyto.

"What's this?" MerKyto asked, squinting at the canteen KeeRoe had just handed him.

KeeRoe grinned.

"It's honeyed wine. Just drink it."

Without a second thought MerKyto brought the canteen to his lips, tipped it up, and gulped. He started choking. He took the flask away from his mouth and threw it in the River. The look on his face was comical. KeeRoe started Laughing.

"Gah!" MerKyto yelled. He spat in the River twice before he spoke again. "What was that? That was vile!"

"Willow bark tea," KeeRoe said, grinning from ear to ear. "For your head."

KeeRoe started Laughing again.

"You — you should've seen your face!"

MerKyto spat some more.

"Well what did you do that for? I'd rather have the headache. Eh!"

MerKyto shivered, remembering the bitter taste.

KeeRoe Laughed some more.

MerKyto sorely wanted to push him in the River.

 

The raft drifted on. The water carrying them towards Darmonta with each passing minute. KeeRoe glanced at Alora. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. She watched the scenery drifting by. She hadn't moved or made a single sound.

At some point he had sat down near her, without quite meaning to. Alora hadn't flinched or made to move away— didn't acknowledge him at all really as far as he could tell. Even so, KeeRoe thought she might be thirsty, and place a waterskin where she could reach it.

"Not honeyed wine, but not willowbark tea either," he said. "Just some water if you want it."

He didn't wait for a response. He didn't expect one.

KeeRoe busied himself with checking and cleaning his weapons. They weren't exactly dirty. It was more about maintanance. Something to do that felt useful.

 

It didn't take Alora long to reach for the waterskin.

And every now and then, when he wasn't looking, she found herself glancing at him. 

 

The entire town of Augustine, upon hearing the news of the kidnapping, had gone into panic mode. No one came out of their homes, shutters were shut, and doors were locked.

It had been an hour before the Stable Master came to, and a half hour had gone by before the Horses were saddled and ready. By then it was too late. The Darmontians were long gone. The Mob found the carriage abandoned on the Road with the carriage's Owner, his Driver, and his Friends tied up inside. Thinking that they couldn't have gotten too far on foot, Paden led the Mob further down the Road while a few Men stayed to assist the bound-up Noblemen.

Governor Smith had insisted on going with the Mob, but Governor Johneston had insisted otherwise. This led to an argument that kept the Mob from getting to the Stables in time to stop the Darmontians. In the end, the Governor of Augustine won and had Ameston, his Wife, and their Son escorted back to Lord White's Manor. Unable to just sit there waiting complacently while his daughter was taken who-knew-where by a group of Darmontian savages — at least that was his excuse; really he was just bored — Smith took his pistol and shot at targets in the back lawn. He did this for hours, quite a while after the sun rose, imagining his targets as the kidnappers. When news came that Paden and his Mob had found neither hide nor hair of his daughter or her captors, Smith ordered a carriage made ready and set off to address Governor Johneston.

It wasn't at all because he was concerned for Alora. As far as Smith was concerned, she should've been drowned at birth. It was the political and financial end of things that caused Smith to be on edge. Negotiations with Lord White had granted Smith more Land and greater Wealth, despite the Dowry that Smith would have to pay. Having Alora Married into the Whites gave Smith a foothold in the Augustinian Court, as well as greater status and prestige. Without Alora, there could be no Alliance with the Whites of Augustine — hence all of these things would slip from Ameston's grasp.

Smith endured the carriage ride to Governor Johneston's Estate with very little patience as these thoughts plagued his Mind. The carriage was a slow, creaky, bumpy thing which Smith happened to hate. Still, it wouldn't do to run to the Governor's Estate — after all, what would People say?

He settled for a fast walk as he approached the grand doors of Johneston's Mansion. The Servants were almost too slow opening them. As agitated as Smith was, he was almost running. The first Servant whom he came upon was an older woman, standing dusting a glaring statue of one of Johneston's Ancestors. She hadn't heard him approach, and Smith took her failure to acknowledge him as impudence. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him.

"I'll only ask you once," Smith said icily, tightening his grip on the poor woman's arm. "Where is your Master?"

"U-up the stairs, S-sir. He's in a m-meeting."

Ameston pushed the trembling old lady away from him, stormed up the stairs, and proceeded towards Governor Johneston's Office.

 

"We must proceed quickly," Governor Johneston was saying as Smith opened the door and barged in. "Ah! Mr. Smith. What a surprise."

"Isn't it though," Smith countered rudely, forgetting all formalities in the wake of his massive temper. "Tell me, Dorian, what have you done thus far to find my daughter?"

"Now now, Ameston," said Lord White, who happened to be one of the Nobles meeting with Johneston. "I understand your grief at the loss of your daughter. We all have much to lose with her absence, but we must be rational."

Smith was almost stunned by Lord White's common sense. He blinked a few times before he put on his mask of composure. He bowed to Horatio White.

"Your words speak much wisdom, Lord White." He turned to Johneston and bowed. "Please forgive my intrusion, Governor. It seems I had temporarily lost my head."

"I humbly accept your apology, Governor Smith." Johneston gestured to an empty chair. "Would it please you to sit down? We were just discussing that very subject."

The smug look on Dorian Johneston's face made Smith's rage burn brighter, but his composure was flawless, betraying none of his anger or disdain for the Governor of Augustine. Smith simply nodded in assent and took the seat that had been offered him.

"Now then," said Johneston, "where were we? Secretary?"

A Man with thick-lens glasses sat at a desk in one corner of the room with a large stack of papers and a tall feather quill, scratching rapid letters across the page in front of him. He looked up from his notes and addressed the Governor of Augustine.

"We were discussing what to do about the Chautuku, Your Excellency."

 

 

Part Three

 

 

They arrived at the Docks sometime around noon. The flat boat was steered towards a protruding platform of logs and tied off.

"I'm sorry," KeeRoe said quietly to Alora, "But I'm going to have to put you back on the Horse. I won't tie you down. Just sit up and hold still."

He lifted her into a sitting position on the saddle. She held the saddle horn with both hands, held her back straight, and kept her eyes on the middle distance ahead of her.

Everyone else mounted up and rode down the path until they came to Darmonta.

The silent parade was greeted by gawks and solemn stares. The entire Village gathered around to see the Alytan Princess. She was an enigma. A stranger. An enemy. Everything about her was foreign, and upset the usual carefree, joking nature of the tribe. Even the Children caught the tension in the air and became silent and serious. The Village was nothing but awe and fear.

The procession made its way towards Arompa Terkuter, the House of the Spirits. The gathered Villagers were so close to the Horses that they were almost touching them. It was a Miracle that no one got stepped on.

KeeRoe dismounted with the others, and stayed close to his Horse. He watched the faces of his People — the awe, the fear, the cold stares — and felt something uncomfortable settle in his chest.

 

DerLycos took out his knife and, moving slowly, cut the twine that bound Alora's wrists. He lifted her from the saddle. She was so tired and sore that she didn't even put up a struggle when he lifted her off of the Horse. He carried her to the House of the Spirits. Oddly, she was Grateful for that, because she didn't think that she'd be able to stand. Her muscles were already starting to cramp. DerLycos handed her to a group of Priestesses.

"Treat her gently and with respect," he told them as they started carrying her inside. "I want her unharmed and confined here until I say otherwise."

The Priestesses bowed their heads to show that they understood. A Priest closed the door behind them.

 

KeeRoe watched as DerLycos lift her from the saddle. He wasn't surprised when she didn't put up a fight. He had watched her on the ride from the Docks— she could barely sit upright. He stood with the Horses while the Priestesses took her, and didn't move until she was gone from sight.

DerLycos made his way to the Village dais and stood to make an announcement to his People.

KeeRoe watched, standing near a Tree outside of the Crowd. 

"People of Darmonta!" DerLycos said as their Ohterkú, his voice carrying across the Village. "This Woman that I bring into our Village is the Daughter of our enemy. But instead, as the Spirits are my witness, I command you all to treat her as an Ally — as one of our People."

At this, many angry voices arose in protest.

"I Know how you feel!" DerLychos yelled over the tumult. "The Alytans stole away my Father, LabecLarmo, your Chief, and countless others who were Dear to our Hearts, banishing them to the Spirit World, where we might never see them again! You want their blood for the blood that they've spilt! In your Minds, there can never be Peace with Alyta! But if I, your Ohterkú, can make Peace, then you can too! She is the key to Peace — to the end of this endless War! Embrace her as a Sister, Darmontian!"

And that was all he said. He Knew that Darmonta was angry. They were outraged that he would order them to embrace an enemy into their Tribe. There was much talk, screaming, and yelling. There were angry hand movements and expressions. DerLychos didn't know what else to say. He was tired from the long Journey. He Hoped that his People would Calm down and Think on what he said. He Hoped that eventually they would see that this was Truly the best Path.

As Chief, it was his Duty to find Wisdom for his People, but just then he didn't feel like a Leader. He didn't want to be one. All of his Life, different things had been thrust upon him, pushing DerLycos towards this very crucial Time in History. As a Boy he had to be Leader and Protector of his Brothers. Growing up, he was made to act and behave in certain ways. And now DerLycos was given the weighty position of Leading an entire People. He was both Leader and Protector of them All now — not just BeneVeon and KeeRoe. He was young, and felt the weight of his responsibilities resting heavily on his shoulders.

Dejectedly, DerLycos stepped down from the dais. He mounted the Horse that one of the Warriors had brought him. He didn't even have the energy to Thank the Man. He rode Home, hounded the entire way by angry Villagers. He didn't want this. He found his escape in the solitude of his Arompa, where StellexAra was waiting to ease the stresses of his Life.

 

The Chautuku were the red-skinned People who lived in the wooden Village just outside of the City of Augustine. For years the Chautuku had suffered under Augustine's shadow, ground down by a oppression so gradual and so complete that it had come to feel, to the Augustinians at least, like simply the way things were. No Augustinian had ever tried to Learn their Language. The Chautuku were forced to Learn the Language of the Augustinians. The barrier of Language made Trade and Commerce very difficult, and even if it were discussed on common ground, the Augustinians priced their Goods unmercifully high for the Chautuku, giving much fairer prices to those of their own Race and Culture. The Chautuku were treated little better than animals. They had no Rights as far as the Augustinians were concerned, and they were not allowed past the City's perimeter. If a Chautuku was seen walking the Streets of Augustine, they would be arrested — Man, Woman, or Child — and they were never seen or heard from again. Prejudice was high, and the Peace that they held was as fragile as a small, glistening strand of thread.

That thread was about to be cut.

The sun was high in the Autumn sky, and a cold wind swept through the Village when they realized that they had been surrounded. Augustinian Soldiers in their metal armor had surrounded the Chautuku Village with weapons in their hands.

The Soldiers slowly closed in. A few reckless Young Men on the Chautuku side rushed the Soldiers. One Boy had successfully killed the Soldier whom he had singled out, but was cut down by another Soldier. The five other Young Men were shot down before they could even reach the Soldiers. Terrified, the Villagers stood frozen with fear as the Soldiers formed a perfect, unbroken circle around their Village.

"I seek audience with your Chief!" called the Captain, stepping forward.

The empty space where his body had been quickly filled in by two Soldiers who'd stood next to him.

"I must speak with your Chief, WildRun!"

At that moment, the elderly Chief, SalveRek, stood in the center of the Village. He had been walking with his Wife, LerRoah. They glanced at each other, unsure and afraid.

The Chief's Son, BryLen, stood not too far away. He was sixteen, and one of the best fighters in the Village. He was young, but he was not a fool — not generally, anyway. When he saw the number of soldiers he'd refrained from reaching for his sword, though his fingers twitched to do so. He Knew that he didn't stand a chance against that many armed Men. His Heart beat hard when he heard the Captain call for his Father. Anxiously, he glanced towards his Parents. BryLen's muscles screamed to be put to use as adrenaline coursed through his veins. It was with the greatest difficulty that he stayed his hand from his Sword.

"WildRun!" the Captain shouted.

Drawing in a Breath and straightening his back, the Chief started towards the Captain. His Wife, LerRoah, whose dark hair was also streaked with silver, grabbed her Husband's arm in desperation.

"Don't go!" she cried in their Language. "Please!"

She started to cry. Like everyone else, she felt a sense of dread for what might happen. SalveRek spoke quietly to his Wife, wiping her tears and holding her close.

A Soldier broke the line and strode over to the Chief and his Wife.

"Oy!" he yelled, grabbing LerRoah from behind, pulling the Chief and his Wife apart. "You heard the Captain! Move!"

BryLen reached for his dagger when he saw the Man grab his Mother, but an old, bony hand gripped his arm. He turned his head to see an Old Woman standing near him. It surprised him that he hadn't heard her approach, but he was even more surprised because he had never seen this Old Woman before. She looked older than anyone he'd ever seen — snow white hair and at least a thousand wrinkles.

"Stay your hand, BryLen. The Man has already released your Mother."

BryLen looked, and sure enough, the Soldier was walking back to his place in line. His Mother stood where she had been, crying into her hands, while his Father walked towards the Captain.

He turned his head to look back at the Old Woman, but she had vanished. A chill ran down his spine as he looked back towards his Father. SalveRek had just stopped in front of the Captain.

"Chief WildRun," the Captain said. He held out his hand behind him and a Soldier handed him a scroll. "I have here a Decree, written by the Governor of Augustine, Dorian Miguel Johneston."

He unrolled the scroll and read it aloud for all to hear.

"By the Order of Governor Dorian Miguel Johneston of Augustine! Upon the abduction of the daughter of Governor Ameston James Smith of Alyta, the Chautuku shall be, henceforth, confined within their Village! Also let it be known that all Trade with Augustine, or with any other place outside of the Village of the Chautuku, is strictly prohibited! Rations will be brought to the Chautuku by the City-State of Augustine! Anyone caught selling to, trading, or buying from the Chautuku will be hanged! The aforementioned Chautuku caught trading, selling, or buying will likewise be hanged, and their possessions confiscated by the City-State of Augustine! If any Chautuku is caught beyond the vicinity of their Village, punishment will be both swift and severe!

"No Chautuku is to be in possession of weapons of any kind! All weapons will be taken by Augustine! Any Chautuku caught with a weapon hereafter will be executed!

"And henceforth, all Chautuku are required to wear a red cloth wristband, which will be provided for you by the City-State of Augustine! On this wristband there is a number, and the Augustinian Governmental Seal! Any Chautuku who does not abide this Law will be severely punished!"

The Captain rolled up the scroll and spoke to Chief WildRun once more.

"Is that clear?"

The Chief, though it pained his Heart to do so, nodded solemnly. He didn't have any other Choice.

"Now if you please," said the Captain, "have your People line up — Men in one line, Women and Children in the other."

The Chief nodded again, turned, and addressed his People, giving them the Captain's Orders. They complied slowly, uncertainly — afraid. Children clung to their Mothers. Babies cried, sensing the fear and anxiety in the air. Women crooned and whispered to their Children, trying to soothe them. The Men stood stoically silent and grim-faced, trying to stay strong for the sakes of their Wives and Families. Everyone of the Chautuku Village stood in line — everyone but the Village Drunk who, lying asleep next to a House, received a good hard kick from one of the Soldiers.

The Names of the Villagers were taken down in a thick Ledger, numbers were assigned to them, and all weapons on their persons were taken and thrown in a pile on the ground. This last thing was the deepest cut of all. To the Chautuku People, their weapons were a part of their Soul. To be stripped of them, and for them to be tossed away so carelessly — a Woman broke down into tears as a Soldier tossed her beautiful ivory dagger into the pile. A young Boy tried holding onto his willow bow, not letting the Soldier take it. The Soldier hit the Boy with the butt of his crossbow and seized the weapon. The Boy's Mother helped him Home. He was too dazed by the blow to cry. While all of this happened, Soldiers searched their Houses for any other weapons. Seeing a Soldier carry away his Father's oaken spear, one Elderly Man tried begging the Soldier to leave it. The Soldier pushed the old Man away, causing him to fall in the dirt. People left the lines with a red cloth tied to their wrists, and sadness tied to their Hearts.

BryLen watched all of this in quiet shock as the line of Men slowly drew him closer to the Soldiers. He had to do something. He didn't care so much for his dagger, but he couldn't give up his Sword. He just couldn't. The Sword was called NenLarmo — NightTooth. It had, in the tradition of the Chautuku, been forged on the day of his Birth. His Father had kept it in his Armory until the day that BryLen would be old enough to use it. At the age of eight, BryLen's Father had Decided that he was Ready. It was a Short Sword, and had been fairly easy to wield, though he wasn't actually allowed to use it, or even practice with it, until he was thirteen. NenLarmo had become as much a part of him as his own arm. He had to think fast. The line was shortening.

He saw some hay piled not too far away, and slowly began to unbuckle his sheath from his side. When his spot in line brought him close enough to the pile he pretended to trip. He fell, sprawling into the hay, causing a domino effect in the line behind him. A Soldier roughly hauled him to his feet and cuffed him across the face. When the Soldier turned to return to his place in the circle around the Village, BryLen glanced at the hay pile. He could just barely see the gleam of his Sword under a few loose layers of tawny gold.

It wasn't long before he came to the front of the line and stood before a blond Soldier with a scarred face.

"Name?" the man asked, his quill poised above the Ledger.

"BryLen," he said.

It felt as if he were giving up his Name as the scarred man wrote it down.

"Wrist," the Soldier said.

He didn't understand. When he didn't comply another Soldier grabbed his arm roughly and held it out to the scarred man. The scarred soldier tied a numbered red cloth — painfully tight — on BryLen's wrist.

"Your number is Seven Seven Zero Seven," said the scarred man. "Remember it well, for it will be your name from now on. Weapons."

He was searched and his dagger was taken and thrown into the pile with the other weapons. He was free to go, though now he felt as if he were in chains. The red cloth around his wrist was a shackle. He felt naked without his Sword and dagger, but endured it for now, swearing to get his Sword after night fell.

Unlike the other Villagers, BryLen did not slink back to his House like a Dog with his tail between his legs. Instead, he waited for his Mother to get through the line. He stood with her, consoling her, lending her his Strength. She stood beside him, looking more baleful and frail than he'd ever seen her before. They watched as a tall, wooden fence was erected around their Home, casting its shadow over them and much of the Village. In the last sixteen years of his Life, BryLen had never hated anyone. Standing there then, however, he found himself hating the Augustinians.

 

 

Part Four

 

 

In the secret dark of Night DerLychos made his way to the Home of HarenArompa. The Streets were empty, as was usual for this time of night. No doubt the Citizens of Darmonta were stewing in their Homes, unable to sleep with a strange and alien enemy in their midst. As a result, no one saw DerLycos sneaking through the Streets.

He found his adoptive-Father sound Asleep. Under any other circumstances, DerLycos would've gone Home without disturbing the old Man. But what he had to say was Important.

"Haren!" DerLychos called loudly.

HarenArompa was a hard-sleeper, and also hard-of-hearing.

"Haren!" DerLycos called again.

He shook him until he opened his eyes.

"Why did you wake me?" the old Man asked quietly. "I was having a Good Dream."

"I'm sorry, Haren," DerLycos said with Sincerity.

Haren sat up and rubbed his face with his hands.

"What?"

"I said — I'm sorry!"

"You don't need to shout," Haren said. "Why are you here? Has something happened?"

"No," said DerLychos, raising his voice. "I just want to talk to you — about this Alytan Princess."

Haren sighed and looked at him grumpily.

"You Know we discussed this, many times over. It was Willed by the Spirits that the two of you should Join —"

"To bring Peace to our Nations. I Know, I Know! But Haren — I do not Love her."

Haren's grumpy expression turned into one of Sympathy.

"I Know how you feel about StellexAra, but sometimes Duty must come before us."

DerLycos nodded.

"I Know."

Haren smiled a little.

"Besides, if the Spirits have Willed it, then you may grow to Love her yet."

DerLycos didn't smile back.

"Maybe," he said doubtfully.

"Now," HarenArompa said with a yawn, "what are you going to do to Protect this Young Woman from the People? After how things went earlier, I think something must be done."

"Oh, I already have a plan for that —"

 

KeeRoe dropped down from the skylight. His moccasined feet made an audible thud against the stone floor as he landed. The only reason that he didn't fall on impact, or land wrong and break an arm or a leg, was because the Forest had been his playground Growing Up. He had trained his body to withstand falling from great heights. Numerous times he had jumped out of Trees and off of giant boulders. Falling now from the skylight of the Central Room of Arompa Terkuter was Child's play.

She woke up with a gasp. A bed of furs had been made up for Alora in one corner of the great room. She hugged the fur blanket to her chest, clinging to it as if it could shield her from this stranger in the night.

She had been given a bath by the Priestesses and now looked quite different. Her giant silk gown had been replaced by a simple cotton nightdress. Her face was no longer so white and her lips were no longer so red. Her skin was still pale and her lips were still bright, though not as dramatically so as when she wore face paint. Her long hair had been freed of the tangled, snarled mess atop her head and had been brushed out. Without the mask on her face KeeRoe could better see her. This only proved to strengthen his Belief that she was indeed the Lyree from the Past. He just wished that she didn't look so frightened.

"Who are you?" she asked quickly in perfect Darmontian. "What do you want?"

KeeRoe looked at the door and waited a moment — no one was coming. He put a finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he said quietly. "I only want to talk."

"Wait," she said. "Your voice — you're the one who kidnapped me."

She glared at him in the dark.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Well —"

He wondered how much he should tell her. Should he tell her that she had been their target all along, but that he had almost cost them their Lives because he thought that she might be a Girl from the Past, whom he had come to care about? And then should he proceed to tell her that he wasn't sure why his Brother, the Darmontian Chief, wanted her in the first place? He wasn't sure what to tell her. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and asked her a question.

"Is your Name, Lyree?"

"It — was," she said slowly. "Why do you want to know?"

"What do you mean it was?"

She looked at him with a curious expression.

"Don't your People change their Names when they become Men or Women?"

"In a way," he said. "Our People are given two Names when they are Born, and the two names are put together to make one. Let's say, as an example, that my Mareh's Name was Flarnair when she was Born. When we become Men and Women, the two Names are separated, but still together. So when Flarnair became a Woman, her name became FlarNair."

"We — Alytans — get entirely different Names, but our old names become our middle names. When my Mother was Born, she was Named Maria. Her full Name was Maria Wilkins. When she became a Woman, her Uncle Yorin named her Almara. Her full Name became Almara Maria Wilkins."

"So you used to be Lyree," KeeRoe said slowly, trying to grasp the strange foreign Custom. "What did your — Uncle Yorin — Name you?"

She uttered a single fast "Ha!" and shook her head.

"No, no. I don't have an 'Uncle Yorin.' 'Uncle Yorin' is a Name. Don't you have Uncles?"

"What's an Uncle?"

"The Brother of your Mother or Father is an Uncle. Or an Uncle could be the Husband — Joined Half — of an Aunt, the Sister of your Mother or Father."

"Oh," he said, pausing a moment to think about it. "So if you don't have an 'Uncle' then who Named you?"

"My father Named me."

"So, if you are no longer Lyree, then what is your Name?"

Footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway outside of the room. KeeRoe hurried and ducked behind the stone altar, just as the door was opening. Torchlight flooded into the room. Whoever it was didn't go past the open door. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, the Person closed the door and the footsteps receded into quiet. Once certain that they were alone, KeeRoe crept out of hiding.

"I should go," KeeRoe said. "I'm honestly not supposed to be here."

But looking up, KeeRoe realized that he had forgotten to plan his escape. He cursed.

"Now how am I supposed to get out of here?" he asked himself out loud. Over the years he had developed a habit of talking to himself once in a while.

It was quiet for a time as he tried to think. How was he supposed to get past that Guard?

"Yes," he said finally. "That might work."

He looked at the Alytan Princess.

"Would you help me get out of this place?"

"Why should I help you?" she whispered angrily. "You kidnapped me. You're the reason I'm here."

"Oh right," KeeRoe said with sarcasm. "Because you were so happy where you were."

"Well I'm certainly not happy here."

KeeRoe couldn't say anything to that. He Remembered when, after he had saved RosaFay from being sacrificed, he was imprisoned in this very room.

After a little while, Alora sighed.

"Look," she said. "I'll Help you out of here, if I can, on one condition."

"Name it," he said with some desperation. He was already on DerLycos's bad side as it was.

"You have to Swear to Help me get out of here."

He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor.

"I can't Swear or Promise that."

"And why not?" she asked tartly.

"Look," he said. "I Swear to you, I Promise you, that I'll try. That's the best I can do."

She considered this, and then nodded.

"Alright. What do I have to do?"

 

The Guard ran into the room when he heard a scream. The Alytan Princess sat on top of her furs, taking deep Breaths. He couldn't tell — because her skin was already unbelievably pale — but she seemed to look paler.

"What's going on here?" the Guard demanded.

"Help! Help!" Alora cried. "It's a —" She put a hand to her forehead. "Ohhh — I feel faint."

"What? What is it?"

"It's a —" She glanced quickly behind the Guard. KeeRoe had hidden behind the Altar when the Guard rushed in. Now he was slowly sneaking towards the opened door. "It's a spider!"

"A spider?!" the Guard yelled. "That's what this is about? I don't have time for this!"

He started to turn but Alora screamed again and he turned back to face her. KeeRoe stopped when he heard her scream. It was so convincing that he winced and had to make sure she was alright.

"The spider!" she yelled. "It's — it's coming towards me!"

She screamed again. She was a convincing actress. KeeRoe continued towards the door, sneaking silently so that the Guard wouldn't hear. If she could just stall a little longer —

"Get it away! It's huge! Can't you see it?! Kill it! Kill it before it gets me!"

She looked as if she truly were about to faint. She swayed and her eyes drooped.

"Fine!" the Guard cried. "Fine! Don't get your hair in a knot! I'll kill the cursed spider for you!"

She pointed to the corner farthest from the door, and the Guard went to inspect it.

"There's nothing here!"

She looked at KeeRoe while the Guard was looking. He was only a couple of feet from the door.

"Oh!" Alora said, sounding surprised. "It must have crawled away."

The Guard wiped his face with his hand.

"He was a giant though!" Alora said. "A huuuge spider! You might want to consider looking for him again sometime."

KeeRoe was turning the corner when she glanced again.

"Alora!" she shouted at the Guard. "My Name is Alora!"

"What?" the Guard said. He turned and threw her a queer look. "Did I ask you what your Name is?"

"Alora!" she yelled again. "Alora Lyree Smith!"

The Guard shook his head.

"You're crazy! I'm not going to stick around here and listen to this nonsense!"

The Guard walked quickly towards the door. KeeRoe was gone.

 

He was under no illusions that he would make it out of the House of Spirits completely unnoticed. He almost bumped into a Priest a ways down the hall. At least it was a Friendly face and not mean old FlarKuret.

"KeeRoe!" the Priest said with surprise in his voice and a grin on his face. "What are you doing here? And at this hour of the night. This does not seem normal for you, My Friend."

"Hello to you too, LorRence. I just came to pray."

LorRence raised his eyebrows.

"Really? I didn't think you were the praying-type. What — if it's not too personal to ask — were you praying for?"

Really, KeeRoe hardly ever prayed — only when he was in the most trouble, or when he couldn't think of anything else to do in a sticky situation. KeeRoe had been thinking up this half-Truth since he'd left the Center-Room, and Hoped that it sounded convincing enough.

"I came to pray for Forgiveness," KeeRoe said.

"Forgiveness? Why?"

"Well — you Know that I went with DerLycos and a small Team of others to get the Alytan Princess, right?"

"Yes. You told me this before you departed."

"Well," he paused to sound guiltier and more dramatic, "I sort of almost botched the Mission."

"Really? No, not you, surely. MerKyto I could see putting the Mission in jeopardy, with his drinking problem, but I never would've thought you —"

"It's True," KeeRoe said with a sigh. "I came to beg the Spirits' Forgiveness, and to pray that DerLycos might Forgive me too."

LorRence shook his bald head.

"You Know that your Brother would not hold a grudge against you for such a little thing. After all, I've heard that the Mission was a success, despite whatever you may have done, and everyone is Safe and Well. If anything else DerLycos will just stew tonight. In the Morning he will be his old Self again — wait and see."

"Thank you, LorRence, for your advice. I'll try not to worry too much."

"Anytime, KeeRoe. You should head Home and get some Rest. You look fairly beaten up."

"And you yourself. Why are you up so late, Priest?"

"Ah. Yes. That. I had almost forgotten."

He lifted a long stick in one hand and a pot full of oil in the other.

"I'm on lamp duty tonight. Forgive me, KeeRoe, but I must get back to it."

"No problem. See you some other time."

"And you as well."

The Priest headed off to do his Duty while KeeRoe hurried to the exit, and Home.

 

A whole spew of feelings coursed through BryLen as he looked out a window of his Father's House, staring at one of the Guard-Towers which had been built earlier in the day. All of these feelings verged on the negative. He felt bitterness, resentment, spite, rage, hate, indignation — all of these rolled into one solid mass and sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Or was it that nasty, grainy gruel that the Soldiers had distributed for Supper?

"Come away from the window, BryLen," his mother said. "You've been standing there since dusk."

He did not resist, and let LerRoah lead him to a spot by the fire in the center of the room. She bade him sit and handed him a cup of wine — perhaps the last small pleasure that they'd have for a while, or maybe even forever. He sat on the cushion, sipping his wine, and staring into the flames. After a time, he put his cup down and looked at his Parents.

"When those men took our weapons," BryLen told them, "I couldn't let them take NenLarmo. I hid it in a hay pile by the Farmer's House."

His Mother looked at him in distress. His Father wore a placid expression.

"Please," LerRoah said with anxiety in her voice. "Please tell me you aren't thinking of retrieving it!"

"I am."

"You can't! What about the Guards?"

SalveRek simply nodded and took his Wife's hand.

"Do you think you're Ready?" the Chief asked his Son, his voice Calm and even. "Do you Believe that you could leave the Village?"

"I'll get my Soul back," BryLen said. "But I will not leave you here alone."

"You must go. For the sake of us all. My Ohter, you are the only one Clever enough to outwit the Guards and escape this prison."

He no longer looked so calm. His face was tinged with sadness, fear, and desperation.

"I won't leave you," BryLen said again.

"You must."

BryLen got up and retrieved an old leather ball from a trunk near his hammock. He then went to the door, but stopped before opening it, and looked at his Parents.

"I will not abandon you," he said, and stepped into the cold World outside.

 

BryLen snuck through the Streets, staying close to the Houses and in the shadows. Torches had been lit all throughout the Village so that the Guards could see if anyone tried sneaking out of their Homes. A curfew had been announced and the entire Village had been herded into their Houses just before sundown. The hay pile was near, but also in the open, and a Guard-Tower had been built nearby.

For old times' sake BryLen tossed the old ball in the air and caught it again. He'd had this ball since he was a small Child and this was the last time that he'd ever hold it in his hands again.

"Fly well and far, My Friend," he whispered to the ball, and then chucked it as hard as he could in the opposite direction of the hay pile.

As Luck — or Fate — would have it, the ball crashed into a trash-heap, making a loud clang and the tinkle of glass. The Guard on the Tower looked towards the commotion. The distraction was enough for BryLen to get close enough and grab his Sword.

He found NenLarmo easily enough, but when he grasped the sword's hilt, the sword wouldn't budge. No matter how hard he pulled, the sword wouldn't move. He glanced at the guard-tower. The guard was climbing down the wooden ladder. He'd seen him.

"Come on!" BryLen begged the sword. "Please — come — free!"

The sword stubbornly lay transfixed where he'd put it earlier. He pulled with all of his might. His face turned red from the effort. He groaned and then yelled in surprise as the sword gave, and sent him on his hinder.

"Whaah! Oof!"

He started to stand when a shadow fell over him. BryLen stopped, still in a crouched position, and looked up slowly. It was the scar-faced soldier from earlier.

"Well well well. What have you got there, Seven Seven Zero Seven?" the blond man asked in a too-sweet tone. "Is it a present for me?"

BryLen raised himself to his full height with NenLarmo held firmly in his right hand.

"My name is BryLen. And this sword is NightTooth, in your language. NightTooth is my sword." He pointed the blade at the soldier. "Surrender now and I will not take your life."

"Well now you see," said the soldier, taking a couple of slow steps closer to the blade's tip, "I'm not much for surrender. So here's my counter-offer."

Faster than BryLen could react, the soldier snatched BryLen's old dagger from a sheath hidden in the sleeve of his coat and threw it, sending it flipping towards its old master.

The Witch appeared out of the air in front of him. The knife sank into her back, and she hardly flinched. The soldier suddenly went cold and pale, and watched with horror as the old woman slowly pulled the knife out of her back. It came out clean, without a single drop of blood on the blade. She half-turned towards the soldier, and a smile slowly spread across her face.

"Now, General," she said to the scarred soldier with an evil gleam in her eye, "was that really necessary?"

With a flick of her wrist she sent the dagger flying back towards him, into the dirt at his feet. It was barely a centimeter away from sinking into the tip of his right boot. Too frightened to move, the scarred Soldier watched as the Witch grasped BryLen's shoulders, and they both vanished into thin air. The Soldier looked around, bewildered, trying to see the Boy or the Old Woman, but they were nowhere to be seen.

He looked down at his boot, where the dagger had landed.

The dagger was gone too.

"This isn't possible," he said quietly.

Only much later did he wonder why the Witch had called him General.

 

BryLen had no awareness. It was blackness. He saw and felt nothing — nothing but an overwhelming sense that he was falling, or perhaps sinking, though he couldn't tell which. He couldn't feel the Old Woman's hands on his shoulders anymore. He had no perception of Time. It seemed both too long and, at the same time, as if only a moment had passed.

Then there was light, and ground beneath him, and he was on his hands and knees in the middle of a dirt road gasping. His body ached. He stayed where he was until the worst of it passed, then slowly, shakily, got to his feet.

Forest grew on either side of the Road. Forest and road was all he could see for miles in either direction.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud.

"On a road, obviously."

He turned. The Old Woman stood behind him, leaning against a Tree. She hadn't been there a moment ago. He took a step backwards.

"You've no reason to fear me, BryLen," Old Woman said. "If I had meant you harm, I wouldn't have Saved your Life."

"Who are you?"

The Old Witch chuckled.

"All that you need know of me, Young Man, is that my Name is not important, and that I mean you well."

"You were the reason my Sword wouldn't pull free," BryLen said. It wasn't a question. "Why?"

Old Woman smiled.

"Timing is everything."

"Alright—"

"I'll explain, because I see the question in your eyes: 'What is it that you want with me?'"

A shiver ran down his spine.

"You wonder now if I can read Minds. The Answer is Yes, when I Wish to."

She pushed off from the Tree and pointed down the Road behind him.

"Follow this Road until you come to where it meets the River. Cross the waters of Serpen to the opposite shore. Follow the flow of the River until you find a Tree covered with carvings. When you reach it, go East into the Forest. After a long while you will come to a Village — Darmonta. Seek out their Chief, Ohterkú DerLycos. They will help you Free your People."

He hadn't seen where she pulled it from. It had simply appeared in her hand. She pressed the dagger into his hand.

"This Belongs to you," she said, "And you may need it later."

BryLen looked down at his dagger.

He opened his mouth to ask why she wanted to Help him. She vanished before he could say anything but "Why—"

He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. He noticed the sun rising to the East and, unable to think of anything else to do, BryLen started walking.

 

 

Part Five

 

 

KeeRoe Decided to go speak with DerLychos first thing in the Morning. He climbed the steps of Arompa Ohterkú, the whole while trying to Think of how he would say what he wanted to say. He wanted to Help Alora, if he could. He hadn't slept much that previous night. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He Knew how it was to be trapped in the House of the Spirits. It was so dark, and when it was so dark, quiet, and empty, his Mind had played tricks on him. He could Imagine how she might have felt — alone and frightened. DerLycos was coming out of the House just as KeeRoe ascended the last couple of steps.

"DerLycos," KeeRoe said. "There's something that I need to talk to you about."

"What a coincidence. There is something that I need to talk to you about."

"What?"

DerLycos sighed heavily.

"The People clearly don't like the idea of the Alytan Princess being here, and I don't want her to think that she's a prisoner. I want to allow the Governor's Daughter to walk among us — see what we're really like. We want to make Peace with our enemies, not make them hate us more, and she is the key to Peace."

"Ok," KeeRoe said. "I agree with you as far as setting her Free goes, but I don't see what this has to do with me."

DerLycos shook his head.

"We won't be letting her Free exactly," he said slowly. "But at the same time, keeping her totally imprisoned will not help our cause. It will be — more like House Arrest. We'll just try and make her stay here as Comfortable as possible."

"So you want me to watch her?" KeeRoe asked. "To make sure that she doesn't escape?"

"Partly," DerLycos said. "I'd like her to be able to walk among the People, but I don't Trust them not to harm her. I want to assign her a Bodyguard, and I've Decided that it should be you."

"Why me? Not that I wouldn't be willing to," KeeRoe added quickly. "Just curious."

"Two reasons," DerLycos said. "Reason one — you're the Best Fighter in the Village, and everyone Knows it. They'd need to be out of their heads to attack the Princess while you're Protecting her. Who Better to Guard her?"

"And what's the second reason?"

"Punishment. While Protecting the Princess you will be unable to take the Classes to become Orah."

KeeRoe nodded to himself. He understood that instead of imprisonment or death, as was generally the punishment for screwing up a Mission, he was getting off easy.

"I Understand," KeeRoe said. "When do I start?"

"When the sun is highest in the sky I want to throw her a small Feast, here, in Arompa Ohterkú. After, she'll be given a Room here, and so will you. She will then be able to come and go as she pleases."

"Alright," KeeRoe said resignedly. He understood that Living there was also a part of the punishment, so he didn't argue.

"Sooo —" said DerLychos slowly.

"So?" KeeRoe asked.

"There was something that you needed to Talk to me about?"

There wasn't much point in asking DerLycos to Free Alora now.

So instead, he said, "I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to jeopardize the Mission. I'm not really sure what came over me."

His Brother put his hand on his shoulder. 

"It worked out anyway," DerLycos said. "But enough of that. The day is still young. Come and shoot some Targets with me."

"Sounds good," KeeRoe said.

He and his Brother walked side by side, down the Hill towards the Training Grounds.

 

Alora sat with her back against a wall and her knees drawn up to her chest, unknowingly sitting in the exact same spot where a younger KeeRoe had sat four or so years ago. Exhausted and sore, she had slept through the greater part of the Morning. A platter piled with fruit had been brought in for her while she'd Slept, and she had devoured every morsel. She'd spent the rest of the time pacing around the room. At first she'd tried looking for any way that she might escape but, having found nothing, she started examining the pictures carved into the walls. When she became bored with that, and there being nothing else to do, she sat against the wall.

She watched the light from the skylight slide across the floor as Time passed. When the small square of light was almost directly below the skylight, she heard footsteps coming towards the door.

Two Men came into the room. One was the Village Leader — the one who had tied her to the Horse and ordered the Priestesses to care for her. The other stopped her cold.

She had told herself, on the raft, that it was coincidence. A resemblance, nothing more. She had glanced at him and looked away and told herself that KeeRoe was dead — her father had shot him, and that was the end of it. She had been careful, on the River, not to look too long.

Now he was standing ten feet away in full daylight and she couldn't look away.

'Just a coincidence,' she thought again. But she pressed her back to the wall anyway. Her mask of composure was flawless. No one would have been able to see the conflict of emotions parading through her.

The Leader spoke slowly, using hand gestures as though he didn't know she could understand him.

"Hell-o," he said, waving at her. "My Name —" he pointed to himself — "DerLycos." He repeated his Name, then pointed at the other Man. "This — KeeRoe."

'Just a coincidence.'

"KeeRoe —" the Chief pointed at him more vigorously — "Your Bodyguard." He flexed, demonstrating what he meant, and displayed some pretty impressive muscle tone in the process.

Alora felt heat rise to her face. In all of her Life she had never seen so much skin or so many muscles. Even KeeRoe — who had come a long way from the carefree, fun-loving Boy she had Known — was built like a Warrior. She made herself look at his face instead, and there she found the Child he had once been.

He looked as if he were trying not to laugh.

 

Listening to his blood-Brother drone on as he did, speaking in almost a slow monotone, KeeRoe really was trying not to laugh. This was just too funny. He Knew that Alora could Understand DerLycos, and wondered how she could stay so serious.

"It would please us," said DerLycos, "if you — come — my House — eat."

He made a whisking motion by his mouth as if he were shoveling food in.

KeeRoe almost burst out laughing but managed to disguise it as a cough. Remarkably, DerLycos didn't notice.

"You — come — eat?" DerLycos asked.

Alora let her composure drop and cast him a Smile.

In Darmontian she said, "Nothing would please me more, Ohterkú DerLycos, than to dine with you, at your Home. I would be greatly Honored."

DerLycos's jaw dropped. The expression on his face was priceless.

"I — I — I — um —"

KeeRoe could no longer contain himself. He exploded with Laughter. DerLycos scowled. KeeRoe bottled his Laughter and Grinned. Now Alora had to Laugh, just a little.

DerLycos cleared his throat.

"Well," he said in Darmontian, "I'm — uh — Glad that we Understand each other."

KeeRoe giggled and DerLycos elbowed him.

"This laughing hyena," said DerLycos, pointing at his Brother, "will wait to escort you to Arompa Ohterkú. Would it please you if the Priestesses help you to prepare?"

"If that is your wish," said Alora, once again serious. "After all, you are my captors."

DerLycos shook his head.

"No," he said. "Here you are our Guest."

"Then may I come and go as I please?"

"KeeRoe will escort you anywhere throughout the Village."

"I am a prisoner then," she said in a neutral tone. "Why have you brought me here?"

DerLycos was silent. KeeRoe and Alora both listened closely for his answer.

"The Priestesses will Help you prepare for the Feast," DerLychos said, obviously avoiding the question. "That nightdress would not be appropriate for a Princess to wear around the Village."

DerLycos turned and left the room. KeeRoe shrugged and followed his Brother.

 

 

Chapter Nine: Discovery

 

 

Part One

 

 

At his Brother's command, KeeRoe waited in the hallway while the Priestesses were tending to Alora. He was leaning against the wall, next to the door, his arms crossed and his eyes on the floor, when the door finally opened. The Priestesses came out of the room in a scattered crowd, like a flock of birds taking flight. Alora was the last one to come out.

By the Darmontians' standards, Alora was alien and unattractive. Everything about her screamed 'foreigner.' She was definitely different from the other Women of the Village. In Darmonta a Woman's beauty was in the width of her hips, the strength in her legs, and the mysterious dark of their eyes and hair. Darmontian Women were tanner and stockier built, making Alora stick out worse than a sore thumb with her pale skin and delicate bone structure.

Though she was different, KeeRoe didn't find her to be ugly at all. In his Mind, her differences added a certain, exotic sort of Beauty. Standing before him now, she wore a sleeveless deerskin dress, with a fur wrap draped over her shoulders. The dress fell to just above her knees and then fringed down to her mid-calf. Strips of rawhide hung from the v-shaped collar. Turquoise beads hung from the tips of the rawhide strips and the fringe. The dress was a little big for her. A thick piece of leather was wrapped around her middle, bringing the dress in a bit at the waist. Small, polished stone beads had been woven into her hair. On her feet was a pair of fringed moccasins, decorated with the same turquoise beads as the dress. She was Beautiful.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?"

KeeRoe cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed that he'd been caught staring.

"Well — um — after you."

A tiny grin graced her lips as she walked past him.

KeeRoe guided her through the halls of Arompa Terkuter, and noticed the Curiosity on her face as they traveled through the Building and then again as they traveled through the Village. Darmonta was so very different from Alyta, in almost every aspect. Architecture wasn't even the half of it. Where Alyta got its Goods from Trade, Darmonta made most of theirs. Craftsmen — and Women (shocking!) — were hard at work. People made weapons, tanned hides, sculpted, carved, made clothes and furniture, and a multitude of other things were crafted and done on the roadsides — roads made of dirt, not stone. Some Young Men drove a Herd of Cattle along the outskirts of Town. Men gambled and Children played in the Streets. The People treated one another like Family — not with cold detachment, as was the way in Alyta. All of this and more Alora noticed as she and KeeRoe walked through the Village.

He stayed close to her as they drifted through the Streets. Everyone was staring at Alora — and not in a good way. People stopped whatever they were doing to openly glare at her. Children stopped their games to gawk. She didn't seem to notice the hostility which was directed at her. She was in a daze, like a shocked fish in new waters. Thankfully, they'd arrived at Arompa Ohterkú without incident.

The Main Room was all trussed-up for the Occasion. The floors had been thoroughly swept and cleaned. The rugs had been beaten. Bouquets of dried flowers had been placed in various spots around the room and the good brass dishes had been brought out.

All of KeeRoe's Family was there, and then some. DerLychos, BeneVeon, and HarenArompa were there, but so were BeaSong, MerKyto, TahLea, StellexAra, and RosaFay. Everyone was Laughing and Talking, but when they noticed Alora and KeeRoe standing just in front of the door, they all became silent and serious — even clownish MerKyto. Haren stood with the Help of a smooth hickory cane and approached their Royal Guest. KeeRoe didn't like the way that Haren was staring at Alora, looking her over like a Farmer might a Prized Cow.

Alora was feeling much the same. She felt awkward under his cold scrutiny, and thought that perhaps it would be best to break through the thin wall of ice which stood between her and the others.

"Hello," she said to Haren in Darmontian.

He blinked in surprise. Like everyone else, he hadn't expected this foreign Girl to speak their Language. He quickly concealed his surprise with a smile.

"Welcome," he said.

The tension in the room eased some, but it was still there, hanging like a mist. Haren showed Alora to her place by the fire — an Honorary spot to the right of DerLycos — and introductions were made.

"As you Know," Ohterkú said to their Guest, "my name is DerLycos, Ohterkú of Darmonta." DerLycos introduced everyone in the order that they sat at the fire, going to the right, starting with the one who sat next to Alora. "You've already met my blood-Brother, KeeRoe. Beside KeeRoe is my other Brother, BeneVeon —"

Bene cast her a weak smile and nodded.

"Our Friend, MerKyto, and his Mate, TahLea —"

"It's an Honor," MerKyto said with a mock bow.

"Of course," TahLea added.

"BeaSong," DerLycos continued, "Mother of MerKyto —"

She Smiled whole-heartedly. "Pleased to be Meeting you."

"StellexAra —" DerLycos couldn't keep the tenderness from his voice as he said her Name.

StellexAra didn't smile, nod, or acknowledge Alora in any manner other than to stare at her with a cold, dull expression.

"Her Sister, RosaFay —"

She gave Alora a tiny grin and said, "Hello."

"And finally," DerLycos concluded, "my Ohtahn, HarenArompa."

"Adopted-Father, actually," Haren corrected. "It Truly is an Honor to Meet you." He thumped his fist over his Heart in a Darmontian salute.

"Everyone," said DerLycos, "this is —"

"Alora," she and KeeRoe said together.

They glanced at each other and quickly looked away. No one seemed to have noticed.

DerLycos nodded.

"Alora," he said. "Princess of Alyta."

MerKyto raised his cup of wine as high as his arm would permit.

"A toast! To Alyta, and its Princess!"

TahLea rolled her eyes.

"Sure! He'd find any excuse to drink."

"Oh cork it, You Old Bat!" MerKyto crowed, wrapping an arm around his Wife's shoulders. "This is a Feast! What better time to have a drink?"

TahLea Smiled at her Man.

"Any Day is a Good enough Time for you to drink yourself out of your head."

MerKyto Laughed.

"You see! The Woman Knows me too well!"

"Well," DerLycos said, "shall we eat?"

"Let's!" TahLea and MerKyto said together. They looked at each other and started Laughing.

"Fine by me," BeneVeon said, reaching for his plate.

Lids were lifted from their dishes, uncovering delicious looking roasts, fresh vegetables, and fish. There was also a couple of different soups and salads, and a tray of cakes and fruit. Everyone helped themselves and Alora followed suit, and when she saw everyone — including the Women — heaping food onto their plates and filling their bowls, Alora gladly did the same.

It was so bizarre, eating with the Darmontians. Darmontians were so much different from Alytans in the way that they took their Meals. While Alytans were petite eaters, Darmontians ate heartily. They piled their plates with food and a couple even took seconds. There was so much slurping, crunching, and mmm-ing, with appreciative belches at the end. Another big difference was in conversation. Alytans seldom spoke during their Meals. The Darmontians talked quite a bit while they ate, even going so far as to tell Stories and talk with their food tucked away in their cheeks. Alora noticed these differences with a great deal of Interest.

She didn't eat much — she couldn't. Her body was too used to scant portions and tiny bites. Even so, Alora took larger bites than she was used to, and ate until it felt as if she might pop.

She listened closely to the conversation, and Laughed along with the rest of them. She hardly spoke unless spoken to, but only because she was unsure of what to say. In listening, she Learned much about these People, and became better acquainted with them.

Before long, Dinner was served, though it was a much lighter Meal. A couple of wood grouse had been roasted and served with a side of wild carrots and thoroughly boiled dandelion roots, which tasted, to Alora, oddly like turnips or something. BeaSong, StellexAra, and RosaFay had done all of the cooking.

HarenArompa was the first to leave, around sundown. MerKyto and TahLea ended up leaving next. MerKyto was plastered and getting too obnoxious. TahLea had to threaten him and bodily push him out the door to get him to leave. Around midnight, BeaSong insisted that she and Bene leave, and there was no arguing with BeaSong. When all of the Guests from the Feast were gone, DerLycos addressed the remaining People, again sounding more like Ohterkú than himself.

"The hour is late and we should all get some Rest. Alora — RosaFay and StellexAra will be your Maids from this moment forth. They will show you to your Room. I bid you Goodnight."

She curtsied.

"And you as well."

No one but KeeRoe noticed that she was actually looking past DerLycos, looking instead at KeeRoe. One hundred and fifty unsaid words were in that single look, hidden behind her beautiful foreign eyes. Alora turned away to follow her Maids and DerLychos turned to KeeRoe.

"You can stay in your old Room." DerLycos was Himself again. He yawned loudly. "I'm swamped. I'm going to Bed. You should hit the hammock soon too."

 

 

Part Two

 

 

KeeRoe wanted to take his Brother's advice, but though he hadn't slept well the previous night, sleep eluded him. Too many Thoughts beat their way into his Mind. Again, they were about Alora. Was she really Lyree? He already Knew the answer to that question. Why was he still denying it? He Knew that it was Her, but his Heart still begged to question. He wasn't sure what it was that he wanted more — for her to be Lyree, or not to be Lyree. And just what did DerLycos want with her? These were the same thoughts and questions that had haunted him before — He lay in his hammock, staring up at the rafters and the underside of the thatched roof. Feeling uncomfortable and overwhelmed, he got out of bed, grabbed his leather fur-lined jacket, which had been moved there with the rest of his things earlier in the day, snuck through DerLycos's room, and went outside, Hoping that the fresh air might help to clear his head.

 

It was a cold Autumn Night and the air smelled of damp soil and decaying leaves. The sky was clear, for the most part. He could see clouds in the distance. The stars were clustered together, hundreds of tiny diamonds twinkling in the black night. As he stood there, in front of Arompa Ohterkú, looking out into the night, he heard the door open behind him.

He thought that it was DerLycos when he said, "I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I."

He turned. The voice hadn't belonged to his Brother. He whirled around to see Alora standing behind him.

Like so long ago they stood there, just looking at each other. Both had changed so much over the last six years. In the dark of night it was hard for either to see the Person that they'd once Known. It was strange for both of them that the other felt like a Best Friend and a stranger all at once.

Instead of telling her his thoughts, KeeRoe Decided to Choose a more evasive path.

"I had a Dream," he told her. "I Dreamed that I was with this Girl I once Knew. She wanted to play a game called 'hide and hunt.' She ran into the Forest and I started counting. But then I heard a scream. I ran through the Woods and when I found her, she had been captured by three Alytan men." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "The one that held her shot me with Thunder and Metal. My Brothers found me and got Help, and I never saw her since."

Tears pricked Alora's eyes. One escaped and glided down her cheek. She walked towards him until they were about a foot apart. She had to look up to see his face.

"I had the same Dream," she said.

Unsure of what to say, KeeRoe wrapped his arms around her. He said one word. Her Name.

"Lyree."

"Keeroe," She said quietly, holding him tightly.

It had been a long time since either of them felt so Complete, Whole, and Happy.

 

BryLen was exhausted. He'd been walking all Day and most of the Night when he finally came to the place where the Road met the River, as the Witch had instructed. At any other Time he would've carefully thought through the situation. He would've Known better than to go into the River at Night, when it was dark and fatigue tugged at his limbs. He would not have gone in until Morning. He would've found another way across. He was so tired and just could not think straight.

It was as if a fog had descended upon his Mind, making his Thinking warped and not allowing him to focus on sense. All that he could think about was reaching Darmonta — a Place he'd never heard of until just now. Thus it was that BryLen, fully dressed and with his Sword around his waist, Decided to go into the River.

He waded in, feeling the silent Pull towards a Place that may or may not have existed. Dully he wondered if this was Real, or if the Witch had put him under a Spell. Still, he kept walking, the water becoming deeper and deeper with each step. When the water had risen to the point between his stomach and chest, he went over a drop-off. After that he went for the ride of his Life, at the mercy of the current, unable to swim.

 

KeeRoe and Alora sat beside each other on the top step, embedded in the small Hill of Arompa Ohterkú. They talked for a long time, mostly about what had happened in their Lives over the past six years. When they came to the Present, though Alora hated saying it, she told KeeRoe that she was engaged.

"Engaged," KeeRoe said, trying the foreign word on his tongue. "What is 'engaged'?"

She picked a piece of grass and started tearing it apart.

"It means I'm getting Married."

"Married?"

"Joined," Alora said, spitting the word out angrily.

"Oh," KeeRoe said quietly. "Do you want to go back?"

"Back to Augustine?"

He nodded, staring down at the steps.

"I did. Now I'm not so sure."

"But what about your Joined Half?"

He met her eyes and for a second she was speechless, caught up by the intensity in his gaze. In his eyes she saw anger and sadness. She shook her head.

"We're not Joined yet," she said. "It doesn't mean the same in Alyta. Hardly any of my People Marry for Love."

He looked surprised by this but listened quietly while she explained.

"The more status that someone has," she said slowly, trying to think of what to say so that he could understand, "the more — Alytans don't care about feelings the way that your People do. Money —" in Darmontian she used the word for Barter, something Traded for something else, as Darmontians didn't use Money — "and Power is more important to them. My parents — my ohtahn and mareh — in Alyta they are the ones who get to Choose my Joined Half. They Chose Paden and I don't Love him. I don't even like him."

She had demolished the piece of grass that she'd picked. She reached down to rip another from the bunch, but KeeRoe took her hand in his, lacing his fingers between hers.

"You'll never have to go back there again," he said. "I Swear."

She looked into his face and what she saw there was not the fierce intensity she had expected, but something quieter. Something she didn't have a name for. Strange feelings moved through her — unfamiliar and a little frightening. She never thought that she could feel this way. She looked into his eyes, and she Knew that he felt the same. Their faces drew closer —

The sound of a horn rang out through the stillness of the night, breaking whatever spell had fallen upon them. KeeRoe released her hand and quickly stood.

"What is it?" Alora asked.

People ran out of their Homes, most of them still in their night-clothes, with weapons drawn. Torches were lit. DerLycos came out of Arompa Ohterkú with a war-axe in his hand.

"What's going on?"

A Runner crested the Hill, accidentally bumping into Alora in his passing.

"Ohterkú DerLycos," the Boy said, breathing heavily. "A Man has been found in the River!"

"Alright," DerLycos said. He looked at KeeRoe. "Stay here."

"I'm going with you."

"No. Stay here. Protect Alora."

"But I could Help!"

"KeeRoe — I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Stay here with the Women."

DerLycos looked back at the Boy.

"Show me."

 

Torches had been lit and a Crowd had gathered on the shore of Serpen. A body lay slumped over the trunk of a tree that had fallen in the water. A rope was tied around the waist of Darmonta's best swimmer. The other end was held by a line of strong Men and Women. It was Fall and the current wasn't as strong as it had been during the Spring Melt, but still, it was a Force to be reckoned with. The swimmer started out into the water. The current dragged him towards the fallen Tree. The force of the current pressed him against the trunk but, using the Tree, he was able to edge towards the body. The swimmer checked the Man's pulse.

"He's Alive!" the swimmer called. "I've got him! Pull me in!"

The swimmer struggled to keep himself and the Man above the water. He reached Land choking, and the unconscious Man was hauled onto the pebbled beach.

The torchlight revealed his features and people started spitting and making the Sign to Ward off Evil Spirits.

"This can't be possible," DerLycos said under his breath.

The unconscious Man on the beach looked just like KeeRoe.

"Make way!" one of the Healers shouted, pushing through the shocked and stunned Crowd.

Either she didn't notice the coincidence or didn't care, so Focused was she on her work. She checked the Man's pulse and then looked at his face.

"Blue lips," she mumbled.

The Healer tipped back the Man's head, plugged his nose, and blew air into his water-filled lungs. Then she put her hands on his chest and pressed down Three times. When this did nothing, she blew air into his body again. She went over the process four or five times before the Man started coughing up water.

He opened his eyes for a moment and then fell back into the void. It was just long enough for DerLycos to see that the stranger had KeeRoe's eyes too. A shiver ran down the Chief's spine. The Healer stood up and called for a stretcher.

 

DerLycos walked through the door of Arompa Ohterkú with a troubled look on his face. KeeRoe was poking at the fire with a stick. RosaFay was showing Alora how to weave beads into her hair. StellexAra was staring into the fire.

"What's wrong?" KeeRoe asked when he saw the expression on his Brother's face.

DerLycos looked at KeeRoe and his face paled. He looked away and started walking quickly towards his Bedroom.

"DerLycos?"

He ignored KeeRoe and kept walking.

"I'll go Talk with him," StellexAra said, with a quick look of dislike at Alora.

StellexAra got up and went to meet DerLycos in his Room.

 

StellexAra found him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. He didn't even look up when she opened the door and shut it behind her.

"What's going on?" she asked, sitting next to him on the bed.

He didn't answer. He just sat there, staring at the floor.

She put her hands on his arm.

"You Know that you can tell me anything, DerLycos. What's happened? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

He took her hands in his, but still, he didn't look at her. He studied her hands. His Mind was still at the beach, looking at the stranger's face.

"On the beach," DerLycos began. He had a knot in his throat and stopped speaking to try and clear it. It worked for a second but his throat closed up again. "The Man who'd nearly drown — he looked exactly like KeeRoe."

StellexAra put one of her hands over her mouth and made the Sign to Ward off Evil.

"How can there be another KeeRoe?"

DerLycos got a puzzled expression on his face, as if he were trying to piece something together in his Mind.

"Another —"

Then he looked into her eyes. She saw in his face that he'd just had an epiphany.

"I have to go," he said, standing up. "I Promise, I'll explain later."

He kissed her forehead and strode out of the Room, leaving StellexAra dumbfounded behind him.

 

In the Main Room of Arompa Ohterkú, Alora and RosaFay were still tinkering with beads and KeeRoe was staring into the fire-pit when DerLycos came out of his Room. He was headed for the front door, not even glancing at the others. KeeRoe stood up and cut his Brother off just before he reached the door.

"DerLycos," KeeRoe said quickly. "Whatever I've done — if it was the Mission or something else — I'm sorry."

DerLycos grinned weakly and put a hand on his Brother's shoulder. It was clear that he was tired and worn.

"No, My Brother. It was nothing that you've done. Something Important has come up. I've got to look into it now, but I'll try not to be too long."

"Alright," KeeRoe said, stepping to the side of the door. "I'll stay here and Protect the Women then."

DerLycos shook his head, and for a moment KeeRoe thought, Hopefully, that DerLycos would tell him that he could go with him.

"No," DerLycos said. "You look as tired as I am. Bar the door. I'll come in through the Secret Way in my Room. Get some Sleep."

KeeRoe nodded and put his fist to his Heart. DerLycos returned the salute and set off into the Night, hearing the bolt of the door slide into place behind him.

 

The Ohterkú of Darmonta set out through the maze of Huts with purpose in his steps. A preposterous Idea had come to him, and he Knew that his Mind would not rest easy until his theory was proven True or False. Before long he found the Arompa that he sought — a quaint wooden, cottage-like Hut, surrounded by dead or dormant flowers. The skeletons of vines clung to its side, wrapping up and over the door.

DerLycos hesitantly walked towards the House. He didn't want to bother her if she had gone to Sleep. But still, this was Important. He had to Know. He knocked hard on the door. At first there was no answer, but when he knocked again a Voice sounded from the other side.

"Who is it?"

"This is DerLycos. May I come in?"

Silence.

Then the door opened.

An old Woman stood in the doorway. She was covered by a doe-skin wrap. Her long, gray hair fell to the small of her back and framed her aged, weather-beaten face.

"Good Evening, Ohterkú. To what do I owe this Honor?"

"Please," DerLycos said. "There is no need to be so formal."

"I should say there is! You are Ohterkú after all."

He shook his head and looked her in the eyes.

"I do not come as Ohterkú. People say that you Helped to bring me into this World, and my Brother, KeeRoe, as well."

The Woman nodded slowly.

"Aye. I suppose that is True —"

"I'm sorry that I have not met you sooner, MaraFletch, but something disturbs me, and I need Answers. Would you follow me somewhere?"

"It is late — but for you to visit so late, something Important must have occurred. Would you wait a while for me to dress?"

"Of course."

Without another word the old Midwife went back into her House and shut the door, leaving DerLycos to wait outside. It wasn't long before she came out again. When she once again faced DerLycos, she was fully dressed in a plain hide dress which fell to her ankles. A fur wrap was draped over her shoulders, and her hair was pinned up with shards of bone.

"So," said MaraFletch as they started off — DerLycos had slowed to her pace so that they could walk side by side — "where are we headed at this late hour?"

"To Arompa Hasalu," DerLycos answered.

"Why there?"

"There is something that I wish to show you."

 

DerLycos and MaraFletch sat on large wooden blocks in one of the Private Rooms of the House of Healing. On the cot was the Stranger who looked like KeeRoe. MaraFletch stared sadly at the Sleeping Man, studying his face. A long moment passed before she spoke, and when she did her voice carried the weight of sixteen years.

"Truly," she said. "I never thought that I would see the Day. I thought that BryLen would never return to Darmonta."

"BryLen?" DerLycos said, staring at her intently like a hunter eyeing his prey. "So, you do Know this Man."

Mara nodded slowly. The look of sadness on her ancient face was almost heartbreaking.

"Yes." She looked at DerLycos, only taking her eyes from BryLen's unconscious form with the greatest of difficulty. "Your suspicions are True, DerLycos. It is a Secret that the other Midwives and I have hoarded these past sixteen years. You have another blood-Brother. BryLen is KeeRoe's Other."

"KeeRoe's Other — why keep this a Secret? Where has he been all of these years?"

MaraFletch looked back at BryLen. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and careful, as though she were lifting something fragile from a place where it had long been buried.

"It is a horrible Memory — a ghost of the Past that has haunted me since that awful day. It is difficult for me." She looked at DerLycos again, this time with conviction on her face. "But you should Know. You have the Right to Know."

And so, after so long, the Truth was finally Revealed.

 

FlurTepsa had been in Labor for hours. The Healer and the Three Midwives that attended her — MaraFletch, and two others who had, by the Time the Truth was told, passed on — were very worried. FlurTepsa was weakening. The Truth of her impending Death hung in the air like a bad odor. Finally a Boy was Born, small but Healthy.

FlurTepsa Named her Son Keeroe, and died with his Name on her lips. The Healer departed to break the news of the Death to her Husband, Ohterkú LabecLarmo, unaware that there was another Child, still alive, within her. The Midwives pulled the other Child from FlurTepsa's body — a dangerous thing to do, as it may have resulted in injuring or crippling the Infant, but they did not want to let it die, either. The Baby came out Whole and Well, a Boy who looked exactly like Keeroe. His Other. His Twin.

The Midwives Knew that LabecLarmo would blame Keeroe's Other for the Death of FlurTepsa. MaraFletch herself took him out the Secret Way — through the Master Bedroom of Arompa Ohterkú, just as LabecLarmo came in. There was nothing that they could've done for Keeroe. If the Healer had told LabecLarmo of his Birth, hiding him would've been impossible. They couldn't have told LabecLarmo that Keeroe had died, either. By Tradition, a Dead Mother and Baby had to be buried Together, and the absence of the Baby's body would've been questioned — and MaraFletch had carried the weight of that Impossible Choice every day since. As a consequence of the Midwives' Decision to hide the other Baby, Keeroe had paid the price.

MaraFletch took Keeroe's Other far from Darmonta — far from the wrath of LabecLarmo. She went to the Village of the Chautuku People and presented the Child to their Ohterkú and his Wife.

 

"— When I Returned to Darmonta," MaraFletch said, with a tone of sadness — or was it regret? — in her voice, "I Learned what had become of Keeroe. I had Decided to wait until things cooled off in Darmonta before I returned to Chautukua for his Other, but things only got worse. It wasn't until the following Spring that I Decided to go back. By then, it was too late. A year had passed, and the Chautuku Ohterkú had Adopted the Other as his own."

DerLycos took this in with quiet seriousness. He Remembered very little of that day. It was a traumatic time that had changed the rest of his Life, and his Mind had repressed most of it from his Memories. All that he could Remember was a sense of sadness, pain, and loss. He looked at BryLen, and it Felt as if his World had been shaken — turned upside-down. BryLen was DerLycos's Brother. KeeRoe's identical Twin.

"Thank you, MaraFletch," DerLycos said. His voice sounded far away to his own ears. He stood up from the block that he sat on, yawned, and rubbed his head. "I think I shall take my leave for now."

She nodded, her eyes full of Understanding. He looked very, very tired, and she had given him much to Think about.

"I will be here," said Mara, "if you need me."

DerLycos bowed and then left.

He walked Home, taking his time, dragging his feet as he went around the Hill of Arompa Ohterkú.

By the time that he got to the rock that hid the Tunnel, he barely had the strength to move the rock aside and roll it back into place. He climbed the stone stairs with heavy steps. He was barely aware when he moved the secret door — one of the wooden tiles that made up the floor of the Master Bedroom in Arompa Ohterkú. He was so exhausted that as soon as he crawled into his bed, next to a Sleeping StellexAra, DerLycos instantly fell Asleep.

 

In the Main Room, the fire had burned low. KeeRoe lay in his hammock, staring up at the dark rafters, unable to sleep. His thoughts drifted to Alora — to the feel of her hand in his, to the word he'd said and the way she'd answered it. He didn't know what DerLycos had gone to find. He didn't know that somewhere across the Village, in the House of Healing, a Young Man with his own face lay Breathing on a cot.

He closed his eyes and let the quiet take him.

 

 

Chapter Ten: The Calm Before the Storm

 

Part One

 

 

BryLen awoke in a strange bed, in a strange place that he Knew he'd never seen before. The room was a lot like the inside of one of the log Houses in Chautukua, but instead of clay packed between the logs, these walls were insulated with mud, moss, leaf debris, and twigs in the cracks. Tiny beams of light shone through little gaps in places where the mud and stuff must've fallen out, or where the Builders had failed to fill it in. The room was simple and plain. The only piece of furniture was the cot that he lay on. A rush mat covered the floor, and large blocks of wood lined the walls.

He felt sore, stiff, and bruised, making sitting up somewhat a pain. He stretched and his muscles screamed. He took the time to massage his calf and arm muscles before he tried standing.

His clothes had been washed, dried, and folded. They had been left out for him, in a pile on one of the wooden blocks. He got dressed and noticed that a tear had been sewn on his shirt, and two on his pants.

He vaguely Remembered the River. At the Time it had seemed like he was trapped in a nightmare. Now he Realized that it had been Real. He Remembered the rapids battering his body, and felt momentarily nauseous. He sat down on the bed again and bit back the urge to retch.

A few minutes later, after he had gotten himself under control, a Young Woman entered the room, carrying a bowl full of apples. Had it been any other Woman, BryLen would've realized that he was starving, but this Woman made him forget everything else. She was the most Beautiful Woman that he'd ever seen. It may've been said that RosaFay was the most Beautiful Woman of all of the red-skinned People.

"Oh!" she said in surprise. "I didn't think that you would be awake."

For lack of anything better to say, BryLen said, "I am awake."

She set the bowl on a wooden block, next to his bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said.

"Good," she said. An awkward moment of silence passed between them. Then RosaFay said, "I'm sorry. I should not have bothered you."

She turned to go but BryLen stopped her.

"Wait," he said. "Would you stay? I could use the company."

"Of course."

She tried not to look at him, forcing herself to look down at the rush mat. It unsettled her a bit that this Stranger looked exactly like KeeRoe — even if he was KeeRoe's Other. DerLycos had explained this to the entire Village earlier that Morning. But still — it Felt odd.

BryLen took her unease as shyness and when she sat on the wooden block across from him, he asked her for her Name.

"RosaFay," she said, looking at him and then quickly back at the floor.

"RosaFay."

Now she had to look at him. The Chautuku spoke only slightly different than the Darmontians, with a unique accent. She liked the way that he pronounced her Name.

"A Beautiful Name," he said, "for an even more Beautiful Woman."

She blushed, but Smiled.

"What's your Name?" she asked.

She already Knew, but wanted to hear him say it.

"I am BryLen," he said, "Son of the Ohterkú, SalveRek, of Chautukua, Home of the Chautuku People. Could you tell me where I am, RosaFay?"

"This is Darmonta," RosaFay answered. "We are in Arompa Hasalu. You were found in the River, Serpen, and pulled out of the water."

A wave of dizziness came over him as he once again Remembered the churning waters of the River, and he had to close his eyes and hold his head.

"Ooh," he groaned. "Don't remind me."

"I'm sorry," she said Sincerely.

"It's alright. Don't be — You said that this is Darmonta?"

"Yes."

He tried to concentrate, trying to Remember beyond the raging waters of the River. He Knew that there was a reason — That's it! Of course! How could he have forgotten that?

"RosaFay, I need to see your Ohterkú right away."

"He would like to see you too," she said slowly. "Are you sure that you're Well enough?" Before he could answer she stood up abruptly. "Wait here! Don't move! I'll go get him."

She hurried out of the room.

He stared at the multi-colored blanket that hung in the doorway, thinking how strange she was. He stretched, feeling a little better, but still sore, and reached for an apple.

 

Alora was exploring the Town with KeeRoe on her heels. So much about Darmonta intrigued her and she wanted to soak it all in. This time she Noticed immediately the cold detachment with which People treated her, and she Knew that she would need to work hard to earn their Trust.

DerLycos had given her a small pouch of jewels to Trade with, since she owned nothing except the fancy dress that she had been wearing when she arrived. She Explored the Village taking stock of all of the different Shops and Booths.

People were more open to Alora once they Realized that she could Speak and Understand their Language. She made a couple of Friends out of the Shop Keeps and Craftsmen. Still, no matter how Friendly she was, or how hard she tried, the evil looks still followed her everywhere that she went.

People, particularly the Warriors and the Smithies, blamed her for her father's actions. She Knew this without them telling her so. The anger-creased faces spoke louder than any words that they might've said.

KeeRoe had watched and listened, a silent Guardian following her every step. He Knew her Better than anyone, even Herself, and when he saw the shadow of sadness cross over her face, he Knew immediately what was troubling her.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered in her ear. "Come on."

He took her hand and led her around the Booths of the Craftsmen, and through a maze of pathways, until they came to BeneVeon's work area.

"Hello, Bene," KeeRoe said as he and Alora approached.

BeneVeon was sitting on a cushion on top of an old tree stump, working and shaping a piece of clay in his hands. He Smiled but kept his eyes on his work, studying the Clay with the eye of an Artist.

"Hello, KeeRoe. What misadventure are you on Today?"

"Alora wanted to Explore the Town."

Now BeneVeon did look up, just for a moment. He Grinned at Alora and bobbed his head in a small bow.

"Hello to you too, Princess."

"And you, BeneVeon. But you really don't have to call me 'Princess.'"

His grin turned into a smirk, and he turned his eyes back to his work.

"And you don't have to call me, 'BeneVeon'. Almost everyone calls me 'Bene'."

"Alright," she said.

"So," KeeRoe said, sitting down on the trunk of the felled Tree, "what are you working on now?"

"Can't say," Bene said. "Like I said before, sometimes even I don't know what it'll be when it's done."

Alora sat next to KeeRoe on the log and Together they watched BeneVeon tear, smooth, and shape the clay in his hands into something more. At first, he molded it into a small bowl, but upon examining it, he shook his head and squashed it back into a shapeless ball. After a time of rolling it and pulling it apart, and smoothing it out in places, it began to take the Shape of a little Person.

"There," BeneVeon said after a time. "Finished."

In the end the Clay was a little Man, standing with his legs together and his arms folded over his chest. He wore common Darmontian moccasins, leather pants, and a vest. His little head was cocked slightly to the right and his little mouth was a small o-shaped hole. He didn't have much of a face. His face was made up simply of the o-shaped mouth, a tiny pointed nose, and two tiny slits for eyes. His long clay hair was done up like a Warrior's, bound into a ponytail with a piece of rawhide.

"It's a tiny Man," Alora said in Astonishment.

"Not just any tiny Man," Bene said. "This is a Story-Speaker. This tiny Man will tell the Stories of Old to anyone who will listen."

Alora leaned closer.

"I don't hear anything."

BeneVeon chuckled.

"No. They don't actually tell Stories. Some of the Elders think that they do, but I think it's all in their heads. Still —" he looked over the little Man once more — "it's an Interesting Thought. Now I just need to let our little Warrior bake in the sun. Later I might need to put him near the fire but for now this should at least make him a little more solid."

Using the crutch that he'd carved long ago, BeneVeon stood and took the clay Story-Speaker to a flat slab of rock, sitting in the sun atop a larger stump than the one he'd been sitting on.

"There we go." He stretched awkwardly, without taking his one arm away from the crutch. "Spirits, am I stiff! How long have I been sitting there?"

KeeRoe Grinned wolfishly.

"Knowing you, I think you were probably there in your Sleep."

Bene shook his head, but was Grinning from ear to ear.

"You've been hanging around MerKyto too much."

"And you," KeeRoe said, "have become a Bear in its Winter Sleep. Let's take a walk."

 

BryLen had eaten his fill of the apples and was massaging the soreness out of his muscles when the blanket in the doorway was pushed aside once more. This time, instead of a Beautiful Woman, in walked a Man of about twenty years. He looked like most men, wearing ordinary leather pants, a fur-lined cloak held together at the neck with a wooden toggle and a leather loop, and a pair of leather boots — odd, BryLen thought, for the Chief of a Village. He stood up with some difficulty and put his fist to his Heart.

"Ohterkú DerLycos, I am BryLen of the Chautuku People. My Father, Ohterkú SalveRek, and his People seek the aid of your Orakú, if you will allow it."

DerLycos hadn't thought that he would need to appear as Ohterkú, but slipped into the Role almost unconsciously.

"What aid do the Chautuku People seek?"

"My People are suffering under Augustine's oppression —"

BryLen explained to DerLycos the plight of the Chautuku people — about the Laws that Augustine had thrust upon them, and about the fence and the Guards that imprisoned them in their own Village.

"It seems," DerLycos said, "that there is more for us to discuss than I thought."

 

BeneVeon was not as fast as he once was. KeeRoe and Alora had to slow to his pace. They walked around the outskirts of the Village until they came to the path that led to the Docks. Bene had to take a few rest-stops. Though it had been a couple of years since he'd lost his leg, it was still somewhat difficult for him to get around.

Once at the Docks, they sat near the ever-moving waters of Serpen, ever rushing from the Mountains to the Sea. There was a Peaceful sense to the seclusion of the Forest and the music of the River's current. The boats, canoes, and rafts creaked and clunked as they were rocked by the water. It was as if they were eager to be off and free of the ropes that tethered them to the Docks.

KeeRoe and Alora sat close to each other while BeneVeon sat not too far away, twisting some vines and grasses together and telling them the Old Stories. KeeRoe had heard these Stories many times before — FlarNair had told them these Stories as they were Growing Up. But the Old Stories were new to Alora, and she soaked them up like a Flower soaks up the Sunlight. These Stories were nothing like the ones in the History Books that Old Woman had given her. In these Tales, Men could Fly to the Sky Spirits and Speak with Animals. A Woman could Sing Spells to get whatever she Desired. A Powerful Spirit gave one Hunter the Speed and Skill to fell any prey. BeneVeon was a great Storyteller, putting feeling and detail into the Stories — even sound effects.

As he was finishing one Story about a great Snake that swallowed the Sun, and the Warrior who slew the wicked beast, he finished weaving the vines and grasses, and tied them together, creating a braided bracelet.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Bene asked, holding it up for them to see.

"It's Beautiful," Alora said.

"Who are you thinking of giving it to?" KeeRoe asked.

BeneVeon blushed and giggled nervously.

"Someone Special," he said, and then quickly changed the subject. "Do you think that Lunch would be done by now? Let's go see."

Awkwardly, using his crutch and his single leg, BeneVeon stood up and started towards the Village. KeeRoe and Alora gave each other questioning glances and then stood and went after him.

 

After they'd breached the Village perimeter, KeeRoe, Alora, and BeneVeon were making their way through the Streets, towards BeaSong's House, when they came face-to-face with DerLycos and BryLen. KeeRoe looked into his Other's eyes and saw him, not as an ally, a brother, or some stranger that just looked like him, but as the embodiment of everything that had gone wrong in his Life. They glared at each other, and the tension was thick in the air.

"KeeRoe," DerLycos said.

It was difficult for KeeRoe to take his eyes from BryLen's — a mirror of his own. In KeeRoe's eyes DerLycos saw his anger and hate, and for a moment couldn't speak.

Then, slowly, he said, "This is BryLen."

KeeRoe looked back contemptuously at BryLen, turned, and walked away towards the Forest. They watched him go for a moment.

"KeeRoe!" DerLycos yelled, but KeeRoe didn't turn around or look back.

He just continued to walk stiffly towards the Forest. Alora glanced at BryLen, opened her mouth as if to say something, and then turned and went after KeeRoe. She followed him to the River's edge and sat beside him.

She stayed silent, letting him Think. She Knew that he would Speak when he was Ready. He looked out over the River — now not because he was looking for Her, but because the ever-flowing water gave him some measure of Peace and Comfort. It had been six or so years since he'd first started coming to the River when he was troubled. It Always made him feel Better somehow. He drew Peace from the River, but now also from Alora's presence.

DerLycos had explained everything to KeeRoe earlier that Morning, before he announced BryLen to the Village. KeeRoe Knew that his problems were not really BryLen's fault, yet he couldn't help but wonder how things may've been different if the Midwives had never hidden him. Might KeeRoe have Grown Up like any other of the Village Boys, without the Curse of Bad Luck hovering constantly over him?

"It was his fault!" he kept thinking. "It's all his fault!"

Since he was young, KeeRoe had wanted someone to blame. He had blamed his father, but had never known him. He couldn't Remember anything about him. He'd come to be angry at the World. Now there was someone to blame — someone whose eyes he could look into. He had a face to lay the blame on.

He remained stoically silent for a time, the anger clinging to him tighter than burdock. Then he looked at Alora and his anger melted away.

She didn't say anything. She didn't look away either. She just looked at him — All of Him, the anger and the hurt and the Boy she had once Known underneath it all — and didn't flinch from any of it.

That was the thing about Alora. She Saw Him. Not the Warrior, not the Bad Luck, not the Person who looked like someone else. Just KeeRoe.

He didn't know what to do with that. He had never been Seen like that before.

Almost unconsciously they reached for each other, and their lips touched. It was the first of many kisses to come.

"I Love You," KeeRoe said. And for the first time in a long time, he Meant something Completely and without reservation.

"I Love You too," Alora said, and she Meant it just as much.

In that Moment everything felt like it would be just fine — neither could see the storm that was brewing on the horizon.

 

THE END

 

 

DerLycos had taken BryLen to the Council House, and had him explain to the Councilors what he had explained to DerLycos in the House of Healing.

"Whatever we do," DerLycos said, "it must be done quickly. If Freeing the Chautuku means going into Battle, then so be it. What do the Councilors have to say on this matter?"

As Tradition dictated, Councilors Spoke around the fire, starting to the left of Ohterkú and going clockwise until all of the Councilors had Spoken, and the Decision came back to the Chief. The first Councilor stood.

"My Ohterkú, I see no reason why we should not go off to Battle. We cannot allow these pale men to trudge on one of us next. I say, we kill them all!"

He sat down and the next Man stood up.

"Ohterkú, war would be costly, but I agree that we cannot let the pale ones get an edge over one of us, or they will consume us all. I Believe that going to Battle is our only option."

The next Councilor who stood to Speak was a Woman.

"Ohterkú, I too agree! We should go to Battle and Teach these white men a Lesson they will not soon forget!"

The next Woman that stood said, "Ohterkú, I agree as well."

The Councilor after her was another Man.

"Ohterkú, we must not charge in blindly. If we are to go to Battle, then we must have a plan. I don't really like the thought of it, but if we must go off to Battle, then so be it —"

Beside this Man was a Woman.

"Ohterkú, I do not believe that war is the right course of action. I Know that leaving the Chautuku to suffer is unfair, but I do not believe that we have a Choice. We are already at War with Alyta. Should we really be taking on more conflict now? How many more Lives would we lose? If we go to Battle now — I just don't have a good feeling about this."

Another Woman was next.

"Ohterkú, we have the Alytan Princess. Alyta will surely be after us soon. I Believe that sending our Warriors away now would be a very bad idea. I do not think that we should go to Battle."

HarenArompa was the last to stand.

"DerLycos, this is up to you. You are Ohterkú now — but I ask you, do not send the Warriors away from the Village. I am not very wise in the ways of War or Battle, but we should not leave Darmonta unprotected, especially with the Princess here. Augustine is bigger than Alyta, and just as, if not more so, formidable. We can barely stand after a Battle with Alyta. Would we survive if we fought two wars? I feel just as bad as you do about the plight of the Chautuku. I Knew them. Many were Friends and Allies. It Truly is horrible what has become of them. You Know that if I thought that we could Save them I would be all for it. But I do not believe that we would succeed. I do not think we should go to Battle, but this is not my Decision to make. What say you, Ohterkú DerLycos?"

HarenArompa sat and DerLycos stood. He looked at each of his Councilors in turn and then looked at BryLen.

"We will not leave our Brothers and Sisters to suffer imprisonment," DerLycos said with determination and authority in his voice. "Darmonta will go to Battle. We will Free the Chautuku People. But we will not leave Darmonta defenseless. Gather the Warriors. We will take half and Liberate Chautukua."

 

Ameston, Almara, and Tairen Smith were once again in a bumpy, creaky carriage, but this time they were on a much smoother road.

"Father," Tairen said in an emotionless tone, "where are we going?"

"First we are going to Shadinmire," Smith said. "I will speak with Governor Rogers and request Aid."

"What kind of Aid?" Tairen asked.

"Aid to end that pestilent Village of the Darmontians," Ameston answered. "It took a lot of pestering and wheedling, but I eventually got Johneston to agree to lend us a few Soldiers. It will take a great deal of Soldiers and Funds to capture that Village. I'll have to tour the Land and Recruit the Help of other Governors."

"I want to Help."

"No."

"But Father! I —"

"I said no! You're too young!" Governor Smith took a moment to compose himself. When he spoke again, he was much calmer. "After we are done in Shadinmire we will take the next road back to Alyta. You and your Mother will stay there, where it is Safe."

Tairen crossed his arms and started to pout.

"I will destroy Darmonta," Ameston said, more to himself than anyone else. He settled back against the carriage seat, his voice quiet and certain, the way a man speaks when the outcome is already Decided in his Mind. "And I will get Alora back."

The carriage rattled on down the dirt road, through the Forest, towards the Future.

 

 

(The Story Continues in- The Åsten Chronicles: Harmony & Discord 2 — Shadows (Book 9) )