

### The Tower of Allseers I

### The Rebirth of Man

### John Jeremiah

### Published by Andrew Minczeski at Smashwords

### Copyright 2010 Andrew Minczeski

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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# Table of Contents

Prologue: The Door to Insanity

Chapter 1: The Death of the Forest

Interlude: Betrayal

Chapter 2: Fear

Chapter 3: Rage

Chapter 4: Worry

Interlude: Of Hope

Chapter 5: Of Doors

Chapter 6: Of Dreams

Chapter 7: Of Innkeepers

Interlude: To Pass Through Pain

Chapter 8: To Pass Through Fire

Chapter 9: To Pass Through Desert

Chapter 10: To Pass Through Water

Interlude: The Prophet

Chapter 11: The Thief

Chapter 12: The Runaway

Chapter 13: The Man Who Should Have Never Been

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About the Author

# Prologue: The Door to Insanity

The man in the violet cloak closed the door behind him. He stood up straight, looking down the hall in both directions, waiting.

This was, as men called it, The Door to Insanity. The Vire invited only the best, with the highest purpose, to enter, but even most of those men couldn't keep a thought straight in their heads after one glimpse of the seemingly endless hall with the countless doors that could lead to nearly any place or time, or show one of the many possible futures.

But the man in violet had come here many times before. This is where he came to speak with The Vire, to be lead in his duty as The Prophet, the leader of The Voyant. He never knew the _exact_ time that The Vire would call for him.

But it was different this time. Normally there would have been signs, visions or words that would come upon him before he would see the door appear. This time it had come suddenly, entirely unexpected. One moment he had been looking at the wall in his house, and the next there was a door, _the_ door.

He had entered, as he always would. He would never refuse the call of The Vire.

"Fenrin," a voice spoke through the stillness of the air. It was a voice that appeared to have no source, but the man knew it well. This was the voice of The Vire.

"Eldest, I did not expect your call," Fenrin said, "There were not the usual signs which precede it,"

"No?" The mirth in the voice was clear, "No, I suppose you wouldn't notice them. The signs were ancient, the words were told to those before you, and the visions were the first of your predecessor,"

"You cannot mean," Fenrin's eyes grew wide.

"I can, and I do. The Sentinels have returned. This very night was the third born. As it was foretold, they shall come first as stewards to the olden king, and long has _he_ waited,"

"Where were they born, my Lord? Where shall I fetch them from?"

"They have been born in the black, under the hand of the enemy, though he does not know, and will not know, what they are, until it is too late for his hand to grasp them,"

"The Black Kingdom? The Hangman? How can we retrieve them from that?"

"It is not yet time for you to bring them. Only now you must prepare. Send word to Priscus, and to Samuel. They will come, but be sure to keep a few of the Men of Wisdom in the world. If there be no news of the outside many of your people will forget of men, and of their purpose,"

"I am not sure any longer that I can trust in Samuel," Fenrin said.

"You can for this. His purpose is his own, just as yours is your own. Do not worry of his misguidance, even those will be turned to the purpose of The Eldest,"

"You turn all things to good," Fenrin said, "even the works of evil are turned to the growth of the righteous,"

"Are there any other matters you would discuss?" The Vire asked.

"Yes," Fenring smiled, he would review the ancient prophecies later. He wanted to learn all there was about the Sentinels before he met them, "I'm worried about Priscus. Dark times are coming in Ra'Dushree, and I am not so sure that he is unbiased, due to his history there,"

"You need have no worry of The Lionheart. He is a good and strong man. He will have no trouble,"

# Chapter 1: The Death of the Forest

The rain poured upon the three boys as they ran through the forest. A heavy, cold rain in the bleak autumn. The trees had first turned to fire, the leaves turning shades of yellow and red and orange. But the fire had turned to mud. The leaves all turning brown and falling. Now the rain turned those brown leaves on the ground into a treacherous path. Running across them could mean a slip. A slip would mean slowing down. Slowing down would mean death.

For five years they had run, ever since the day they had escaped from their slavery. They had hid in the woods, not daring to leave them. The woods provided food and shelter when they needed. They knew nothing of the outside world.

Now they were on the hunt. The only animals they had seen in weeks. Their food supplies were gone, they were hungry, and if they lost the chase it could mean starvation.

And so they ran, quickly, leaping over rocky paths, leaping between trees as though they themselves had become wild animals. But the rain lowered their vision. The howling wind through the trees and the pounding rain on the ground impaired the hearing of the hunters.

Even Jason, whose senses had been enhanced by the power which had coursed through the slave camps, could not hear much. But still they ran, as well on the trail as they could be. Jason kept an arrow nocked in his bow.

Soon it became apparent they had lost the trail. Jason cursed and shot his arrow into a tree. Seridt sighed, pulled air into his lungs deeply and held it. Calming himself, he had to keep calm. Another of his outbursts would not help them. He knew it, though it was hard to hold his tongue. Atask sat on the ground, listening, looking out around him. He did not need to calm himself. He only needed to focus, hoping he could catch some glimpse, some sight of some other animal. Something they had missed before.

"Forget it," Jason said when he looked at Atask, "They're gone. I could hear them half a mile off, even in this," He raised his hands to the storm around him. Atask didn't move. Didn't want to move. He only wanted to think.

Jason climbed a tree to be alone. He could lose his thoughts in scoping out the land around him. Searching for streams for water, a cave for shelter, or animals or plants for food. But there was nothing anymore. The caves were all broken. The streams were drying up. The animals were all leaving.

It didn't make sense. What was happening to the forest? What was happening to his home?

Then he saw it. It brought panic into his mind. Memories of his childhood, harsh and grim. Yet a tinge of excitement worked its way through his body. The northern edge of the forest. They had avoided the edges, thinking The Hangman would have some kind of patrol that could kill them the second they walked out of the covering around them. As soon as they left the safety of the forest.

It was an irrational fear, though they didn't know it. It seemed normal, expected. They had been slaves in The Hangman's camps for so long before their escape they had begun to think the only people in the world who would want them were the ones who wanted to kill them.

It was an effect of the nature of their escape. The _thing_ called Mesmer had taken their brother, Raytiff, for his power. Mesmer would have taken them too, but they had no interest of escaping one master for another. Mesmer had used Raytiff to kill the guards in the camp, the three had made their escape through that opening.

Everyone they had known was dead. The Hangman would want them, well, hanged for it. They were all so sure of it that they had never considered leaving the forest.

But that had been five years ago. Maybe the rage had died down, or maybe he'd given up. _Or maybe he never cared_ , Jason thought it. It made sense. The Hangman used men like puppets. What would he care if they died?

The camps had been digging for something, that something had turned out to be Mesmer. A _thing_ in a cage buried deep under the ground. If the camp had served its purpose why would The Hangman be upset?

Of course, Mesmer had wanted them. He wanted to control them, use them for his own dark purpose. But if someone were chasing them why would the forest have stopped them? They could just burn it on one end and kill the boys as they were forced out the other.

Jason dropped from his tree, "We're going north," He said, "We're leaving the forest," Atask looked up at him from where he sat. He smiled, nodding to show his agreement.

"Are you insane?" Seridt's tone was aggravated, as usual. Though it had a great depth of fear run through it, his emotions running off of his mouth more than his words, "We'll get killed!"

"If they wanted us dead... why would a stupid little forest stop them?"

"Because we run too fast, we hide too well, for all we know they're in the forest, _searching_ ," Seridt argued, panic showing on his face.

"I would have heard them, or seen them, or smelt them," Jason pointed to his nose, "I haven't had the scent of a man in three years, and I have a better nose than any wolf you've seen,"

"Maybe you've forgotten what they smell like!" Seridt's voice rose. Atask stood and they both shut up.

"Jason is right," He said, "We must leave. We have no food left," Seridt would not look at him, "I know it's scary,"

"They could kill us," Seridt retorted.

"How would you rather die?" Atask said softly, his soothing voice working its way on Seridt's ears, as it often did, "Starving to death, or taking a few of The Hangman's goons with us?"

Seridt looked at him, "Damnit," He said. He began walking north, stomping his feet.

It was a mile to the edge of the woods. They passed the time playing a game they had made up during their years alone in the woods. One of them would name something unique. A tree with a particular knot, an abnormally large stone or even a leaf still green in the autumn. The other two would compete to be the first to point to the thing. Because of his powers Jason usually won, to Seridt's displeasure.

As they walked closer to the edge their game died down. They all grew silent as death, their fear growing inside them. The rain had stopped, but they hadn't noticed. Straight ahead they peered, none of them blinking. They crossed through the threshold of the forest.

The sun was bright on the other side. It blinded them for a moment. Seridt instinctively reached for his swords. Their eyes took some time to adjust, but no enemy came against them.

Jason's ears, however, did not need to adjust to the light. Though his eyes would take some more time than the others, due to their increased sensitivity. He could hear short, shallow breathing somewhere in front of them. He drew an arrow and aimed by sound, "Who are you?" Seridt and Atask tried to look where he was shouting, but their eyes weren't ready yet.

"A friend," A man called back.

"We have no friends," Jason shouted as he let his arrow fly. He vowed to take no risks. Trust no one, and no one can stab you in the back.

"You missed," The man shouted back. Jason grimaced. What would come next? Retaliation? His eyes had finally adjusted enough to see the man. Although he was still only a purple blur.

Jason rubbed his eyes more.

"Don't come any closer," Seridt called, "I will cut you down,"

"No you won't," The purple blur called back.

"Don't test me old man!" Seridt shouted, his sight was restored, and he could see the old man dressed in purple.

"I have no doubt you may try, but your blade would not touch me," He said. Jason could see him, walking towards them. He pulled an arrow and the old man stopped, "Didn't you already try that?" He mused.

Jason shot the arrow, straight at the man's heart. He knew it was aimed true before his bowstring could twang. He grinned at the thought.

His grin fell to horror as the arrow burst into flames a few feet before it could strike. Nothing but ash hit the old man, "You missed," he called back.

"What do you want?" Jason asked.

"I want to help you," The man was now a few steps from them.

"Why would you want to do that?" Atask asked him, his voice calm. He was far less prone to violence than his friends. He usually mediated any argument the two might have. If not for him they would have killed one another by now.

"Because we seek the same end, but unlike you, it is not in me to chase my own will," The man bowed, "I am Fenrin, and my duty is to serve mankind, although the majority of mankind does not want my service,"

"Why is that?" Seridt asked, his voice wary, his feet ready to leap back from the old man. The boys all thought of running, but each dismissed the idea in their own time. He hadn't retaliated. They wanted to know what that meant. Their curiosity got the better of them.

"They want to do bad things, I want to do good things," Fenrin responded, "It would be counterproductive from their point of view,"

The boys eyed him with suspicion, "How do we know we can trust you?" Jason asked. They were not much for pleasantries. They had never learned them. The only communication they had was with one another, or with the slave masters. The slave masters always wanted things straight to business. They didn't know any other way to talk to the outside world.

"You don't," Fenrin frowned, "But I suppose if it would make you feel better you can tie my wrists,"

The boys tied his hands together behind his back, taking his offer before he could change his mind.

"Where are we going?" Fenrin asked as they finished the knots. They had all been ready to flee, but the question held them. They weren't sure.

"We need to get food," Atask told him, confiding in the old man. Seridt turned red, angry at Atask for revealing any information, even something so trivial.

"Well, you could come with me to my home, we shall feed you a mighty feast!" Fenrin laughed, his attitude unaffected by his bonds.

"No," Jason said quickly, before Atask could accept the offer on behalf of all three, "We're not going to your home just so you can have us delivered to The Hangman,"

"I no more serve The Hangman than you do," Fenrin smiled at them, "Of course, if someone were trying to trick you I suppose they would say that. I passed a couple of deer on my way here, they should be just ahead to the right. You can build a fire over there," He tried to point with his nose, "but be careful of the smoke, as I believe there is a troupe of soldiers that may pass through over there," he pointed with his nose again, "you would be better off waiting for them to pass,"

They were at the top of a hill, just fifty feet from the forest. There was a path that ran around the edge of the woods, just a little farther away. The path forked out to the left towards a deep blue lake, with a small sandy beach. A little farther to the right, the other spot Fenrin had pointed to, had a fair number of rocks protruding from the ground, forming something like the walls of a cave, though not the ceiling. That would provide a decent covering from any wandering eyes on the road.

"Why are you telling us this?" Seridt asked, eyeing Fenrin suspiciously, as if his advice were a knife in disguise, ready to be stabbed into their backs.

"Because I want you to trust me," Fenrin smiled at him.

"Why?" Jason asked.

"Because it's easier to help you without my hands tied,"

Atask was already off before either Jason or Seridt could protest. Although, while the two thought Atask was a little too trusting for his own good, they wouldn't leave their friend behind. Besides, they hadn't eaten in days, and their stomachs were getting to be a little louder than their fears.

Jason shot a doe that was drinking from the bright blue water. They hadn't seen such a plump healthy animal in the forest for months. For the first time Atask started to wonder why the forest had begun to die. The three hadn't put much thought to it. They hadn't put much thought into anything beyond the bare minimum they needed to survive.

They didn't listen to Fenrin about the fire, Seridt and Jason wanted to keep some measure of distrust against him. They assumed he bade them some kind of ill will in waiting for the fire. Maybe he wanted them to wait so that his own friends could come and kill them. Maybe he liked listening to the tortured sounds their guts made at the sight of food.

Seridt skinned the doe, getting a few chunks of meat ready for the fire. Jason stoked the flames big and bright, smoke curling up towards the afternoon sky. Atask set the meat over the flames, cooking it as quick as he could, not really caring if he burned the meat.

"Do I get some?" Fenrin asked.

"No," Jason glared at him.

"You know, I am your prisoner, completely at your mercy," He wiggled his hands in the ropes for added effect, "You don't have to be so afraid of me. After all, if I really wanted someone to come get you I could just shout, couldn't I?"

The three did not answer. He made a good point.

"What possible reason could I have for letting you tie me up when your arrows couldn't pierce me? What could my motivation be for coming to find you, alone, and letting you take me prisoner?" Fenrin asked.

"We don't know," Seridt said coldly.

"Why not ask?" Fenrin laughed, "It seems silly to just ignore me,"

Atask opened his mouth, ready to ask, ready to trust. Before he could utter a word Seridt grabbed him by the arm, "Shut up!" He said, he turned to Fenrin, his hand on one of his swords, "Shut up and let us think," He turned to Jason, about to say something else, but stopped at the look in Jason's eyes. A look of horror, of desperation.

"He was right," Jason said quietly, "I can hear soldiers coming,"

"Put out the fire!" Seridt said quickly, quietly, stomping the flames with his feet. The fire began to die down, the flames backing into the logs away from his feet. But smoke poured out of it more profusely than before. A thick, heavy smoke. The kind that fills your throat like it's trying to choke you.

The smoke gave a greater signal to the soldiers, pouring out over the gray form of the rocks around them. It poured out of a few of the thin entrances as well, looking like a thick mist laid over the small camp.

"Are you ready?" Seridt whispered to Jason.

Jason nodded, leaping between the jagged boulders until he sat atop the makeshift wall of their temporary campsite. He pulled a few arrows out of his quiver and laid them, arrowheads pointing out in order to fire them more rapidly.

"They'll probably come through here," Seridt said, pointing to one of the entrances. He motioned for Atask to hide on one side of the slim entrance. The soldiers wouldn't be able to come through more than two at a time. Seridt took his position opposite Atask, "Make sure you wait until after I've attacked. When they're focused on me you jump out. Jason," He looked up, whispering as loudly as he could, "You're up first,"

"What do I do?" Fenrin asked, smiling from where he had sat by the fire. He seemed unaffected by the smoke.

"Just sit there and look pretty," Seridt said. Atask pulled Fenrin out of the way.

The three boys sat in their positions. Waiting. The tension was thicker than the smoke. Jason heard the dim footsteps of the soldiers approaching in the distance. Closer now. He waited until he could almost hear them breathing, hear the blood flowing in their veins. He fired his first arrow.

A satisfying grunt told him he landed his mark. The smoke was still too thick for him to see. He aimed for the opening. He fired again. Another grunt. He smiled.

He shot twice more, to the sound of two more bodies falling to the ground, before the smoke began to clear. The soldiers took a formation, their eyes red, their nostrils flared, aiming with crossbows in Jason's direction.

He wasn't worried, he'd had experience with crossbows. They had power behind them, and weren't as tough to learn, on top of being easier to aim. That was the weakness, though. Most men didn't bother to learn to use the crossbow well enough to aim the way an archer does. Jason rolled across the top of the wall, firing his fifth and last arrow into the chest of the man that looked like the leader.

The crossbow bolts missed him, by quite a large margin. He pushed himself backward, hanging off the other side of the rock wall. The soldiers gave shouts to go around, to look for him on the other side. As they moved towards the other slim entrance Seridt leapt out of the smoky shadows.

Seridt had four blades hanging at his waist. He'd brought extras on their escape from the slave camps, in case one broke, but found an interesting skill for throwing swords. He practiced that now. His first blade flew across the camp ground, cutting through the smoke and landing in a soldier.

He threw another, dropping one more of the tromping ruffians as he pulled a blade in each hand. The blades were of a simple design, single edged sabers with an elegant curve halfway up each blade. He leapt across the fire, through the smoke and shouts, and his blades found blood.

The soldiers forgot their formation as they turned, trying to defend from both sides as Jason let another volley of arrows fly. A few more soldiers were pouring in from the first opening two at a time. A few aimed crossbows, the rest brandished their own swords. Seridt paid them mind, funneling more than half of the soldiers between Jason and himself.

Atask leapt out of his place in the shadows before the soldiers could fire their crossbows. He tackled three, his large form moving like a shadow through the smoke. He brought his backhand around like a club against another soldier's jaw. The soldiers, the ones still alive, began to panic, waving their swords frantically at Atask.

He dodged a few, though he was not too careful. He had his own power protecting him. While Jason's senses were doubled, and tripled, in strength, Atask's skin was made hard as a rock. His fists like boulders being thrust against a soldiers face.

He saw the flash of light behind him that signaled Seridt using his own power. Light manipulation. The area in the camp dimmed for a brief second as Seridt pulled the light into a ball formed above his hand, then threw it between the crowd of bodies struggling to fight back, blinding them.

The crashing of blades and bodies, of arrows and bolts whizzing through the air, became a dull roar as the battle broke into its final conclusion. The more the soldier's attempted to hit Atask the more terrified they became, watching their swords and bolts ricochet off him like trying to cut through, or pierce, stone.

On the other end the soldiers were all facing Seridt now, enough had fought through the opening in the rock to face him five to one. Others were running in behind them, fleeing from Jason. They could not see him in the darkness which Seridt had created. Like trying to contend with a phantom.

Sucking away the bright light of the afternoon was like a rush of adrenaline to Seridt, though it would leave him more than exhausted by the end of the day. He pushed the light against the soldiers like bright bolts of lightning, causing more distraction or fear than actual damage. He moved his blades like they were only extensions of his hands.

One soldier.

Two soldiers.

The last two soldiers both raised their own swords, ready to cut him down. His sword slashed against one, but the other was already striking. Although Seridt was brilliant with his swordsmanship, though he could parry and dodge, block and strike, he did not have Atask's rock skin. If a blade struck him it would not rebound. No, it would only take one blade to kill him.

But the blade didn't fall.

He saw it, inches from his face, but there was another holding it in place. He looked along the double edged blade, the one that had blocked, seeing the intricate lines woven of some language he could neither read nor understand. The runes along the blade were glowing with a soft purple light, and at the handle were hands with the burnt edges of rope laying across them. Bright purple flames added their light to Seridt's darkness. The flames danced along the rope, eating it up, and traced their lines to the old hands of Fenrin.

Seridt took a step back as Fenrin spun the soldiers blade from his hands, "You have this one chance. Repent of the sins of the White Kingdom, in the name of Heiro Nair, before death takes you in its unquenchable grasp,"

The soldier tried to lunge at him, but Fenrin was too quick. He kicked the soldier back against the rock wall and stuck his blade through the man's heart. Seridt was already turned again, cutting down the few remaining soldiers. Jason's arrows flew by his head and found homes in the soldiers who were battling Atask.

When the last of the soldiers had fallen the three boys shrank away from Fenrin, fearful of what he might do.

"Would you like to bind my hands again?" He asked, holding his hands out before him. His sword was nowhere to be seen.

The boys found more rope on the soldiers and, much to Fenrin's dismay, tied his hands once more. This time they made the knots tighter. Atask patted him down to take his sword. There was nothing on the old man.

"What will it take to convince you?" Fenrin asked. The three boys packed the leftover meat into bags and slung them over their soldiers. They searched the guards for anything of use, Seridt picked up a few new blades. He broke his extra swords much more often than he cared to admit.

"What if I let you hack my arm off? Would that convince you?" Fenrin asked. They hadn't answered him before. Jason and Seridt continued to ignore him, afraid of his power. Afraid of what he could be.

"I don't know," Atask said, "We're scared," Atask understood these concepts better than his friends. They never knew anyone outside of each other who wouldn't try to kill them. The world was not safe.

"I know," Fenrin said.

"How do you know?" Jason shouted, grabbing Fenrin by his collar, "How can you possibly know?"

"My eyes are a bit better than yours," Fenrin said, "I don't only see what's in front of my face,"

Jason shoved him to the ground, "For _years_ we have been on our own! For _years_ we have survived! _We do not need you_!" He shouted as the old man struggled. His hands had broken his fall and the fall had broken his hand.

"You're right," Fenrin said, he looked up at Jason, "You don't need me. I need you,"

The three looked down at him, stunned, "Why do you think I would let you tie me up? What other possible motive could I have? If you needed me, I would have proven so very quickly. But you do not need me. I am at your mercy, I am at your beck and call. I the servant, and you the master. Would you have me be a slave? I will do that. I will hunt for you, and cook for you, anything I can do to help you accomplish your deepest desire,"

"And what is our deepest desire?" Jason asked, his voice catching in his throat, tears swelling in his eyes, "What do you think we want?"

"I believe you want to do good," Fenrin said, "I can see that clearly. But what's more, what makes me so eager to help you, is that you want other people to do good. You want to stop bad people from doing bad things,"

Jason punched him.

"Would you like to hit the other side as well?" Fenrin asked. His eyes locked with Jason's.

Jason grabbed the knife from his belt and pointed it at Fenrin's face, "I will kill you myself if you're lying. I'll fire more arrows than you can break," He leaned over Fenrin and cut the ropes, "Atask, can you fix his hand?"

Atask ripped some cloth from the soldiers uniforms and used a thin piece of unused fire wood for a splint. Jason grabbed Seridt by the arm and pulled him out of earshot.

"Why did you do that?" Seridt asked him, his voice quiet and furious.

"He was right," Jason said, calm, "And we aren't the Hangman. We don't hurt people, we help people,"

"We hurt those soldiers,"

"That was self-defense,"

"Was it? You shot first,"

Jason bit his lip, "You didn't hear their blood. Their hearts beating, not fear, excitement. They wouldn't have asked questions. Not like him," Jason pointed to Fenrin, smiling up at Atask as they had their own polite conversation.

"So we just trust him?" Seridt asked.

"What choice do we have?" Jason leaned in close, "This isn't the forest, Seridt, there may be more food, but there are also a lot more soldiers. You may not hear them, but I do. Stomping on the ground a mile off. There are too many to fight, and there is nowhere to hide. We had trees to crawl up into, we had caves to cower in back in the forest when the occasional soldier came by. Where will we go now?"

"We stay here! Behind these rocks, or hide in the forest and only come out to eat! If they come again we'll just fight them again!" Seridt pleaded.

"Do you remember how you almost died?"

"I'll be more careful!"

"So what happens when they realize their soldiers have been dying, here, right here? What will we do then, even if we can beat the occasional troop?" Jason's eyes pierced Seridt's. Seridt was the first to break the stare.

"I," he stammered, "I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

"We find what made the forest die,"

Jason hurried back to ask Fenrin about it. He must know something. He wouldn't be out here all this way if he didn't know anything. Seridt followed behind, trying to keep his distance.

Fenrin was eager to convey all of the information he had. He'd begun traveling south, towards this very forest, for the very same reason. To investigate. Keep tabs on The Hangman's goings on for the day when he could actually do something about it.

Then he'd seen something else.

Something in the clouds, or between a mist. Jason didn't exactly understand what he was talking about. Like he saw through space and time, but that didn't really make sense. Except it did, a little bit. Something clicked in the back of Jason's mind over the idea. A word, one word, came echoing back through. Prah fah see. He didn't know what it meant, but it had some deeper connection he figured would come up later.

The vision had shown Fenrin the boys. The three children romping through the forest like it was playtime, and playtime was survival time. He saw them laughing together, crying together. Helping to heal each other's wounds. Not just the physical ones, the ones layered deep down too.

He'd seen something in the boys in the vision.

Something different about them. Different from any other man he'd met. He saw that they could change the world, but something else too. A darkness clung on to two of them. Seridt and Jason. A dark lurking thing with red eyes and flaming nostrils. It looked, in Fenrin's vision, like it had a claw in each of their backs, pumping poison into their blood.

Fenrin explained that there was a certain power buried deep underground that The Hangman wanted dug up. That _power_ had infected the ground, touching and grabbing at the earth like the roots of a twisted tree. Buried so deep it shouldn't have had any effect on the world above ground, but once the digging got deep enough, once the earth was churned together in the mines, that power jumped across the surface as far as it could reach.

The fetid claws of that creature had grabbed hold on the land. It brought a blight to the trees, a poison to the rivers, a club to the caves, and a fear to the animals. It had even sunk its claws into Jason and Seridt, infecting them with its hideous anger. Infecting them with its hate.

Atask was saved because of his power. Not only was his skin rock hard, but his heart as well. He stayed pure. It made sense to Jason, and Seridt too. The only reason they'd been able to survive the slave camps without turning into mindless drones, let alone form their plans for escape, had been Atask's impenetrable resolve.

Unfortunately that tiny influence on Jason and Seridt had been allowed to fester. It grew the damages they'd received from the slave camps like water to seeds. Their natural mistrust grew to full blown hatred of the outside world. Their fear that someone would try to kill them became paranoia of everyone besides themselves.

Fenrin's presence muted that influence. Merely the time he spent talking, the melody in his voice, blew away the toxins from their bodies. It forced the evil out of their minds. The claws that had been gripped into their backs retracted, and fled away. The boys felt calm by the end of his story. Even Seridt felt trusting, felt safe, in the presence of Fenrin.

"There is more," Fenrin said. He'd finished telling them the reasons. How he'd found them. Why they'd been angry. Now was the end, "The source of the blight is..." He searched for the word, "I'm not sure it would be best if I were to tell you now,"

"Why not?" Atask asked.

"It may hinder you from facing it, but I will leave that decision up to you,"

"We want to know," Jason said, " _I_ want to know,"

The three nodded in agreement, "It is another slave camp," Fenrin said. There was no melody in his voice now. Only facts. Jason's face was grim. Atask breathed deeply. Seridt stood and paced their dim campsite. The sun was setting.

"Come, let us rest for now. In the morning you may make your final decision to either face the camp, or choose another path. I will not hinder you in either direction,"

They slept easily, Seridt in particular after over exerting his power earlier.

None of them could remember their dreams that night, only that they were comforting. Like a still small voice was urging them on to face their darkened past, but the details slipped away the moment their eyes met the sunrise.

"Is it decided?" Fenrin asked them, "Shall we go?"

"Yes," Atask spoke for them.

Fenrin led them across a trail he'd known previously. It stretched far around the forest, keeping them safe from the still active tendrils which stretched from across the slave camp and through the wilderness. It did not seem to touch very far outside the forest.

The boys asked Fenrin to take the trail slowly, needing the time to prepare. He understood, and set their pace at a slow walk. After four days at the pace they began to near the slave camp.

As they continued on through the fourth day, Jason became agitated. Not by the resonant evil growing around them, Fenrin's presence protected them from the evil. Rather, it was the sounds he could hear in the distance.

"It's the camp, isn't it?" He asked Fenrin as they could see their destination not so far off on the southern horizon. The air was chill and the sky had grown clouded as they drew closer. The weather gave them the added effect of misery.

"I see your powers of observation are quite keen," Fenrin remarked, "It is the camp,"

Fenrin frowned. Seridt narrowed his eyes. Jason trembled. Atask breathed sharp and shallow breaths. The four felt the agitation of where they were heading. A place designed by the cruel will of The Hangman. Grown men, made to be no more than puppets by The Hangman's power, forced children, from the ages of five to fifteen, to work hard long days in the camp. The Hangman delighted in the knowledge that he was ruining the purity of the children. Delighted in the knowledge that some of the slave masters he used were father's to some of the children they whipped.

At the age of fifteen those children, whose lives had been no more than pain and suffering, were gathered to the Black City, to The Hangman's palace. It was there that he laid his hands upon them, and stole from them their will. None who had seen how exactly he performed this act was able to tell of it, for the men who left that meeting were only shells. Only extensions of The Hangman's hand.

Many would be sent back to the camps to drive a new generation in labor. To crack the whips that had once struck their own bodies into action. The irony of this pattern was lost on the Hangman.

For Fenrin the knowledge of the camps was a symbol. This was the path humanity had chosen in the Land of Allseers. This was the path he had worked so hard to stop. Had worked for so many years to reverse. Yet this path was still trodden. The camp was a symbol of his failure.

The boys felt a great range of emotions. Dread, first off. Dread of what could happen should they fail. They were only thirteen years old themselves. If they failed they may be captured. They may be forced once more to work the mines. In two years' time they may find themselves learning what it was that The Hangman did to form shells of even the strongest men.

There was excitement there too. This was a chance, an opportunity, to save the children in this camp. An opportunity to give what they had never received. There was something more, though. Something deeper. It was as if going to this camp, saving these children, they would be saving themselves. It would be as if they _had_ received the help themselves.

These emotions ran through them, but one stuck out above. An emotion which Seridt was more familiar with. He lived with it every day, using it as his fuel. Using it as his power.

Rage.

It was a rush to him. He called it The Red in his own thoughts. He lusted after The Red. He longed for it. The battle four days ago had been his first real opportunity since their escape to use it. To funnel it into action. Here, so soon, was another opportunity. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. His head throbbed, not painfully, but with determination.

"How do we stop it?" Atask asked.

Fenrin opened his mouth to speak. Jason cut him off, panicked, "We _escaped_ last time. We didn't have to worry so much about fighting, just running,"

"We were only eight then. We've grown," Atask reminded him.

"But even then it was barely us!" Seridt said, "Mesmer and Raytiff! They did the work! They gave the guards a distraction! We couldn't have made it without them!"

"But now we have Fenrin," Atask said.

"But what can he do?" Jason asked.

"A lot more if you hadn't broken my hand," Fenrin cut in, "Especially my sword hand. What did you say about Mesmer?"

"What do you mean?" Seridt asked.

"You said Mesmer and Raytiff did the work. What did you mean?"

The boys stared back with glazed eyes, not understanding the question. It was Jason who spoke first, "When we dug up Mesmer he tried to manipulate us," Jason tried to explain, "It worked on Raytiff, but we ran. We were ahead of them by a few minutes, and we thought that Mesmer would chase us into the forest, but he didn't. As soon as they came out he and Raytiff slaughtered the camp. Guards and children alike. They killed everyone,"

"Then we may have had excellent timing," Fenrin's eyes gleamed, "I can feel it in the air. They've almost reached another one of the Vail,"

"The what?" Atask interrupted him.

"Evil and powerful creatures. That is what The Hangman is digging up. That is what Mesmer was, I know the name well. It is no wonder he paid no mind to you three. He must have seen you as tools, nothing more, but The Hangman was a rival,"

"What do you mean?" Jason asked.

"The Vail are a selfish and prideful breed. They will not easily follow one another, not even out of gratitude. The moment The Hangman digs one up he must assert his dominance. It seems he failed to do so with Mesmer, and he may fail or succeed with this one. Regardless, his attention will not be on the slaves. The moment The Vail is dug up he will attempt to show it that he is above it. That he is the master here, and that it must obey him,"

"And that's when we strike?" Seridt asked.

"No! We must strike before that. Our timing must be precise! The Hangman must be focused on us when it occurs, as I do not know which of The Vail is buried here, and likely he does not either. It is knowledge which only The Vire holds. But when it is released he will not take the chance to lose, as he did with Mesmer. If he is focused on us first he will abandon that focus and turn to his rival, and we must run then, quick as we can,"

"Run where?" Atask asked, thinking for the first time where they might go after the battle. Thinking for the first time where they might make their new home.

"My offer is still available, should you desire," Fenrin said.

"Okay," It was Seridt who spoke, surprising even Fenrin, "We will take the children to your city,"

"When do we strike?" Atask asked.

"In three hours, by my count, the time will be ripe," Fenrin said.

They moved off of the path and into the forest. One last time in the forest. The boys took the opportunity to say goodbye to their old home, which had served them these five years. The time passed slowly.

Jason checked his bow and arrows more times than he could count. Making sure there were no breaks which might throw off his aim. Seridt checked his blades for any chips or dents. Atask sat on the ground, crossed legged, waiting in silence. Fenrin was looking towards the sky, his lips moving silently. Atask wondered why.

It felt more like three days than three hours, but the time passed eventually. The three were on their feet, following behind Fenrin, whose finger to his lips told them to shut up. They'd been talking about anything that could come to their minds, anything besides the slave camps. Anything completely unrelated had a free pass to shoot out of their mouths.

Nerves.

Now they were silent, just like he'd motioned. They were struck with all the memories, all the fears and complications. The constant struggle while they were in the slave camps, the constant running and fearing after they'd escaped. And now who was this? This old man, probably bent mostly out of shape. He probably couldn't even hold a sword right and he was leading them right back into the camps?

How did they know they could trust him? Why should they be following _him_ into the camps when everything else in their body, and mind, told them to turn tail and run?

They didn't run. They kept following him, knowing the fear was a byproduct of whatever was pouring out of the depths of the earth, although that knowledge didn't make them any less afraid. That knowledge was barely enough to keep them moving straight after Fenrin, ever closer to the camp, instead of the opposite direction.

"We wanted this," Atask said quietly, to remind Jason and Seridt. The look of terror that had covered the three faces dropped to a mix of determination and shame. They'd been fighting the impulse to turn tail and leave Fenrin to fend for himself when the only reason he was here was for their sake.

Their shame didn't last long. It was replaced by dread as the camp seemed to rear up as they approached, ready to pounce on them and take out their throats. The boys followed Fenrin to wait behind the single row of buildings which faced the mines. Jason raised his hands to ask, 'What now?'

Fenrin pointed up, then pointed at Jason. _Get on the roof_.

He pointed to one end of the buildings, then pointed at Seridt. _Go down there._ Then whispered quietly in his ear, "Wait until they're focused on me, then give them a surprise," Seridt nodded.

Then he whispered to Atask, "When the fighting starts, break down this wall," He tapped the children's bunkhouse silently, "Help as many kids get out as you can,"

He pointed at Jason and whispered to the open air, so quiet only Jason could hear it, "If we fail, leave me and take the children north with Atask. Speak _Saro Taintel Valoosh_ at the gates you find there and everything else will be taken care of,"

Jason nodded. He had no intention of letting the old man die, but if he did...

No, they would survive this. They would survive even this.

Jason climbed the kitchen silently. The slant of the roof was not too steep, but steep enough to hide behind. He saw the chimney. A perfect spot to shoot from. He took his place.

He heard the crackling of fire. _What was that?_

He saw the smoke a few buildings over. It was the guards bunkhouse. Black fumes spilled upwards into the sky. He could see the flames sparking up faster than any natural flame could. He could smell the burning flesh of the guards within, still unmoving. Their bodies on break from the stress that The Hangman's power put on them.

He heard Fenrin sing out: "Soon you will be ruined, Hangman! Soon your own noose will clutch around your neck! Soon you will dance at the gallows! Soon! Soon! Soon!"

Fenrin's voice caught the look of every guard nearby. Many held whips in their hands, rather than swords. All of the guards were covered from neck to foot in black armor. Their heads were exposed, their faces expressionless, their eyes blank. They looked like statues made of blackened steel for the sole purpose of mounting these disembodied heads.

Whips cracked and the sound of swords being unsheathed filled the air. The sound was short lived. A crackling explosion of fire met in response. Jason looked out from his perch to see Fenrin, standing tall and strong. He looked twenty years younger to Jason's eyes.

I could do more if you hadn't broken my wrist.

The words flooded Jason's mind as he heard the fire. Fenrin could do more than that?

But he knew it. He could see the strain on Fenrin's face. He could hear the flames bouncing from his wrists. Those wrists drawing tight. All of Fenrin drawing tight. Like a string on a guitar pulling tighter and tighter and soon, very soon, it would snap.

All of Jason's wariness of the old man turned in that moment. He was willing to die for these three boys. The memory of his words took on a new light. A promise, a trustworthy promise. Jason could not let him die.

More soldiers were coming now. Running after Fenrin. Charging to kill him. He saw Fenrin begin to charge another blast in his hand, holding his sword in his left hand. The blade that was beautifully crafted long ago, ancient ruins telling some odd tale running along the blade.

Jason let an arrow fly. It hit a soldier in the forehead. Seridt flung from behind the last building to Jason's left, charging towards the battle. His cry was far reaching, and wordless. He heard the children's bunkhouse creaking, then snapping, to his right. Atask had broken the rotted wood off of the building and was ushering children out.

Off in the distance the tunnel of the mines was pouring out the same soldiers. The bleak eyed, expressionless faces pouring out like a mouth spitting out dark seeds. Jason let his arrows fly, making no effort to remain hidden, taking only a moment to aim. Each shot was deadly.

Fenrin charged in himself. His sword cutting through soldiers before they could raise their weapons. Whips cracked and swords sung through the air. Jason could hear the weapons cut Fenrin and Seridt. He could hear the whips crack on their skin, lashing blood out onto the ground.

An endless wave of soldiers continued to smash against Seridt and Fenrin. Jason thought he could see some dim light coming from the tunnels behind them. Some dim red light, like a pouring fire from below.

He did not have a moment to think of it. The guards stopped attacking, Fenrin and Seridt hacking away at stilled bodies. Jason watched as every guard, all at once, opened their mouths. They spoke together, the many voices coming together in a sickening congregation, belting out their crude hymn.

"I see you Fenrin. I see you Seridt, even you Atask. I see you. Even you, Jason. Have you returned to your loving father, my son?" The voices did not wait for an answer, "I remember when we first met. It was your eighth birthday. Such a nice day, I thought you were such a wonderful child of mine,"

Jason shuddered, but the voices continued, sounding angry, "That was the year you left me. I would have cherished you, my child. I would have given you riches and glory. You would have been like a prince by my side.

"But do not worry! No! No worries here! For I am a forgiving father. Come home to me, Jason. Come home and I will take care of all the lies that Fenrin has filled your head with. Come home and I will take care of every thought in your head, let them not trouble you my child. I will take all of your thoughts and cares, all of your worries and wonders, and you will be left to rest without them.

"What do you say? No, of course not. But why not? Is it fear? But fear not! I am a dreadful father, but only my enemies will know my wrath. Is it jealousy? Did you grow jealous seeing all of these children? All those other children of your father, yes. That must be it. With so many children how can your father have time for you?

"But you are special. Watch! See! I will show you!" The guards turned away from Fenrin and Seridt, moving towards the children. Blades rose up and swung through the air. The children's blood pouring on the ground. Their death rattle like pins driving into Jason's ears.

"Do you see? There is room in my heart for you! Do you see how I care not for these children? There is only room for you, Jason!" The cries of the children spurred Jason into paralysis. He stood on the roof, an arrow pulled back in his bow, but he could not release it. His eyes were held by horror.

"Or do you desire many brothers and sisters? I understand. Then you may have your brothers, I will even let you have your sisters. I care not for the women, but I know it must be a desire to you. I will give you women! I will give you brothers! I will give you friends! All in the great will of The Hangman!

"Show me your desire, Jason! Show me you want me. Slay your friends, and I will spare every child. I will spare even the old man! Though he is a thorn in my side I would leave him for your sake. Will you join me, my son?"

Jason launched his arrows as quickly as he could. One at a time. The arrows thumped into the backs of the guards raising their swords against their children. Jason was in a daze. It was all he could do to keep up his rain of arrows on the guards as his thoughts scoured through his mind.

He wants me.

He'll kill them.

He wants me.

What do I do?

Then the last thought, he felt it was not his own; _He'll have you._

"Fret not my child," The voices echoed in response, "You've been a bad boy. Your father will chastise you later. For now," The guards all turned at once towards Seridt and Fenrin, "I will take your duty unto myself,"

Jason heard Atask shout somewhere in the distance. A shout to him? No. Atask was shouting to the slaves to run. To be free. While they still had the chance. Jason's arrows flew into two guards who were attacking Seridt, but he did not have enough arrows or time to save his friend. Not his friend, and not Fenrin.

The blades began to fall through the air. Cutting and whistling as they sought for Seridt's blood. For Fenrin's blood. For Jason's dread.

The ground shook the buildings in a fierce explosion. Fissures leaked out of the mines opening as the crust of the earth was split to allow a darkened fire to rush up and escape. The guards blades had stopped midair.

"Run! Now!" Fenrin's voice carried over the rumbling that echoed from the cave of the mines. Jason could hear the heavy pounding of footsteps. Moving slowly up the mine. Jason rocked and fell as the building beneath him shuddered against the pressure of the earth splitting open.

He could hear the movement of the guards. The black armor with the floating heads balanced on top. He could hear a muffled roar issue from the tunnel. He saw in his mind for one brief second the shape of a man. Tall, tall as a giant, and wide with muscle. Covered from head to toe with hair and the head of a bull, complete with horns. Flames issued out of its nostrils as it breathed and liquid fire spilled from its mouth in a crazed drool.

He heard the battle. He heard the cracking of the ground. He heard the stomping of boots as the soldiers tried to beat it with their swords. As whips cracked against it. He thought he could see in his mind the leather ropes of the whip tangling around the beasts horns, trying to drag it to the ground.

He hit the ground, hard. Flat on his back, the wind pushed out of his lungs, his eyes closed. He felt a dull throbbing on the back of his head. He thought it must be some distant nightmare, all of it. It would go away, as long as he kept his eyes closed and drifted off to-

No!

He leapt to his feet, catching his breath. He could hear other sounds. Fenrin and Seridt shouting at children to follow them. They would lead them to safety. The children obeyed silently, as if expecting these two would take them off to a new camp, a new mine, to work under The Hangman's grip.

He heard the crying and shrieking of the children. Then Atask. Above all of the confusion, above all of the struggle and fighting, Atask's voice rang out.

"You are free! Follow us to safety! We will set you free!" His voice sounded sincere. His words echoed above the battle and Jason could hear the soft steps of the children moving more quickly. Moving towards freedom, moving towards a possible happiness they had never known. He would meet them there, he thought.

He moved towards Atask's voice.

Atask continued to shout his comforting words. Directing the children to the forest. It could provide some measure of safety when The Hangman, or that beast, gave chase.

Fenrin and Seridt joined him. They urged the children onwards.

"Where to, boss?" Jason asked looking down at Fenrin from a tree top.

Some of the children jumped. Others smiled, forgetting their pain for a brief moment at the funny boy in the trees who must have thought he was a squirrel.

"North," Fenrin said, checking the children as they passed by for injuries. They continued moving through the forest.

Seridt nodded absently, looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed.

The Hangman's attention was gone. His gaze turned to the more urgent matter of the beast. Fenrin's plan had worked, and they had saved seventy seven children from the terror of the camps.

"We must move quickly," Fenrin said, "Jason, can you hunt ahead? We three will lead the children and meet you on the north end of the forest. Where we first met," Jason nodded and moved through the trees. It would take quite some time to hunt enough food to fill the hungry bellies of the seventy seven.

It occurred to Jason as he raced through the branches, getting far enough ahead to have the time to hunt, that they were nearly safe. His friends, himself, Fenrin, the children. They were all safe for now.

For now.

Jason turned his mind to hunting. He'd have to put his arrow into many a buck to feed those kids. Best to get started.

# Interlude: Betrayal

"Did I not tell you the very day the third was born? Did you not know that they would all be of the same age?"

Fenrin stood in the great hall once more. He had arrived a week before in Ferinal, the wall-city, with Jason, Seridt, and Atask. Once more the door had appeared without prior warning. It was only the second time in his long tenure as The Prophet that he had not been able to predict the appearance of that door to within a week.

"I never considered it. I let the old legends, the ancient texts, let me believe that they would come like a storm, with no need to be raised into maturity. I never considered that they would need my help. I always thought it is I who would need their help,"

"You saw some things clearly, though from a different angle. They will indeed come like a storm, and they will come into the world with a storm, but they have not come into the world yet. They have only seen it, and even the greatest warrior and the highest of kings must first be raised up to be men. Though you were not wrong in that, Fenrin, it is you who need their help,"

"I'm sorry, Vire, I do not understand," Fenrin shifted under the weighty presence of the voice. The voice was stronger than it had been in all the ages that Fenrin had listened to it.

"You never had children of your own, Fenrin," the voice spoke with a casual elegance which escaped even the greatest kings of men, "these boys need a father, and there is none better than you to take that place. Dark times are coming, and it is for your love of these boys that will help to keep your heart soft, even among the coming betrayals and trials,"

"What betrayals, Lord? What have I missed?"

"Fenrin, stay in this moment. The dark man has his fingers stretched towards Ferinal and towards Ra'Dushree. The last two free cities, and even your council is not out of his reach. Only the women of Ferinal are ignored by his eye, for he despises all women of any race or creed, for they possess an ability that he could never grasp or understand,"

"But which of the council will he touch?"

"That remains to be seen. Even The Eldest cannot see beyond the free will of men, or the free will of the Men of Wisdom. I know you suspect Samuel, but I tell you that even Pock, the light hearted, The Virtuoso, is as corruptible as Samuel. Keep them all within your eyes, but do not falter in recognizing that they have not been touched yet. Can you guard against these betrayals then? Can you guard against the four men whom you must trust with your life, when it will be only one who will betray? You would be a fool if you did, and I would regret ever giving to you the city of Ferinal,"

"Then what must I do?"

"You must be a father. These boys have never known such a thing. This is what guards you from the touch of the enemy. The love of a father is the love of a leader, it is a measure of the greatest love, do not forget that. All else will come in time, be not hasty for tomorrow, my son,"

"I understand, my Lord, but how am I to raise the boys? They have known only hatred. They have known only slavery and the way of the beasts,"

"Love them, and teach them the ways of man, and show them the ways of wisdom. There will come a time when they will be tested, and so must you be tested, but the wanderer will keep you all safe,"

"Walter?"

"Yes. Walter will save your life one day, and it will only be because Samuel has assigned him to walk among the world. Do you see now? Even your suspicions of Samuel's integrity are not held on a solid foundation. Let them drop from your mind, and look to see how each of your fellows may be right, and how you may be wrong, only by this will you find the right answer.

"Do not forget that it is mercy that you showed the boys, and that it is because of that mercy they are here today,"

# Chapter 2: Fear

Jason was running out of options. He searched desperately for some secret path through the forest ahead. Some path where he wouldn't be met with more arrows. More swords. He peered through the dark starless night of the new moon. The air was hot and heavy in the peak of summer. The pressure of a storm moving in weighing upon him like a hundred damp rags being thrown over his shoulders, over his back, and over his legs.

He urged his feet to keep moving, though exhaustion was clambering over him. He could hear the arrows flying around him, cutting through the air before they thudded into place in the ground a few feet from him. He could hear them getting closer and closer, missing by less and less, until they would finally find their way into his back.

He could see the small forest up ahead. A tender salvation in a dreary night, a night filled as much with death as it was with humidity. He moved forward with a new vigor, the trees could provide him with concealment, and protection, just as they always had. They would block the arrows from landing in his back, and provide him secret ways to run which his pursuers could not follow.

His eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for somewhere that he could escape the constant pressure of the soldiers closing in on his heels. He could hear the fall of footsteps all around him, his expert hearing clueing him in to where he would be surrounded. Though this did nothing to calm his raging heart. His ears could not pick up any point, any place, where he would not be met with more soldiers, and more arrows. No matter which way he turned, it seemed, he would become trapped by enemy forces, who did not understand why he had done what he did.

They would kill him for it. Calling it a crime themselves, though if they stopped for only a moment they would see why he'd done it. If they only stopped to think they would realize he'd done what they had wanted to do themselves. He had killed Lieutenant Crowsley. He'd stuck his own arrow, from his own bow, straight into the man's heart. Just as two hundred soldiers now meant to do with him.

Hot tears flooded into his eyes, dripping down his face and nose, tickling him in an awkward sensation that nearly sent his hand to slap his face. He didn't let his muscles move on their own though, he kept his hands firmly planted on his bow. He couldn't remember why he kept them firmly planted, he hadn't shot an arrow for hours. He'd only run, this way and that, dodging arrows as he hooked a turn on the path, trying to outrun, or outfox the soldiers chasing him.

He was smarter than them, he was sure of it. He had been sure of it at the beginning at least, now he was having his doubts. If he was so much smarter then why couldn't he lose them?

He was being hunted, and for a hunter this was the ultimate method of torture. He looked ahead, the path had begun to enter the forest, the forest just outside of Cunningham in the White Kingdom, more than two hundred miles from his northern home. His eyes continued to move around the trees, imagining which would produce the best covering, the quickest climb.

He found it hard to loosen the grip on his bow, his hands holding like iron to the weapon which could offer him an offensive strategy. He reminded himself that his offense was useless here. That his only hope was to climb and allow the trees to catch him up in a loving, and protective, embrace.

He put his arrow snuggly back into his quiver, latching his bow onto his back, the string drawing tightly across his chest. His arms raised up and caught a branch, swinging his desperate form into the protection of the trees.

His feet landed on a branch seven feet off the ground. He felt the tension in his legs, the exhaustion betraying him, as he began to lose his balance. His arms waved out to his sides, trying to keep on the branch, but he knew his body was shutting down. The threat of death was not enough to keep him going any longer.

Then he felt a new inspiration. An arrow found its way into his arm. A surge of pain rushed through him, his eyes flashing open, the exhaustion leaving him as his body responded to the pain, sending adrenaline through his veins. His knees tucked, even as his body was still slipping, and pushed him off of the branch. Jason leapt through the air and clutched at a higher branch, his momentum carrying him higher than before, swinging around the tree into higher branches, further from the sights of his enemies.

He could feel the arrow stuck into his arm brushing against the branches, sending new waves of pain, and energy, through his body. His feet found a sturdy branch more than twenty feet above the ground and his right arm, the one not stuck with an arrow, clutched to the tree trunk for support. He maintained his balance and tried to take in a few ragged breaths, though the air refused to reach the deep ache in his lungs to cool his chest.

His eyes were wide with fear and pain, it would take him some time to realize that even that arrow, painful as it was, had helped him to avoid his death. He felt the adrenaline beginning to fade, his thoughts came clearly, and he knew what he had to do to keep going. To keep surviving.

"Move," He said to himself, "Come on, come on," His voice was quiet and quick, "Let's get this out of here first,"

He tugged on the arrow in his arm, breaking it out of the shallow skin, and felt the wave of pain roll over him, with the wave of energy shooting with it. It was like a great blast of wind had pushed into his back, urging him on whether he liked it or not. He could still hear the arrows flying around him, though now the majority of them found their mark in the trees, instead of Jason.

He held his arms out for balance as he ran along the branch, feeling the tree bouncing under his weight as his feet moved quickly across the bark, one in front of the other like walking on a tightrope. As he neared the end of the branch, and could feel it giving way more and more, he tucked his body down to his knees and jumped, the branch catapulting him through the air and over to the next tree.

"What was that?" He could hear the soldiers saying below him, "Did he jump?" He heard the arrows lessen, "I heard him fall! Search the ground!" Jason felt relief wash over his body.

He continued his pace, his balancing act between the trees, clutching nearby branches for support as he tried to use this last wave of energy to reach safety. He leapt between the trees, covering more distance than he had when he was running on the ground. Here was his home, here was his territory. None could defeat him so long as he was in the trees.

Off in the distance he could hear the soldiers debating what to do, "Search the ground!" He heard their cries, "He can't have gotten far!" They didn't consider that he had escaped between the trees. He was safe for now. He collapsed against a tree, forty feet above the ground, laying his back against the trunk. Jason let his exhaustion take him.

* * *

"Did you see her today?" Seridt spoke in a hushed voice, his eyes darting frantically towards the nearby gate to be sure no one would hear him, at least no one who would talk about it later.

"See who?" Jason replied absently, letting an arrow fly through the air. His bowstring twanged deeply in the cold of the autumn, his arrow found the heart of a rabbit, running in the fen just north of the eastern gate of the city.

The two stood together looking out over the land, which was only now beginning to freeze in the late weeks of September. Soon the world before them would become a whirling mix of white snow, tall brown shades of grass darting the land, and great grey and blue mountains far off on the western edge of the city.

The city was built from side to side of a short peninsula at the northern edge of the Land of Allseers. Far off to the west the city was built right into the mountain, some homes lying below the mountains crust with deep shafts and mines dug into the earth both for mining the rich metals which lay within as well as carving out emergency shelters.

The emergency shelters were a very recent development, though it was not difficult to begin, for the mining shafts had been used for more than a thousand years before, offering plenty of open space to be refitted.

On the western edge of the city, more than fifty miles away, the city was built straight into the cliff side, with a two hundred yard drop straight into freezing water, which was littered with its own small islands of rock, sharpened by years of water wearing them away. No ship could get close to the City of Fenrin, yet even if they managed somehow to reach the cliff's edge they would not sit there for long. Fenrin was lord of the city, and a subtle word from him could bring a rock slide down upon an enemy navy.

Although the vast metropolis was long, it was not so wide, being designed as a great wall to protect the Tower of Allseers. The southern gates, which were exposed to the kingdoms of men, were able to be heavily armed and guarded, withstanding months of siege.

The northern gates were not so protected, for the goal of the city was not to withstand an assault from the north, but to protect the north from an assault. From the horrendous deeds many men might do if they were to lay their hands upon the Tower of Allseers. Their greed would turn, and their heart would lust, power they would find, though not the kind they'd thought. It would become a bane to men, and all who strove with them or against them. Thus it was that no man may approach the tower until he be proven, specifically by Fenrin.

Jason, Seridt and Atask had yet to be proven, having come to the city two years past with a large number of children who, like themselves, had been freed from the slave camps of The Hangman. The denizens of the city had been quick to take them all in, each child going to a new home, with new parents chosen from the Men of Wisdom. Jason, Seridt, and Atask were all together given to Fenrin, by their own choice, to be raised as his own children.

Jason had been more than hesitant. His demeanor was often overly cautious, and trust did not come so easy to him. Nevertheless he was excited to begin their new life. The children had been sold into their slavery, by their own unwitting parents who were promised the children would be raised in schools for their own betterment, at the age of five. For many of them this was an opportunity to be young once more. To retrieve the innocence which The Hangman had stolen from them.

Even Jason partook in this idea. Though he had faced more trials than most men do in their entire lives in only thirteen short years he took to running and playing in the city. He was one of three young men who possessed tremendous powers, along with Seridt and Atask, that being the method by which they were able to escape from the slave camps. The three frolicked and played through the city, leaping across rooftops, chasing one another in the street, and always came home to Fenrin's house with smiles wide on their faces, often times an indication of what kind of trouble they'd been into.

Though their time spent retracing their youth was wonderful, it was also short. The boys were eager to learn from Fenrin all manners of combat, and less eager to learn all manner of principles. For not only was Fenrin lord of this city, not only was he the Prophet of the Voyant, he was also an avid philosopher, and student. Often times while the boys were out playing Fenrin would visit with Santo, the Sybalt, leader of the race known as the Sybail, who were mighty in understanding, and in height.

For long hours they would learn together, and all these things Fenrin would teach to the boys, often to their slight dissatisfaction, each night before sending them off to bed. It did not take long for the boys to grow accustomed to their new life, the playing, the training, and the learning. They even began to enjoy Fenrin's nightly teachings.

For two years they ran free. Free to think and to play. There was only one time in his life when Jason had felt anything close to such freedom. That was in the forest, while he was still a slave. Before the age of eight be showed proficiency with a bow, an incredible knack for tracking and hunting, and a skill for putting his arrow in a target from a distance greater than most men could see. He was given a limited freedom to hunt. Soldiers would stay near him, too many for him to escape on his own, and he would climb through the trees, leaping between the branches, feeling the wind in his hair, and forgetting the reality of his situation for only a few hours.

The difference between these freedoms, primarily for Jason, was that this one did not end after his shift in the forest. He was free, for as long as he desired.

One night, a few months after they first arrived, Fenrin found Jason on the roof of his home, near to the center of the city. It was deep into the night, and Jason had been unable to sleep. Dreams of the slave camps haunted him whenever he shut his eyes. He sat on the roof and looked out at the lights which covered the top of the city, curious glass lights which seemed to contain no fire, though they were hot.

"Do you know what those are?" Fenrin had asked, making his presence known. Jason almost fell off the roof in his surprise. Fenrin was one of the few who could sneak up on Jason.

"I'm sorry I'm out of bed!" Jason cowered. He enjoyed his freedom in this city, the ability to roam without fear of The Hangman's forces finding him and snatching him up. It was even better than the forest home he had kept with Seridt and Atask after they had escaped the slave camps, due to the fact that there was little pressure to hunt, and to live. In the forest if they failed to catch game they would have to go without food for a night. If they failed to find shelter, then depending on the weather they might have to go without warmth for a night.

In the city they had warmth, food, and shelter in great abundance. There was no need to worry, yet they still had very little experience with anyone outside the slave camps. It was this pattern, this tainted experience, which caused Jason to fear that Fenrin may hurt him, throw him from the roof, or worse, kick him out of his city.

"No need to be sorry, son," Fenrin patted Jason on his shoulder, Jason relaxed a little, "After all, I'm out of bed too," Fenrin's eyes twinkled in the moonlight, reflecting a purple light at Jason.

The words relaxed Jason and he sat back down on the roof. Together they looked out over the town, hundreds of similar roofs all around them, all covered in a red tile with the glass lights hanging above them. Each house was three stories tall, and appeared very thin, though walking inside one would realize that their perceptions from the outside were incorrect. The houses were made to fit three whole families within them, although they didn't look as if they could fit even one.

"Do you know how these lights work?" Fenrin asked, pointing to the glass. He sat down next to Jason on the roof, steadying himself with his feet so that he did not slide off the top, as he was much heavier than Jason.

"No, how do they work?" Jason asked quietly, his curiosity boiling up.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Fenrin smiled down at Jason, "A friend of mine sent them from The Lighthouse. It's not magic, rather some kind of technology," Fenrin cleared his throat as he realized Jason did not know what technology meant, "Like the gears in the windmill,"

"That's incredible!" Jason laughed, looking at the lights with a new fascination, some superior advancement from a far off land. It must be a wondrous place.

"Yes, from our point of view it is incredible," Fenrin leaned back in his seat, "However, from their point of view almost everything we have, including those lights, is old and primitive. It's the simple change of perspective that brings a sense of wonder, as you have, and a sense of bleak pity, as they would have,"

Jason eyes fell low, looking down at his feet in shame. Fenrin looked on at the lights, letting the merriment of his perspective warm his heart. He let his hand fall on Jason's shoulder and spoke more, "Ah, but you already know this lesson don't you? That's why any single moment you are alone there is a deep frown on your face, a sadness in your eyes. I can see the longing for something, and I know what it is.

"You think, every day, every moment you are alone, that it isn't fair. You have this place now, but you didn't before. All you can think of is how much better your life could have been, if The Hangman had never shown up.

"I know how you feel. It's difficult for me to focus on anything besides what's already happened, besides all of the problems that have already passed. I think of how much better it could be, and wish, with all my might, that it could have been easier, less painful.

"I know what it feels like, Jason. But there is more. I've learned to enjoy today, this moment right here. A moment where there isn't so much struggle and strife, so many difficult decisions and tortuous pains. I focus on now because I can't change the past, no matter how strong or smart I've become that ability is still beyond me. Though I may _learn_ from it I do not have to let the past control my future.

"I know, you had a terrible childhood. I know it was hard. But you're here now, you have the opportunity to have a childhood, and you can spend your time complaining that it isn't fair, that you don't have as long to be young as others did, or you can enjoy it. And you could enjoy it more than others possibly can because of where you've come from. You know where life can go, how deep the holes can get because you've come out of a hole, and because of that simple fact you know how valuable these moments are. How precious it is that you live your life. So live it! Stay up late, sneak out, break rules, get in trouble. It will happen, and I know it will happen, but do it all with a smile. Even if I catch you coming home after curfew, I will be happy as long as I catch you with a smile. But don't think I won't still discipline you,"

Jason felt the tears flowing. He felt them and didn't care. He threw his arms around Fenrin and cried, whined, and sobbed into the violet cloak. Fenrin held his balance on the roof and took the boy into his arms as if he were his own son. Gently his hand patted the top of Jason's head, paying no mind to the time, not how long Jason might be crying, but only that he got it all out.

"Thank you," Came Jason's muffled words as he dug his face further into Fenrin's chest, "Thank you for everything,"

"There is no need to thank me," Fenrin's voice was soothing, tender and sweet, "Only listen, and do. Show all these other children that you can do it, they look up to you, you know," Jason pulled his head from the safety of Fenrin's embrace, "Give them an example,"

Jason did smile. Often and long, he used his frightening memories to motivate him farther. He began to learn more, to train harder, and to play with greater enthusiasm. His smile was wide, as often as it could be, and he made sure that as many children could see it as possible. He wanted to help them, to give them the life he'd always wanted, always dreamed of. His focus turned towards them, on their lives instead of his own. He began to focus more on their smiles than his own pain. He learned to fight, to battle as well as he could, so that they might have the protection he'd always needed.

He remembered the long nights in the depths of the forest. Longing for someone to come and save him, longing for someone to love him and protect him. No one had ever come, but he turned even this idea into motivation. No one had come for him, so he would train to be the strongest, learn to be the wisest, work to be the most caring, so that no one else would be left alone as he had. No one else would be left to hurt as he had.

Jason began to reach out to Fenrin to learn more. Refusing to wait until the days end for Fenrin to sit the three down together. While Seridt and Atask were out playing Jason sat at Fenrin's feet, listening in on the discussions he had with Santo. His understanding grew by great lengths.

His change continued to grow, his smile broadened and his joy deepened. No longer did he regret his childhood, learning instead to treasure it as his motivation. His dreadful past pushing him through greater struggles to achieve a prosperous future. For two years this continued, until a different change began to come over Seridt and Atask.

"Did you hear me?" Jason had the rabbit clutched in his hands, the rabbit he'd shot just outside the gates of the city. Seridt was looking at him, jarring him from his memories.

"I heard you," Jason's words were iced. His eyes would not meet Seridt's.

"Well? Did you see Tarra today?" Seridt sounded excited, giddy. The same change in voice as Atask, the change that occurred when the subject turned to girls, "Wasn't she pretty?"

"Why does it matter?" Jason didn't understand the change. The change in focus, girls. Why would his friends change their focus? There were more important things than girls, more urgent things. Why did girls matter?

"Do you hear yourself? You sound like a grouch!" Seridt's voice rose, a high pitched crack, "What's going on with you?"

"I just think we have better things to worry about!" Jason's cheeks flushed, his eyes burning holes in the rabbit as he continued to avoid the gaze of his friend.

"Like what?" Seridt took a step back, putting a distance to the tension he felt with his friend.

"Like the Hangman! Like the thousands of children who are still stuck in slave camps while we sit here, with our nice new life! The ones who didn't get saved! Why are you worried about Tarra now? She's safe! What about the others?" Jason's voice carried over the swampy terrain towards the nearby cliffs.

"I don't get you," Seridt shrugged and turned back towards the city. Jason stayed where he was, hot tears beginning to pour out of his eyes and falling on the lifeless form of the rabbit.

* * *

Jason felt the tears again as he awoke, the memory still bright in his mind. The sun was coming up, the warm light dancing along his skin. He forgot where he was for a moment, catching himself on a branch before he could tumble to the earth out of the tree he'd taken refuge in.

His whole body ached, the dull frozen ache that comes with the morning after a night of exhaustion. Through his groggy perception of the world around him he tried to replay the events of the night before, though the memory of his dream prevented much progress in his attempt.

Instead he resolved to turn his ear to the forest around him. The morning light shown through the trees, covering the tips with a golden glow, while the ground far below was covered in a light shade, with bits of sunlight peeking through like holes in a blanket stretched out over the land.

He could dimly see the tracks made by many men with heavy boots cluttered across the forest floor, and he wondered if they had been made before he had reached the safety of his tree, or if he had really slept through such traffic. Jason's worry grew at the thought, if he had really been so exhausted, so strained to his edge, that he'd slept through the parade of soldiers below him, even with his heightened hearing, then how was he to escape this place?

Could he make it home? Back to his safety of Ferinal, and Fenrin's house? Would Fenrin even let him back in after this?

He decided to worry of that later, for now he was trapped like a rat. His ears told him he was surrounded by soldiers, some snoring in their early morning sleep, but many others guarding. He could hear their quiet conversations from ten different directions. That meant there were either ten separate camps throughout the woods, or that he was in the middle of a large camp, and those were the guards at the exits.

There was no denying that if he was able to sleep through the tracks below him he could have slept through the soldiers setting up a camp, but would he have really gone unnoticed all night?

Jason knew the answer. It had been a dark night, cloud covering stars with a new moon. It was entirely possible. He only hoped it was not the case. He could maneuver around ten different camps, but to escape one seemed impossible, especially on such a bright day.

Staying put was no better, as any passerby would spot him quickly, due to his clothing choice. He wore a black buttoned shirt, with pants that were as dark as the night had been. A black cloak covered most of his body, and rode up to hide his nose. The outfit had been perfect for escape through the dark, but made him stick out in the daylight.

He reminded himself to focus. Either he was in a very dangerous spot or he was in a less dangerous spot. Either way he had the same first few steps. Examine himself for injury, know his body first. If his arms were too tired to shoot a bow it would be good to know before having to shoot his bow, if his grip was too weak to climb a tree, it would be good to know before he needed to climb a tree.

He felt his shoulder and the pain brought memory of the previous night to him. The arrow that had wounded him. He turned his head as best as he could to get a glimpse of the wound. It was red, and inflamed, but there was no pus. An infection was starting. He felt his own forehead, trying to see if he felt warmer than normal. He felt okay, but he would need to find medicine quickly, the wound was large, and deep. An untreated infection could easily be the end of him.

He checked his bow. The surface was scratched by the branches he had ran through, but there was no serious damage to keep it from firing. He replaced it in its position on his back and pulled out his quiver. No holes, still in one piece, it looked okay, until he opened the small flap at the top made to keep his arrows from falling out.

There were three arrows left. Jason cursed silently, looking down below him, hoping some had fallen out in his sleep. There were none. Three arrows, an infected shoulder, and a body full of sore aches and pains and bruises. That was what he had left.

The first step was finding medicine and arrows. He would need to scout the land. Fenrin had taught him about taking care of wounds, he took his knife out of his belt and cut away the clothing near it, and closed his eyes, sniffing the air for water. He would need to find some to clean out the wound, and quickly. He would need something to dress the wound with, although this seemed far less likely of a find at this point. His clothing wouldn't do very well, covered in dirt and sweat, he might as well rub his shoulder into the ground.

He swallowed his nerves and got ready to move, looking out towards the closest branch he could leap to. A noise caught him before he could move an inch. He could not make out the source, for the thickness of the leaves all around him lowered his field of vision to only ten feet from the tree.

"Are you satisfied with your new position, Valkin?" A high pitched cruel voice asked. Jason did not recognize it.

"Yes sir, and I thank you for your consideration," The response came from a deep voice, the kind that comes with large muscles.

"Good. Then do not make me regret it. I want the assassin's head, whether it is on his shoulders or a platter, it does not matter, only get it done," The pitch rose to a shrill at the mention of Jason, as if there was some extra amount of hate towards him.

"We have archers posted all across the land, they are known for their sharpened eyes, if he escaped the forest, they would have seen him. He is still in here somewhere," The low voice sounded afraid.

"Then I trust you will have the task accomplished in no time at all. Good, I shall wait close by to hear of your progress," It was clear to Jason, only from the pitch of voice, that the man who spoke shrilly could not be much taller than four feet, with little to his girth, and the man with the low voice could not be much shorter than six feet, and not much smaller than a tree trunk. What could cause Valkin, the man with the low voice, to be so afraid of the small man?

The path the two took brought them briefly into Jason's view, just within his line of sight. He recognized his position. It was not the shrill man he must escape, but Valkin, for Valkin was now the lieutenant, as Jason understood from their conversation, and he would be hunting for Jason's head.

Valkin had dark skin, though he was not born with it. The tone of skin one receives from working all day in the hot sun, until your skin is burnt as red as a rose, and continuing to work outside until that red fades to the color of dirt. His shoulders were broad, with leather straps pulled over them, an axe hanging from each one. Beautifully crafted axes, with letters of some foreign language that Jason couldn't read carved into them.

Next to him was a boy, not a man. A boy that Jason knew, a boy Jason's age. _Raytiff!_ Jason's thoughts screamed through his head so loudly he feared the two might hear them through his skull. His hand clasped quickly around his own mouth, stifling any sound his breath might make.

"Are there any dead besides Crowsley?" Raytiff asked, his voice like pins sticking into Jason's ears.

"No," Jason had a hard time continuing to listen, memories of his time in the slave camps rushing back into him. Raytiff, his lost old friend. The one who had followed Mesmer. Why was he here?

"How many were wounded?" Did Raytiff know it was Jason? Did he know it was his old friend who was so close by?

"Seven, though not by the assassin, rather their own incompetence. They were shooting arrows in the dark, after all," He must know. But then why would he order Jason's death? Why was he giving orders? The unanswered questions were thumping in his mind.

"Is there a doctor in this troupe?" Jason's ears burned. His memories forgotten. His attention focused to the burning in his shoulder, his wound was hot.

"Yes, would you like to visit the wounded?" Valkin sounded surprised at the idea, though Raytiff barely seemed interested.

"Heaven's no!" His laughter was shrill and piercing, "But did you see the trail of blood? The assassin was wounded. Post extra guards at the medical tent. He might need to steal some supplies, and if he does you will have him trapped,"

Jason listened quietly, weighing his options. The two were out of view now, and he could hear their voices mingling with other soldiers as they got closer to a more populated area of the camp. Jason could see it now, clear as day. It was as he had feared, he was in the center of one camp, not away from ten.

He would have been afraid, wanted to be afraid. But this camp had medical supplies, and that held his attention more than fear. He would need those, Raytiff was right, and judging by the look of his wound, which was already spreading a redness over his shoulder, he would need to risk any number of guards they might post. His old friend was clever.

Jason had his advantage though. It was likely that Raytiff did not know he sat in the tree above. The key component in a trap is surprise, simply knowing the trap was there might be enough for Jason to work around the guards, and get his supplies. Maybe.

His first step was a plan, but to form a plan he would need information, he would need to see his surroundings, and his hearing was not so skilled that he could map the camp out by it. He needed to see it, and these trees were not giving him enough room.

He could not wait. His shoulder would not let him. He could feel the infection spreading, fast. Faster than he'd thought it could have. Fever, chills, aches and pains, his entire body would slow down if he did not move quickly. He could not wait for dark, that much was certain.

Even the slightest movement, though, could give away his position. He did not know how many soldiers there might be watching the trees. How many eyes might be searching for the slightest movement, explained or unexplained. And even dulled eyes would not miss the black form dashing through the branches.

He climbed higher, giving himself more covering, more concealment. It was possible, perhaps, that if he leapt between the trees at a great enough height that no one would notice the movement of the branches, or hear the ruffling of the leaves. Let alone the darkness of his clothing against the brightness of the sun.

He reached the top of the tree and catapulted himself across the tips of the woods. He covered the length of three trees before catching himself at the top of a fourth. He latched onto it with all his might and listened, listened for any sign of movement below, for soldiers shouting orders at one another, to launch a volley of arrows that would not miss him.

Nothing, no sound. He scrambled his way down the tree until he could see twenty feet around the base. Enough to map out, but not low enough to be easily seen. Below him was a fire pit, though unlit, with freshly chopped meat stuck on a metal turning rod. A soldier began striking flint and steel together as Jason watched, cursing while he attempted to get the fire going.

At the edge of his vision Jason could spy a tent. The medical tent? He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. He could not smell anything that would indicate it was. No alcohol, at least not the kind for cleaning wounds. No blood. None of the linen bandages, which had their own unique scent. It couldn't be.

A squirrel ran by him on his perch, running down to the ground. It landed squarely on the soldiers head, clawing into his scalp.

"Ahhh!" The man shouted, throwing the creature off him. he grabbed his bow, laying by the side of the tree, and an arrow, leaving the quiver behind. He chased after the small critter with a murderous intent.

Jason eyed the quiver with excitement. _What luck!_ He thought to himself. He tried to edge his way down, but realized he could not move quietly enough down the tree, the bark was too slippery, the branches too high and too far apart. He would make a noise hitting the ground, and he could not guarantee getting back into the tree fast enough.

Still, he refused to leave the arrows behind. He pulled out one of his last three arrows and tied a thin rope around the end of it. He aimed for the quiver. His arrow flew and sunk itself through the small opening and into the base. Jason caught the rope before it could fall and carefully, gingerly, began to pull it up.

The quiver came up slowly, tenderly, Jason's concentration pulling it up as much as his hands. It swayed slightly in the wind, and clattered against the tree, Jason cringed, but he could not hear any signs that anyone had noticed it's movement. Then it struck the tree again, this time with a little more force.

The bottom broke, freeing his arrow and spilling the quiver, and all its precious arrows onto the ground. Jason pulled the rope quickly, the sound had been too loud to go unnoticed. He tucked away the rope and his arrow and clambered up the tree. He could hear the soldier returning, cursing the squirrels for his broken quiver. Jason breathed a sigh of relief, at least the man didn't look up and see him moving up the tree and out of sight.

As he made his way to the tips of the trees again he let himself pant. Terror had coursed through him when the quiver had fallen. A simple sound, a simple mistake, could have cost him his life. He thanked The Vire it had not.

He couldn't waste any more time. He catapulted himself across a few more tree tops, scouring the land below, trying to find the medical tent. He could feel his wound now, pulsing, aggravated. He knew without looking that pus was beginning to seep out of it.

He moved faster, searching, everywhere he could. He did not get another chance to grab more arrows, though after more than half the day spent mapping out the ground around him, and nearly being seen more than a few times, he found the medical tent. Ten guards posted around it. It was not a large tent, but he could smell the faint scent of medicine, of linen and bloodied bandages. This was the place.

At the very least he would need those bandages, though he was unsure of how well he could get around the soldiers. He continued moving through the trees, in a tight circle around the tent, looking for any opportunity to strike, or get by unnoticed.

With a bit of good fortune, he saw it (though others might call it something more than fortune). He found a tree which had one long and thick branch covered almost completely by leaves which stretched out over the top of the tent. He leapt to it from above, out of sight, and climbed down the tree, slowly, steadily. There was no use trying to rush his errand, he would need to move slowly, patiently, to avoid being detected.

Ten guards, all at once, could hear him. Even one could hear him, and turn to kill him. He felt tired now, the infection spreading a fever through his arm, slowly feeling his head growing warmer. He thought it could be the covering of black over his body under the sun, or all the moving he'd done, but he knew. It was not the kind of warmth from the sun, or from work. It was a warmth that said 'Come in, sleep and rest, and let me envelop you,' and he wanted to listen. He wanted to fall over from a tree and sleep, though the feeling was only little, only beginning, he had trouble fighting it off.

He worried for when he could not fight it off. He licked his lips, forcing the thought away, and looked at the top of the tent, just a few feet below him. He could hang down, unseen, and cut a hole in the top. _What then?_ He wondered to himself. Even if he got bandages, and medicine, he would need rest. An infection does not go away just because you cover it. It needs rest, and Jason had nowhere to lay his head.

_Step one._ He had to remind himself, he chanted it through his head, his own calming mantra telling him to focus, not to worry about later, because one need was right in front of him. He pulled his knife out of his belt, lowering himself slowly, quietly, and slit a small hole in the top of the tent. He put his eye to it and peered inside.

He almost leaped back into the tree. _Raytiff!_ His old friend was sitting in the tent, waiting, watching. No, he wasn't watching. Jason peered back down and realized Raytiff was asleep. He could hear the quiet whispers of the guards as clear as day.

"I hear he likes the smell of blood,"

"I hear he just likes being around death,"

Either option was terrifying in Jason's mind. _What has Mesmer done to you?_ He thought, quietly, worried. He knew he could make it past Raytiff. He knew it well, but did he want to?

Did he want to leave his friend, again? Jason felt guilt seep through him. He knew what he would do. He cut a larger hole in the tent. The wounded soldiers were all sleeping, and no doctor was in sight. He lowered himself as far as he could on the branch, until he was hanging halfway through the hole. Then he let go.

His feet landed noiselessly, lightly, and he quickly turned his head to peer at Raytiff, making sure he'd not woken. He didn't hear any difference in movement from the guards outside, no change in breathing, no excitement at a strange noise. He'd made it in.

He looked around quickly for some bandages. The first thing he'd need to dress his wound, the most common. Climbing through the trees was not a good way to keep dirt and grime out of his pus filled cut.

A pile of neatly folded bandages lay in the corner by the door, Jason snatched up three and stuffed them under his shirt, held in place by his belt. He looked around for anything else he might need. Then he saw it. A small vial, near where Raytiff's head slowly nodded back and forth in his sleep.

He recognized the vial, it was marked with a large S. It was Sherith Root Extract, a particular potion for getting rid of anything from pain to fever to a stomach ache. Including infections, if dripped into an open wound. He could not pass it up. He moved slowly, quietly, each step feeling as if it might be his last. He reached around Raytiff, not able to get around his old friends body. Slowly his hand clutched around the vial and he pulled it close to himself, as if it were as fragile as a sleeping baby.

He did not want to risk any more time. He moved himself under the hole he had made in the tent and jumped as high as he could, through the opening, and clutched a tree. As soon as his hands touched the tree, his body still halfway in the tent he heard the door flapped open. Quickly he pulled himself up the rest of the way out of the tent, remaining unseen by whoever had walked in.

He stuck to the branch like glue, and watched as the vial of medicine began to fall. Slipping between his fingers it clattered on the branch. Jason's hand lashed out like a viper, catching the vial just before it fell through the same hole he had come through. He remained that way, frozen, the vial clutched between his fingers.

"You wanted me to wake you, sir," He heard one of the guards saying. The same one who had claimed Raytiff liked to be around death. He was not so worried about the guards. Most men who enlisted into the White Kingdom's military did so because of a general lack of intelligence or some other kind of useful skill. There were a handful of soldiers who were intelligent enough to receive promotions, and even fewer who would notice the hole in a ceiling unless someone told them to look for it.

Raytiff was a different predicament. He knew Jason too well. He was not a fool. He would notice. He heard Raytiff groan softly, he knew he had to run.

Away he went across the branch, climbing back into the tree. He heard Raytiff yelling, yelling at the soldier for not doing his job. Showing him the place where the vial had been. Showing him the stack of bandages that was now lower. Showing him the slit in the roof. He heard the soldier making his excuses. He did not wait to find out the result of their conversation.

He was out of earshot in minutes. Moving as fast as he could along the tree tops. Dancing along the roof of the forest. He could not help but hear the shouts of the soldiers as they ranked into battle formations. The shouting for positions. Cries of fury and anger, zealous anger at support of a self-righteous cause, chased after Jason, licking his heels as he fled across the trees.

His ears burned as he could not help overhearing the plans being spread into the soldiers ears. Corner him, they said. All of them in different words, but all said the same thing. Look up, corner him. They knew he was in the trees. How could they know?

There was only one way, one possible reason. Raytiff knew the identity of the assassin. He knew it was his old friend, Jason, that he was hunting. He knew and he continued, ready to kill him anyway. Head on his shoulders or on a platter, he'd said, as if it made no difference to him how he saw his old friend again. No difference at all.

Still Jason continued, hearing the pounding of boots on the ground behind him, and below him. Chasing him further and further through the trees. The forest was not small, but it was not large either. He would run out of trees before he outran the soldiers. Panic began to set in. His heart burned in his chest, his breath was ragged, his fever growing as a burden on his shoulders.

He saw in the distance the edge of the woods, the edge of his safety. He tried to listen closely, all around him, trying to find some other way to run where he would not be met with arrows. Some way to get around the soldiers without being killed.

There was none. He was being chased like a sheep amidst a pack of wolves, with nowhere else to run, and soon the wolves would be nipping at his heels. Though instead of teeth they were biting with steel.

Still he tried to turn, to the left once, to the right another time. Trying to find if there were some gap in the soldiers that he could squeeze through. Maybe, just by chance, some of the soldiers hadn't heard the shouting that the assassin was in the trees, to look for the ruffling leaves, the black shade moving across the tops.

It was a fools hope, Jason knew. All around were fresh forces of bows and arrows being strung ready to slay him down out of the tree tops. He had no choice but to keep pushing on ahead, ahead towards the edge of the forest.

Jason had history with the edges of a forest. Back in his days after escaping the slave camps with his two friends, brothers as he called them, they'd lived for three years in a forest. But the forest had died, and they'd been forced to the edge of it, to pass through that barrier, which they had been so terrified of. Here too he was terrified. Jason held a great confidence in his own skill, he knew he could slap an arrow into a target from five hundred feet, and he knew he could move faster through the trees of a forest than most men could full out sprint.

Jason knew he was low on arrows, and he was getting pretty low on forest. Soon he'd be at the edge of another forest, this one just as terrifying as the last. Except this one, he knew, wasn't just the imagined danger of what could be waiting for him when he left it. This was the very real danger of the archers that would be waiting for him after he passed over into plain view.

Jason knew he could dodge an arrow pretty well. But he also knew that it would only take one arrow, a single bit of sharpened metal and wood, to take his life. If it hit the right place it didn't matter how many he could dodge. He knew he wasn't perfect, he was running for his death.

But that forest was merciful. He turned his head just in time to see it. A single tree, a tall old oak, standing amidst the forest. It's branches formed around a large open space, just above the trunk, like a hand grasping out towards the gracious heavens, thanking them for their light and their rain.

It looked like the oak had grown up around a fairly large boulder, lifting it off of the ground as it grew into a mighty warrior among its fellow trees. This left a platform, large enough for Jason to lay flat on his back, and even turn a bit in his sleep, without being seen. Or falling off.

He made a turn, quickly, from where he was. All the energy of his terror, his pounding heart, his paled face, his queasy stomach, turned to the hope that the powerful oak represented. His feet and arms moved quick, he was moving fast as a bird soaring through the sky. He could hear the soldier's catching up, and could only pray that he made it into the tree, into safety, before they noticed where he was. Safety was worthless if it wasn't a hidden and secret safety.

He dove, his last movement, onto the platform before him, just as he heard the leaves finish ruffling behind him, and the soldier's cry out that they still couldn't see the black form of his cloak anywhere. He landed with a harsh blow in his side. Hip first onto the little bed of salvation. He didn't care if he broke his leg coming down, he would still love that tree for all his heart could hold.

He was safe. A kind of safe. Safer than he'd been a moment ago, though he supposed he still wasn't all that safe. There were still hundreds of soldiers looking for him. There were still thousands of arrows ready to bite into his arm, or his leg, or his chest, to take his life.

He turned over, looking towards the sky. He hadn't paid much attention to the position of the sun. Most of the day he'd been too frantic to notice the time. It was well into the evening now, though. His wound had gone untreated for more than eighteen hours, although he wasn't sure if there was a specific time for infections, he just knew that long was too long.

Quickly, he pulled out one of the bandages he'd stole. He uncorked the small vial of Serith Root and dripped some of it, slowly, carefully, into his wound. He dropped a few drops down his throat, that would help relieve him of some of the symptoms from the infection. It would help him sleep more soundly, relieve some pain, and even help a fever break more quickly.

He wrapped the bandage around his arm, slowly and steadily, covering the wound as best he could. In the end it looked pretty okay, although for the position of the cut the bandage looked pretty awkward, and he was no expert in wrapping. Part of it clung around his chest, the other part went into his armpit and over his bicep, just to cover the whole pus filled mess.

He felt the pangs of sleep coming over him as the medicine began to take effect. He was tired, he knew, he'd been thinking about it all day. He'd been trying to hold back the exhaustion while he ran, but now he let it ride over him like a wave, the sounds of the soldiers frustrations like music in his ears as he wrapped up his cloak to be both a makeshift blanket and pillow.

He found sleep easily, coming over him like an old friend, here to free him from all his pains and worries for a night.

# Chapter 3: Rage

It was like an alarm blaring inside his head. Jason was gone, he'd run off. Now Seridt had to follow him, had to save him.

He'd always worked best in emergencies, directing his two friends, forming a battle plan. Although he called all of his plans battle plans, whether it was actually a fight or not. Now was no different.

The battle plan: save Jason. From who?

Seridt didn't know the answer to that question. Who didn't matter. Why didn't matter. Jason was in trouble, and needed saving, that's all that mattered. His friend was in trouble.

He'd noticed Jason's absence immediately, like having a piece of him torn off. An important piece. Not just a finger, or even a hand, but like part of his brain had been pulled out of his head.

He didn't bother telling Atask. He looked up to Atask as more of the leader of their trio ever since they'd left the forest. They all knew that while they were in the forest he and Jason were the leaders. They were the ones in survival mode, they were the ones who kept the three alive, Atask was just along for the ride at that point.

Now it was different. Under Fenrin's tutelage, in Fenrin's city, there was less urgency. There was always less urgency. Seridt found it boring. Atask found himself as the leader of their group now, the focus on learning. The focus on thinking. On growing up. Atask was good at thinking. Seridt, not so much. Seridt was good at doing, and especially good at doing when things were going wrong.

He felt that familiar urgency for the first time in the two years since they'd come to the city. He couldn't resist it. He tried not to think about it but he didn't go off chasing Jason just to save Jason, he went off because he wanted that rush. It was like a blinding light, like he'd used his own power on himself, and all he could do was to stumble along the path, following it as quick as he could, blind to everything else.

He didn't know exactly where Jason had gone, he'd left in the middle of the night, and Seridt knew he wouldn't leave a physical trail. Seridt had a pretty good feeling that Jason wouldn't go east. He was a long ways from wanting to go anywhere near the Hangman, that was for sure.

Seridt wasn't sure how he knew this exactly. It was like an emotional trail that he could feel through the air. He followed it west. He remembered how Jason had always felt about cities, so he thought to avoid them at first, hoping to run into his friend somewhere in the wild, assuming Jason would head for the nearest forest, going back to their old life.

Seridt knew better than that though, he had watched Jason's feelings change. He'd learned a lot from Fenrin, how to protect others, save others. Seridt's initial feelings were wrong, he could tell that much. Jason wouldn't go towards a forest, not yet.

The new feelings Jason had would point him straight to the closest town. A place with people, children probably. Jason would look for someone to protect. Those were his feelings now, those were the things that led him. Seridt let that be his battle plan. Search the towns and cities for someone who had needed help, and had gotten it.

What kind of help?

Seridt wasn't sure, but he had a dim idea. A dim emotion.

It was a start. He headed for the closest city before dawn. Before Fenrin, or Atask, could talk sense into him.

Sense. That was the last thing he wanted. He felt like a bird flying through the sky for the first time. He felt like his wings had been clipped in the city. Although Fenrin had given him a small solace. He'd been teaching the children, the ones from the slave camps, how to fight. How to hold a sword.

At first they'd all looked at him with a blank stare, emotionless. That had gotten him riled up. He'd yelled at them for a bit, giving them their practice swords and yelled. Yelled until they yelled back, or they cried, or they took a swing at him. Yelled until they gave something. Some recognition, emotion, thinking, anything. Most of them swung. That had gotten him excited.

They'd come out of their shells pretty quickly. Most of them swung wildly when he got them upset. He tried to show them how to handle that. How to funnel all that rage into a finer form. Strength, speed, and the right amount of it. That rage could be a powerful tool, as long as they could wield it like a sword.

Fenrin had told him that's what the training had really been about. Not how to fight, but how to handle the tension. How to handle the rage. He didn't want them having an outburst and hurting themselves or others, not in the city. He didn't want them having a meltdown in the middle of battle either, it seemed to Seridt, although Fenrin hadn't said that. But Fenrin had always had some subtle deeper meaning to his words.

The training had been fun, but it hadn't been the same. While he was getting the kids to fire off there wasn't much tension for him. He wasn't firing. The kids would see red, and he'd just see kids.

He wanted to see the red. He wanted it like a bad habit. Now he had it, and it was exciting.

There wasn't much for him to go on in the first town. He'd gone through it, looking for alarms. He didn't ask anyone if they'd seen Jason, that's what Atask would have done. That wasn't Seridt's style. He'd rather listen for an alarm. Listen for the loud noises someone made as they proclaimed how much they'd been helped, or how much they'd been hurt, by some young man with a bow and arrow.

He didn't listen for the small signs either, not like Jason would have. Jason would have listened to every little thing, and every big thing, funneling it all together like a web of information and seeing if what he wanted to know was sitting at the middle of the pattern.

No, that wasn't Seridt's style. Better to wait for the bang, wait for the boom. That meant action. That meant excitement. That meant the red.

He kept moving west and south. He was sure that was where Jason was going. As sure as he lived and breathed. He knew it. He wasn't sure how he knew it. He didn't care all that much how he knew it, he just knew it. It was there, and that was all that mattered to him.

Three or four days after getting out of Ferinal, Seridt didn't have a great memory of just how long each leg of his journey really took him, he'd come across a small little farm town called Cottondale. It was your average town, with your average necessities, which included a tavern.

Seridt normally wouldn't have stopped at the place, he didn't see much need in the conspiracy rumors that the barkeeps were telling as often as they were pouring, but there was a brawl outside. That caught Seridt's attention.

He moved closer. Watching intently as two grown men beat the consciousness out of each other. A fist thrown here, blood splattered there. A cough, or a choked cry of 'Stop!' echoing out through the small crowd.

He was only a few feet away from the crowd. He wanted to pick a fight. He knew he probably shouldn't do it, but he wanted to. Wanted to more than anything else. The same way after a hard day certain men want a stiff drink to take their edge off, even if their wife is getting ready to pack up everything and leave them, they'll still go and get that drink.

In Seridt's case it wasn't a wife, but a home. Getting into a fight, no, starting a fight might get Fenrin a little upset. Might even get Fenrin in a fighting mood. It might get Seridt in lots of trouble, the kind of trouble that might make him lose his home. Seridt had no doubt that Fenrin would know. Somehow he'd know.

These possibilities were very real in his head. Still he wanted to fight. Wanted to pick a fight. It was a thirst that couldn't be quenched so easily anymore. In the forest he'd been able to take on animals. He'd been in a constant survival mode, which sated his appetite for a while.

That pulse in his neck told a different story. It said that there was something hiding in him, lurking, waiting, which he'd been stupid enough to want to hide, and smart enough to keep hidden. The Red.

In itself The Red wasn't really a bad thing. If he knew how to use it it could actually be very good. Much in the same way that the tall stiff drink can help a man think in different ways that can be helpful, so long as he uses that old liquid courage with some measure of responsibility. Then there are the men who use it to replace the rest of their life. A son? Who needs him when you're drunk? A wife? I've got a partner right here in my hand!

Eventually those ideas turn from a selfish desire to a full blown self-loathing. A son? I don't deserve a son like him anyway. A wife? She should have left me years ago, I'll just give her the excuse she's been needing.

Seridt was an addict in his own right to The Red. He hadn't been ignorant of it, not in any way. He'd known exactly what it was and exactly what it could do. The Red could drive him to 'accidently' maim his friends.

He'd known it since the second year in the forest. He'd come across a soldier from The White Kingdom and become so overcome with rage at the sight of a soldier, the same kind that had caused him so much terror as a child, that he'd avoided the use of his swords. He'd used his knuckles, and he'd liked it.

He hadn't told anyone about it. There were a few times where he suspected Fenrin must know something, must have seen some sign, but never anything to set off an alarm in his head. If the old man knew anything it must not have been enough to confront Seridt on the matter.

The Red was already taking him, as he got closer and closer to this group of men. Men who knew how to fight. Men who might actually pose a challenge. He knew he could beat them, of course, he'd always held that one solid fact in his mind.

There was a mix of arrogance and pride riding along with his confidence, some might say over confidence, but there was also more than just the hot flash of The Red telling him he could win. There was something cold. Something deep down that was pure logic. Nothing wrong with that, just like there was nothing wrong with The Red, he thought.

Seridt wasn't doing anything good with either The Red, or that cold logic that tried to keep it in bounds. Seridt used that logic to let him know if he'd wind up in a ditch from a fight or not, wind up with his own broken ribs or loss of life, and if it said he wouldn't get too hurt, he turned everything over to The Red. Every last bit would get caught up and spun away. Thoughts would cease to matter. Friend or enemy would cease to matter. All that would matter was the rush that came with The Red.

Seridt was an addict, although not yet to the point of self-loathing, he was starting to see the damaging signs of his addiction. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd left Fenrin for. He knew Atask and Jason must be missing him, maybe even Fenrin, and he felt a little guilty about leaving them.

(Jason needs my help!)

He tried to grasp the thought and couldn't. Something about help, he knew, but he couldn't exactly pin point it. The fight was starting again. Two new contestants facing off. He had no idea why this group of men was fighting, one by one, but he knew he wanted in.

"Can I go next?" He asked.

"Beat it kid," One of the larger men said.

"C'mon, guy, I just want a good fight,"

"I said get lost," The man put his hands on Seridt's shoulders, thinking to haul him away himself. Seridt had other plans.

He slapped the guys hands off him and made a fist, putting it, a little gently, between the guys ribs. Not enough to cause any broken bones, or any kind of lasting pain, but enough for the guy to feel it.

The guy wasn't too happy. He raised his hand to slap Seridt across his face, likely the same way he'd hit his wife a few too many times. Seridt recognized the feeling, but not the thought. The Red was out. There were no more thoughts. Soon there would be no more feelings either.

He blocked the guys hand, performing a side step he'd learned from one of the Vannessem who specialized in hand to hand combat back in the city. He raised his own hand and slapped the man on the nose. Again, not hard enough to cause any real lasting damage, but enough to bring tears to the big man's eyes.

Seridt was trying to get him mad. Trying to get the fight started, quick as he could. It was no use having The Red if the guy wasn't going to be using his own version of that dull throbbing clarity that can come along in a fight if you're lucky.

The guy tried to shove Seridt away this time. Seridt poked him in his eyes. The cheap shots before the fight weren't his favorite, but he did enjoy them quite a bit. This last hit got the guy going.

"If you really want a fight," The guy was going all out now, raising his fists, moving his feet to a better position. Seridt mimicked his stance, at last letting down the last walls of his self-control. He wouldn't need it any more.

The Red swirled around Seridt. It took his peripheral vision first, funneling all of his rage, all of his focus, straight ahead. The man attacked, charging at him with his fists raised. His fist took nothing but air as Seridt side stepped out of the way. Seridt hit the man in the stomach, a hard blow. The man staggered momentarily, surprised at Seridt's strength more than anything else.

He attacked again, moving faster this time. The man let his own self-control fade away. His fist hit nothing but air again.

Seridt countered with his fist to the man's jaw, then felt the familiar taste of pain against his temple as the man's other hand collided with the side of his face. He felt a smile run over his lips as The Red took the rest of his vision. Then his ears and nose. Then all feeling lapsed. Seridt drifted along a sea of rage and felt nothing of the fight. Nothing except the smile on his face. The satisfaction of that cure for his itch. The Red had taken him, and it was bliss.

When he was conscious of his own senses again he wasn't really sure what had happened, or how long it had happened. All he knew was what his body told him, and those told him he'd fought hard.

His fists hurt, his face hurt, his chest and stomach hurt, even his feet hurt. There was blood in his eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was his or someone else's. That man?

He assumed he'd won the fight, and he was right. As his eyes cleared he could see that man lying on the ground, a few yards away. Someone had dragged that guy away from him. Along with three more.

Four men held his arms, hard and tight.

"You hear me, kid?" A voice slammed his ear drum, which was also brimming with pain. He must have taken a hit to the side of his head.

"Hear what?" He spat. He felt cocky, he figured the four large men sprawled out in front of him gave him that right.

"You're done," The voice said again, "You're done fighting for tonight, and so are we. You done something bad kid," Seridt grimaced at the grip on his arm, "Any one of these fella's might be dead by the morning. Even we don't do that,"

Seridt began to grow afraid, asking silently for The Red to come back and help him, but he knew it wouldn't. His body was too tired, too exhausted by how much he'd already used. His itch was cured, for now, and it wouldn't come back for a little while. A little while might be too long.

"There are too many people looking," He heard another voice whisper, "Let him go,"

Then the last, so quiet Seridt thought it could be his own thoughts: "You won't come looking for us. I know your type. But we'll be looking for you, and you bet we'll find you, and when that happens ain't nobody gonna find you again,"

Then he was in the ground, face first. His nose felt like it was broken, blood pouring from it, dirt caught up in his eyes. He coughed and tried to sit up, but his gut wouldn't budge. He laid there on the ground while the group of men moved on, leaving their friends in the dust and dirt.

Seridt tried to sit up one more time, but his blood, what remained of it, rushed to his head as soon as he'd lifted it and pushed a blackness on him. Not The Red. Just darkness. He passed out in the street as it took him.

Dreams? Seridt didn't dream. Or at least, he rarely remembered his dreams.

Tonight was different though. Even as he was blacking out he knew it. Tonight he would dream, and he would remember them.

He could hear the snapping of bones between teeth, teeth made of steel. Sharp, hardened steel. Screams lined the halls of... wherever he was.

He couldn't see. Everything was dark. He tried to use his power to make some light, but without some source to manipulate he wasn't able.

How could it be so dark? Anywhere?

(It's only a dre-)

It didn't matter how dark it was. He needed to figure out where he was.

He could feel the hard floor under his back, where he was laying. He could feel the ceiling above him, though he couldn't see through the darkness. It felt like a weight hanging over him that could fall at any time.

He lifted himself up. Seridt was a man

( _boy_ )

of action, and not even this thick darkness would keep him down. He knew, just knew, he'd be able to find his way out of this place, just like he'd always done.

He started feeling his way around. His arms waved out in front of him in the darkness. If the lights were on he would have looked like the walking dead fumbling around for some fresh, live, meat. The lights were off, though. Or was there any such thing as lights here?

The idea made Seridt shiver, just as he ran into the wall. He felt along the wall, looking for the door, but all he could feel was the cold concrete of the wall. No door. He'd walked twenty paces along that wall. He made sure to keep it nice and slow, nice and steady. Didn't want to trip over something and hurt himself in the dark.

Of course, just as he was thinking about not tripping over something he did. It sent him sprawling right onto his hands and knees. He stifled a little scream that wanted to jump up out of him. He turned to try and look at whatever had tripped him, forgetting the darkness for a moment. Although, how anyone forgets that kind of darkness for _any_ moment is a mystery.

That darkness that swells up and punches out your eyes. That darkness that weighs on your ears, like it wasn't just a lack of light but a lack of sound too, right up until you could hear your own blood pumping through your veins. That darkness that weighs down on your shoulders till you feel like even a step will bring you to the brink of your exhaustion.

He forgot it though, and that made him lose the small bit of balance he still had on his hands and knees. He tumbled forward and threw his hands out to catch himself again. He was starting to feel the familiar tinges of The Red popping up, but this wasn't the time to lose control. He knew.

His left hand hit the floor, that wood paneled floor that was starting to feel less like wood and more like something else, something he couldn't quite name. His right hand landed on something soft and round. It was a little moist and was covered by some cloth.

He wondered what it could be, what was this room for, when it hit him. It wasn't like seeing, but it was a way of feeling that was close to seeing. He felt the image burning into his head, right into the front where all those loose memories come together to dance in front of you.

It was a body. A dead body, and his hand was on the leg, moist with blood. Not just any body, of course, he knew that body. That was his body. He was leaning on his own lifeless corpse, in this deep devouring darkness.

He wanted to scream, but once again, held it in. He did clasp his hand over his mouth to stifle it this time, jumping backwards. His knees straightened as he got to his feet and took a step back, but buckled the moment he'd stepped. He could suddenly smell it. That foul stench of a dead body. No, too strong for a dead body.

Bodies. Plural.

He fell backwards, landing on something softer than the floor. He knew, almost immediately, that it was another body, another dead one, and he was sitting in its lap. He didn't wait to sense who this one was. He stood up as quick as he could. Hoping for some light, some door, that he could use to get out of here.

He got what he wanted. A light turned on somewhere outside the room and that darkness that was so thick before was cut in half by a beam coming from the gap under what could only be a door. Seridt looked straight at it, not wanting to turn his head. Not wanting to look around. He knew what he'd see, and he knew that soon he wouldn't be able to help but look.

_No!_ His thought resounded in the room, as if he could hear a hundred voices calling back at him.

No!

He says no!

Mocking him. It made him mad. He wanted to shout back at the voices he knew weren't there. The voices that were only a fragment of his imagination, playing tricks. It was the darkness, must have been, playing the tricks. There were no bodies. He had nothing to be afraid of!

The light from the door made it worse. He knew if he looked around he'd see... what?

_What would you see?_ The voices echoed back at him. That strip of light only barely illuminated objects, just enough to let his imagination take the rest over. There weren't any bodies in here. He could just turn his head and see that it's nothing more than a hunting shack. That would explain the smell, sure. He'd just accidently stumbled over two corpses of some poor animal that had already been gutted.

_Deer don't wear pants, silly!_ The voices, mocking him again. This time he couldn't help himself. They might as well have called him stupid. He knew they were just trying to make him mad.

_If they want me mad, they'll get me mad. They just won't_ like _me mad!_

His thoughts didn't echo this time as he turned to look at the darkness. He felt stupid first. He knew it was only his imagination, telling him there were voices that weren't there, and he'd let it get him all worked up. He'd let himself get so upset that he turned to face it, as if it were some enemy to be fought.

He only felt stupid for a second though. Maybe less. The light didn't just illuminate objects enough for his imagination to play tricks. He could see them clearly, too clearly to deny what they were. He knew every face, every name, even most of their personalities.

Seventy seven bodies lined the walls of this room. Plus four more at the way back, where he'd come from. He'd been stumbling over the bodies his entire trip. The bodies of his friends, of the seventy seven orphans he'd helped save from the slave camps. At the back he could see his own corpse, cradled up with Jason and Atask, in a kind of final embrace. Fenrin stood over them, hung against the wall with large nails driven through his chest.

He could smell them now. The sharp smell diving into his nostrils. There was no denying it. Fresh blood. This was _fresh blood._

Had he done this? Was this the fault of his anger? Was this where The Red would lead him?

He screamed now, not trying to hold it back. He couldn't help it. He screamed and ran for the door, feeling The Red coming over him, ready to carry him into safety, and as much as he was afraid of it he loved it. He wanted The Red to save him as much as he knew that it had caused all those deaths behind him.

He loved The Red, even more than he loved his brother's, and Fenrin, and the seventy seven orphans he was responsible for.

He slammed against the door. It didn't budge, but a pain split through his shoulder. He could see the floor now, it wasn't wood. The horror hit him like a fist.

Bone.

The floor was bone. He could see the walls were bone too, but covered in blood instead. He didn't want to touch the floor any longer. He didn't want to feel the weight of this room. The darkness on the edges laughed at him. He could hear, just on the other side of the door, that crunching sound. Of steel teeth gnashing through muscle and bone.

He could hear weeping.

The door swung open, the light was too bright to see. He could feel heat rush in on his face.

***

Seridt's eyes flung open and he sat up in the dirt. No one had bothered to move him from the street that he'd passed out in. Although, there weren't many people around _to_ move him. The small town was barely getting up now, and he'd passed out long after the last tavern had closed down.

Seridt staggered to his feet. He felt the pounding in his head, in his gut, and in his hands. His arms felt like they were on fire from the men who had pulled him back. His legs hurt from where he'd kicked, or been kicked too many times.

All of that was second to the pain behind his eyes, though. His dream was coming to him crisp and clear. It hadn't felt like a dream. It was too clear, too clean. He even remembered forgetting he was dreaming while it happened, so...

_Was it a dream?_ He asked himself.

_Of course it was!_ His own thoughts echoed back at him in response. It was like he'd picked up a few old men who argued too much and stuffed them in his head. He could hear the thoughts jumping back and forth, this and that, that and this, debating over and over again all the possibilities.

Did those things happen because of The Red?

It was a dream! Those things didn't happen at all!

Why do I keep calling them those things? I can say it! I'm not scared to say it!

(Then say it)

...It doesn't matter if I can't say it! It doesn't mean I can't if I don't!

Was it because of The Red?

Only a dream...

Right, but in the dream, was it because of The Red?

_Those_ things _were all..._

(What were they)

I don't really see how it's relevant what they were, I was only dreaming.

After all, that would never happen. I would never lose complete control. I always make sure I keep some control when I use The Red.

(Your friends-)

It doesn't matter! It doesn't matter!

(And Fenrin!)

It was just a dream!

(You killed them!)

Just a dream!

(You killed them with The Red!)

Seridt stumbled his way into a dark alley, holding his hands to his head. The debate from his own thoughts had been annoying, the back and forth nagging. But there had been another voice. Not his. Like something else had been _thinking_ at him.

I usually keep control of The Red. I have nothing to worry about.

_I've only lost control a_ few _times. Even those weren't a big deal._

Really, it's not like I'm hurting anyone.

(What about the blood on your knuckles)

Those guys had it coming! They were already fighting each other!

(With their own rules)

Rules don't matter in a fight!

I could never do something like...

(Kill)

Like in that dream. I could never...

(Kill)

...Let anything like that happen to them.

I left Fenrin to help Jason after all.

(Liar)

Why was I there?

Why was I in the dream?

Does it matter?

Of course it matters!

(you killed them)

(all of them)

"It was just a dream," His words cutting the silence of the day held finality that his thoughts had lacked. He couldn't hear the separate voice anymore. Couldn't hear it _thinking_ at him.

His breath poured from his mouth in ragged jerks of his chest. He felt panicked. He felt afraid of whatever might be out there. Those guys had said they'd get him didn't they?

He could feel The Red creeping, and for once it wasn't comforting. It felt like it was trying to force him. It was trying to take control of his body, some separate entity without its own life trying to take his. Now The Red scared him. That only made it harder for him to resist The Red. He felt the sway of his control tilting.

(It is your choice.)

Seridt heard that same feeling as before, but the thoughts hitting his mind seemed kinder, from a different source. Helping him, instead of torturing him. He felt at ease for a moment. Then another moment. He felt his heart calm in his chest, finishing it's final drum beats against his rib cage, and settle into a steady pace.

He stepped out of the alley and onto a dirt road. He moved down it with his hands in his pockets, as if nothing had happened in the alley. Nothing at all.

Seridt moved on from that small little town, his tummy grumbled from time to time but he didn't pay any mind to it. His other thoughts had stayed calm at first. The multitude of arguments all being made in the same tone of voice he used inside his own head were keeping quiet. No need to fight. No need to question things as silly and stupid as a dream.

That didn't last much too long though. He'd walked a great many miles from that small town and the sun was halfway through its downward descent when those arguments started coming up, nice and fresh.

He tried to ignore them at first, keeping his head a little down but keeping his nose pointed out in front of him, trying to lead the rest of his body by that one tiny bit. They only got louder. Soon enough that other little voice, the first one, joined in. It sounded accusing. Telling him he'd done something bad. He was getting himself into some deep trouble.

That little voice that seemed to be thinking at him, with its quick judgments that made his heart rear up into his throat and try to burst out of his chest. He kept walking, but he was moving quicker, trying to use some of that energy in his legs rather than his heart or his head.

He realized he'd moved up to a flat out sprint by the time the sun was getting ready to come down. Twilight would hit the world pretty soon, and only a little after that the lights in the sky would go out, and new dimmer ones would pop up. He worried that the lights in his eyes would go out too and he'd be stuck back in dream land.

He didn't think it as just a dream any longer, there was no use keeping up with that idea. Those thoughts had their turn to argue, and were shut down one by one. It was more than a dream. It was like a warning.

( _The Red is bad, son.)_

There was that second voice. The thing that sounded nice, gentle. Not like it wanted to judge him, though he knew it could. It sounded just like a friendly hand being lent, stilling his heart a little bit, calming his head from shouting thoughts back and forth to a dull roar in the background, just barely audible. Seridt liked that little voice, and he believed it. The Red was bad.

Of course, just because he believed it didn't mean he would _listen_ to it. He loved The Red. It had saved his hide time and time again, and he wasn't likely to just go and stop using it. That just sounded crazy. Sure, it might be bad, but that didn't mean stop, it meant be careful. Just don't give it so much control, and keep it on a shorter leash.

He could do that. He'd have no problem with that. He smiled at the idea. All his problems might be solved by that simple idea. Just be a little more careful, and don't lose control. Use The Red as a tool, and don't let it take over, and he'd be just fine.

He looked up with a smile on his face, he could see a man coming towards him down the road. A man walking all by himself. It looked like he was coming home from a hard day's work. The man had a sword hanging from his hip and a bow and arrows around his back. Seridt had the vague thought that the man must be a soldier.

(soldiers are bad)

***

Seridt couldn't remember where he was. Or how he'd gotten off the road. The last thing he remembered was thinking that soldiers are bad. Now he was sitting on top of a large boulder, just at the edge of a little valley where the hills ended and dipped down for a bit before they turned into the rolling plains of the White Kingdom.

His hands were covered in blood. So were his clothes, and they were still damp too.

The bloody remains of the soldier lay in front of him. He stifled a scream. Seeing what he had done, what The Red had done, was horrifying. He stood up, trying to run, but stumbled quickly around the stones.

He fell down the slopes of the ravine. rolling and tumbling. The force of his body moving caused him to make periodic jumps through the air, landing with an _oof!_ further down the slope. He landed at the bottom of the slope with a pain in his back. He lay on his side and for the first time in years he began to cry.

His sobs rang out across the valley, tortured sounds of a hurt little boy echoing back at him, bringing more tears down his face. He felt his heart lurch in him. His rage was gone. He'd lost control, he couldn't deny that now.

He had killed a man in cold blood, not for anything the man had done, but because Seridt couldn't keep his self-control. He'd killed a man just because that man was a soldier. He cried out for help.

"Fenrin!" His sobs burst around him but there was no reply. He was alone. Alone. For the first time since he'd left his home he felt it. He knew he'd only used Jason as an excuse. He'd wanted to leave, wanted to lose control. Now he felt like a fool, a desperate, lonely fool.

"Help me," He cried quietly as he felt the familiar signs of sleep coming over him. He felt afraid for what he might dream. Afraid for where The Red might take him, but he didn't have the will to stay awake any longer. He didn't have the will to struggle against it.

His tears slowed, his sobs became quiet, and his breathing became a steady rhythm. For the second night in a row he began to dream dreams which he would remember for the rest of his life.

# Chapter 4: Worry

They were probably just camping out somewhere to the north of the city. They'd come back in a few days. They might even be back in a few hours. Atask was sure if he just waited for a little longer, maybe just a few minutes he would see Seridt and Jason walking through the door, laughing harder than ever.

They'd probably make fun of him for worrying so much. It was probably nothing. Maybe they were on the other side of the city. They'd be back soon.

But they had been gone for three days. Fenrin had been stuck in a council meeting, which happened every so often. Usually it didn't last this long, but he'd been in there longer than Seridt and Jason were gone.

Atask was worried about his friends. He was pretty curious what could be keeping the counsel going for so long too, but that wasn't as important.

He was probably worrying for nothing. He did get worked up often enough, playing things through his head a little too often, right up until he just assumed the worst, which got him in trouble. This was probably just that same situation, not as bad as he thought it was.

Atask was pacing in front of the council door. Trying desperately to decide what he should do. Interrupting the meeting seemed like a very bad idea. Waiting too long to tell Fenrin about Jason and Seridt's absence sounded like an equally bad idea.

Atask knew if he didn't make the decision it would be made for him. If he waited too long the meeting would end and he might receive a scolding for not acting, not thinking. Of course he might receive a scolding for interrupting too. He didn't want to get in trouble, especially when he didn't know anything for sure.

He needed a sign. Something to prove that his brothers were actually in trouble, some greater reason to interrupt such an important meeting. Although, they'd never been gone like this before. Never run off. That was reason enough wasn't it? They'd have told him if they weren't going to be gone for too long. They would have told him what was happening unless they weren't planning on coming back. That should be reason enough.

But there had never been a meeting like this, either. Never anything longer than a few hours. It had happened so abruptly too. One moment Fenrin had been sitting with Santo, like he did most days, talking about what new things they were both learning. It was always incredible to Atask how much the two could continue learning even in their old age.

Atask knew they weren't just old, either. They were ancient. Thousands of years old. If something so urgent had come up that needed the attention of these two men, and important enough to keep them for this long...

It must be more important than Jason and Seridt going off to play in the woods somewhere. They probably hadn't thought to tell Atask anything about it. That was the only real reason he could think of.

He knew he was trying to rationalize it either way. Both ways seemed like he would get in trouble, and both options were really up to interpretation. He could justify either direction, and find a scolding, or worse at the end of each path.

He'd witnessed Fenrin speaking with Samuel on numerous occasions. Fenrin had even hit him a couple times, yelling at him that he refused to learn, and Samuel was much older, and must be much wiser than Atask. Samuel was actually on the council. How much worse would Fenrin punish Atask if he made the wrong decision?

He had to decide though. He had to choose something. He felt stupid waiting for the decision to be made for him. He had to decide.

For the fifth time that day he moved towards the doors. He was going to open them. He was going to tell Fenrin he thought something was wrong. Fenrin would probably be glad!

He stopped himself, for the fifth time that day, and reconsidered. It was probably nothing.

The decision was made for him. The doors flew open while he still stood there, hands out, ready to open them himself. The dim light of the candles floated out from the interior. Atask couldn't tell who'd opened the door, one of the council members of course. It looked like a woman.

The council was made up of five women and five men, one of each of the races of wisdom. Atask heard that at one time a human man and woman had been on the council as well, but that was long ago. More than three hundred years, back when Allseers had been one nation. Now the land was broken up between seven, if you included Ferinal.

Civil war after civil war had wracked the land into pieces. First it had been a split from the whole when Pacelt, the north kingdom, had a civil war. Jericho split off from the rest, becoming known as the Black Kingdom, while Pacelt became known as the White Kingdom. The southerner's had their own civil wars, which split them up into three separate nations, rather than three major cities of one nation. Ra'Dushree, which had been in the middle of Pacelt and Jericho's constant war efforts, had been split into pieces not too long ago. The former king had a great number of children and grandchildren, and most of them fought between each other for who had the most right to rule.

It was an ugly struggle. Atask knew only a little about it.

"Why are you here?" Fenrin's voice startled him out of his memories of the brief history he had learned.

"It's probably nothing," Atask said as quick as he could, upset with himself for his lack of a decision.

"And you think it is something," Fenrin said.

"I didn't say that," Atask said.

"You would not be here otherwise," Fenrin said, "And I can read it on your face. What's troubling you?"

Atask thought about it for a moment. Only a moment. It seemed obvious now, of course it was something. Seridt might have had an issue with responsibility, and with authority, so it was possible that he would have left for a day, maybe even two, without saying anything, but not three. Jason, on the other hand, loved Fenrin. He loved his responsibility, he loved helping the seventy seven in any way that he could. It would take something extreme for Jason to leave for any period of extended time. He wouldn't just leave on a whim, and even if he did have to, which Atask could see no reason why he would, he would have said something.

Something so that the children, or Atask, or Fenrin wouldn't worry. Atask was worried. Jason must have been in trouble. If only he'd realized it sooner, he could have burst into the council meeting and told Fenrin, and Jason would probably be okay. Now he probably wouldn't be okay, and it would be Atask's fault.

"Atask," Fenrin said, "What is it?"

"Jason is gone. So is Seridt," Atask said, "I thought I should tell you, but I didn't want to interrupt your meeting, but they might be in trouble! I should have told you!"

"It's okay," Fenrin said, "It's passed now. How long have they been gone?"

"Three days," Atask said. He felt better about not having made a decision, but now felt bad for having felt bad in the first place.

"Did they leave a message?" Fenrin asked, "Did they say anything to you or anyone else about where they might be going?"

"No, I've asked around. They've both missed training with the children,"

"That's not a surprise for Seridt, but Jason wouldn't have missed. At least not without telling someone," Fenrin thought out loud, "Do you have any ideas on where they might have gone?"

Atask stared at him blankly. A minute ago he hadn't been able to act, hadn't been able to think clearly, and now he was being asked for advice. He didn't have the faintest idea where they might have gone! If he did he wouldn't have been pacing around, he would have sent out a search party!

No, he did have an idea. He knew his friends better than anyone else. He'd just been too worried to think about it. Too worried to act.

"Jason has been acting strange lately," Atask admitted, "Starting after he'd gone hunting with Seridt a few weeks ago,"

"Do you know what they talked about?" Fenrin asked.

"Probably the same thing Seridt told me," Atask said, "He's been noticing Terra, more and more,"

"Why is that important?" Fenrin led Atask to a bench nearby, sitting with him but not shifting his attention from the boy.

"Jason was pretty upset by it, he told me," Atask said as he sat down next to Fenrin, "He said he couldn't believe Seridt was giving his attention to girls, said he'd lost sight of our goals. Forgotten what The Hangman had done to us. I told him that I understood how Seridt felt, that I was hoping for something more than revenge. That maybe someday I'd like a family, I mean... I know it's a long ways off,"

"How long ago was that?"

"Weeks. I figure it must have festered in him until he couldn't stand it anymore," Atask said, "I think he ran away, to prove himself or something,"

Fenrin looked as troubled as he felt. He should have noticed it himself. He'd been busy with the council business, and now he had two problems to deal with. Of course, he knew The Vire had his ways of working things out for the better, even if it was tougher in the here and now.

"Where do you think he went?" Fenrin said, "Any idea? It is very important that we find them both,"

"I figure Jason's desperate, if he's trying to prove himself at least, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't go off and challenge The Hangman. He wouldn't even risk fighting some of the Black Soldiers. Not after what happened at the mines. I think he went the other direction, east. What we hear of the White Kingdom is almost as bad as what we hear of The Black,"

"Good. You and I will take that lead, I will send out others to search west and farther south," Fenrin stood, motioning for Atask to follow. He began to walk towards their home, keeping a quick pace.

"What about Seridt?" Atask asked, nervous. What if his guess was wrong? They could be chasing nothing, and end up finding nothing. Or worse, may end up only finding trouble.

"I believe he would have realized Jason was gone and gave chase," Fenrin said, "He's been looking for an excuse to pick a fight. I can practically smell it on him. That's why I've had him sparring with the other children. It seems that was not enough for him,"

It didn't take them long to get home. The council chambers were not far. Fenrin kept shouting down at Atask as he rummaged through Jason's room, and Seridt's. The three boys each had their own separate rooms, although they often ended up sleeping in one room together. It was what they were used to, sticking together. Sometimes Fenrin had joined them, all four of them sleeping on the floor. It was a large house, although from the outside it looked thin and barely large enough for one person, even with its three stories.

"I want to see if we can gather any clues!" Fenrin shouted down the stairs to Atask, who was busy putting together a few pots and pans, some dried food.

"Don't worry about those," Fenrin said as he moved into the kitchen, dropping some other supplies on the table, "There are plenty of towns to the east, small ones, but most have an inn. The most we'll need is some dry food to keep us going while we walk. Do you have anything you need to bring? A change of clothes, might be good. Maybe bring some clothes for the other two as well, never know what they might need, and it doesn't look like Seridt took anything with him. It's not much like him to plan for his journey anyway,"

Atask didn't move.

"It's not your fault you know," Fenrin said to him as he gathered the dry food he'd mentioned. Jerky and nuts mostly.

"It feels like it is,"

"Prove it," Fenrin said.

Atask looked at him, stunned, "What do you mean?"

"Prove to me that it's your fault and I'll blame you for it," Fenrin reiterated his response, "Otherwise don't blame yourself,"

"I should have noticed!" Atask said.

"Noticed what?"

"Some sign that they would leave!"

"Jason left, that much is clear, Seridt followed him on a whim," Fenrin retorted, "How were you supposed to know Jason was planning to leave? Can you read his mind? Really, if you can do that, that would make both of our lives much easier,"

Atask smiled, a slight smile. That was funny, but his face turned back to the rough grimace he'd been holding on to, "I can't prove it then,"

"Then quit worrying about it,"

"I should have told you sooner!"

"Why didn't you?"

"That meeting seemed important," Atask said, "I thought you might be mad if I burst in,"

"It was important, and you should have come in, and you were not aware that you should have," Fenrin said, "Tell you what, from now on I'll have a guard posted outside who will know what the meeting is about, so that you can ask. If you think one of your brothers is in trouble, or any of the seventy seven and I am needed, I want you to interrupt. Then I can decide if the council needs a recess or not, sound fair?"

"And you won't get mad?" Atask asked.

"No," Fenrin told him, "I won't get mad," He smiled at the boy. Still so much like a child, afraid of being in trouble. Of course, the other two were also still so much like children, running away from home instead of dealing with their problems. Fenrin hoped, quite desperately, that they would learn their lessons before any serious injury came to them. How he loved those boys, like his own children.

Fenrin told Atask to triple check to make sure he had everything he would need. Fenrin estimated at least a month long journey, with less than predictable results. He left the house to meet with Priscus, head of the Vannessem.

Fenrin asked him to send out a few of his finest men, and to send out a few of Fenrin's finest men. He would need them to do some searching, just to be safe. He would personally take Atask with him to search where he thought Jason might have run off to, hoping Seridt would be picked up along the way, but he did not want to risk any waste of time if he was wrong.

Priscus agreed, setting to work straight away to find which Vannessem he could spare, and which Voyant were not preoccupied. It was a busy time in the city. Plans which had been in works for decades, which could only be started with the arrival of the seventy seven orphans, were beginning to approach their full swing. Soon it would be time to act. Of course, soon is a relative term, and when it is relative to the men of wisdom, soon can be many years away.

After everything was taken care of Fenrin walked with Atask through the gates of the city. The city had five gates. Each one was colored differently, as all down the wall of the city the colors swirled to display a rainbow. Fenrin and Atask walked out of the violet gate, called The Eye, due to the great eye carved into it which appeared to look out across the land.

"You seem nervous," Fenrin said as they walked. There was not a straight path to any city of men. This was intentional, keeping the tower a little safer because there was no map in any city built by man which actually showed the northern peninsula on which the tower stood. It would be a guessing game to find the city, and a war effort to pass it and enter the tower.

"I'm fine!" Atask said, trying to sound convincing.

"You know, Jason is a very talented liar. Seridt is fairly talented at deflecting, I've found it difficult to get a straight answer out of him sometimes, but you, Atask, speak the truth with all of your being," Fenrin looked at the boy. He did not have to look down, Atask was tall. He stood the same height as Fenrin, and someday soon Fenrin might find himself having to look up to see Atask's bright green eyes gazing back at him, "Even if your words attempt to lie,"

"I'm sorry," Atask said. He ran his hand through his short dark golden hair, "I keep thinking that I should have kept track of them. I should have noticed,"

"Should you have?" Fenrin said, "You didn't, and it is not your responsibility. There is no need to fret over it, it is done," Fenrin did not sound stern, he was not scolding, only stating facts.

They began their journey by walking southeast. The nearest town from Fenrin was farther east than south, and they did not think they would be venturing that far. Fenrin had an idea. If Jason was in the White Kingdom it was likely his first stop would be near a forest. Jason loved the forest, swinging through the trees, hunting the wild animals there, although Fenrin had the idea that Jason wouldn't be the one hunting.

Atask kept asking Fenrin questions through their journey. Mostly for the purpose of learning. He wanted to know mathematics, so that he could better understand the world around him. He wanted to know science, so that he could better use the world around him. He wanted to learn different languages and ways of speaking, so that he could better communicate with the world around him.

The theme had been rather regular throughout Atask's stay with Fenrin. While Jason always asked and learned in order to help the children, in order to help the children survive, Atask would ask questions that would help him to help the world. Atask wanted to help more than just the seventy seven. He had never been too interested in revenge against The Hangman. He thought revenge was a useless concept.

Of course, his friends held revenge at the height of their moral code, as if all their rage and anger were their child, and needed their constant attention and nourishment. Their every waking hour was dedicated to taking another step towards that revenge. Even Jason's helping the children was so that one day they would be strong enough to resist The Hangman.

Jason, of course, did not see the children as his own personal army that he would use someday. Neither did Seridt. Although both saw The Hangman as the greatest resistance in their life, and one day they would need to be strong enough to bring him to ruin, or The Hangman would bring everyone else to ruin.

They saw life as a puzzle, and The Hangman represented all of the missing pieces. They would have to work as hard as they could to defeat him, getting those pieces back so that life could make sense once more.

Atask didn't need The Hangman gone for the world to make sense. The Hangman was only one part of a greater equation. Atask did not think of revenge, he did not waste any amount of time pondering how it might be a good thing. He knew that kind of obsession had harmed both of his friends, and would not let the same happen to him.

Instead he saw justice. The Hangman had upset justice, but that did not end the world. It only unbalanced an equation, and Atask hoped to balance it once more. He knew it wasn't The Hangman that needed to be fought. The Hangman would be taken care of eventually, either way. Justice was the equation of life, and it would always become balanced again somehow, no matter how much time it took, it would be balanced.

Atask knew who the true enemy was. It was not the one who unbalanced the equation. It was not a _person_ who was the enemy, but something deep inside every single person. Atask knew everyone was capable of the same horrifying actions which The Hangman had done. He knew it because he had done wrong himself. Atask knew it was not the man who was evil, but his actions.

Atask knew that revenge was not right, only he did not know why. He did not understand the concept well enough to convince his friends to drop their desires and pick up a new moral to use as the height of their existence.

Because of what he knew, because of what he understood, Atask had no desire to raise up the seventy seven children to be strong warriors who could defeat The Hangman. Raising up strong soldiers to defend everything that is right was a stupid idea. Right needs no defending, it can handle itself, and any soldier is still just a soldier.

There would come a day, if those seventy seven were raised as soldiers, when they would do something wrong, perhaps even nearing the dread of what The Hangman had done, and a new army would have to be raised to stop them. Atask knew it because he spent every night thinking about it. He fell into sleep an hour after his head hit his pillow, like clockwork, and he spent the entirety of that hour pondering what different possibilities there could be.

He was a long way from all of the answers, not even close to most of them, but he knew one thing for sure. Those seventy seven, just like everyone else, needed to be raised to be good men and women. If they did that, everything else would come. If the time came when The Hangman would need to be fought The Vire would see to it. He would not be looking for soldiers then, he would be looking for good men and women.

Atask knew this as well as he knew how to breath. He had this understanding with such a stunning confidence that at times, when Atask spoke of it, Fenrin felt as if he might need to shield his eyes. There was no problem in his intelligence. There was no problem in his understanding. There was a problem in his decisions.

The problem was that he could not make them. Atask could decipher the meaning to any complex problem, given enough time, but there were certain decisions where he could not clearly see any right answer. He saw down every path it could end with trouble, and he would choose no path. It was for this reason that he needed his friends.

Jason would listen to Atask's long explanations and always find a way to help him simplify them. Jason would act. He would do. If a punishment came later, he made sure to know that he would not choose that path again. Jason helped Atask to move when Atask had turned to stone.

Seridt helped both of them when the crisis really came. He knew there were times when Atask was right, when Jason had chosen the right path, and a punishment still came. Seridt would argue against that punishment. He would prove it wrong, considering the punishment to be the highest atrocity against his friends and himself. Each of them had their own issues, and together they resolved them. Including Jason and Seridt's unquenchable desire for revenge.

When they were apart those issues plagued them. Jason would likely get into trouble and blame himself for it. Seridt would get into trouble and blame everyone else. Atask would not act.

Fenrin was glad that he was here with Atask. He knew Jason and Seridt would be capable of defending themselves on their own, regardless of how much trouble they got into it was possible to repair it. Atask needed Fenrin more, and Fenrin was glad to be there. Fenrin would bring a focus to Atask's thoughts. Turning them from their slow pace to cornering the source of any problem, allowing him to resolve it.

Now was no different. They reasoned together, Fenrin only helping Atask to think, knowing the answer would come. It was likely they could find Seridt if they found Jason first. It was likely that Jason would have taken the path that would have led him to a forest. The nearest forest, besides a few tiny patches which couldn't sustain much of any life yet, was nearly a hundred miles south east. They would travel there as directly as they could.

"Fenrin?" Atask asked over the fire, catching the old man's attention. They had stopped for the night long after the sky had gone dark.

"Hmm?" Fenrin looked at him. His violet eyes catching the glow of the fire giving the illusion of a fire of his own held deep within his mind that was only flickering out of his face in radiant beams.

"Why couldn't I act?" The question had plagued him for their journey so far. He knew what was right. He knew it! Why couldn't he make the choice then?

"You worry too much," Fenrin responded. The fire seemed to leap from his eyes to his words. He said them with the casual elegance that he was prone to, but they struck out across the fire and whipped Atask.

The pain was as harsh as if Fenrin actually held a whip.

"You spend so much time thinking, and that is good," Fenrin continued, those words like ice water poured over his wound, "If I were defending you that is the first, and most powerful defense which I would give. But if I were accusing you I would choose a much different route,"

"What route is that?" Atask asked, trying hard to keep his voice steady. He was asking for another lash of the whip.

"You are very consistent in your choice to avoid making your own choice. You are content to make an argument to your friends and giving them the freedom to act, but you do not choose for yourself. You absolve yourself of blame if something were to go wrong by avoiding the choice, and I have only one question for you. It will show you if avoiding the choice has been good thus far, if it is helping as much as it can,"

"What is your question?" Atask felt tense. Like a string was tied around his heart and pulled, plunging it into pain.

"Is it good that Jason and Seridt have left?"

Atask slumped on the ground where he sat. His body became lax as if Fenrin had pulled the string so tightly that it had snapped.

"No,"

"Do you see?"

"See what?"

"You don't see."

Fenrin did not continue his questions. He remained silent, and Atask did not ask him to explain anything else.

Atask dreamed that night, the second night of their journey. He dreamed of Jason firing his arrow into a man's back. A man he did not know, but a man that he feared. He dreamed of Jason running through the town, running through the fields outside the town, running from soldiers. Then running into a forest.

He dreamed of Seridt, wandering aimlessly, a stunned look on his face, blood dried on his shirt. Wandering south and west, towards the forest where Jason ran in fear. He saw the rage within Seridt, even as Seridt tried to hold it down, deep within him. Atask mourned for his friends in his dreams, and when he awoke he felt no rest.

He told the dreams to Fenrin. Fenrin only asked if he could see again. Atask didn't understand the question. Fenrin told him he did not see.

The two continued on their path, which they took by the mountain side which traveled south from Fenrin's city. For a moment he thought he understood what Fenrin was saying as he walked next to the mountain, his eyes climbing upwards to the sky. He thought of his friends. He felt guilt, though he didn't think he should blame himself. Something deeper in him told him he was wrong.

A screech brought them to a halt. A hawk was descending from the sky towards them with a blue glow surrounding it. Atask knew what it was. It perched itself on Fenrin's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. The blue glow steadily receded from the bird and ran through the air into Fenrin's ear.

A messenger bird sent from one of the Vannessem had brought news. Fenrin looked shocked as he shooed the bird away.

"There is an army marching from the White Kingdom's northern post. They've been called to the war with Ra'Dushree,"

"Where?" Atask asked.

Fenrin's look told him he should be worried before his words, but it was not fear in the old man's face. No, only a rough determination that said they must continue onwards.

"They are headed to battle across the forest we are headed towards," Fenrin said, his voice tight and grim.

"It's possible Jason isn't there! Maybe he'll still be safe!" Atask said, his words begging for his friends safety, he didn't know who he was begging to.

"Your dream says otherwise," Fenrin said, "We must hurry,"

"I've never had dreams like that before! How do you know?" Atask asked, still begging. He hoped that his dream was wrong, and he knew it wasn't, "How do you know?"

Fenrin looked into his eyes, a glint of comfort in them, though Atask could see the torture set deep in his face, "I had the same dream," He said.

# Interlude: Of Hope

"I don't understand. Why must they be tested so?"

"Fenrin, make no mistake that you have done well with the boys. You have been as good a father to them as I could ever have hoped, and you have exceeded even my highest expectations. But remember the saying so common among men. You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot force it to drink. You have led these boys to water, but they will each learn to drink of it in their own way. Your love for them shall be tested. Do you know this?"

"I know it,"

"Their way will put you into danger, and bring you within an inch of your life, perhaps even bring you to death. That much is yet to be laid in stone. Will you still love them? Will you still be the father that they need? Even if it means the end of your life?"

"I would give my life in an instant, and endure any pain required, that they may live on,"

"Why? For the prophecies? Would you do it because you believe they will save the world?"

"Yes, and more. I have grown to love them. I thought you were giving me to them when you first assigned me to be their father, but I see now that I was mistaken. You gave them to me, so that they could be my sons, and teach me of this love that I have long understood, but never felt. Tell me, Oh Vire, is this how you see me?"

"This is how I see you and every man upon the earth,"

"Even Seridt, when he comes to his fits,"

"Yes, I know that feeling well,"

"Is there anything I can do? Any way I can spare them of this?"

"You cannot force a horse to drink, and you cannot force a boy to become a man. It is because they are boys that they will bring themselves into their trials, and they may make the choice to be men, or to die. I will be with them, though. In all that they do, I will not abandon them, just as I will not abandon you. Only remember the oaths of the Men of Wisdom,"

"To us is given the power held within the world, channeled by the four towers. To us is given wisdom and joy, understanding and strength, not to shape the world, but to shape men, who are the shapers of the world. I know, Lord, it is not given to me to bring war to mankind, nor is it within me to save a kingdom. It is given to men to war, and given to men to ask aid of the Men of Wisdom, though I fear that there are only the three within our walls,"

"Do you forget the orphans that they brought with them?"

"Those children are nowhere near ready to shape the world. They were not as strong as the boys. The slave camps broke them, not beyond repair, but it will take years before they are ready to effect anyone or anything,"

"But they will be ready someday,"

"I fear by then it will be too late. I would not desire my sons to start a war,"

"What if they did not start a war, but a rebellion?"

Fenrin did not answer.

"What if they only aided a righteous king in the defense of his people?"

"The only righteous king I know of sits with you, oh Lord, until the Sentinels have prepared his place,"

"There is another, though he is only an heir,"

"Who?"

"Jacob Valash'nim,"

"An heir of Ra'Dushree? But that is a scattered people! Broken by the claim of twelve heirs! Their kingdom will be dashed to ruins before a decade has run its course," a spark broke in Fenrin's mind, "But wait, none of the twelve bear that name, Jacob is a name given to the sons of Anondoll,"

"He exists, Fenrin, and he will reign in Ra'Dushree until the hairs of his beard are grey,"

# Chapter 5: Of Doors

"Watch your step," The voice whispered in Jason's ear. It was a still small voice. Coming from all around him with its soft and gentle tone.

"Where is this place?" Jason asked out loud, although he didn't think the voice was quite real enough to respond to him. He stood in the middle of a long hallway, stretching farther than he could see in both directions.

Beneath his feet were thick carpets of an elegant design, which made dazzling works of art as he looked down the hall; the scenes and sights woven into the rug changing as he moved. It was like a strange picture show playing out before him. He thought the pictures looked familiar, though he couldn't think of where he'd seen them before. One portion of the carpet was completely unfamiliar, without the faintest glimmer of recognition. Along the border, where the carpet met the wall were seven symbols, repeated over and over on each side.

The first symbol was a sword delicately designed into the carpet to show the intricate detail of scales covering the blade. The second symbol was a flame sharp with detail. Jason could see the blue in the base of the flame all the way to the yellow tips. He could almost feel the heat pouring off of it. The third symbol was a bushel of wheat laid over the top of a sickle. The fourth symbol was a white feather which looked as though it hung atop a breeze. The fifth symbol was a blade wrapped in crimson silk. The sixth symbol was the head of a wolf howling upwards towards the seventh symbol. The seventh, and final symbol, Jason did not understand. It had the look of a crossbow, though it was clearly made of metal, used without arrows. It had a handle at the base made of wood; it had a space for the forefinger to sit on a trigger, much like a crossbow. After the handle it stretched out in a thin cylinder of metal. Jason thought it must be a weapon, shooting some kind of projectile, though if it was anything like the crossbows Jason had tried it would be useless. A bow was quicker to load and more accurate, from his experience.

Each symbol had a small inscription underneath it. Though the letters were ancient, of a strange language Jason had never seen before, he could read them with ease. The first, eye, the second, ear, the third, heart, the fourth, hand, the fifth, foot, the sixth, lung, the seventh, breath. This he did not understand, though the seven symbols being played out again and again across the floor made them seem very important.

"This is the place between all things," The voice said, answering his question. It startled Jason from his observations. He looked around quickly, trying to see if he could spot some source for the voice. His fear fell away, leaving a calm in its wake.

"What does that mean?" Jason asked, confused. He felt an unseen hand grasp his chin, gently of course, and twist his head down the wall, which he'd failed to notice due to the magnificence of the carpeting on the floor. The wall was lined all the way down as far as he could see with doors.

It wasn't like any hallway Jason had ever seen. Now that he was really looking down it, not focusing on the carpet but the hallway itself, he realized just how extensive the idea he'd thought before was. Stretching farther than he could see...

For Jason, that was a very long ways. More than a mile at the very least. His wonder caught his throat in a choke hold, his breath catching behind it and a tear of surprise fell down his cheek. He wanted to scream, gasp, laugh, cry, and vomit all at the same time. He found some odd mix of those feelings in his eyes wavering over first one wall, following it down the hall as far as it could, and following the other wall as it reached back to him.

He felt the hand on his chin turn him again, gently; there was an odd sort of comfort; he didn't need to worry about what he was supposed to be looking at. The hand would help him. Jason realized that the doors were not all the same. The hallway itself was identical all the way down, except for the way the carpet seemed to shift its story depending on the way you looked at it.

The hand lifted on his chin this time, making him look up. His eyes had produced a tunnel vision which he was fond of connecting to his focus when hunting. After the prey and that was it. Although now it wasn't because of his focus, but of his surprise. He couldn't take it all in at once, and that was a good thing, he would remember the voice telling him, Although he couldn't exactly name when the voice had told him. Time seemed like a funny thing here, and he wondered if parts of what he remembered being told hadn't just been downloaded directly into his head.

One of those things, the reason it was good that the tunnel vision took over, was the name of this place. The Door to Insanity it was called. It wasn't named that by The Vire, the one who created it, or Nathan, the one who kept it. It was given that name by men who had visited it. Over the years there had been a great number of visitors to this nearly endless hall, more than half of them went insane because they couldn't slow down. Because they couldn't focus.

Jason understood that. The idea of just how long this hallways could be was magnificent, the sheer number of doors and rooms could drive a man wild with fear. He might feel that he could never escape, start to panic, and let his emotions take him before the presence that held strong in this place could calm him down. He'd go crazy quick, with the voice trying to help him stay sane the whole while.

The pushing on his chin caught Jason's view gazing upwards, towards the ceiling. The ceiling? There was no ceiling. There was the carpet for the floor, the walls and doors to each side stretching for what now seemed like infinity, and above him was open space. It looked for a moment as if he were simply looking towards the night sky, not such a big deal, but it began to change, quickly at first.

The sky, or whatever it was, shifted above him into a cascade of brilliant blues and reds, yellows and greens and oranges all dancing around each other for his entertainment. He stared up at it, gawking, for a few minutes, it felt like a sin not to take time to marvel at these colors that danced like people.

The colors transfixed his eyes. Holding his gaze harder than the hand he felt on his chin. As they danced to and fro, gracefully waltzing across the stars they began to meld and to merge. Blues and reds became purples. Yellows and greens mixed into browns and golds and took the shape of leaves. The purples formed themselves into a figure, a figure he knew well.

The colors formed a scene, shifting across his gaze. The scene of Fenrin trouncing through the leaves of the forest, sniffing the ground, peering up at the treetops. Before Fenrin ran two other figures. One of a brilliant white light, the other of a deep gray, the color of stones standing through the years against a cliff beside the sea.

Then all at once the form of Fenrin gazed at Jason, and smiled. Then the scene broke. The colors splashed together, breaking the scene and sending a rain of sparkling lights dancing across his face. He felt his heart well up in his chest, and a movement tried to race through his feet, meaning for him to run.

"Come now, there is need for you to see many things yet before your fever breaks," The voice called to Jason, sounding as if it came from his right. Leading him along.

Fever? What fever? He felt fine. Jason glanced down at his body, wondering what the voice could possibly mean. For the first time he noticed he stood naked in the hall. All the scars he'd collected through his years were gone. His body was smooth and strong, with no blemish or scrape left on his skin.

He felt that disembodied hand, that formless thing, grab at his wrist to lead him along. He let it. It pulled him three doors to his left and placed his hand on a door. He looked up at the door. 1327B.

"These are what could be," The voice said softly, "Less you depart from the path you walk, less you part from the purpose you've held in your heart," The door clicked, and swung open. The force of a gale storm met Jason's face from the other side. He felt wind slapping at his face, with harsher tones than the colors of the ceiling.

A swirl of gray and black spun out before him, his eyes tunneled through the doorway. He barely felt the carpet beneath his feet any longer. He peered into that gray abyss and tried to make out what the voice might be trying to show him.

Then that storm split. The scene came apart as the opening of an eye. He saw an army, dressed all in black, marching across a desert. He watched as the army came upon a city in the middle of a dust storm, the soldiers splashing against the walls of the city like a corrupted water, turned black with death.

The waves increased and broke down the walls. The army flooding through the streets and turning the inside of the cities walls to red. He watched as men and women and children ran before the black flood, but were cut down against the doors to their homes. Jason watched, horrified, as the flood of black destroyed every life within the city. He saw two kings, perched high above the destruction, both crying, both mourning the loss of the people.

The black flood pressed against the walls of the city. Jason watched as the walls creaked and cracked, then split and shuddered with a cry that shook the land. Then they fell, and turned to dust as they landed against the ground. The black wave swallowed up the buildings around it. Destroying everything until only the single tower remained, with the two kings weeping atop it.

Then, to Jason's horror, The Hangman appeared out of the sea of black which had swallowed the city. He climbed the tower, looking more spider than man, and leapt upon the kings. He slew them with his sword and ate their crowns. He stood out before the black sea and Jason felt, but did not see, his sickening smile.

Jason shut his eyes, unable to watch any longer. When he opened them again The Hangman continued across the desert, the black sea of soldiers breaking out before him. A lone man, covered in a black cloak, hood falling over his face, crept along behind The Hangman.

The man strung an arrow and aimed towards The Hangman. It flew fast, but The Hangman turned, and with his eyes wide with rage, caught the arrow out of the air. He snapped it over his knee and reached out towards the man in black. The metal fingers of his gauntlet twisting and turning, as if he were a puppet master playing with strings.

The man in black fell to the ground, his arms and legs twisted behind him. There was no sound, but Jason felt his scream for mercy. He watched intently as the hood fell back, revealing the would be assassin's face. Jason found himself staring into his own eyes, eyes filled with pain and with suffering, with deep scars running across it.

Jason tried to step back from the door, but he could not. The scene held him in place as he watched his own face distorted by the Hangman's torture. He watched, silently, his breath caught, as the form of his older self was turned this way and that, his bones snapping like twigs. Jason thought, surely, he must die soon. The Hangman would kill him.

But the fate was worse than he'd imagined. He saw the Hangman's chin move beneath his forged helm, though he could not hear the words, he knew what was said. _Join me or die._

_No,_ Jason thought, _I would never! I couldn't! I couldn't betray Fenrin! Or Atask, or Seridt! Never!_

But to his horror the man in black, the figure who was Jason, only older by more than ten years, nodded his agreement. Join, and not die.

Jason watched, stricken with horror, as the image of his older self fought alongside The Hangman. Devouring next the White Kingdom, which was not so much white as it was gray. Then south to devour the southern majesty of Carthik, Ashtam, and Anondoll. Then, at last, north. The black wave tangled around the walls of Ferinal. The great city-gate stood valiantly against the assault, but was consumed nonetheless.

The Hangman laughed over the wreckage of the city, crushing it under his feet as he made his way to the Tower of Allseers. Jason watched as his elder form murdered his two friends. Then at last, he could stand it no longer. As the arrows of his older self drove home into both Seridt and Atask he clamped his eyes shut.

When he opened them the door was shut once more.

"Is this the future?" He said.

"Perhaps," The voice responded. It was quiet, smaller than before, "Perhaps not,"

He felt the hand leading him again, "No more!" He cried, he was afraid of what it would show him next.

"Once more," The voice replied. It had its way, Jason following the tugging on his arm, wiping tears away from his eyes.

It led him before another door, this one seemed taller than the others, "This is yet more likely," The voice said, "Look in and see, it is but choice which separates,"

The door opened slow and gentle. Jason was not met with a whirlwind as before, but with a gentle air which came out with the faint scent of lavender, with a touch of rose. He watched, his tears already gone.

He saw that same desert city as before, built taller and stronger. He watched as the same black flood smashed against it, and broke. The water subsided into the desert, ebbing away before the golden gates of the desert city. He saw The Hangman hung by a noose in the Black Kingdom, a city desolate and broken. No life left in it.

But wait! There was life! Springing forth before the tender hands of a young man. A man who walked with a shepherd's staff, he saw by the crook of it. The city came to life. He watched as men and women grew and laughed. They played together and loved together, all under the tender workings of this shepherd.

He watched as a bridge of light stretched from the Black City to the White City, stopping at the golden city in the desert. The three bridged together and a single figure stood out among the rest. A tall man with dark hair and green eyes. A man with a great crown sitting upon his head. He thought he could see the clouds part before him. A voice echoing out of the heaven's, though he could not hear it.

The bridge of light broadened, encompassing all three cities, the shepherd came together with this man, and they built a bridge of light to the north. To Ferinal. The Kingdoms formed an interlacing web of Joy. Then the tall man sat down, ripe with old age, and a young man stood up from his lap and pointed south. Another bridge of light, a new piece in the web.

Seven kingdoms came together as one. He saw his old friends, Atask and Seridt, standing before him as if posing for a painting. A wife stood next to each, children springing up from the ground around them, then growing tall as his friends grew old, each one taking his own wife, or her own husband, and springing forth more children.

But his friends did not smile then. Tears fell down their faces, their lips twisted in a sour sorrow.

"Why are they crying?" Jason asked. Then he saw that they were not standing, posed, for a painting, but for a funeral. It was only those two, the children gone. Jason saw the casket lowered into the ground. Saw the grave stone.

Jason Niles

He didn't care. He didn't mind. He saw his friends happiness played out before him. He watched, for what seemed to be years, as they grew old together. Teaching their children. They met often with the shepherd and the tall man.

Then he bridges strengthened once more, he watched, and stretched over to the west and the east. Over the mountains and the great crevice. Off to other lands, lands Jason did not know existed. Lands outside of Allseers.

The door closed. Quiet, gentle. Just as it had opened.

"Do you understand?" The voice asked.

"I do," Jason said.

"Do you know what it is that you yet lack?"

"No,"

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes," Jason cried out.

"Mercy," Jason shuddered at the weight of the voice. It was not small. Like a mountain had dropped on top of him. He felt the weight against his chest like a punch, "Out of the slave camps you came, and in the forest you found salvation. Yet you were forced to leave, or you would have died, and who was it who met you?"

"Fenrin,"

"And did you greet him with a friendly hello?"

"I tried to kill him,"

"Did he give cause for you to kill him?"

"No,"

"Did he retaliate?"

"No,"

"Could he have killed you?"

"Yes,"

"You were shown mercy. The mercy of Fenrin brought you to good. It brought you to a new home, where you were free from worry, free from hatred and strife. Why did you leave?"

"I was scared,"

"Of what, my boy?"

"I saw my friends changing. I saw them wanting other things. Things we hadn't promised. We'd always said we would survive, and someday we would get revenge. We would destroy the Hangman,"

"And?"

"And they grew out of it,"

"Did that scare you?"

"A little, but that wasn't it. I saw how easily they changed. How easily their focus turned. I was afraid I would change too. I had to leave Ferinal! I had to! It was that place! The peace, the stillness! It calmed them too much! I wouldn't let it happen to me!"

"Be still, Jason," The voice echoed through the hall now, more quiet than before.

Jason had a hard time being still. He fidgeted back and forth, looking down the hall. To the left and to the right there were countless other doors. What would those show him? What kind of horrors, or happy endings, might peek through while he wasn't looking?

He had to get out, he had to...

"All you need to do is be still, you'll be out of here in no time, my boy," The voice said. This time it sounded like it was booming down at him from the vast expanse of colors that played out above his head.

It was like the voice had been forced to move away from him. At first Jason thought this might be an advantage. He could beat the voice by getting upset, by moving, by not being still. Maybe if he got that voice to go away he would be safe.

Safe from what?

He knew he wouldn't be stuck in this hallway. He knew in the back of his head that he wasn't really here at all. He was back on top of that tree, sleeping and sweating through his fever. He didn't really think this voice wanted to hurt him, not even scare him, but it did want to help him.

To Jason, at this point, that was scary. He knew he'd done something wrong. He'd done a bad thing by killing Crowsley, by running away from Ferinal. He knew it. Getting help would mean facing that, and he was afraid to face it.

Monsters and soldiers are often preferable than facing our own wrongs. A well-known, though rarely discussed, truth, and Jason knew that. He knew it too well. He knew he'd only feel worse trying to avoid the voice's help. He'd only work himself deeper into a hole.

"Okay," He said, trying his best to calm down. He was still, his eyes had stopped their frantic dance along the hall. His heart had quit it's incessant pounding in his chest, "I'm still,"

"Good," The voice was back around him, he could feel it like a parent's embrace, "There is a matter that needs a bit of discussing,"

"What matter?" Jason knew the answer.

"Crowsley," The voice answered him. Knowing the answer didn't stop him from shuddering when he heard it.

"I know," He said. He didn't try to justify it. It was there. It was wrong. Who was he to deny that?

"Do you know what you should have done?"

"I assume I should have shown mercy, but I don't really understand it," Jason admitted.

"You should have given him a chance," The voice echoed, "A chance to repent. A chance to repair the damages he's caused. You've got the opportunity now to repent yourself. Do you know that?"

"What do you mean?" Jason asked. That part didn't make so much sense to him.

"There are seven kingdoms in Allseers, did you know that?"

"I'd only known of three," Jason said.

"Three of the seven you know. The Black Kingdom, where The Hangman rules. He takes the people of his kingdom and takes their will. By the force of his power he takes their mind. But The Hangman cannot be defeated yet, there is too much that is lacking. He keeps himself under constant guard. His eyes and ears through his soldiers are everywhere in his kingdom. You would be caught and killed before you were within a hundred miles of his castle,"

"Then how can we beat him?" Jason asked.

"That is a few steps down the line. Step one, Jason. Just one at a time,"

Jason sighed. Imagining The Hangman's death being anything farther than step one felt slow. Felt useless.

"The Vail of The White Kingdom have no power to control the people, not like The Hangman. They must seek the same means as men use to keep their power and authority. The people are lied to, deceived. The people of The White Kingdom know better than the soldiers of the Black, they know their own suffering, they know the corruption, but they think they are alone in what that suffering. They think they are alone in the deception they see. But if they begin to speak of what they see to their fellows, showing them that they are not alone, they are put to silence by other means. They need to see the truth, and to see that there is someone strong enough to stand up against evil. Until then they need mercy,"

"Is that the first step?" Jason asked, hopeful.

"No," The voice answered, "The first step is you getting out of the forest. You must find refuge,"

Jason felt his cheeks flush. His anger welled up. That voice, that bodiless voice, did as good as tell him he was just a child who'd run away from home. Just a little boy who couldn't do any good on his own. Just a little boy who needed his daddy, or someone else to save him, to help him.

As if he were just some stupid child.

His anger faded quickly. That's exactly what he was. Just that stupid little boy who'd run from home. He'd run to prove a point. That he didn't need Fenrin, that he didn't need a safe place. As if he could topple the White Kingdom and The Black Kingdom all on his own. As if wanting safety, and love, were a weakness.

He knew he needed help.

"How do I get out then?" Jason asked, "How do I get back to Ferinal without being killed?"

"Do not worry about Ferinal, you are not returning there yet. Only worry of getting out of the forest," The voice said, "But there is one last door I'd like to show you before you go, if you'd be willing,"

Jason thought for a moment, "Is it another scary one?" He felt childish asking the question, but he really didn't want to see The Hangman again. He didn't want to see himself again, not killing his friends, and not under a grave.

"No," The voice said, "It is a very happy one, I think. You may find it to be very encouraging,"

"Then... yes... I think..." Jason tried to smile, thinly.

The voice pulled him by his hand this time. He felt the comforting pressure envelop over his palm and pull him gently. He walked, letting the hand cover his own. It brought him a great length down the hall. He tried counting his steps at first, but lost count somewhere around five hundred. He was beginning to wonder just how much farther the hall could stretch when they stopped.

The door before him _seemed_ taller than the others. The wood looked like a darker, more royal complexion. The knob looked as if it were made of diamond. The entire existence of this door seemed as if it were more important than any other.

He watched the knob turn in front of him, though he felt both hands of that bodiless voice on his shoulders. The invisible pressure felt reassuring. A light thought passed through his head: _Who's opening that door?_

A bright flash of light splashed against his face. It did not hurt his eyes and left a shimmering warmth to dance across his face. That light danced across Jason's entire body, the way those colors had danced through the expanse above his head.

Next came a hand. Then an arm. Then the body and the face. Before Jason really had a chance to look at him the man had stepped out of the door and into the hall. His hands both clasped on Jason's shoulders, right where the voice held him tight and steady.

"It's good to meet you," Something in the way the man said 'good' made Jason think the man knew more than Jason could understand. Though later, as he'd tell this story and it'd be retold, he did. It made more sense that the man said 'Good to meet you' then 'Nice to meet you'.

"Who are you?" Jason's words barely breathed from his lips, he wasn't even sure if he'd said them audibly, but the man answered all the same.

"My name is Heiro Nair," He said. The voice broke in.

"This is the rightful heir of Pacelt. Before it was split into the White and the Black kingdoms. He waits with The Vire, blessed is he, touched of the eldest. He will reign over Allseers, and his line will live on even after the great tower has collapsed,"

Hiero Nair looked relieved. He was glad the voice had made his introduction for him, as if he'd have preferred not to name himself a prince, or a king. Jason thought that maybe he wouldn't have named himself, even if the voice hadn't named it for him.

"What..." Jason started, he had a hard time speaking in front of this man, "What are you here for?"

"You," Hiero said, "I wanted to show you me, and The Vire allowed it,"

"Why?" Jason asked.

"You need to see that there's another kingdom coming. You need to understand that there's something more, or you'll never be able to show those men mercy the right way. How can you convince them to leave their kingdom, to leave their home, which was the home of their father's too, if you don't know yourself that something more is coming, something better,"

The voice finished for him, "The Vire has promised Hiero Nair a kingdom, for his heart is good and pure, unlike any other man. Nigh sixty years ago The Vire took him up from the land and hid him in a cave, where The Hangman could not reach him. He had to keep him safe for a time, until men were ready to do that which is right, regardless of the evil that played like a fiddle in their ears,"

"What do you mean I need to see?" Jason stammered, "I don't understand,"

How could he understand? Just a boy who'd been brought up believing he was a slave, and that's all he was good for. Then in the forest, not really living, only _surviving._ With Fenrin, sure he'd learned, but not enough to separate from the years of an existence that didn't add up to anything real, anything important.

"We need your help Jason," The voice answered, Heiro only smiled. Jason thought he could see a crown on the man's head, woven of a golden white and scarlet, "We need you to recruit a kingdom. Not an army, mind you. Not men willing to fight, but men willing to produce, women willing to love, children willing to play and laugh. A people is needed for a kingdom. Find those who are hungry for goodness, hungry for a true king. May your ears hear the rumble of their hunger across the lands. May your eyes see the path clearly. May your feet walk it with diligence and may your hands give them a king with determination. Let your heart soar with admiration for such a people, who would be so willing to battle against the forces of darkness for the sake of that kingdom, not only for that king. Let your words spring forth from you to bring the understanding of this truth to dance before their eyes. Fenrin will teach you, yes, but it is you who must go out and recruit the people,"

"But where will I find them?" Jason asked.

"Look first in the desert, it is there you will find a home for these people. Among such a harsh and unforgiving place will the people find forgiveness. It is here they will find mercy, and know that it can be no other than The Vire who has brought them together. Who else but the Eldest can provide water in the desert? Who else but the Eldest can provide life in a place made for death?"

"How do I get there?" Jason asked, "Do I take one of these doors?"

"Have you forgotten that you are in the forest, Jason?" Hiero asked him.

Jason had, but he remembered. The fever. The soldiers, "How do I escape?" He felt his heart pumping hard enough to break his ribs.

"Be still for a moment, and be patient upon your waking. For without the cover of darkness to keep you the light of The Vire will be your guide," Heiro said, "If you encounter any soldier, any man or woman, ask of them if they have seen corruption in their kingdom. Many have, but do not speak it, for fear of what the kingdom may do to them. Offer them refuge until the place is made ready in the desert. Not many will follow, but give them that opportunity. Offer to them that mercy, as it was offered to you,"

Jason began to sweat. He felt hot, his blood racing through his body.

"Remember these words, Jason," Heiro said, "And if your strength fails, call out for The Vire, call out for me, and I will see that the strength is given to you," Heiro bent down and clasped his arms around Jason.

Jason felt as a child in his arms. All at once he felt his desire for revenge leave him. He felt his wants, his goals, all of them change. He felt as if he were new, freshly born, only as a man and not a child. He let his arms grip Heiro and felt a deep longing for the man. A deep longing for the king.

He woke with his arms reaching out towards the morning sky, his back covered in sweat.

Jason's fever was gone, broken in the night. He checked his arm too. Miraculously, it was almost completely healed. He wondered how long he'd been asleep for. Memories of his dream came flooding over him. He held his hands to his head, as if he were afraid the memories would spill out of his ears.

He was left with a dim recollection trying to swell up over him. He let it.

It wasn't as strong as in the dream, but he could feel the small wave sweep over him, taking a few of his cares, biting away at his desire for revenge. There was something else there, something that was growing a little bit stronger by the second.

His desire to help Heiro Nair.

Jason looked around him. He remembered falling into this tree, leaping up into it during his flight from the soldiers. He remembered passing out pretty quickly, but he had no way of telling how long that had been. It was still early morning, he saw the sun had just finished it's rise, the shadows getting shorter and more pronounced, the sky brightening in shades of blue. Far off in the west he could see dark clouds coming down from the mountains. He wondered if he should wait out the day and use the cover of night. The darkness would keep him safer if he was running...

Running from what?

He couldn't hear the soldier's any more. Had they given up?

No. Raytiff wouldn't have given up. Whatever was happening he was still being hunted. He knew that much. Only now he didn't know which direction his hunters were. He laid back down on the platform made by the tree's unique shape. He closed his eyes and tried to listen for any sign that might help him figure out where he should go.

He heard the shaking of branches. _What was that? No. Just a bird._ He wondered if any of the soldiers had noticed this tree. No doubt if they had they would have told someone else about it. A perfect tree for him to hide in, and Raytiff would have figured that out too.

Nostalgic memories passed over him suddenly, without warning, as he thought of Raytiff. Facing him, as an enemy, was not high on Jason's to do list. He'd rather find some way to run, to get away, without facing any soldiers, or any people at all for that matter, until he'd found Fenrin, or at least some safety, once more. He'd tell Fenrin all about the dream, shout his sorry's for as long as he could, beg for forgiveness, to let him back in the city.

No. It probably wouldn't go like that. Something told him Fenrin was looking for him, was even worried about him. Something from his dream, but he couldn't place the feeling.

He tried to let it go, to focus more on listening. It could mean life or death, but it was no use. He couldn't concentrate, his mind was a flurry of ideas and memories. Things to do, things not to do, what could happen, what had happened, all flowing around together to form some twisted tornado that was consuming every productive thought he attempted to muster.

He heard a groan escape from his lips. No use. He couldn't relax enough to listen. At least, not very well, and not with his eyes closed, free for his mind to prop images in front of. He stood up and looked out as far as he could.

Off in the distance, in the direction the soldiers had been chasing him, he could see smoke. Thin smoke, multiple columns of it, from multiple fires. He focused his eyes more. He could see the outlines of a military camp. Hundreds of soldiers, maybe even a thousand.

Jason gasped, almost falling backwards at the shock. Had Raytiff brought in more soldiers? That many more just to chase Jason down?

No, that wasn't likely. Raytiff would burn the forest down before calling in this many men to hunt for Jason. Then why were they here?

Jason looked out in the other direction. Towards the west he could see another camp. More military?

Yes, but of a different sort. These men had bronzed skin, not the pale of the White Kingdom. Jason thought of the desert. The great desert in the west. Is that where these men were from?

Must be.

The reality of his situation occurred to Jason. There was about to be a battle. These two armies would collide, and this forest, his hiding spot, would be their battle field.

_That must be where Crowsley was headed_ , Jason thought. How long would he have?

Not long. He moved as fast as he could, picking up his quiver with his three arrows. He stuffed the bandages into his shirt to keep them safe. He picked up his bow and started off as fast as he could.

Down the big tree, the one that had kept him safe. He skidded on his feet down the bark. He pushed off of it when he came in line with the rest of the treetops, clutching to a branch and flinging himself farther through the trees, gaining as much speed as he could.

There was no telling when that battle might start, and he had to make sure that he didn't get caught in the middle of it. He might be able to maneuver around a few soldier's chasing him, maybe even a full platoon, but there would be too much crossfire in an actual battle. Men who had no idea he was there might end up shooting an arrow right into his neck.

He couldn't risk it. He moved faster at the idea, gaining more speed as he used the branches like slingshots. He could already hear skirmishes starting, somewhere in the distance. He would try to avoid them.

The ferocity of the desert people was loud. He could hear their shouts and cries like the howling of wolves in the growing light. He wondered how a desert people would fare in the woods. In the forest it was still night. Whether the sun had risen or not the light was still mostly blocked by the leaves. It would take another few hours until the forest floor was illuminated again. Jason knew he could fight like that, but for a battalion...

That was probably the plan. The desert folk would make their way through the forest under the cover of darkness, their dark skin adding to their stealth. They had probably already been moving through the night, while the soldiers of the White Kingdom were still sleeping. It was a decent plan, if the desert soldiers could make it through the forest alright.

He remembered some of the things Fenrin had told him about the desert dwellers. The name of their nation didn't come so easily, but he did remember that they didn't have a king right now. The previous king had a bit of an addiction to pretty women. He wound up with close to thirty children, thirteen of them sons. After he'd died the sons went into an all-out war against each other to try and claim the throne.

Jason guessed that the White Kingdom had allied itself with one of the clans, and one of the other brother's had decided to punish them for it. Jason blessed them under his breath. It would be impossible for the whole nation to stand against the White Kingdom, let alone a single clan. Although everything he heard about the desert people said that they were strong, resilient, so they could probably handle themselves for a while before being obliterated.

Jason remembered the name of the nation as he grabbed onto another branch, meaning to use it as leverage to throw himself across the forest. _Ra'Dushree! That was it!_ He thought as the branch cracked. Instead of flinging him through the trees the branch threw him at the ground with a ferocious velocity.

Jason felt the rush of the air on his face, reaching his hands out to grab a hold of another branch, but he'd gained too much speed now. He felt the trees crashing against him, the branches breaking at his touch, slowing him a little until he was only tumbling, instead of rocketing, to the ground.

He landed on his back, feeling the wind rush out of him. He tried to cough, and felt the bruises all along his spine scream out in mutual agony. He shut his eyes tight and bit his lip, holding back a scream. The pain was extreme, but he couldn't give away his position.

"Hey!" He heard, just as he thought he could still be safe, "That's him! That's the assassin that killed Crowsley!"

# Chapter 6: Of Dreams

Seridt could feel his heart pounding through his chest, the beat radiating through his body, bringing his hands to a shake. He looked around the corner from where he was hiding. He squinted his eyes as tight as he could, but he couldn't catch even the faintest glimpse of movement. He tried to rub his eyes to get some moisture worked into them. They only stung him in response.

He tried to turn his face out of the direction of the stiff breeze that kept rolling through the hall, but no matter which way he turned it somehow found its way right into his face. His mouth was burning. He tried to move his tongue to wet his cracking lips, but it was no use. His tongue was just as dry. He felt it sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He knew if he were looking in a mirror his whole face would be red, the tip of his nose a bright crimson, like a freshly picked rose. It was that damn breeze. He knew it. How could it be blowing at him? He tried to rub his eyes again, guarding them with his hands, but somehow the dry air still made it through his fingers and licked away any moisture he could build up.

Only a few minutes before he thought he had heard the creaking of the floorboards down the hall. Just a soft sound, quiet, faint, but there. He knew it had to be there. It had been so clear, but he hadn't heard anything since then. He strained his senses, trying to hear movement. Even breathing. He sniffed the air, trying to smell if there were something else in the hallway with him.

There was only the breeze. That constant breeze. He sighed, trying again to look around the corner. Or, what he thought was a corner. He couldn't see more than two inches in front of his face. He tried to peer through it, but all he knew was that the wall was a few feet deeper here than it was where he had his back leaned. It could be a corner turning into a new hall or just a door that was built in a little ways. Of course, he'd be having trouble peering through a solid door.

No, he'd seen something this time. The glittering of steel. Like fifty knives all stuck together somehow. It was a brief sight, but he knew he saw it, just like he'd heard the creaking. He tried to focus his power again. If he saw the gleaming it meant there was light here. If there was light here he could pull it closer to him, illuminate the area, give himself a better field of vision. There was nothing. Impossible, but he knew there was no source of light nearby.

No, that actually had to be impossible. If there was a breeze there had to be a window or a door open, or a wall broken down. It was always light outside. There was no way that he was too far from the opening to bend the light.

Still, it was possible. He knew he would need light.

Breath deep, stay calm. No need to be upset.

Seridt didn't want to get upset. He could still remember what had happened last time. He'd let his anger take hold of him, let The Red take control. He hadn't put up a fight. He'd killed a man, for no reason, except that he was dressed as a soldier. Seridt was afraid of what could happen if he got upset.

He stood, slowly, wondering for the first time how he'd gotten to this place. He couldn't remember, and it didn't matter. He'd been here before, once. He couldn't remember when, but that didn't matter either.

He moved with the breeze, sticking close to the wall. He moved as slow as he could, pressing his feet lightly against the floor, as if he were trying to step around the most precious, and most fragile flowers that ever existed. He heard no sound come from his own feet, he thought that was a good sign.

The soft breeze was strong enough to run into his ears, singing it's whistling tune that shut out most other things. He wondered if he'd actually be able to hear anything over it. He tried to smile at the idea of this all being some joke that Jason was playing on him. They'd want to use that breeze, just enough, to keep him from being able to hear the chuckles that were probably coming from just behind him.

He turned quickly, trying to stare into the darkness. He'd heard something else there. Something other than the wind in his ears, other than his own feet creaking on the wood paneled floor. He couldn't place it. It was like some other kind of wind was blowing a sound upwards. Another whispering, whimpering sound.

He closed his eyes and tried to listen more closely, but the sound was gone, if it had ever been there in the first place. He continued to walk on, still moving slowly. He couldn't quit taking quick glances over his shoulder, the way you would if you knew a dangerous predator was walking behind you. One of those moments when it's stupid to run, and stupid to look, and still you look, and that only makes you want to run.

Seridt felt that now. He wanted to run as fast as he could, trying to find the window, an opening, anything, to see what light might be shining through. Maybe he could get out of this place, find Fenrin, find Jason and Atask. They were probably waiting for him, worried about him.

Worried about what?

He looked over his shoulder again. He tried to tell himself it was too dark to see anything, but he felt as if the very moment he closed his eyes he would be left defenseless. He tried to tell himself that it would be easier to close his eyes, to quit deceiving himself that he could see something and just give it over to his other senses, but every time he thought about it he wanted to close his eyes less.

As if closing them meant the darkness would win. He knew only one thing for sure. It was very bad for the darkness to win.

What does that even mean? To let the darkness win?

He tried to laugh out loud this time, hoping the sound would comfort him. Instead he realized how alone he was. The soft echo of his laugh that returned was hollow and dead. He would swear until the day he died that the echo didn't even sound like him anymore.

The other whispering was back. This time louder. He could still hear the breeze that was becoming one of life's many constants blowing forever in his face, but this was more. This wasn't the wind running through the doors or the windows, making a howling sound as if the air itself were in pain.

No, this was something else. What? He had no idea.

The sound died down as quickly as it had risen.

Seridt felt the weight of the darkness increase on his shoulders, on his eyes. He tried to continue on, but each step was more difficult than his last. It felt as if the darkness were a solid thing, forcing him to trudge through it like a swamp. He raised his hand in front of his face, but he couldn't see it. His hearing dulled. His legs began to scream in protest at him, as if the darkness were clutching them and rending them to pieces.

He was ready to fall. To break down. He wanted to sob.

He tried to think of how he could escape, realizing he didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten here. He wasn't sure what escape would even look like. For all he knew he was deep underground, and the breeze really was the product of a wind tunnel. What purpose something like that might serve was irrelevant to him.

He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating. He thought he could feel his chest thumping outward with his heart, but that was impossible. His skin felt tight on his body, tight and cold. A shiver ran up his spine and though his neck then back down to his feet. His hair stood on end. He was terrified. There was no denying it, no matter how much he wanted to.

His legs moved quickly, on their own, telling him he needed to move faster. He began to jog, feeling his head going light. His eyes felt heavy, as if he would pass out, but he knew if he did it would be his end. He could not survive if he did.

Survive what? The darkness?

There had to be something else here. He knew it. He couldn't hear it, he couldn't see it, he couldn't feel it, but he knew. He didn't care how he knew, he knew it was somewhere in the darkness, watching him. Lurking, waiting for him to move too slowly. He wouldn't let that happen.

He was sprinting now, down the corridor. At least, he thought it was a corridor. He felt the familiar tingle in the back of his head. The Red wanted to come up, wanted to come help him.

No! He mustn't use it. He knew he shouldn't. He tried to push it back down, straining his eyes against the wind, his senses against the darkness, his legs against the exhaustion, and his mind against The Red. He had to keep moving as fast as he could. Had to keep running, because if he slowed down, even for an instant, steely teeth would slam down into his flesh.

He understood now. In the faintest light he'd seen the teeth of some terrible monster. Some angry, terrible, and hungry monster.

Seridt gasped against the darkness, screaming out in his mind for help. Help against the dark. Help against the wind. Help against the exhaustion. Help against The Red. Help against the monster. He was surrounded by enemies that he couldn't fight. His hands were already moving instinctively down to his hips to find his swords, but he knew they would do nothing here. Even against the monster.

He hit the wall in the same moment he realized his swords were gone. He fell to the ground, clutching his nose. For a moment he thought the flash of light in his eyes was real, and not only his senses being jarred against the hard slab of concrete which had brought his flight to an end. He tried to clutch out at it, trying to take it into his hands to form it. He breathed hard against his failure, his desperation rising in him.

He could feel the beast coming towards him, moving through the darkness, through the shadows as thick as lead. He threw his hands over his face, shielding himself from whatever was coming after him. Whatever that monster was.

He heard the whispering again. He finally understood it. It wasn't another wind whispering along, or the breeze that had dried his eyes making some strange formation through the tunnels to sing him a song. It was screaming and weeping. He could hear it so clearly now, the sounds of children crying. Of men and women alike screaming.

He felt The Red pressing against him. He thought he could almost hear it. Saying it could help. That it could save him, if he only gave it his control. It was an itch on his arms and in his hands, begging them to clench. To fight back. There wasn't another choice, he knew it. He could let it win just this one more time, to save his life.

He saw the flash of red light run through the corridor. He felt shame as the light revealed nothing. The flash showed no monster. He knew he'd wanted an excuse to feed The Red, monster or no. Horror or no. He'd only wanted the excuse.

He let his head fall into his hands. The shame overtaking him even as he felt the familiar experience of blood flowing more freely, more quickly. Of his senses first becoming keen, then his thinking going dull as everything fell out of focus.

Then he felt the steel jaws clamp around his chest and crush his ribs, chomping into him with dozens of teeth as sharp as knives. The teeth impaled his lungs and he gasped for air. They cut his throat and his arm was torn from his body by the force of the monster pulling backwards.

He could hear it's teeth crushing the bones of his arm. He could hear the meat of his arm sliding down the miserable throat of the beast. It chomped towards him again. He was screaming in pain and terror, trying to push himself away with his legs at the same time as he tried to swipe his remaining hand up to hit the beast.

The jaws closed around his head, and he knew a darkness greater than the shadows he'd been trapped in.

***

Seridt woke up with a sweat. He reached for his arm as quickly as he could and felt that it was still there. His eyes clamped shut, trying to tell himself he was alive. It was only a dream, calm down.

Instead he heard his own sobs escaping his throat. It was _so real_.

He opened his eyes as wide as he could, not wanting them to be shut. He looked around, but he didn't recognize this place. He remembered falling down into the ravine after the...

The soldier. The memories flooded back, and he didn't want to think about them. His guilt for murdering the soldier felt worse than his arm being torn apart in the dream.

He looked around. He was lying in a small bed in a candle lit room. One wall was made into a bookshelf, filled with volumes with names he didn't know. He had never read much, but there was one book he did recognize. Fenrin had the same book in his house, on his own large bookshelf.

_Glainudus_. Fenrin had said the name translated from the ancient and powerful old tongue into _The story that began stories_. Fenrin had told him the literal meaning was defined in a song, as much of the old language was. Seeing that book gave Seridt some small comfort, even if he didn't understand why it gave him the comfort.

The floor was covered in carpets, stuck into the floor. The walls were made of large wooden planks, treated and nailed together. Seridt heard the door open as he was wondering where this was, and who owned it.

He knew it wasn't in Ferinal, he knew it was somewhere underground. He wasn't sure how he knew either of these things. He turned towards the door to see who was coming in, his fists clenching automatically. He felt like the whole world was against him, and whether or not this man had a book that Fenrin owned didn't convince Seridt that he could be trusted.

It wasn't a man that walked through the door, but a woman.

"You're awake," she said, "Rest your head a moment, I must find Walter,"

_Walter._ Seridt knew that name. Fenrin had mentioned him several times, and had argued with Samuel about him. Seridt didn't like Samuel. He had a bad feeling about him, as if he was using something similar to The Red, but worse. Something even more destructive.

The woman returned with Walter. A man who looked young from a distance, his eyes and hair were both brown, and his complexion was fair. He wore a cloak, the same style as Fenrin's, only brown.

As Walter approached Seridt could see something different. There were a few wrinkles on his face, which were very deep. His hair was speckled with grays. His eyes, on closer inspection, were actually the deep color of gold. These things did not so much cause him to look older, though they did cause him to look much wiser. Seridt could not place his age as old or young.

The woman was blonde with brown eyes, she wore a buttoned green blouse with a gold skirt that hovered delicately around her ankles. Seridt wondered if he'd ever seen a woman so beautiful. She too had few wrinkles, the same as Walter.

Seridt tried to lean up farther to speak, but only uttered one word, "where," before his body was wracked by a fit of coughing.

"Do not strain yourself. You are in a safe place," Walter said as he leaned closer to Seridt, "The Vire directed me to make these places, and I am glad of that now more than ever,"

Seridt tried to look at him more closely, reaching out a hand which Walter took in both of his, "I know it his painful, but you must sleep. We are removing the darkness from you," Seridt's eyes bulged, terror filled him, "It's okay, I will be here. We are removing the darkness from you, but it would be better for you to be asleep for this,"

Walter saw the look of horror in Seridt's eyes and said, "It would be worse for you to be awake," Seridt began to cry once more, "I will not leave your side. I will be here when you wake up,"

Walter looked as if he were listening to someone else for a moment, "You can be strong for Jason and Atask. They will need your help when this is over," Seridt nodded, and Walter looked like he was listening to something once more.

"Don't let The Red win," Walter said as Seridt closed his eyes. He whimpered, but kept them closed. He could be strong for his friends. He would resist The Red.

"Get me _Tar Mosif'del_ ," Walter said to the woman, "I would comfort him with a story,"

Seridt did not remember the exact story that Walter told him, but it seemed that they were stories about himself, and Jason, and Atask. He did not know if he had formed those stories in his own mind, or if they were actually in the story, but he heard a tale of the warrior of light, battling evil in the darkness. He heard a tale of the lord of the forest fending off an army with only his bow and arrows. He heard a story of the rock, a man who had saved hundreds of villages and towns from an evil nation.

The stories began to fade away, melding together, and Seridt could see a picture of his friends, both laughing and smiling with him, though aged by ten years or more. He fell asleep, comforted in his going by the stories, and by the thoughts of his friends.

***

Seridt was running through the fields. The tall grass hid his figure. He could hear the shouts of orders all around him, orders to hunt, orders to kill. He must not let himself be caught. He knew he was surrounded. He knew who he was surrounded by.

It was an army, an entire military enterprise set on one goal. The capture, the torture for information, the imprisonment and eventual execution of Seridt Dufar, Atask Dailes, and Jason Niles.

They were hunting first for Seridt. They wanted to use him to get to Atask and Jason. Seridt knew it, somewhere deep in him he told himself it was real. He knew where the soldiers were from. There were men from The Hangman's military, not so much men as puppets. The Hangman had his hand here. There were men from The White Kingdom, whom Seridt knew did not fully realize the meaning of their orders, or of their own actions. There were barbarians from the north, the men who had given up any idea of rational civilization and chosen to live by the cutting down of men who had established their lives by their own work and hand. There were a few scattered soldiers of some cults which Seridt had never heard of, though here he knew the names. The Black Crows. The Armorers. The Claymen. Even one which he was surprised to know of. The Red Men.

There was a presence of the Vail here. He knew it, though he wasn't sure of how he knew it. He thought if he should survive this encounter it would be a good idea to figure out how exactly he knew things like this. It wasn't right that he shouldn't know why or how. Though he wasn't sure exactly how he knew that either.

The orders were coming closer. He knew the higher ups must be tracing their way through the fields. Seridt hunched down in the grass, making sure he could not be seen, and that he could still see. There, only ten feet from him, were four figures, three of which he had never seen. All four were tall, and blurry, as if the light somehow tried to shy away from them whenever it came close enough to illuminating them entirely.

The first, he knew, was The Hangman. He knew it because he had met him before, many years ago when he'd first come to the slave camps. The Hangman had greeted him on his sixth birthday, calling him son.

It made him smile to think of that day because of the next time The Hangman addressed him. It had been a move of desperation, when Eefrit, the beast that he come out of the mines with a wrenching of the earth and a molten fire burning upwards. The Hangman had tried to convince Jason that he loved him, that he needed him. He tried to convince Jason to kill Seridt and Atask.

It made him smile because he knew that The Hangman was either lying to him when he called him son, a title that was supposed to mean affection, or The Hangman was lying to Jason when he said that he wanted Jason to join him. Specifically Jason, as if Jason had something special The Hangman wanted.

_Or he was lying both times,_ Seridt thought. That idea made him smile even more. Seridt knew many universal truths, but the one he held in his mind now was that the only man or woman, even child, who needs to lie is one who is unable to offer anything of real value.

Seridt knew also that if you cannot offer value then you will find your own destruction. Being reminded of those two truths made him happy. He knew The Hangman would find his end eventually, the only matter was when.

The other three figures all stood as tall as The Hangman. Seridt could tell they were all Vail. There was a great difference in the vagueness of their appearance, but they all had the same air about them. They had a hunger for destruction that could never be filled.

The Hangman stood on one end of the line and to his immediate left was what looked to Seridt as a bulking mass of armor. The armor looked like it was being held in midair against a deformed body which had been made by someone who did not know what a man looked like, but had only read about it in a poorly written handbook.

To the left of the armor was the appearance of a man. Through the blurred light Seridt could see that he had bulging muscles, as one who spent many days and nights over a hot forge with a blacksmith hammer in hand. Seridt knew, from the sight of the man, that he had never worked anything to create in all his days of life. The man's bandana referenced this perfectly. It was painted with a symbol of a hammer, a tool used to create, smashing a ceramic pot, a product of creation.

The last Vail in the line was as tall as the others, though he was thin to the point that Seridt wondered how his legs did not snap under his own weight. He was wrinkled and his skin looked dry as a desert. His frail body was covered in the black feathers of a crow, making a parka which covered over his shoulders and fell to a point near his knees. The parka was made with a hood that covered over his face, coming to a point here too. His nose was long and pointed, looking much like a beak itself. His skin was the darkest Seridt had ever seen, making him look like a crow turned into the image of a frail man.

All four of the Vail stood looking away from Seridt. He thanked The Eldest they had not seen him. He knew The Hangman's power was frightful, and had no desire to see what kind of powers the other three had at their disposal.

He moved as fast as he could without making sound, which was a little more than a slow crawl, towards a field of corn nearby. He could see the soldiers making a steady back and forth search, one line after another, through the fields, and knew they would catch up with him if he didn't make it into the crops fast enough. In the crops he could move faster, not needing to crouch so low, nor worry so much about moving the grass around him.

His delicate movements brought him closer and closer to the crops. It wasn't the soldiers he was so worried about, but the Vail who were directing them. He had a quick thought to wonder who might be directing the soldiers from the White Kingdom, but it passed quickly, unfollowed.

He felt calm, his heart was not pounding in his chest as he thought it would be, rather, moving through the fields felt easy, as if he'd done it a thousand times before. There was a wind, but it was too his back, giving him room to move more quickly without revealing his position by the rustling of the tall grass.

His eyes wouldn't leave from the Vail, though. There was something about them, some strange feeling he could not name, some old thought he could not recall. It was as if there was something else there that he couldn't see, and his eyes must not leave that spot, lest he miss that old sight entirely.

He had made it to the fields of crop. He took a brief glance at the stalks rising in front of him to see that it was a field of wheat. The tall wheat, taller than it should have been, rustling in the wind gave him a strange comfort. He felt at ease, as if he could stand and move on without hindrance. He could be free, if only he moved into the field.

There something different about the field though. The crops represented something more. It was something he knew the Vail could never accomplish, not one piece of this field could they have sown, and not one piece of it could they have grown. They could reap it, but they could not create it themselves.

He felt a pulling in his heart towards the field. He did not quite understand why, but he loved the field. He knew that if this was the only thing he would ever appreciate then it was enough. If this was the only thing that was real, then it was enough.

He thought the Vire must live in a place like this. Simple, pleasant, elegant. It seemed right to him that someone had sown these seeds. It seemed right that someone had tended them, with as much care as a mother to a daughter, or a father to his son. It seemed right that they should be here, created by the hard labor of a farmer, directed by the wisdom of The Vire. Sow a seed here, water there. Tend them this way and that way. The wisdom of The Eldest Day bringing not only life into the wheat, but abundant life. His wisdom causing the seeds to not just grow, but to shoot up from the ground, reaching towards the sun, and towards the Vire.

If this was the only thing he would ever defend, then it was enough.

He stole one more glance at the Vail, and could not take that glance back. They had moved from their original position, where their backs had been to him. Now they faced him, each one with their eyes looking into his. He could not move or blink. He could only stare.

Then they began to move towards him. Step by step sending a sinking into his heart. The calm he'd had was fading, being replaced by a grim panic that thumped against his forehead from the inside. He felt like a pressure behind his eyes was going to pop them out of his skull. His jaw clenched and his feet ground down, trying to take their position and give nothing up.

He wondered, dimly, what he was doing, but knew that answer. This was an answer he could provide. He was guarding this field. He would guard this great piece of beauty from the greedy hands of the Vail. The ones who would reap what they had not sown. The ones who would corrupt that which is created. The ones who can do nothing but destroy.

They would not touch the field.

"Come on then!" He shouted at them. They stopped. Their eyes still stared into his, blank, unfeeling, unthinking. Seridt had seen the look once before. The guards in the slave camps had a very similar look. It was the most frightening thing about the camps. A man who had no thoughts, no feelings, ordering you, punishing you, sending his whip across your back to motivate you.

The fact that the pain came from something that was no more man than a stone was terrible, but seeing it here it was satisfying. It was like a confirmation to him. They were not men, not even animal's. Even a dog will show fear if it is his, will show joy at the praise of its master. These were nothing more than stone, and under the hand of the Vire, through the blades of Seridt, these stones would crumble.

The Vail continued to move towards him, moving with a slow deliberate pace. Their eyes may have screamed that their heads were empty, devoid of anything which could create, but their movements showed a purpose. Seridt understood that purpose. It reminded him of The Red.

The Armor came first. It moved up in front of the others, holding a great sword in one hand. It swung the sword down, but Seridt only slid out of the way. The sword crashed into the ground, making a crater.

Seridt reached down to his hips and found two swords sitting there. For the first time he became aware of his apparel. He wore a poet shirt, with string holding it loose against his chest. His boots were shined to a bright finish, made of some expensive leather that he assumed he would be unable to pronounce.

More than his fancy clothes he noticed his swords. They were long sabers, made by an expert blacksmith in Gad, though Seridt didn't know where Gad was exactly. The scabbard was encrusted with jewels of blues and whites. The handle was of gold with red velvet wrapped for its grip. As he pulled the swords out of their sheaths he could feel the weight of a perfectly balanced blade, with a razor sharp edge.

Designs were carved all along each blade, one depicting a fiery phoenix flying towards the sun. The other depicted a great owl flying above a forest towards the moon. He raised both blades to block the armor's next blow and was surprised by their strength.

He swung them around and cut across the armor, where it's chest would have been. He heard a dull chuckle echo from the armor. It was empty.

The armor reached into its own chest cavity, where Seridt had slashed his sword, and pulled out a mace, meaning to club him with it.

Seridt rolled out of the way of the mace, the ground where he had stood became another crater. He cut at the handle of the mace with his swords, slicing through the wood. He heard a dim shout from inside the armor.

"You cannot win!" It told him.

Seridt moved towards the rest of the Vail, who still stood watching him intently. He slashed his sword at the muscular man, producing a gash across his chest. He heard a cry of reproach in response. The muscled man fell to his knees and crumbled into dust.

Seridt tried to slice at the man with the crow feathers, but felt an iron cold grip clutch his wrist. The Hangman pulled his own sword out and brought it down to Seridt's wrist, cutting his hand off.

Seridt pulled back, screaming in agony, but swept his left arm down against The Hangman's head. He felt the cold steel as his hand bashed The Hangman to the ground. He moved to swing his other sword against the crow man, attempting to finish the fight as quickly as he was able but he was gone.

He looked around and had just enough time to roll away from the armor again. It's slow movements giving him ample time to get away. He stabbed his sword into The Hangman, who had collapsed onto the ground. He too broke into a pile of dust and dirt.

Seridt felt the crow man jump onto his back, his wrinkled skin feeling like slime on Seridt's neck. He tried to hit the man with the stump of his wrist. He missed, then missed again, unable to find a proper angle. The crow man was writhing against his back, trying to wrap his hands around Seridt's neck.

The armor slashed its sword at him again. Seridt spun, letting the sword hit the crow man on his back, but the force threw him into the ground also. He rolled over in time to see the armor raising his sword once more, for the last time.

Seridt clutched his eyes and dropped his sword, trying to pull as much light to him as he could to deliver a blast of blindness to the armor. He could feel the air parting before the armors blade as he pushed a ray of blinding light off of his hand, as quick as it would go. The blast rocked the armor backwards, the sword falling helplessly to the ground, then fading into dust.

The armor began to creak and crack, then fell in pieces to the dirt before collapsing into dust itself. Seridt stood as quickly as he could, looking around and seeing the soldiers had all been watching the battle, giving him the same blank stare he'd seen from the Vale.

He tried to back away, tried to run into the field, but a pulling on his neck stopped him. As if there were some collar around him, holding him like a dog just out of reach of the field. He felt a sudden panic rise in him. That familiar sensation, that tingling in the back of his mind.

The Red.

He turned to look at the soldiers. He would fight them all if he had to, as long as he had no other choice. But there were no soldiers now. Only an empty field. He looked around for some sign of where they might have gone, they couldn't just disappear.

The crops!

He turned, expecting to see the soldier's cutting down the wheat. There were no soldiers there. Only one single figure, another Vale.

This one stood taller than the others had, as if it were more powerful, and knew it. It wore a high ranking military jacket, full of buttons and pins that denoted valorous acts in warfare. The six stars that were sewn down the right side of the jacket, over his chest, gave his position as the highest ranking officer in Carthik.

It was not his military power that frightened Seridt, though. It was the mask he wore. It was a deep crimson, engraved with facial features with the man's long hair dangling in locks over it.

Seridt knew this man. This was The Red. This is what he had been calling, the thing he'd been addicted to. This was the product of his foolishness.

The man in the red mask grabbed Seridt's shoulders with his hands, and Seridt could feel the smile beneath the mask. A smile that said _I have you now._

He tried to raise his sword in protest, trying to cut the man's head. He only brought up his hand, one finger raised, and blocked the blade. There was no blood on his finger. No cut, not even the makings of a bruise. Seridt tried to struggle against his grip, his stump slamming down against the masked man's hand.

It was no use. The masked man lifted him by the grip on his shoulder, lifted him high enough to be looking eye to eye, if not for the mask.

The masked man raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Pain ricocheted through Seridt's body, a thousand tiny needles burning into his skin, into his ears and his eyes, into his throat and heart. He could feel the flicker of life fade in that single instant. A white light flashed before his eyes and he screamed his pain at it.

***

He woke up screaming. His hands flew out from his sides and clutched at the bedding, squeezing it hard enough to tear the cloth. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot, and were spilling out tears like a faucet. Seridt was panting through his pain, looking around the room for something to help, though he had no idea what could possibly help.

The pain subsided, slowly, steadily, finally receding out of his guts and out of his head, ebbing slowly away until it only remained in his wrist. He looked down at his hand and saw bright red blood, reminding him of the stump that he been there in his dream.

"It's not blood," Walter said as Seridt try to grasp at his hand, "The worst is almost over, but you need to go back to sleep,"

Seridt collapsed back on the bed, not hearing any of the words. He felt like he was falling. Falling down a deep hole, with no sides, and no bottom. He laid his head back and relaxed, desiring nothing now but to rest.

He saw his friends, and himself, in the forest they'd called home for five years after escaping the slave camps. It was early in their escape, when they were still worried that The Hangman would send an entire army headed after them. To capture them. To return them.

Seridt could see the three running through the trees, looking for shelter, or hunting, or playing. It looked like a strange and graceful dance performed by the greatest of experts. Their feet not running, nor walking, but leaping to and fro, finding a foothold on a rock and catapulting themselves across a river. Jason climbing a tree and leaping across the branches while Atask and Seridt made zigzags under him.

It was comforting to look at his childhood, it gave him a small sway away from the pain he'd been feeling, and he still knew it was a dream. That was nice. What made the dreams awful is that they were simply so vivid he couldn't tell when he woke up if he had been dreaming it or if he was remembering.

Something else stuck out to him here, though. Some other influence trying to dance with the boys, trying, and failing. It couldn't dance, dancing was too creative. It could watch though, it could see them. It could even reach out and grasp them.

Seridt saw it through the darkness of the woods. It stayed hidden enough for the three boys not to notice, though how Jason failed to hear it, or smell it, was beyond imagination for Seridt. All the same, there he was, and Seridt knew that this thing had really been there. He watched as one night while they were all sleeping the thing moved out of the darkness of the background.

It was a large slithering snake, it's body long and green and venomous, it's face red, crimson red. It reminded him of The Vail with the red mask. There was an acidic slime that covered it which steamed wherever it touched the ground. It wound its way around the camp, sniffing each of the boys in turn. It stopped a little by Atask, poking his skin with its tail. It steered far away from Jason, apparently not liking the look of him.

Or maybe Jason already had too many inner demons.

The snake swept around to Seridt and whispered into his ear, "I am The Red, and you will love me, and use me, and strengthen me," It's long sharp fangs were revealed as its mouth opened wide enough to swallow Seridt's young head. A red ooze dripped from the fangs. Seridt expected the thing to bit him, but instead it only dripped that ooze, little by little, into his mouth.

The snake slithered away before anyone could recognize its presence. Seridt knew that it had gone to hide somewhere, to sleep for a few years, using Seridt to feed it, before coming back.

Seridt was in the falling hole again, his thoughts flying faster. Memories of when he'd used The Red flashed. He remembered that it had sounded to him like the speaking of a snake in his head. The long, drawn out _S_ and the thoughts barely above a breathy whisper. It made sense to him, the way a serial killers real reasons can make sense to a sane bystander who only hears about such a thing from a friend of a friend.

Seridt found the bottom of the deep well. His feet crumbled beneath him as he landed, the force of his impact sending him sprawling and tumbling down the hill he'd fallen on. He let himself roll, letting his thoughts and feelings roll with him, anything that couldn't find solid ground again would be dropped, and he'd stand up and move on.

It was a strange thought to be thinking, he thought, that now, of all times, he should be concerned about his thoughts and feelings. There were more pressing matters. Things that would need to be addressed before he went hacking and slashing away at his own beliefs.

_Why?_ He asked himself, _It needs to be done. I can do it now._

He stood up and looked around, knowing it was necessary to do so, understanding that this is what the dream was for this time. This is why he knew he was dreaming.

The hill was not too tall, the grass on it was green, not brown. That was always a good sign when you stumble into a place that's supposed to represent some kind of inner reality, you want the plants to be green and healthy.

On top of the hill there was a single tree, a tall oak with many branches which all ended in countless leaves with a single word written on each of them. To the west and north there were four hills, and to the south were five, while the east had only two. Each had a tree just like this one, and around all of the hills was a very large, very dense, and very beautiful forest.

Seridt walked back up the hill to the first tree he had fallen next to. There was something peculiar that he could not quite see, so he moved closer. Then closer. It was sticking out of the trunk of the tree. He thought he recognized the tree, it reminded him of something that laid dormant in his thoughts.

He reached the trunk and realized what was different, what was out of place. A bright red branch was sticking out of the bottom, leafless and lifeless, but glowing that bright red. The same color as the mask.

He reached up to investigate the branch. It was stuck into the tree by a spike on one end, as if someone had fired it like an arrow into the living bark. Seridt reached up to grab the branch, his fingers enclosing around it, and felt the familiar feeling of The Red pound against his hand.

He let it go as quick as he could, despising that feeling that he had held so dearly. He knew it's nature now. It was evil, it was of the Vail. He wanted no part in it, and he knew it would not give him up so easily.

He looked around at the rest of the hills, each one with its own tree standing at the tip, each tree with its own glowing red branch. This was the infection that snake had laid in him. This was the thing that must be conquered.

He saw a line tracing into the bark from the red branch, like a thread that did not belong woven into the fabric of the tree. He traced it down to the ground of the hill top, where it ran its way off the hill, as if it were some evil current, only it was Seridt's anger that flowed in it, and his force of life, and his very soul that fed that current.

He pulled his sword from his side, marveling at the blade once more. He tried to slice at the vein that throbbed from the hilltop. His sword made a dull ring as it struck the vein, but it did not cut. It did not even dent. He put his sword away and followed the red line. He must find where it went.

At the bottom of the hill the line curved around before heading off straight towards the woods. Seridt noticed that each hill had a similar thread, all of them converging at that spot. He ran along it, pulling both swords out once more, he would not risk being caught off guard.

The lines began to weave together ten feet from the edge of the forest. Seridt was careful not to walk on the path made by the weaving, opting to walk beside it as it moved into the darkness of the forest.

He followed the path for two miles before the lines reached their end. The weaving red lines wove together out of the ground, forming a pedestal that reached up into the sky, Seridt could not see its end.

He reached out his hand, risking The Red to understand. He laid his palm on the formed pedestal, the pillar that ran up and up. It was cool to the touch, which Seridt found surprising. With all the hot anger that had flowed through him with The Red it should have scalded his skin. Instead it felt the same way his swords would on a cool spring evening.

He put both of his hands on the pedestal, wondering if it would show him something he could not quite see. He closed his eyes and focused. Following the paths The Red always took through his head, just like the path he'd just walked. Not using those paths, but only observing them, he saw the end.

The red mask, lying buried under the ground near where it had first infected him. He could see it, as it first had been after that night, being only the mask with a long coiling body that looked like a snake, with slime that oozed out a burning destruction. He watched as the body of the snake became longer, fattening out, the tail splitting to form two legs, the body rippling to form arms and hands. A torso formed out of it, broad and strong, and the only thing that remained constant was that red mask, which did not form a face, nor change its form, but only became sharper, more defined with the lines of the pattern that was etched into it.

He saw the body begin to move against the ground it had buried itself under, clawing its way out, breaking out of the ground to stand fresh in the forest, which had once died but was once more alive with activity. The red mask looked around, that same ooze still dripping from his naked body. He raised his hand before his face and the ooze dried up, being sucked back into his skin.

Then he looked at Seridt, face to face, through the vision, through the _memory_. Seridt felt him smile.

He pulled back, stumbling over a root and falling backwards. It had seen him. The red pillar began to shake, several of the lines of the path broke out of the ground, lashing out at Seridt. He leaped away from them, hiding himself behind a tree.

Words began to usher out of the depths of the forest. Words of memory, words he would imagine. Words of his friends, words from Fenrin. They tangled together in certain parts of the forest, some brought rain, others brought radiant sunshine. The words reached his ears in a tangled mess. He knew he could hear Atask and Jason, even Fenrin, but the actual words they spoke to him were lost in a tangle against words from The Hangman, through his soldiers. Lost against words he'd spoken himself, thoughts he'd thought in the depths of his mind came and joined in, taunting him with their threats and their memories.

"You'll have to fight him," A voice said from behind him. Seridt turned and saw Walter leaning on a tree trunk. His brown hair speckled with gray was blowing in some unseen, and unfelt, wind. His eyes looked weary, his hands looked worn, as if he'd been both awake and working for a very long time.

"Who?" Seridt asked, the voices took a lower volume as he focused his attention on Walter. He noticed the change, but did not pay attention to it. It needed no attention.

"The Red," Walter said with a simple upturning of his wrists, as if to say, who else? "He's grown a lot stronger, but he'd still rather not have his poison removed from here,"

"What do you mean?" Seridt asked, taking a step towards Walter.

"I found you a week ago, crying out in the wilderness for Fenrin. I brought you to my home to see what was wrong and found the infection. The infection is called The Red,"

A week? Seridt thought he should be surprised, but he wasn't. He knew he had been dreaming before, although he hadn't known it at the time. Now, being here, he knew it _should_ be like a dream, but it wasn't, there was something else about it. If he died here he wouldn't wake up.

"He's coming, and you'll need to use everything you've got to beat him," Walter reminded him. His golden eyes flashed as his body became transparent, then disappeared entirely. His voice echoed out one last time before every trace of him was gone, "I've done all I can to help you, now you've got to help yourself,"

It felt like it was said from far away, but it reached Seridt's ears through the forest. He looked back at the pedestal that was made by the red lines as they screamed up towards the sky. Seridt had the urge to run away from them, as if very soon they would explode in a dangerous display.

Seridt obeyed his urge. He didn't have any idea what was coming, and he wasn't interested in making a stupid display of heroics when that display could get him killed. The need was to fight, and he'd fight, but there wasn't a need to flaunt any sort of ability he didn't have. He wasn't even sure if he could win this fight.

He ran through the forest, away from the hills and away from the pillar. The ground was shaking underneath his feet. Still he ran, the trees coming to life around him, swooping down behind him as if they were guarding the path behind him.

"You've been a bad boy!" A voice that sounded all too familiar shouted from the red pillar, "Come here! I promise your punishment will be better if you come here!"

Seridt ran faster. It was The Red. That red mask burned into his mind's eye, he could almost see the thing smiling underneath the unmoving features of its mask, it's eyes hunting for him, and soon they would find him.

He remembered his dreams. The crops of the field, that beautiful field that had meant something so much more than simple wheat. Seridt ran, remembering the pain the red mask had caused. Remembering how much more difficult it had been to fight it than the other Vail. He ran, remembering the dark corridor, the heavy blackness all around him, and the steel teeth sinking into his flesh.

He ran, wishing for help as he went. Jason, Atask, Fenrin! He needed them now, he knew he couldn't handle this fight on his own.

Still, they were not here. He had gotten himself into the mess. Maybe at one time Fenrin could have helped him, if he'd confessed to his addiction. Maybe he could have had more help in Ferinal than Walter was able to give. Maybe he'd have had more help if he hadn't given so much of himself over to The Red.

That was all passed now. He had to help himself now. Maybe he could live to ask his friends for help. Maybe he wouldn't live on, but if that were the case he didn't want to die running from his problems like a coward. A coward who cannot face his own consequences.

That was what that field represented. The crops were not grown by cowardice. They were not made by getting what you did not deserve. It was Justice that made them, seeds, water, nourishment, and _work_ turned into a field of growth. It was that work that made them, and it was not so different now, in this forest. He would need to do work to cleanse this place of a weed.

Seridt stopped running. He turned on his heel to face The Red, face what he had faced so many times before. To face it, not as a friend or a crutch that he held so dearly, but as the taint he had let into his own mind, into his own heart. He would do what he could to cleanse that taint.

"Vire help me," he muttered. He didn't know much about The Vire, he'd never paid much attention when Fenrin talked about the Eldest Day, but he knew enough. The Vire worked on the hearts of men as a farmer worked on his fields. The Vire was the only one who could reliably plant good into a man's heart, if the man didn't plant too much bad himself.

The Vire could help him battle this beast.

Seridt drew his swords, feeling a wave of strength ride over him. Not strength to make a difficult problem easy, but strength to face the problem regardless of its difficulty. Seridt felt the wave and rode it. Charging back towards The Red, his swords raised up, and his voice crying, "Get out!"

He heard a chuckle meet him in response, "You invited me in! Now you want me to leave?"

"You are not welcome! Be gone from me!" It was not Seridt who was shouting the words, but The Vire. He felt the words as sweet as honey dripping from his lips. He felt boldness rising up in him as he reached the edge of the clearing where the pillar of red stood.

"Don't you remember me?" The Red asked in response, "Remember how you called on me, how we worked together. Remember the rush. Just once more, let us work together once more, and I will leave of my own accord,"

"You will leave now!" Seridt was facing the red mask now. It stood as tall as it had in his dream, a brown jacket made of leather was drawn tightly over its shoulders. Seridt could feel that sly smile under the unmoving mask once more.

"Make me," The Red said, his voice quiet, losing its playful quality.

Seridt charged, feeling both terrified and enlivened. His swords rose up ready to cut down the red mask. The Red moved out of the way, only at the last moment.

"You cannot defeat me," He said, "I have lain too deep, for too long, you will be drained dry of your will, and you'll be nothing more than a husk, which I will give to my _brother_ ,"

Seridt didn't respond, only slashing again, this time one of his swords caught the Red under the arm. He oozed a grey and black liquid that seared the ground it landed on.

Seridt formed a ball of light in his hands, using the light that was radiating from around the forest, shining through the leaves to make the shadows dance. He split the light in two halves and threw one at the red's mask, blinding him long enough for Seridt to slash once more at him. The Red moved away quickly.

"Trying to blind me? Through the mask? Silly silly boy, this would be easier if you gave up," The Red reached out and grabbed Seridt on his shoulder, just as he had in the previous dream. Only now Seridt could smell the slime that cover the hands of the Red. The same black and gray ooze that had leaked from his cut. It burned into Seridt's shoulder, and he cried out, slashing with his sword, but The Red caught him by the wrist, burning his skin.

Seridt cried out and his hand relaxed, dropping his sword to the ground. The Red chuckled as Seridt screamed in pain.

Then he tumbled to the ground, hearing the air exhale from The Red as he took a harsh blow to the side. Seridt regained his ground quickly and grabbed his swords. He looked up to see Atask.

"We are here, even in your memories," Atask said to him, "We are here whenever you need us,"

"Don't forget that," Jason said from a treetop, he let an arrow fly, it hit the mask, making a small crack across the face. The Red stood up from the tree that Atask had thrown him against.

The Red ran back towards Seridt, charging with his hands out, ready to grab him and burn him with its acid. Seridt stood his ground.

Purple fire erupted on the mask, "You are never alone," Fenrin said, his voice cold, but gentle, "No matter where you are, there is a piece of us with you,"

The Red writhed on the ground, it's hand clutching at its mask to try and put out the flames. Seridt looked over at the pillar of red, the glowing veins standing out against the darkness he'd created with his power. He sheathed his swords and threw his second orb of light into the sky, above The Red, illuminating the area. He reached one hand out towards the red pillar and pulled the glow of light from it. A ball of red light, poisonous and wretched to the sight, formed into his open palm.

Seridt leaned over The Red, feeling calm. None of that old desire for The Red to come upon him, none of the familiar anger. Only a placid relief that he could defeat this evil, and he would. He dropped the red light into the mask, "This is your poison. Take it back, and get out,"

The Red screamed as the red light splashed over its face, steam poured off of its body and Seridt stepped back and turned to his friends, "It's over," He said, "Thank you,"

The red lines all unhooked from the trees they'd dug into, they pulled themselves up from the ground. The pillar came loose and ejected from the forest, traveling up as if being pulled by a giant in the sky. The Red continued to writhe, but did not scream any longer. One of the last lines caught him by the arm as the entire pillar shot upwards. It carried The Red with it.

Seridt did not wake up screaming this time. His eyes opened with a soft ease and he turned to look at Walter, "Thank you," He muttered, his throat was sore, as if he'd been screaming.

"My pleasure," Walter said as he stood up, holding a small vial of a red glowing liquid. He poured it into a larger vessel in the corner of the room. More than a gallon of red glowing liquid sloshed together and tried to reach up and escape, but Walter put a stopper over the long tube.

"Your friend, Jason, is in trouble. I've received word from Fenrin," Walter said, turning back to Seridt, "I'll need to take this to Ferinal, for safe keeping, but I think it would be best for you to go and help your friend,"

Seridt nodded, "You're letting me go?"

"It's against the rules, but exceptions do need to be made," Walter said, returning the nod, "The forest is a two day march south, you'll find Jason there, and a host of the White Kingdom,"

"Thank you," Seridt said again, "How can I ever repay you?"

"You already have," Walter said. The look in his eyes said that he knew something that Seridt could not understand. It was a similar look that many of the men of wisdom had when they looked at the boys. A look of unending gratitude.

Seridt leapt from the bed, "Where are my swords?" He asked.

"Those were broken, try these," Walter handed him the swords Seridt had held in his dreams. He took them and strapped them around his waist as quickly as he could, knowing he would admire them later.

Walter showed Seridt to the stairs, which led up through an underground tunnel and out from the roots of a tree, well concealed in the middle of the plains of Jericho. He ran south as fast as he could, already seeing the fires of war in the distance.

# Chapter 7: Of Innkeepers

They came into town as the sun was approaching the horizon. The shadows of the buildings were covering the road, turning the cool autumn breeze into a freezing wind. Winter would be coming, and with it the first snowfall would make the northern plains a frozen tundra.

It wasn't a large town, but it wasn't small by any means. It was the center of a farming region, where people from all over came to buy and sell their goods, and trade gossip. Fenrin and Atask were in need of some gossip. They had hoped to cut their journey down from three days to the forest, but had been forced to extend it.

Four days had passed since Atask had dreamed his dream, four days since Fenrin had received word of an army moving south. Unfortunately armies had been moving from all over, and they'd had to maneuver around them. Most soldiers wouldn't know who Fenrin was, but among the senior military staff of the White Kingdom Fenrin was considered an outlaw, keeping the tower from the kingdom. It wouldn't be wise to take such a risk.

They'd moved from the wilderness nearer the mountains to the main roads, seeking shelter in the greater traffic, though the traffic had been low for this time of year. The lack of the constantly moving trade was disturbing to Fenrin.

The first town they'd come to didn't have a tavern, which Fenrin found odd. The tavern was the general source of gossip and information, but they'd settled for a general goods store.

Almost as soon as they'd walked in the store owner moved to the door, looking outside. He wiped a few of the windows and came back to the counter.

"How can I help you?" The owner asked them.

"I'm looking for someone," Fenrin said.

"Well, I'm not sure I can help you with that, not many someone's been coming through town this year," The owner said. He sounded cheery, but there was a twitch in his smile every time his eyes glanced at Fenrin's face.

"I noticed there wasn't much traffic on the main road," Fenrin said, smiling back.

"I'll bet you did, where you from stranger?" The owner dropped his smile.

"The south," Fenrin said, keeping his face straight, "Why is there so little traffic these days?"

"Tough winter," The owner said, quickly adding, "What brings you to the north?"

"I'm looking for my nephew, he's run away, and all the trails lead near here," Fenrin answered, "Have you heard anything about a young man? About fifteen years old? He's likely causing trouble somewhere,"

"I might have, and I might not have," The owner said. His voice was accusing, though accusing of what he did not make clear, "Do all you southerners have strange eyes?"

"No, it's actually a rarity almost exclusive to my family," Fenrin was wary, but did not move, and did not show it, "Is there anything I can do for your information?"

"Didn't say I've got information, said I might have information," The man said. He was glancing outside, his eyes darting quickly from Fenrin to the window in his shop, waiting for something.

"Do you or not?" Fenrin was not smiling any longer. The look on his face was not fear, but anger.

The shop owner did not answer, he only kept glancing out towards the street.

"What are you looking for?" Fenrin asked him.

The man did not answer. Fenrin grabbed Atask by the wrist and left the shop, the owner shouting after them.

They moved down the street as quick as they could, and Fenrin pulled Atask into an alley. Four soldiers stormed into the shop almost immediately after they'd entered the alley. Fenrin could hear them shouting at the shop owner, asking which direction the two had gone.

"Come on," Fenrin said pulling Atask down the alley, "We needed to be gone five minutes ago,"

"What happened?" Atask asked as they ran through alleys, finding the main road again and moving down it.

"I'm not sure," He said, "It looks like they were waiting for us,"

The next town they'd found did have a tavern, which Fenrin was grateful for. A tavern would be darker inside, more difficult to recognize them. He changed the color of his cloak to a dark gray and pulled his hair back, covering up the tinges of purple.

The barkeep didn't have any of the information they were looking for either, but Fenrin was able to learn that the harvest had been small. The barkeep had said he didn't understand it, although it was obvious that he did. He knew more than he'd let on.

The White Kingdom had been recruiting more soldiers. Some by choice, others by force. Most farmers had been forced to put down their plows and take up a sword. If those farmers had a son, or two, the boys were forced to take up a sword too.

The traffic on the road was low, the harvest was small, because the White Kingdom had demanded soldiers. They'd called the recruit a campaign to restore the kingdom to its former glory, to end the hunger and the pain, by wiping out the other kingdoms who were competing for land.

No other kingdom was competing for land in the north, or even in the southern plains where The White Kingdom held its borders.

Fenrin thought that much could be attributed to the greed and stupidity of bad men. Greed, not for money, but for obedience. Not for product or wealth, but for the power of greater men to be made lesser. But something else had been coming around too.

Soldier's had been asking for any information on foreigners. Anyone who was not born in the White Kingdom was being hunted down, and a bounty was paid to whoever had tipped off the soldiers. A bounty that, most often, the kingdom could not afford, and was promised _eventually._

Add to this the massing of an army and Fenrin couldn't deny the truth. The enemy was moving through with their plan. The men of wisdom would need to hurry with their own, bring about their response, with Jason, Seridt, and Atask heading the effort.

The tavern they entered was dark inside, even for the evening. Fenrin asked for a room and a hot supper first. The barkeep handed over the keys to the room and laughed at the idea of supper. He said it would cost more than Fenrin could afford.

"Tell me the price and I will pay it," Fenrin had said.

"Fifteen gold pents," The barkeep laughed, "How's that for a price? It's the same as anyone else'll get. There's not enough to go around, I'm pretty sure we're gonna see a lot more beggars in these parts pretty soon. Every man who owned his own store is gonna end up sleeping in the street, begging for a scrap of meat,"

Fenrin dropped the golden coins onto the counter, "And twice that if you can answer a few questions,"

The barkeep didn't hear Fenrin, his eyes glued to the glittering gold in front of him. He lifted one of the coins up to his face and squinted, sure it was a fake. He bit into it, seeing the dent his teeth left. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, 'Well, I can't tell if it's fake,' but the stupefied look stayed on his face. The combination made him look a little more honest.

"I'll bring your food up to your room, we'll talk then," The barkeep said, his eyes still glittering, "Not so safe to talk 'round here, you know,"

Fenrin and Atask found their way to their room. It was a small quiet place, two beds on one wall, with a writing desk against the other. A table was positioned to the left of each bed with two chairs, and a rocker in the corner.

"How are you feeling?" Fenrin asked.

"I'm scared," Atask sat on the far bed and looked up at Fenrin, "I don't like this detour,"

"I don't like it either," Fenrin sighed.

"What if we're already too late?"

"I do not think we are, rather right on time," Fenrin said, "Those dreams have a way of showing up early,"

"I see," Atask said.

Fenrin laughed, Atask looked at him puzzled, his gesture asking 'what?'

"You still don't see," Fenrin smiled and let his hand fall on Atask's shoulder.

"What don't I see?" Atask asked, his eyes glaring upwards at Fenrin, "I wish you'd just tell me,"

"You're smarter than that, my boy," Fenrin said, sitting down at the table, "Think about it, we'll discuss it more tonight, our food is here,"

Fenrin pulled a handkerchief out of his cloak and tucked it into his collar. Atask looked to the door, confused. He couldn't hear the barkeep coming. He jumped as the far wall gave a creek, then burst open on a hinge.

"I suppose you boys'll need to leave pretty quick in the morning. Here's your exit," The barkeep laid a plate of food down on the table, then bowed deeply, as he would have to a king, "My apologies for the gruffness before. I wasn't sure it was you. My name is Ellers Maenn, I hope you remember the name," He was looking at Fenrin.

"I remember it well, Ellers," Fenrin said after a moment, recognition gleaming in his eyes, "Last we met you were just a boy. I did not recognize you,"

"And you were already an old man, It's a shock to see you're still alive, but there's no doubt it's you. No other man has eyes like that," Fenrin smiled.

"Come and eat, Atask," Fenrin said, "This is a friend,"

Atask sat down at the table, smiling at Ellers, and picked up his knife and fork. There was a plate of seared lamb with a light sauce before him with two small potatoes and a dumpling. He bowed his head over his food, closed his eyes, and uttered a light prayer to The Vire, thanking him for life, and for the blessing of food.

Atask ate slowly, though his hunger was racking at his stomach. He could almost feel the presence of his friends. He imagined he could see Jason eating the food, in no rush, but not taking his time, bending over the food as he ate, and finishing it with a smile.

Seridt would have been eating as quickly as he could, finishing his first plate and asking for another. He could have eaten the place out of its last scraps and finished with a belch.

Atask put his plate aside, only half finished, "I'm not hungry," He said.

"Eat it later," Fenrin told him, he smiled, his understanding showing through his eyes, "We'll find them,"

"What is it you wanted to ask?" Ellers sat in the rocking chair, watching the two eat while he sipped on a glass of his own brew.

"This is Atask," Fenrin put his hand on Atask's shoulder, "He is a son of mine, and his brothers are missing,"

"And you're wondering if I'd heard anything about them," Ellers finished the thought.

"Yes," Fenrin said, "Any information would be helpful, we haven't been able to hear much,"

"I bet you haven't been able to hear anything that you wanted to hear," Ellers gave a snort, his gray mustache vibrated at the breath, "I think I might be the only man left who can actually get to a point in this region. The boys all his age? You'd be surprised how many youngsters are causing trouble these days, what with the draft and all,"

"They are both his age, fifteen, though he is much bigger than them," Fenrin said, "One of them has green eyes, and most likely has a bow and arrows on his person at all times. The other has white hair, white as snow in fact, which is normally partly braided. That one's name is Seridt, the other is Jason,"

"Jason? What kind of name is that?" Ellers laughed.

"It's a common name in the south," Fenrin smiled, "The founder of Anondoll was named Jason, most who are descended from him are given his name, or another name beginning with J, it is considered a sacred letter,"

Atask's eyes grew wide, "There are many legends of your past, all three of you," Fenrin said, "When all three of you are safe back in Ferinal I will tell you as many as you desire,"

Atask nodded, quickly.

"I have heard a few rumors," Ellers said, slowly, "Actually, many. How many do you want to hear?"

"How many are you talking about?"

"Five, today," Ellers said, looking out the window, "More and more strange things are happening lately, though. I wouldn't be surprised to hear more by tomorrow morning,"

Fenrin looked at Atask, "I don't think we have the effort to worry about anyone else right now,"

"Right, I understand," Ellers smiled, "Come back for them later. I'll keep them stored away," He tapped his bald head with his finger.

"There's a small town up in the north," Ellers started, "Cottondale, they grow cotton," He laughed, "Go figure,"

Atask smiled. He liked Ellers.

"There's this little club they've got up there, call themselves the children of the clay. More like a cult than a club if you ask me. They get together every couple of days and beat each other bloody, they say it builds their pain resistance. I think it's just an excuse to fight someone who ain't gonna kill you back. Bunch of cowards if you ask me,"

"Anyway," Fenrin rolled his fingers in the air, though he was smiling himself.

"Anyway, about a week ago some kid, white haired kid with some braids, just like you said, comes in the middle of them, screams at them for a fight, and picks one with one of the big guys. I hear the guy tried to resist the kid at first, must not be too depraved, not wanting to hit a kid and all, but the kid keeps poking him. Like some lunatic with a stick would poke a sleeping bear. All the townsfolk were already clearing out, but I got a good source who says the kid kept poking till the big guy finally throws a punch.

"My source says the guy was on his back, blacked out, in less than a minute. Their crowd of flunkies quit their own fights and started challenging the kid. He laid four of them out flat, and was going for a fifth when the gang decided they'd had enough. It took four of them at once just to pull the kid off their fifth guy, although he was still able to walk home by the end of it.

"My guy over heard them give him a nice honest threat. They won't be forgetting that insult any time soon, you know. Kills the rapport to have some kid whip your boys a good one. Last thing my source tells me is he passed out on the ground, stayed there all night,"

"Anything else?" Fenrin asked.

"Not that I've heard, though I'd like to hear the ending of that story when you hear it," Ellers had a solemn look, "Hope it's a good one,"

"Why wouldn't they just beat him while he was passed out?" Atask asked.

"Kid, some folks would think it dishonorable to beat a man while he's out cold, not to mention a kid, there's the usual possibility. That's the one my source was thinking, but I think it's something else. A gang like that wants a big deal, they want a big fight, and they can't get a big fight if the kid is injured, and they can't make him scream for his mother when he's passed out,"

"What about the other one?" Fenrin asked.

"He's a little more interesting," Ellers looked like he should have been sitting at a fire, the dim lighting on his face, telling a ghost story, "It starts in this town, I saw the kid myself, he passed through pretty quick. Only stop he made was right here, asked for a bite to eat, which he couldn't pay for. I gave him some water and bread, was the best I could do," Ellers shrugged, "He asked me a few questions, about life, about the land,"

"What was he looking for?" Atask asked.

"He wanted to know about the military. Tried getting me to tell him without me realizing he wanted me to tell him," Ellers smiled, "He was pretty good at it. You raised a pretty smart boy,"

"I didn't teach him that one," Fenrin was smiling back, but his eyes held concern, "Do you know why he wanted to know about the military?"

"Nope, I couldn't figure it out from him, kept his poker face nice and tight. He was headed south. I watched him as he left town,"

"What did he learn from you?" Fenrin asked.

"Nothing too much, didn't have much information for him then," Ellers sighed, "I figured he just wanted to join up with them,"

"Do you have new information now?" Atask asked.

"Yeah, there's a military camp pretty far to the east, and a troop of about two hundred soldiers were marching west a few days ago, took up hold in Tertull, to the south. I'm guessing your kid, Jason, found them,"

"What do we do?" Atask asked.

"What do you think?" Fenrin frowned at him, "You know as well as I do,"

"We should go, he'll need us," Atask said.

"Wait a minute," Ellers interrupted, "There is something else," He was looking out the window, his face was twisted in pain.

"What is it?" Fenrin asked.

"There's been some trouble around these parts, not military," Ellers said.

He was silent for some time, Fenrin reached out and put a hand to his shoulder, comforting him, "It's okay, we might be able to help,"

"It's those cults. That one in Cottondale is just a small one," Ellers looked like he wanted to cry, "There are at least three more in the region, and one of them is gaining a bit of power. They call themselves the armor bearers. They run around making raids on the villages every now and again, and people are starting to think that it's either sign up with the military or sign up with them.

"They have one requirement to be recruited, you gotta go and steal some armor, and kill the guy who owns it. My nephew, he was a blacksmith," Ellers choked up, but he didn't cry, wouldn't cry, "They killed him! They just came in one night, took the project he'd just finished, and they killed him.

"I'd seen him just the day before. He looked good, healthy, but when we buried him last week he..." Ellers couldn't say any more. It was a wonder he'd been able to talk at all.

"We'll take care of it, just after we find my brothers," Atask volunteered. Fenrin nodded his agreement.

"Don't misunderstand me. I know revenge won't bring Darker back, I know it. Once, long ago, I'd have said something different, but now I know better. I just want them stopped, they're killing people left and right. Good people, I knew a lot of them. Some of them were regulars, and sure, some of them deserved something coming back at them, what with the robbery, but I don't know a single man that's been killed who deserved to die. Not one. It ain't right,"

"Have things been that bad recently?" Atask asked.

"Boy, things have been bad for as long as I can remember. Sure, the white and black made their treaty, but nothing really changed, it just got put below the surface. We've been having those cults crop up for the past fifty years, more and more, and it's just getting worse and worse. It hasn't hit the breaking point, no, it hit that decades ago,"

"Something changed," Fenrin said, he was looking intently at Ellers.

"Sure, something changed," Ellers looked up, his eyes red, the tears had stopped. There was a strange kind of resolve hidden in his voice through the choked back sobs, "You showed up. Ain't nothing I can do about it, not on my own, but you can do something. You can get something around here to change. I'd bet my whole inn, bar, and kitchen on it. Best I can do is help you do it,"

"We will change it," Atask said, his hand was on Ellers shoulder, giving a weight to his reassurance.

Fenrin reached into his cloak and produced a purse. Ellers shook his head and his hands, "No, no, I don't want you to take no pity on a crying old man,"

"It's not pity. I want to make sure you stay open for business," Fenrin laid out eighty gold tocks, one by one. Enough to buy three hot meals a day, even at the overly extensive prices, for two years, "I'll need more information, and if everyone is having as much trouble as you the other bars will start closing down. Keep your prices low, and you'll become a hotspot for gossip, and we will need that,"

"Can we give him some protection?" Atask asked.

Fenrin moved to the window and flung it open, giving a light musical whistle. An owl came swooping onto the windowsill. Fenrin whispered into its ear and it began to glow with a violet light. It swooped away to the north.

"I've sent for some Vannessem to come and guard the inn. You'll get suspicion if you stay open, and you'll need protection against the growing cults too," Fenrin smiled, "It's not pity, I'm protecting my investment,"

Ellers smiled back, "Thank you. You're every bit as kind as I remember,"

Fenrin and Atask spent most of the night comforting Ellers, talking about the 'Good old days' with him. They had him laughing after he'd quit his crying, and they'd helped him off to his own bed when his laughter had turned to yawns. Atask was yawning fiercely himself. Fenrin recommended they finish the night here.

"We have to go help," Atask yawned the end of his sentence.

"We won't be able to help them if we're too tired to walk," Fenrin said, "Come now, this may be the last nice place we get to spend the night at before we're back in Ferinal,"

"I'm not _tired,_ " He yawned again, "And you don't look tired either,"

"I'm exhausted," Fenrin said, laying down in his bed, "And I'm not going to run you into the ground,"

"I can make it! I promise!" Atask said.

"Then prove it! Lay down for twenty minutes. If you're still awake we will leave then,"

Atask agreed and let his head fall on the pillow. He was asleep before his first minute was up.

It was mid-morning when the gleaming sun finally drove both of them to wake up. Atask scratched his head and looked around, still in a haze from his rest.

"Dang it," He said when he realized he'd slept through the night. Fenrin laughed.

They gathered their supplies, what little they'd brought with them, and had Ellers bring them a breakfast. They reminisced more with him as they ate, and they left the inn with smiles still on their faces.

"It's better to travel by day anyway," Fenrin told Atask, "The guards aren't so jumpy, and they're suspicious of anyone walking the roads by night. Not to mention the cults. It's likely they'll have their own nightly activities,"

"You're right," Atask said, "I'm just worried about Jason, and Seridt,"

"I know," Fenrin said, "I'm glad you made a decision though, even if we ended up going against it," He smiled at Atask and ruffled his hair. Atask gave him a smile back. They were both feeling happier this morning thanks to their pleasant talk with Ellers. They had a direction on where they would need to go now. They might actually have a chance of making up for lost time.

They followed the road for a few miles, taking the left at the fork a few miles down. There was less traffic on the roads than there had been. In fact, they didn't cross anyone else's path the entire afternoon.

It was well into evening before they saw travelers on the road, walking towards them. It was a group of five men, each covered in thick armor. Fenrin saw them before they could see him.

"Get off the road," He said to Atask, "I think these are the cultists Ellers was talking about,"

They crouched as they ran towards a thick cover of bushes that was twenty feet off the main road. They watched the armor bearers walk by, laughing. Their armor was stained with blood.

Atask's mind was running in a flurry at the sight of the blood. His heart raced through his chest. He felt like he was witnessing the murders right before his eyes. He felt the familiar sensation of freezing, that inability to act. Fenrin was holding his arm to steady him, and Atask was glad for it. If he didn't have that arm, that single solid foundation he felt that he would fall into a swirling abyss of nothing. Nothing, no action, no feeling, and eventually no thinking.

Of what use, he heard dimly in the back of his mind, is thinking without action. Isn't the action one takes the very proof of their ability to think? The very proof of the exact kind of thinking they spin in their heads? Yes, even down to every choice word there is an exact proof of just what happens inside an individual's head.

When Atask was younger, just starting to notice girls, imagining impossible scenarios inside of his head, he'd had a fear crop up. The kind of fear that comes strong with puberty, but fades quickly. He had been afraid that someone could read his thoughts.

It was not an unheard of fear, not from his perspective. He'd seen marvelous and less than marvelous powers on display for much of his life. It was not a stretch to ponder that someone might be capable of reading his thoughts like words on paper.

He heard a chuckle ring through his skull. How silly of a fear, that there might be one single man who could read your thoughts. One single person who might blow the whistle on all of your deepest, seediest ideas. How silly, because every single person he had ever met could read his thoughts perfectly, if they took the time to read. They were written in his actions, over every movement of his arm, over every word that escaped his lips. Not just his thoughts, either, but the deepest roots of his moral code.

Then if he were pursuing no action, if he didn't allow his thoughts to bring him into some movement of his body was he really thinking? Atask knew he was, and he knew also that thinking in those moments was a waste of his efforts, for they came to nothing in the end. If he could not bring himself to act in those situations, when there was responsibility to act, how did he have the right to act in any other situation?

If he refused to come to a decision even when the result looked dreadful, even when doing the right thing would result in him receiving a punishment, how did he have the right to enjoy the moments when doing the right thing cost no effort. How could he deserve to be happy in those times when justice was being accomplished, when doing the right thing was rewarded with good, if he was unwilling to commit to doing the right thing when it could be rewarded with evil.

Could he ever face Jason if the only time he was a friend to Jason was when times were easy? What kind of despicable man would he be if he refused to help Jason the moment it became tense for himself? Could he be upset if Jason left him?

The same, Atask thought, could be thought of for that principle. If he was unwilling to do what was right when the results were scary then he was in no way righteous, and may justice take its toll on him for receiving happiness when he refused to fight for it.

That was it, wasn't it. It all came down to happiness, and a little more. It was joy that he desired, and joy that he received, from living with Fenrin. Yet when it came down to battling for his joy he was never up to the task. He could live in his joy, there was no problem there, but his lack of a decision was a lack of a battle. His joy ought to have left him by now, if he could not battle for it, he did not deserve it.

Two questions ran through his head, above all of the inner struggle. It all happened in such a brief instant, between two pulses of a heartbeat: _Whose blood was that?_ and _Whose blood is next?_

That was his breaking point. He saw evil, standing just before him, walking just past him, and if he could not make a decision then evil would be given its sanction to continue on. It would receive Atask's own endorsement, whether he was willing to shout it to the world or not. By doing nothing, for the sake of being too afraid, or insecure, he gave evil his own sanction and sacrificed his own deepest desires for good.

If he made the conscious decision to do nothing but sit and watch them walk by, he thought, it would not be his sanction. So long as he made a conscious decision on what was right, based on his own reason, he did not give his sanction to evil.

But he knew that was not right. He could not simply sit by and let these men in their blood soaked armor continue on. He knew he must move, he must confront, and only then did he have the right to smile. Only then did he have the right to find Jason. Only after defending the rights of anyone else did he have the right to defend the rights of Jason.

There was something else buried deep in his mind. Something he did not understand, and could not name exactly. One dim idea, parallel to saving Jason, was forgiving him.

Atask did not understand it exactly, but he did not have the time to ponder it. The armored men were passing them by, and he had to move. They paused, and it brought his mind back to reality out of the depths of his ideas.

He started to move his hand, but Fenrin held it fast, "We need to stay hidden," He said, his eyes were wide, fearful. They told Atask, just with the look, that it was not Fenrin's own life he feared for, but Atask's. He was afraid to lose another son.

"You told us, all three of us, that you desire to do good. You said you can do nothing of your own will, but only facilitate a man," Atask whispered into his ear, "Until now I have been afraid to act, and now I cannot abstain from acting. Help me to do good, I cannot give these evil men my sanction any longer,"

Fenrin grabbed Atask's hand in his own, the fear in his eyes was gone. It was replaced by his own joy, which he had fought for through countless battles, over countless centuries, all to reach this single moment. This single feeling he'd rarely been given the time to experience. Here was his own reward for his battles, right in this moment, and it was only the beginning of his reward, "I could not be more proud of you than I am now," He whispered to Atask, "Lead on, son,"

Fenrin kissed Atask on the forehead as they both stood and moved out of the bushes. The men in their armor did not see them.

"Whose blood is that?" Atask shouted after them, "And whose blood is next?"

"I didn't get her name," One of the five stepped forward, his armor was dyed a colorful blue, like the sky on a bright day. There were lines of unpainted steel that ran through the blue in a design that made the armor look thicker than it was. The inside of the chest piece was lined with fur, obviously designed for the winter. The man was carrying a staff with a long blade at the end, a halberd as Atask had learned, "Didn't really talk to her much at all," The man laughed, pointing to one bloody shoulder. It was a sickening laugh, not the kind that comes from battling for ones joy, but from distorting joy into something that doesn't need to be fought for.

The blood made the armor look distorted, no different than if someone had taken a wondrous painting and smeared over it. The man pointed to his leg, another bloody patch, "His name was Jameson, he was a southerner," The man smiled, "He had a nice little family, that's theirs," He pointed to his friend.

"What is your name?" Atask shouted.

The man in the armor looked puzzled. No kid should be able to speak to him like that, he was an armor bearer, and he commanded respect. He walked towards Atask, his laughter turned to a grimace, "What's it to you, kid?"

"Because I want to know whose blood I will be smearing on the road," Atask said, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh yeah? Your old man gonna help you," He didn't get to say the last words of his sentence. Atask leapt forward and planted his fist in his mouth. The man fell backward into the dust, his companions ran forward, to help him.

Atask took note of their weapons. Two had large swords, hand and a half, another had a sword and a shield, and the other had a large double bladed axe. The swords, if thrust hard enough, could pierce Atask's rock skin, and the axe could be swung with enough weight to do the same. He'd have to watch out for those.

The man on the ground reached up with his spear, trying to stick the blade into Atask before his friends got there. Atask stomped his foot into the chest piece of the armor, collapsing it against the man's chest. He assumed a few broken ribs, and a lack of breath until he removed his armor.

Atask sidestepped away from the axe swing, and felt the shield slam into his back, knocking him to the ground. He rolled away from the axe and kicked at one of the armor bearers holding a two handed sword, he fell backwards, tripping over the man on the ground who was already wheezing.

Fenrin jumped into the fray with his sword slashing against the man with the axe. It was all the man could do but block against Fenrin's swings. A fire was lit in Fenrin's eyes, the same kind that was lighting along his sword and in his left hand. He threw the flame at the man with the two handed sword who was still standing as Atask leapt to his feet in time to avoid the man with the sword and the shield stabbing into the dirt.

Atask threw a punch, but the man blocked it with his shield, slashing with his sword. Atask blocked with his forearm and grasped the blade in his free hand. He ripped the sword out of the man's hands and flung it against the man with the two handed sword that was fighting Fenrin.

The man who had fallen had gotten himself up, moving slow in his thick iron armor. He brought his sword down hard against Atask, who couldn't dodge it in time. It sent a rushing pain through Atask's arms and a jarring went through his whole body.

He grabbed the shield and ignored the pain. He threw his fist against the man's shoulder, dislocating it, and then knocked his forearm against his face. The man with the axe kicked Fenrin away and swung his axe towards Atask.

Atask ducked his head and the axe went into the man with the two handed sword who was trying to put out the violet flames that were eating at the fur lining of his armor. The axe stuck into him as he fell and the man with the axe tried to pull it out. Atask kicked him away and Fenrin stuck his sword into the man's ribs.

The second man with a two handed sword came swinging at Atask, but Fenrin blocked the blow as Atask kicked his foot into the man's head. His helmet crumpled around his face and he fell to the ground.

The last man standing was the man with the shield. He raised his shield up as an attempt to guard against the onslaught that had occurred against his fellows. The first man, the one with the long staff, had stopped breathing. He was dead, like the man Fenrin had stuck with his sword and the man with the collapsed helmet. The man who now had an axe in his chest was on the ground, still barely wheezing. He'd probably not live through the minute.

Atask grabbed the shield with both hands and pulled on it, hard. The man came face first into the dusty road. Atask pulled the shield off his arm and pulled his gauntlets off his hand to get a sure grip on them. He held his wrists tight, tight enough to make the man wince in pain.

"I'm not gonna kill you," Atask said to the man, their faces inches apart. He could smell the stink on the man's breath, the stink of someone who's done a greater atrocity than just kill a man and his family, "If you kick though, my friend here will stick his sword in you quicker than you can wish you were dead,"

"I won't kick," The man said. He spoke with a drawl that Atask didn't recognize, though Fenrin new it came from the south, who had at one time had enough dealings with Garn, out in the land without towers, to pick up on their accents, "But it's not cause I'm scared of dying, I want you to know that. I'm not scared," The man was shaking with his fear.

"I don't care what you're scared of," Atask told him, "But you'd better talk or I'll teach you fear." Fenrin wasn't smiling, he knew Atask wasn't acting.

"I'm not gonna tell you nothing," The man said. He worked his mouth back and forth to work up some saliva and spit it at Atask. It landed on the man's chest instead, his lip was bruised and swelling up.

"Well, I'll give you this one chance anyway," He looked into the man's eyes, real close, and asked, "Who's your boss?"

The man chuckled, "You think I'm scared of you? He taught us that it's good to get pain. He says pain makes you worth less, and if you're worth nothing then you won't have no pain,"

Atask twisted the man's arms, getting a grimace, "Feel worthless yet?" He asked.

The man shook his head, right to left as quick as he could. His eyes were shut as tight as they could go, then a little tighter.

Atask bent the man's thumbs back, just before the breaking point, "How about now?" He asked him. The man was trying hard not to scream, and was panting instead, "You must be worth a whole lot, because it looks like you wanna scream,"

"You can't get," The man's chest was heaving up and down, "me to say nothing!"

"I doubt that," Atask broke one thumb. The man screamed this time, "I don't like being mean. I'd rather help you, but you gotta help yourself first. If you wanna be loyal to evil, then you're evil yourself, and I'm not the kind of kid who let's evil just roam around free,"

The man tried to pull his hands away, but he still wasn't kicking. Despite what he'd said it was clear he was afraid to die, and by now he'd had enough of pain, "You might as well stop now cause I won't say nothing!"

Atask broke his other hand, "You sure? This stops when you answer my questions,"

"Armoguld!" The man screamed as his second thumb was broken, "His name is Armoguld! They call him the Ghost in the Armor!"

The man was crying, "Thank you," Atask said, "Want me to patch up your thumbs for you?" The man didn't speak, "C'mon. I want to help you," The man just stared at Atask, his eyes blank, "That's fine if you don't want to, just give me a yes or no,"

The man nodded, "Please help me," He said. He had the look of a broken man.

"Alright, I'll take care of it," Atask laid the man down and let his hands go. The man immediately clutched at his arms and began to cry. Atask pulled two splints out of his pack, "That's what you'll get from the life you lead, one way or another," He said as he stuck his splint on the man's hand, "And if I catch you again I'm not gonna fix you up, I'll leave you for the buzzards, like your friends,"

"I got nothing else," The man muttered. He'd quit his crying by the time Atask was steadying his thumb for the second splint. That one needed to be set first.

"I can offer you something else," Atask said, looking into his eyes, "This one will hurt, a lot," He pulled the man's thumb, hard, to get the bone in the right place. He set the splint on and started to wrap it, "Head north a little ways, first town you come to find yourself some honest work. After a while you'll see a few men with colorful eyes," Atask pointed to his own, "Not just blue and green, but reds and oranges, the brightest most beautiful colors you've ever seen. You go up to them and you say, 'Sir, I seek forgiveness, for I have sinned,' and they'll ask you what you done, you say you met me, Atask Dailes, and you tell them everything else you've done. They'll take care of you,"

Atask finished splinting the man's thumbs and sent him on his way. Fenrin was sitting back, watching how Atask worked. Atask watched the man leave and cursed, "I forgot to get his name,"

"You did good," Fenrin said to him. Atask felt a burning admiration growing in him from Fenrin's words. Such simple words that built his own confidence.

"We should keep moving," Fenrin said.

Fenrin's eyes were looking beyond the horizon. To the southwest the White Kingdom had sent its soldiers against Ra'Dushree, in the very forest where Jason was fleeing from an army. Fenrin's face was set in a grimace.

"Is that where Jason is?" Atask asked, not sure why he was so certain Fenrin knew the answer.

"Yes," Fenrin replied. He set a hard pace, "We need to hurry, there isn't much time left,"

The afternoon was fading into evening as they hurried down the road. Atask wondered if they would be able to stop to sleep that night, and knew the answer already. He wondered if they would find Jason in time to save him, and hoped the answer burning in his chest was wrong.

# Interlude: To Pass Through Pain

"Is there anything I can do to help them on their journey?"

"You know you will not be able to help them directly,"

"I know it,"

"And that the only way to help them is to put your trust in the council members, whom may one day betray you,"

"I know it,"

"There is a way. Though Atask may forget for a time,"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the days of your wanderings?"

"I remember them well. I met many men while Heiro Nair still walked the earth,"

"You trained him well, and with him you touched many lives. How many do you think still remember you?"

"Not many. Men have forgotten our kind as quickly as they could,"

"Yes, many have forgotten, but there are still a great number who will remember your face, if they see it. You will pass one, and you may prepare him to help the boys,"

"How?"

"All things are scarce this season in the White Kingdom. Remember that. Strength as well as fortune. Funds as well as food,"

"I will remember,"

"They will be tested, and you will not be there for them in the time of their testing, but you may prepare a way, only keep some subtly about you, the ways of men are wary in these times. They will not trust easily, and it would be unwise for any to stick his neck out. You will have to plant two seeds, one that can be known, and another that must remain a mystery until the Sentinels reveal it,"

"There is another matter of concern,"

"I know of it. It links closely, does it not?"

"It does. The Vail grow in strength each day. I do not think I know how many have been freed any longer,"

"There are many outside Allseers that have been freed as well, these you know nothing of, but they are not your concern. The guardians will rise once more to protect the land,"

"The Guardians?"

"Yes. While the Sentinels have waited to be reborn the Guardians have kept to their secrecy, and their slumber. But they have woken, and they begin their hunt, and just in time it seems,"

"What do you mean?"

"The Early Days have begun their plans. The one you named Twilight is their leader, for now. His tricks are being sown far and wide, not only in Allseers. The men of misery in the Land Without Towers are easily manipulated, but the Guardians are doing what they can to prolong the efforts of the enemy. They buy you time, do not waste it,"

"But what of the Vail within Allseers? Twilight holds a strong presence here. Stronger even than The Hangman, though he is unaware of it,"

"Yes, they grow in strength, but the Sentinels will be ready when the time comes. They shall lead the people to victory, and the king will return for his people. The days grow short, Fenrin, the time is soon,"

"I am ready. If I do not see the day when my children have grown to be men, I will not fret, for I know that the promise of The Vire is sure,"

"You speak well, Fenrin, Prophet of The Voyant, but ready your heart regardless. For this is a pain you have never known,"

# Chapter 8: To Pass Through Fire

Jason tried to catch some breath into his starving lungs. He had trouble registering the figures in the white armor standing nearby. He rolled over and tried to stand, but only stumbled a little ways before falling again, gasping for air.

"That's the one who killed Crowsley?" He heard the voice behind him, "He's just a kid,"

Jason felt a surge in his mind. The memory of his dream.

Find those who are hungry for goodness, hungry for a true king.

"No, put your weapons down," The voice cried out, "We won't kill a kid,"

"But General Raytiff gave the order!" Another voice.

"I'm not going to kill one kid for the cruelty of another. Crowsley had it coming," The first voice again, "It doesn't make sense to send an army after one kid, doesn't matter who it was they killed,"

Jason found the air and breathed deep, his lungs filling with freshness. He looked at the soldiers, they were clear now. Seven of them, three still had arrows trained at him. He dared not move.

"I don't want to get in trouble for this kids' sake," Another man said, he looked Jason in the eyes, "I say sorry," His arm trembled but he didn't release the arrow.

Ask of them if they have seen corruption in their kingdom.

"Damnit," He shot his arrow into the ground, "Put 'em away, boys. We can't do it,"

The soldiers all put their weapons away and the first man came towards Jason, "I'm Irvine Wellus, pleased to meet you," He put his hand towards Jason, who took it. Irvine helped him up.

He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a bald head, "Run along now, run as fast as you can," He said. Jason didn't move though. His dream was flashing before his eyes, and he knew what he had to do.

"Have you seen the corruption of the White Kingdom?" He asked, his voice startled Irvine, and the other soldiers shifted uncomfortably, "Have you seen the kingdom of your fathers as it's broken down by insanity and corruption? Have you seen it?"

None of them would meet his gaze. Off in the distance shouts declared the beginning of a battle. Ra'Dushree had met the White Kingdom.

"You have, I can tell," Jason said, "I've seen it in the Black Kingdom too," A few of the soldier's caught his glance. They knew what had happened in the Black Kingdom, "There's something else coming. A new kingdom, with a new king and a new people. It will be a good kingdom, I've seen the signs already, and it will welcome anyone into its arms,"

"Boy, you must be crazy," Irvine said, "I've had a look at every land of Allseers in my time of service, they're all the same. They're all corrupt. If there's a kingdom better than the White then it's not in Allseers,"

"You're wrong," Jason said, he kept his head up, despite his doubts, "In the north is a kingdom, not of man, but of the wise. You haven't seen it. Not one of you has. It hasn't been seen by men for generations. It is a kingdom not ruled by corruption, or lust for power, but by hope and joy!

"But something greater is coming, there is a king who is waiting, guarded by The Vire against The Hangman until his kingdom is ready for his return. Would you be a part of this kingdom? Would you leave the corruption of The White Kingdom and enter into goodness? Would you enter into peace?"

Jason felt the fervor rising in his chest. His passion poured out through his tongue. He was breathing hard, expecting a response of applause or rage, but he received neither. The soldiers looked unphased.

"You've been hearing too many fairy tales boy," Irvine said, "The men of wisdom are the business of mothers and their toddlers, and The Vire doesn't look upon men anymore,"

"What's the kings name?" A soldier shouted back, his eyes were filling with tears. Jason could see that he'd reached him. He was a younger man, but his face was covered in scars. His red hair was short and curly. He looked like he was still a boy himself.

"Shut up, Korin," Irvine said, "Look, kid, we're gonna let you go, cause you're just a kid yet and you probably didn't know what you were doing. Crowsley had it coming anyway, so run along to your mother as quick as you can. I don't want to let you go just to find out you got killed in the crossfire of this war,"

Jason's shoulders slumped. He'd tried what he could. He leapt into the trees again, climbing as fast as he could. He was followed by gasps of amazement, the men couldn't believe how he'd climbed, it was like watching a squirrel leaping around.

Jason reached out with his thoughts. _You said they would come._

He was surprised when he received an answer, almost running himself into a tree trunk. _I said to try, because they might come. I said give them a chance. You sowed your seed, now let it grow._

Jason was running across branches, leaping between them like a trail of balance beams. He took his bow off of his shoulders and checked it, instinctively, to make sure it hadn't been hurt in the fall. It had a crack running along the center, it might not fire straight anymore, but it was still in good enough condition to rely on in a tight spot.

Looking at his bow reminded him of his lack of arrows. He felt a panic rip across his mind.

You have all you need. Go north to find refuge.

The voice echoed in his thoughts. He turned north, obeying. It was right. He had to get north, but leaving the forest terrified him. It was his greatest protection, leaping through the trees, disappearing in the lofty heights.

He climbed higher to avoid the camp that was still below him, though it wasn't likely that the soldiers would notice him any longer. They had the Ra'Dushreans to worry about now. He felt branches scraping across his cheeks, like a loving mother caressing her child's face, feeling his warmth, his livelihood a comfort to her. The leaves brushed his body, covering him in an enveloping blanket of safety through concealment. He rode the wave of the forest higher and higher, letting the issue of the soldiers fall behind him. He had no need to worry, he'd tried, he'd failed, he needed to move on.

He reached the top of the trees and looked out for the nearest edge. He could smell smoke wafting out over the forest. Burning trees and burning flesh. He reached the tip of a branch and clung to it, his legs wrapped around it to hold himself steady.

Flames separated the mile and a half between his position and the northern edge of the forest. He thought he'd have to go around the forest, around the battle, to escape from this place.

His escape from Ferinal had been simple, his killing Crowsley had been easy. Getting to the safety of the forest had been hard, and his dream had added a new difficulty onto his life, a greater purpose than he could have imagined. Now getting home was to be the hardest challenge he'd ever faced. An open war was being acted out before him, around him. Loose arrows flew in every direction, men were dying from friendly fire. He was surrounded by death, with three arrows, some leftover bandages, and a single skinning knife. How could he escape?

"I am the phoenix," He heard his voice say out loud, though it wasn't him who spoke, but that ghastly voice from his dream, "I pass through the fire, passing through death, and rise once more from the ashes of war, alive,"

Jason shook his head. Where had that come from? What was happening to him?

Whatever it was, it encouraged him. He looked to the fire, and to the war, not as death, but as rebirth. Yes, he might perish on his way through, but he had sown a seed for a new kingdom, for a beloved king, into seven soldiers. He'd prepared seventy seven children to be capable of doing the same.

Jason thought of the other children then, before he leapt away from the tree, prepared to face death. Each face flashed before his eyes, each smile and each frown. Each face shifting from joy into a fierce determination, into a breadth of sadness. They'd been like little brothers and sisters to him.

They'd all looked up to him, and he'd taught them everything he could. There were still many things he had left to show them, but he knew Fenrin would take care of them. He let those faces flash before him once more before he would take his leap. He thought, as each one passed, _I am proud of you_.

Then he was off. Straight ahead towards the smoke. To the west he saw flashes of lightning blasting across the land. Raytiff was fighting his war. He had been the one to start the fires. Jason felt pity for his old friend. Deep in the recesses of his mind, from where the voice echoed out to him before, he knew that Raytiff was beyond help. Raytiff would not leave the White Kingdom, he enjoyed the corruption. He enjoyed the unearned position because of a radical power that could strike fear into the hearts of the most powerful soldiers. Raytiff was helping the corruption spread.

They'd been friends once, but now they were enemies, and Jason knew it. Did Raytiff know it? Did he really remember that they'd been friends? Did he feel sorrow for his crimes? Or was he happy to be hunting Jason?

Was he hoping to kill Jason himself?

They were useless questions, only bringing deeper feelings of pain into Jason's heart, slowing his mind. He had to focus.

His eyes met the flames. For a moment time froze around him, as if it had been he and the flame battling against one another for thousands of years. As if it had always come to this. He'd work and he'd struggle, battling to overcome the strife set before him, and the flames were always there to meet him. Always there to thwart him with their bleak and bright death that spread with a craze of heat and smoke. Always there to push against him as he passed through death and back into life.

Then the feeling was gone. Jason was afraid of those feelings, coming up suddenly, ready to capture his thoughts and throw him forward towards a destiny he did not know, or understand. They took all other fears from him, those thoughts.

He'd accept it for now. He could ask Fenrin about it later.

Fenrin.

The memory of the old man was sharp in his mind. Every detail recalled perfectly, down to the staff and sword that he would pull out of his cloak like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

Every detail was funneled in with a few spiraling emotions winding around in his head. Guilt was one, though it was not so strong. Jason was confident in his ability to make his mistakes up to the old man. Happiness was another. The image of the old man standing before him, scolding him or affirming him, brought a great deal of joy into Jason. The father he'd always wanted, and for a time had. The last emotion was a deep longing that came with his respect. He missed the old man, he missed his father, more than he feared the death before him.

He would make Fenrin proud in these last moments. He would survive as long as he could, he would battle against evil, and if he could sow a seed, offer the new kingdom, he would. There was nothing else he could do now, nothing else before him. This was it.

He was flying across the trees, moving closer and closer to the smoke rising in the air. He would try to pass around it as best as he could, but it was steadily reaching farther to the east and west. The first battle of a war was playing out below him, and all around the forest. The only patch of ground nearby that was not overcome with destruction was just to the north of the trees. Climbing his way through the fire would be a preferable path than through a battlefield. A fire couldn't aim, and didn't possess the will to kill him.

(Reborn through fire.)

The fire was spreading, though. Spreading fast. He wouldn't be able to go directly through the middle, where there was less fighting and fewer soldiers. He'd have to move closer to the edge, to the east, where a volley of arrows was periodically being fired into the air.

He leapt around a tall oak, using the branches as his path through the forest. An arrow was stuck into the side of the trunk, he wrenched it out as he passed, putting it into his quiver.

"Might come in handy," He said. The sound of his own voice amidst the screams of war startled him. It made him aware of how alone he was here. He was starting to hear the occasional fight playing out below him, a cry of pain as a sword entered flesh, a cry of anguish as the finality of fate set over a soldier, and the death rattle as his last breath choked out of him.

The sounds of war were eerie. Sounds of absolution. He wondered if these soldiers knew how to speak words with the same precision they swung a sword with. The thought felt foreign.

He was flying across the forest, the heat of the fire coming closer to his body. His muscles were becoming loose, practicing the talent they'd always done so naturally. He was heading east already. His passage across the forest felt shorter than it should. He wondered if he wasn't losing time in his thoughts.

"Don't panic," The now familiar sensation that someone else was using his voice, and he was only moving his lips in time with its will, "There is no need for panic. Death has already come upon me once, when I was a child. It took me and brought me to The Hangman, and a new life I was given.

"And death came again in my escape, in our escape, from the camps. It came on the shoulders of Mesmer, and we were brought into a salvation through the forest. Then yet again it came, I died with the forest, and yet again I found new life. I died willingly when I left Ferinal, and now I die again here. I have already found death, and he has found me.

"I do not fear him. I greet him as a friend. For with him he has brought change, and after him I have found life. Each time I have died I have left a piece of myself behind. A piece that was unnecessary, a piece that was unprofitable. And here too I leave behind my fear. Here I leave behind revenge. If The Hangman will fall, then he will fall, by my hand or another. It need not be my concern if I commit the act of Justice, but only that it is done.

"No more am I am avenger, no more shall I cling to my vengeance, but now I will sow the seeds that The Vire has given me, and a kingdom will grow from those seeds. May Hiero Nair reap what I shall sow, and so will we both celebrate. If my body be broken from my journey here it is irrelevant. My mind will live on, as it always has,"

The smoke was pouring up around him, but he did not feel it's wrath coursing through his throat, "I have laid down a piece of myself, a piece that was dead, and so I let death take it. It is his to take, for I am not of death, but only his acquaintance. I take up that which is alive in me, and a seed is sown within myself, may my own life bring it to growth, and may it bear fruit.

"If my body be scarred after I depart this forest, after I depart from this war, then it shall not be pain unto me. Not pain, but a memory that I would be wise to recall. I have been living as one who is already dead, for I had died, and saw nothing but death. I had accepted my death only, committing to my revenge as the sole reason my body would not quit, but I see now the folly in that path.

"I live, and if I live I cannot be dead. I have died before and I have been reborn, and am again reborn. Through trials and struggles, for there have been many, and now by fire am I made new. I have become the Phoenix, and my life will continue until The Eldest sees it fit that I should come unto him.

"For death may take from me that which is dead, but The Vire is life, and he shall take from me that which is life, and bring it unto himself. Unto him will I go, and with him I shall celebrate my life, and his, for he is a God of the Living, and no death is with him.

"I thank you, oh Vire, for the death you have taken from me. I thank you for sending the spirit of death unto me, to take that which is dead from me, and I thank you that you are life, and now I am made whole,"

Jason felt his whole body become lighter, everything was made simple. He flipped his body over the top of a tree, high enough to be seen by the soldiers fighting, and landed squarely on a branch on the other side. He bounced from it and catapulted north. Straight through the fire. His feet touched the trees that had been engulfed by flame and he felt the pain of the burns radiate upwards, but they could not reach his mind.

They were as a passing thought, and were gone. He felt the heat of the fire all around him, but it did not burn his body. Only his feet were touched by the flames and charred, the rest of him felt stronger than ever. As if his body had taken in the strength and will of the flame. His determination was set, and he continued to move, not letting himself be slowed down by the daunting sight of the flames engulfing everything else around him. He was safe.

He should have burned, he thought later, but he did not. His mind was clear with its purpose, if he had asked himself what that purpose might be he would have had an answer immediately, but he did not name it here, within his mind. He did not tell the flames for what reason he passed through them with a speed he had never known. It was not his body that made him to dash forward, unhindered. It was that same bodiless voice, the one that had pushed him in his dream, that threw his body through the flames and safely out on the other side.

He did not look back after he'd escaped through the barrier of fire. The world felt cold around him, a shiver ran up his spine, but he would not slow.

There was more fighting ahead of him. Soldiers were screaming and running from the flames. He felt as if they were running from him, as if his appearance was greater than it had been. As if his complexion had become terrible, and his might had grown with it.

He did not feel as if his own might had grown, but he did feel that another might was coursing through his body. What else could cause such speed within his legs? What else could cause such a clarity in his mind? What else could set such a determination within his own heart? He had never felt such things before, but they felt comforting, as if this thing that was pouring through him had always been what would make him feel at home.

He saw a bolt of lightning strike out across the land. Raytiff was here, fighting his own war. He could hear cruel laughter echoing through the trees. His clarity told him that this was not his friend, that his friend was lost. He knew it was true, and felt the anguish of his loss.

He'd never let go of the belief that they could still save Raytiff, but he knew now he was beyond saving. Raytiff had tasted destruction, had tasted unearned power, and had enjoyed it. He would die sooner than giving it up.

It was clear to Jason, but he knew he would still make an attempt one day, an attempt to save his friend from himself.

He ran across another branch and saw another bolt erupt below him. He was getting closer to Raytiff. He would cross his path on his way to the northern edge, there was no doubt about it. The urgency he felt said there was no time to avoid the path, that he would have to face this fear too. He would have to confront even the oldest of his dread.

He knew Raytiff would see him before it happened. He was crossing a branch just over his friends head when a bolt of lightning struck across the tree he was running on. The tree began to fall and Jason leapt quickly to the next.

"Jason!" He heard the shrill voice shout from below, "Come here! I need to talk to you!"

Jason clutched at a branch and swung upwards as another bolt of lightning struck over his shoulder, "I want nothing more than to talk to you, Raytiff," He shouted back, "But is this how you greet an old friend?"

Another bolt. This one wracked against Jason's body. He felt the lightning course through him, gritting his teeth, and he wondered how he was able to keep moving through such pain.

"Always!" Raytiff sounded giddy. Jason wondered what Mesmer had done to him to bring him into such a deplorable state. He could see a vision creep into his mind, a memory that was not his own. Raytiff was curled on the ground of a cave, horrific images flashing around him, terrifying him to his very last breath.

He heard a voice from far off call, 'Have you had enough?' Jason felt pity for his friend, thinking he'd been tortured to feel nothing but pain and rage.

'Keep going,' Raytiff's small shrill voice echoed back from the cave, 'I want it all gone. Every shred of humanity, every shred of weakness. Remove it,' The images flashed again, with lashing pains driving into Raytiff's body, scarring his mind and his heart, but leaving his flesh untouched.

Jason understood. Raytiff had wanted to lose his joy. He had wanted to lose any shred of a desire for happiness. He wanted to lose everything except for his hate, and his dread, and his anguish. Those he would use to work cruelty. Just as the vision Jason had seen in his dream, through that first door. The vision of himself joining with The Hangman, desiring nothing but pain and anguish any longer.

He understood then why Raytiff was beyond saving. Raytiff didn't want saving.

Another bolt of lightning rocked him from his thoughts. The bolt had missed him by inches, shattering the tree he was reaching out for. He fell through the air, grabbing his bow and an arrow from his quiver.

The ground was coming up to meet him at a terrifying speed, and he pulled back on his bow and twisted his body to aim before he could crash against the dirt. He launched his arrow just as Raytiff launched another volley of lightning.

His arrow struck through Raytiff's outstretched palm which had thrown the bolt. Raytiff screamed at the pain but did not back away. Jason was hit by the lightning, and was propelled backwards into the trunk of another tree before falling the rest of the way to the ground. He felt bruises and broken bones all through his body, but he could not waste time stopping.

He ran through the woods, well aware of the pain in his foot. He heard voices behind him mixing with Raytiff's. A band of soldiers had come against that cruel leader, and they provided Jason with extra time, though not for long.

Jason heard their screams as Raytiff electrocuted them all at once, not taking his usual care and time to provide pain and torture with death. He had a more important errand to run.

Jason didn't attempt to climb back into the trees. He knew they would not offer him anymore protection. Raytiff knew how to track him, and could send a bolt of his lightning far enough to clip Jason out of a tree if he tried to climb away.

But Jason didn't feel afraid. He felt safer now than he ever had. There was a crisp sensation of calm building up in him, a grand confidence that told him he could escape, that told him he was fast enough, even though his legs felt that they would shatter if he continued to run. He knew, somehow, he would live on.

"Flight is useless Jason!" He could hear Raytiff calling out from far behind him. Jason wondered if he was outrunning Raytiff, but a bolt of lightning striking nearby told him no. He could feel the air change in pressure as the bolt struck, becoming lighter, thinner. Somehow he felt like he could breathe even more easily as the bolt continued to strike around him.

Then came the thunder. He felt it low in his feet as it began to echo up from the ground first. The strikes of lightning were becoming more potent, more prominent, the separate branches of the bolt becoming thick and reminding him of trees being thrown at him.

The sound was deafening. The crash came thudding against his ears and his chest. He felt the blast of sound shake his body from head to toe. He wondered if his broken bones wouldn't simply shatter under the impact. He wondered if he would even be able to move after a few more steps.

Still he felt no fear. It was acceptance that ran through him instead. If it should be his time to die, time for his body to cease its movements, then he felt it a safe bit of irony that it should be his old friend who should deliver the final blow.

But the blow didn't come. The lightning was missing by more and more each strike. Jason looked over his shoulder. He could see Raytiff still following behind him at a distance, but something was different. The cruelty was fading from his face. The malice was seeping from his eyes, being replaced by exhaustion.

No, not exhaustion. It was anguish. As if every movement of his being, every strike of his power, was not done of his own will, not done of himself, but of that sickly dark shape that sits within every man. That sick thing that will take over your life if you let it, but only if you let it. That thing that desires no happiness and desires no joy or accomplishment. Only desires to be served by other men, which it sees as lesser. Only desires to consume that which other men have created.

Raytiff was struggling to move. His face looked ragged and torn by the effort to continue. His hands, each time he raised them, began to fall before he could let a bit of his power burst forth. His mouth hung open in a constant pant, his feet were stumbling back and forth, and it looked as if his eyes were trying desperately to close. His entire being was trying to force him to cease from his actions, from his willful surrendering to that blackness within him, that fleshly nature.

Jason felt similar feelings growing in his body. His own flesh was screaming out at him to stop, to rest, to damn his mission and his desires, that it would be better to die than to continue. Jason fought against that, giving no quarter to those desires that said he was done, those desires that said he would die, must die. He forced his legs to continue their movement, no pain could stop him here.

He could see the northern edge of the forest ahead. The bright sun shining out above him, casting shade against his face with little leaves of sun shining through the shadows. He felt the warmth of the sky through them, and he could see the blue depths of hope in the vastness above the tree tops.

He felt the lightning before it hit him. His extra ordinary senses clueing him in to the sudden change in pressure that came before the strike. He braced himself for pain, knowing he could not move out of the way fast enough.

The surge of electricity roared through him, painting his mind with licks of light similar to the licks of a whip against his back. He felt every muscle tense, refusing to move, unable to move. His fingers were still clutched around his bow, and he worried that he might break it in half under the pressure of his hands.

Then the sound hit him. The thunder clapped from within him. A shockwave rocked the inside of his ribs, down through his hips, pulling his legs apart. He felt his whole body shatter, then reform, then shatter again, then he felt nothing.

When his mind was his own again, after the shock had passed through him in an instant that felt like days and weeks, he realized his eyes had clamped shut. He opened them, expecting to see Raytiff standing over him, telling him that the fight was over, that his escape had failed, that he was now under the merciless tutelage of Raytiff, ready to be made like his old friend, devoid of any emotion, any hope, and any joy.

He looked down the path of the forest. Every tree between Raytiff and himself was shattered into pieces, nothing but bits of leaves and splinters remained. He wondered how it was possible that he had not been torn to shreds. The ground, which had been covered with grass, was now only the charred remains of dirt, but Jason remained unscathed.

Raytiff was at the other end of this razing path of destruction. Jason felt a hand on his shoulder, that same comforting feeling of the bodiless voice, pulling him up. Giving him the strength to stand through the pain that rushed through his legs, through his hands, through his chest and head. Raytiff was panting heavily, veins were popping out in his neck as he tried to raise his arms. Jason could see them trembling.

"Then kill me!" Raytiff shouted, "If I am so weak... so weak that I can't kill you, then... you must kill me!"

His shout was tortured, like a wounded child needing desperately to understand a world that had flipped upside down. Jason only stared at him, lost for words. Raytiff's entire body was trembling as he spoke again.

"You have to kill me," He did not shout this time. He knew Jason could hear him, "You have no other choice. If you don't kill me, I will kill you, it's the nature of all things. It's the world we live in,"

"It is not my nature," Jason said. His voice carried delicately over the gentle breeze that was winding through in the aftermath of Raytiff's power. It was a testament to how unnatural Raytiff's usage of his power was. The earth, the forest, nature itself, did not recognize this place as one that had a storm pass through. It did not see this place as a danger. A gentle breeze was fitting, and the accompanying bird song was a testament to Jason. He had won the encounter with a boy who fancied himself a god among men with only a single arrow.

"You don't have to be this way," Jason said, "You can still repair the damage that The Hangman has done to you,"

"Damage?" Raytiff's response was chilling. His words were lazy and broken, but if there were any moment in which he found any sort of glee it was this, though glee was still a long ways off, "I thank him every day for what he gave me. He showed me the weakness of man. You cry out every day for strength, for happiness, to have pleasant emotions delivered to you in such an unpleasant world, as if you could contradict the reality of the place we live in.

"Do you hear that war around us? _That_ is the nature of the world. It is not a place made for kindness, or happiness, or joy. It was made for strife, and it was made for hatred. I have rid myself of all desire for joy, all desire for happiness or kindness, or any of those other emotions which weak men seek so _desperately_. Instead I have taken up the emotions they attempt to discard. Rage, hatred, envy, sorrow. These are my tools. This is my strength.

"Or do you not see? You cannot be so blind to the world that you do not see how it is. You must see these things, I thought if anyone could see what I see it would be you. I wanted to show it to you, to give you the same gift that was given to me. I wanted to give you strength, and remove from you the pain of longing. The pain that was ours when we had no home, yet desired one. I have no home, I have no love. It is only hatred I hold, and it is that secret that I hoped you would find also, my old friend. It is that very secret that can turn a man into a god!"

Raytiff's eyes had lit up. Jason took a step towards him, unafraid. When he spoke his words were clean.

"I have seen it, but my eyes are better than you thought. You say this is how the world is, and I agree. It is a disgusting place, filled with disgusting people who kill their brothers for the smallest chance of promotion. For years soldiers have killed one another for nothing. Not for war or fame or money. For nothing.

"I've seen the struggle of men as they seek joy, I've seen the fear men hold after they've attained it. I see the immoral breed of man running all across this world, more than you can ever know, and more than you have ever seen, but I have seen something more.

"I have seen a man who sought joy, and found it. I saw that man with no hatred, no fear, no rage, no worry. Only joy. He knew what he felt, and he knew it was there. He knew that he had found it and could find it again if it was taken from him.

"He did not believe this because he thought he was stronger, or wiser, or more noble than any other man. He believed this because he thought. Because he knew, he thought, because he thought, he understood, and because he understood, he was made wise. In his wisdom he found joy, that joy that you have given up. That joy you have sacrificed, calling it weakness.

"I see better than you, and I can show you that you are wrong. It is not the desire for joy that is the weakness of man, but the desire to achieve it without earning it. The same you were too afraid to do. Ridding yourself of that desire does not make you strong, it only lets you avoid thinking about your weakness.

"But if you really think you have found the answer then why do you want to share it? Isn't that desire, by your own idea, weak? Yet that desire is so strong that you were not able to burn it out of your mind through all the torture you subjected yourself to.

"I do see better than you, Raytiff, because I do not only see what is, but what ought to be. I have seen a man who has found his joy. I don't know exactly how, or exactly when and where he found it, but one look into his eyes told me there was nothing but joy in him. His name is Heiro Nair, and it is his kingdom that you are defiling with your wars. It is his kingdom that you've corrupted, and he will come one day to reclaim it, but he has sent me first before him.

"I have been sent to tear from you the corruption you have cast, I have come to bear the standard of the true king. I have come to make a way before him, that he may enter into his kingdom, his people chanting for his glory. I have come first to battle with you, and with your masters and friends. It is better that the King's time is given to his people, let his stewards handle his wretched enemies,"

There was a moment of silence between them. Raytiff's eyes were wide, not with amazement, but with shock and disgust. It was clear that he could no longer move his arms, his body had been worn out entirely. There was a deep silence around them, as if the war effort had taken a pause to watch these two young boys as they went to battle with their words.

"Are you going to kill me then?" Raytiff asked, breaking the lengthy silence, "Since you are so much stronger,"

"That is exactly why I am not going to kill you," Jason said. Raytiff raised his eyes to meet Jason's. He was glaring, taking the words as an insult.

"Cowardice," Raytiff said, and spit on the ground at Jason's feet.

"It may be," Jason said, he gave Raytiff a right hook across his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious. A jolt of electricity ran through Jason's body as he struck his old friend, his vision lit up with the feeling, as if a flash of light had been struck into his face. There was no pain, but the bright flash reminded him of Seridt.

"I miss you, brother," Jason said to the open air, thinking of both Atask and Seridt. Meaning both of them with 'brother'. He turned from Raytiff's silent, but still breathing, form. He wondered if he shouldn't put an arrow into him while he slept, ending his life and his constant suffering.

No. It was not his time to go. Not yet.

Jason was running again, the northern edge just beyond his sight. The war was raging once again behind him, to his sides, but everything in front of him was eerily silent. He could smell the forest as it burned. The light acrid smell wafting over into his nose. He could see the light peering from overhead, a peaceful day from the sky, ignorant to the battle on the ground.

Then he was out. He burst from the forest's edge as if he were breaking out of a cage. He was met with the powerful rays of sunshine shining down from the sky. It was midafternoon, hard to believe there were men dying anywhere on a day like this.

Outside the forest was a stretching plain reaching out towards the horizon. The only change for miles before him was a small river that cut across the tall grass in artful strokes of blue. He could smell the water, somehow more strongly than the burning trees and the sweat of dying men. He could hear the trickling of the water, babbling wonderful secrets into his ear, somehow more loudly than the clashing of swords and shouting of men.

It brought a greater calm on to him, a peace falling on his shoulders. If he could only reach that small stream he knew he would be safe. He knew that was the end of his journey. All he had to do was reach it.

But his legs wouldn't move. His entire body screamed at him in pain. His leg was surely broken, his other was at the very least sprained. He worried that the bone might pierce out of his flesh if he took another step. His chest was rattling, he knew he had bruises all the way down his chest, if not a broken rib or two. Sharp pain was running all the way down his back.

His entire body screamed for a moment, then was still. As if all the pain had fallen away and was replaced by numbness. Then it returned, screeching louder than ever.

The lightning from Raytiff must have screwed up his nerves. It was like a wave of numbness was shifting over his body, then off again, bringing the pain back fresh, like a sore wound being smacked over and over again.

He felt his body swaying in the wind, wondering if he would tip and fall over. It would be easy, his journey could be done here. He'd confronted his past, what more was there? He closed his eyes, ready for a black out to take him. Ready for his exhaustion to bring sleep once more, to bring him into a dream.

His eyes flew open at a sound behind him. He turned, backing away instinctively. A figure approached him out of the forest. A tall, bronzed man, with bulging muscles and blonde hair. It was the man Raytiff had charged with catching him, Valkin.

"You must be him," Valkin said.

Jason did not respond. He was trying to think of some escape plan, some way to outrun Valkin on two broken legs. He might be able to get past the giant and climb into the forest, but what use was it to go backwards, when he must go forwards.

"Well?" Valkin said.

"If I must be," Jason said, his body felt like it would collapse at any moment.

"I've been charged with your execution," Valkin said.

"Am I to receive a trial?"

"You already have," Valkin smiled.

"I was not notified,"

"Most men aren't present at their own trial these days,"

"Does that not upset you?"

"It doesn't matter," Valkin said.

"What do you mean? How can that not matter?"

"Whether I am upset about it or not does not matter," Valkin's smile faltered, and his eyes looked as if he were looking at Jason in a different way, "one day I will have my own trial and the men who despise me will inevitably decide that I have grown too strong and must be put down," His smile came back, showing his teeth, "but I will take as many of my executioners with me as I can, but until then I must gain as much power as I can,"

Jason's eyes continued to dart around, looking for some method of escape. He knew there was only one, no matter how silly it sounded, no matter how bizarre, it was the only way. Jason was curious to realize that he was afraid of trying it, more afraid of speaking those words than of facing Valkin, alone.

"There is another option," Jason said. He did not think Valkin was the kind of man who would take his offer.

"I am well aware. There are many other options. I could defect to a southern kingdom, I could join with Ra'Dushree, I could even become one of The Hangman's superior officers, as he cares for nothing but physical strength, and I am strong. I prefer to wait for my own courts to decide my fate,"

"Why?"

"Because until then I am allowed to decide their fate,"

"Aren't you afraid?"

"I fear for my life every day. I use that fear to grow stronger. It is that fear that allows me to face you, to kill you, even if you are only a young man. I feel no remorse, because of my fear. I will kill you even when I owe you for my promotion because I fear Raytiff,"

"You could tell him that you didn't find me and avoid your moral dilemma entirely,"

"You're a smart kid, and Raytiff is a cruel kid. He punishes incompetence and ignorance equally. He'd punish me with death if you beat me, and he'd punish me with death if I couldn't find you, even if he saw you and failed to kill you. Just like he did,"

"You saw him?"

"I saw him,"

"Did you kill him?"

"No,"

"That doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't you?"

"Because he is more valuable to our superiors than I am. If he were to die, they would hold me responsible and they would reward me death all the same,"

"Then why not just kill me? Why start talking to me? You could have taken me by surprise,"

"I couldn't have taken you by surprise, and even if I could I wouldn't have,"

"Why not?"

"Besides the fact that I enjoy a good fight?"

"Yes,"

"Because one day my own country will seek my head for a supposed crime that I committed while carrying out orders. At that point I will need more than just my fear of my superior officers to fuel my strength,"

"I don't understand,"

"All emotion is fuel. That's it. Men can accept their emotions, embrace them, whatever they are, and receive the fuel, or they can attempt to deny them, avoid them, and have no fuel. I do not attempt to pretend the emotions I feel are righteous, they are not good in any way. I know every last one is dreadful. Every last emotion I use as fuel keeps me awake at night, tremors often shake through my body, but I do not see it as weakness wracking my body. I see it as strength. Killing you will give me no remorse. I've already killed children younger than you, but talking to you means getting to know you. Sharing my own thoughts and feelings allows me to become connected to you, from one soul to another. It almost makes us friends, and killing a friend never gets old. It never feels better. It always brings more and more remorse. To the unrighteous man, to the hateful manipulator, there is no stronger emotion than that. It refuels itself even when it appears to be running dry.

"I will not attempt to seem anything less than evil. I am evil, my nation is evil, and I am not upset about that. Most of the men I work with attempt to deny it, trying to shout out that they are still working towards the public good, but I will do no such thing. I will not sink to their weakness. I will kill you today, and I will not sleep tonight, or tomorrow night, or the next. I will sleep again eventually, but it will be a great while, especially because I like you,"

"What do you mean?" Jason had forgotten to think of escape. He was no longer considering that there could be any way out.

"You have yet to show me fear, in fact you have shown nothing but strength. You've asked me questions no other man has. You do not pretend as if you cannot see what I am, as others have. They cry out for pity, for mercy, pretending even when my hands choke away the last of their breath that deep down I am a good man.

"I've sold away everything good long ago. There is nothing left, and I will not pretend that there is. I am pure evil all the way down and one day when I am in your same place I will remember our talk, I will remember how you died with my axe in your skull. I will think of it and the remorse will turn to anger. Anger that my own superior officers, the ones who will seek my life, made me do such a reproachable thing,"

"But it was still your choice,"

"Yes, and I made it myself, but I would not have made such a choice if they had not turned me into the kind of beast that is capable of making such a choice,"

"You still could have denied it,"

"Yes, but you see the most powerful thing is that, as I've already said, I'm evil. I will avoid thinking of that one simple part, that I made the choice, that it is fully my responsibility, and shift all of the blame, and anger, on to them. It will give me the strength I will need,"

"One day it will come back and haunt you,"

"There is no doubt of that, but I will be much older by then, as I am a very clever man," Valkin smirked.

"Shall we get on with it?"

"Don't pretend that you have nothing but hate for me. Do not be like those other men, Jason. They sit and they pretend with all their might that they do not feel the way they do. They are throwing away their fuel. You like me, I can tell," Valkin smiled as Jason shook his head, "I didn't say you also didn't hate me. No, you like my honesty, you see it as a virtue just as I see it as a strength. You despise that I am evil, you despise that I will not choose another path, but you admire my honesty. Admit it!"

"I do admire it," Jason said, "But you're wrong. Those other men did not see good in you. They only tried to convince themselves that there was some good in them. Their fear was not of death, but of a mirror. An evil man will see evil in others, and attempt to bargain with it. A good man will see the good in others, and try to understand it. But I see the truth in you, and I see your contradiction,"

"What is that?" Valkin smiled, "Do tell, we haven't much time left,"

"You say you _are_ pure evil, yet you admit to honesty, and you even admit that honesty is good. You feel remorse, but evil cannot feel remorse. Raytiff does not feel remorse. And you admit that you have a choice. Evil has no choice. Pure evil can be nothing, can do nothing, can have nothing but evil,"

"That is a good point," Valkin said, "Or is there another point you wanted to make?"

"There is another option you haven't considered. The world will change, your kingdom will fall, and so will The Hangman's. A new king will come to bring peace to the land, a good king. The kind who would not force his men to kill children, the kind who would not demand that they choose evil or die. The kind of king who will lead every man into prosperity and joy.

"You could work for this king, paving the way for him to return. Paving the way for his kingdom to be made whole once more,"

"I am but one man," Valkin said.

"And each tree came from one seed, but there is a forest now," Jason pointed to the burning forest.

"There won't be for much longer," Valkin smiled.

"I think you're missing the point," Jason said.

"No, no," Valkin laughed, "I see your point. May I have time to think about it?"

"Certainly!" Jason smiled, relief flooding him. There might be a chance after all.

"Of course, on the chance that I choose to say no I really do need to have killed you soon, or else some of my men will come to help and I will be labeled as incompetent," Valkin wasn't smiling anymore, "We really should begin our fight, and if I change my mind we could consider it a sparring match,"

Jason did not respond. The relief he felt crashed down on him, but he refused to feel fear. It was only once more he must die, that he could live again. Once more that he would pass through the fire to become stronger, to be refined into something better.

"If I kill you too soon will I still have the option to join that king's cause?"

"Of course," Jason's voice was flat.

"What's his name?"

"Heiro Nair,"

"The Ghost of Christmas Past," Valkin muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind. It's not important now, where shall I go to meet him?"

"Ferinal,"

"And a fairy tale to boot," Valkin sighed, "I can't help but believe it. We really should get started,"

"I have been trying to stall,"

"Do you really think I'm stronger than you?" Valkin pulled his axes out of his belt, feeling their weight in his hands.

"Yes," Jason pulled out his bow and a single arrow.

"You're wrong," Valkin leaped forwards at Jason. He leapt into the air, flipping over Valkin's head, one of the axes dug into the ground. Jason landed behind him and aimed his arrow. Valkin stood and looked Jason in the eye.

"You really shouldn't hesitate," Valkin smiled.

Jason let his arrow fly into Valkin's shoulder. Valkin didn't flinch.

"Aim to kill, Jason," Valkin lunged again, Jason couldn't move fast enough this time. Valkin caught his leg with the nook at the bottom of his axe, not cutting skin, but pulling Jason down out of the air. Valkin slammed Jason into the ground by his ankle. Jason rolled away in time to avoid the axes, leaping to his feet and running towards the stream. He didn't notice the pain in his legs any more than he noticed the birds singing around them.

He felt the rope of a bolas wrap around his ankles, pinning them together and bringing his face for a meeting with the dirt. He tried to roll with the fall but rolled too far and ended up on his chest anyway. He let go of his bow and grabbed the knife out of his belt while turning onto his back. The knife was sharp enough to cut through the rope quickly.

He looked up in time to see that he needed to move. He rolled to his left as Valkin's first axe dropped into the ground. The second trimmed off some of Jason's hair that was growing a bit too long. He stabbed his knife into Valkin's thigh and rolled again, picking up his bow as he went.

An arrow was knocked before he'd found his footing and he was aiming for Valkin's heart. Valkin wasn't going to go down easy, though. He raised both of his axes, ready to throw them, as Jason let his arrow fly once more. Valkin let his axes go early, sending them careening through the air towards Jason and dodging as best as he could. The arrow didn't hit his heart, but it did land its way into his side.

One of the axe's missed Jason completely but the other cut along his leg. He tried to get to his feet but the right foot, with the fresh cut running across it, gave out. He fell to the ground again, thinking Valkin must have sliced a tendon.

"Had enough time to think?" Jason asked. He didn't sound as strong as he'd tried to. The wince he'd made showed through in how his voice quivered. Valkin smiled at the sound.

"Just about," Valkin said. He was smiling at part of the situation, though his eyes already carried the remorse he'd talked about earlier.

"Anything I can do to convince you?" Jason asked. He laughed to try to cover up the creep in his voice that said he was about to cry from the pain.

"Beat me, threaten to kill me," Valkin said, "I'm mostly a coward when it comes to my own death. Not many things I won't agree to just to keep on living,"

Jason did like that Valkin was honest, there was no denying that. It was the only reason he'd tried to invite him. Still, Jason wasn't sure he'd be able to beat Valkin. He was really hoping the man would make a decision before it came to threats of absolution.

Valkin took his time retrieving his axe, "You're not gonna shoot me are you?" He asked as he passed Jason.

Jason pulled the last arrow from his quiver and aimed it while Valkin had his back turned. Valkin looked around and smiled, "I know you won't shoot me,"

"How can you be sure?" Jason's hand was quivering.

"I know the look of someone ready to kill,"

"I've killed people before,"

"I didn't say you haven't. Just that you won't,"

Jason thinned his lips, his eyes narrowed, "Are you sure you want to test that?"

Valkin smiled. Jason let go of the bow string. Valkin flinched as it twanged and the arrow landed in his hand. The sharp intake of breath told Jason that it'd hurt.

"See?" Valkin asked.

"But did you have a sudden revelation?" Jason asked, "Any sudden idea that you should make a certain choice, regret some action you've taken?"

"Boy, I regret most of my choices," Valkin said. He had one of his axes in his hand, "I'm already regretting this one," He peered at Jason as he stood over him, "I really did like you kid,"

Valkin raised his axe over his head, the blade whistled through the air as be brought it down towards Jason's chest.

# Chapter 9: To Pass Through Desert

"Don't speak, save your strength," Seridt said, trying to tie a tourniquet around the soldier's thigh. The sword that had cut his leg was laying by his side, the swords owner lay among the pile of bodies left on the battlefield.

Seridt thanked the smell of the burning forest now. He'd hated it as he'd come closer to the battle, but now it was driving out the powerful stench of death that covered the ground around him. There was only one survivor of that battle, the man laying before him, and he was fading away, with Seridt fighting desperately to keep him from the brink of death.

Seridt was trying to stifle the blood flow that was pouring from the soldier's leg. He barely noticed the blood was washing dirt off of his hands. Dirt he'd built up as he'd run across the plains.

He hadn't slept for long each night. He figured he'd been asleep for nearly a week while Walter was removing The Red from his body. Not to mention he felt guilty for each hour spent with his eyes shut. Guilty because somewhere out there Jason was in trouble. He knew his friend was stuck in that smoke somewhere, amid the burning trees. He could have already saved him if he hadn't been so obsessed with his own addiction.

Seridt shook the thoughts from his head. Better not to worry about that now. The guilt that kept cropping up wasn't going to help him save Jason in time, and it certainly wasn't going to save this man's life.

He'd considered just leaving the man to die. He probably wouldn't make it anyway, but he knew he couldn't. Atask wouldn't have if he were here, and Atask had always made Seridt better. They'd all made each other better, so it was better to keep the memory of one another alive. He wouldn't have to be alone if he just kept their memory alive.

He was tightening the tourniquet when a hand moved like a snake and gripped his arm. The soldier had only been gasping and grunting, trying to speak. Seridt didn't think he'd had the strength left to move, but now the fingers that were tearing into his arm told him this man had a strength much deeper than he understood.

"My life is done," The man said, "I have nothing left but to speak,"

Seridt finished tightening the strips of cloth he'd been using, "Don't say that," He took a look at the wounds that littered the man's torso. One arrow was sticking out of his shoulder, another was stuck in his belly, and it was clear a third had grazed along his chest.

He tried to reach up with another bandage to patch up the wound on the man's chest, but the iron grip held him steady, "I'd rather you not waste your time when there is nothing you can do," The man muttered.

Seridt tried to struggle once more against the grip, "How do you know?" He asked, trying to pull the hand off of his arm.

"I know,"

There was a moment of silence between them. Seridt held the man's gaze, then let his hands fall to his lap. The grip on his arm lessened, then the man let him go.

"Is there anything I can do?" Seridt asked.

"My name is Cairith Kalish'vo,"

Seridt didn't say anything. The intimacy of this moment, which he was sharing with a strange man from a strange land, was uncomfortable.

Seridt knew next to nothing of Ra'Dushree, besides that it was a nation that laid within the deep reaches of the desert. Before today he had never met a single citizen of that people. But he knew he would remember this battlefield every time he met a new Ra'Dushrean. The bodies of the dead would lay around his mind as they laid around his body now.

He had counted fifty three soldiers, thirty of the White Kingdom and twenty three of Ra'Dushree. He couldn't help himself but count them, to number the dead was the only respect he could pay. To count them and remember the number. Fifty-three men had died today. Some brother's, some fathers. All of them with a mother and a father of their own, and probably most with a wife.

He would never forget the faces, no matter how much he wanted to. Not a single one had died with his eyes closed, and now fifty-three pairs of eyes were watching him. Peering at him as if it was his fault they'd died. As if he could have saved them all.

"Would you wait with me until the end?" Cairith broke the silence at last.

Seridt nodded his head slowly and deliberately. His throat was too dry to speak.

"Thank you,"

Seridt wondered just how long it would be until the end for Cairith. He had lost a lot of blood, that much was obvious, but the strength of his voice made Seridt wonder if the man would ever die. In the heat of battle death was more likely to run from a man like Cairith than to take him home.

Seridt coughed and forced himself to speak, "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Do you mean, are there any regrets that I'd like to share?"

"I suppose,"

"No," Cairith smiled as he said it.

"None?" Seridt asked, "What about dying here? Do you regret becoming a soldier?"

"I am not a soldier. I own a small store down the road from the palace of kings," Cairith said, "Owned, I suppose,"

"Then why are you here?"

"There are no soldiers in Ra'Dushree. When our nation is in danger our people take up the sword to defend her,"

"Why?"

"We value our lives, we value our kingdom, we value one another. We are but one people. We will live in peace as one, and we must go to war as one or we will fall as one,"

"Do all the people go to war?"

"No. Some must tend to the crops among the oasis, some must make our weapons, and some must care for our children,"

"Do you have any children?"

"Yes, a son"

"Do you feel bad that he's lost you?"

"I would feel worse if I had lost him because I was not willing to lay down my life,"

There was silence for a time. Cairith's breathing was labored, but at length he spoke again, "Is that all you want to talk about?" Seridt was startled by the sudden sound of his voice, "Do you want to ask about what it feels like to die? No, you already know that one," Cairith's eyes had a gleam of understanding.

"How can you tell?"

"It is an obvious thing for a man to know if another has shared his pain,"

"Do you want to hear my story?" Seridt asked.

"No," Cairith said, "I can do no good with your story. When death is interested he will come to ask it of you himself,"

Seridt felt a chill run down his spine.

"Would you tell me your story?"

Cairith smiled, "Yes,"

***

I was born to the desert, the unforgiving mistress that has taken more of my brother's than the White Kingdom could count. It was the constant storm of wind and dust that first filled my tender lungs. That harsh wind carries the dust and grit into our bones, working them under a whip of pain.

It is in the desert where I grew. The desert where I yearned for a brink of fresh air every moment of my youth. It is the desert with which I was furious. Why had I been born there, for what purpose was my life given to me but for torture?

It is the way all children live in Ra'Dushree. The desert touches first our skin, working it into a hard leather. Then it works its way into our eyes, blinding us for much of our youth, forcing us to know what it is to work without sight. It is the howling winds that bring deafness to our ears, the grit that digs into our skin and removes all feeling. It is the dust that enters our mouth before our food, giving us first to taste of death before we taste of nourishment.

I have heard that the children of the White Kingdom grow among fields of lilies, the scent giving a freshness into them from the moment of their birth. It is not the way of the desert. Our land holds no scent but the dirt on the air which we breathe with our every breath.

As children we learn to curse The Vire with our first speech. It is him we first blame. As we grow our hatred grows, and with it we become hardened. Boys become men before they have grown the first hairs on their chin. There is no other way to survive.

And it is not until those hairs had long been growing did I learn my first thanks. I blessed The Vire with my every breath, for it is he who made me to be born in the desert. It is he who gave me life in a land of death. It is he who gave the desert to me, and not I to the desert.

For in my youth did I curse him without understanding, but I do not regret even that. No, for without that hate I may surely have died. I spit at his name, the hatred became determination to live, even if he had doomed me to die. It is that determination which grows into strength. My skin became hard enough to stand the blows of any enemy. It is my eyes which became keen, or else it would have been I who would have become blind.

It is after I had become strong that I learned of how The Vire had blessed me. It is the way of my people.

I thank him for the desert now. For the wind in my ears that brought me to deafness in my childhood is what taught me to love every word I hear, and every word I speak. It is the blindness that came and left and came again that taught me how valuable my eyes were. It is the desert which taught me to love my life by first teaching me what it could be to hate it.

Do you know what it is to be blind and deaf and dumb? It is a lesson many men would pass over. It is a lesson many men would be unable to return from, but it is our birth, it is our youth. That lesson becomes the creed of our lives. Be thankful for your sight, or The Eldest Day may yet see it fit for you to be blind.

Do you know the tale of Ra'Dushree? Know you how it was founded?

It is The Vire who blessed our forefathers with the oasis.

There was a man born to Pacelt more than five hundred years past. A good man who knew many riches. He was blessed above all men. His wife was beautiful, his children healthy and strong. His business was prosperous. His life was his own.

Yet it was not these things that brought the joy he sought. Daily he begged of The Vire to bring him joy. To bring joy to his sons and to their sons.

It was Fenrin who came to him. It was Fenrin who told him what his choice must mean. It was Fenrin who told him of the desert, of the pain, of the struggle.

Still he begged. Still he desired his joy. He thought, what worthiness must it be if I must face the desert to obtain it?

He did not know what it was that he asked. He was a good man but he lacked the understanding that would have shown him his fault. It was this lack that caused him to ask. He shouted to the heaven's as a man delirious with fever, crying out for an answer to his prayer, and once more Fenrin came unto him.

"Then to the desert you will go," Fenrin said unto him, "But it is not as a rich man that you will leave,"

It is said that it was the very next day that Fenrin's words went from will to is. The man was chased from his home. His riches and his children and his wife were taken from him by his wife's paramour. He knew not of her affair, but all the same it drove him from his land.

It was then that he realized what it was he'd asked, what he must go through. He made every attempt to hide from the paramour who sought after his life, but no matter what land it was that he entered it appeared that the paramour had already beaten him there, and chased him from it.

To Anondoll he rode, and from Anondoll he fled. To Ashtam and Carthik also he ran, and from them he was chased. Finally it was to Jericho he went, seeking shelter within the black palace, but he realized his own folly at the very same day that he rode between the gates.

Between Jericho and Pacelt, where his home resided, was the desert, broken and twisted. It was through the desert he would have to go if he ever desired to reach his home again.

He admitted defeat unto The Vire, calling out to the heaven's that he had been bested by the most high. Into the desert he rode, with little more than the clothes upon his back and a single pack mule to carry a few water bags.

The first day into the desert was not bad. It was one of the clear days that the desert grants upon occasion. The dirt felt only as the sand of a beach to his toes. The wind felt as a calming companion, giving the rest he had so craved in his plight.

A day into the desert he took his rest, and it was then that no one from his home ever heard of him again. A storm kicked up while he slept, turning him this way and that, covering his tracks. Frightened, his mule fled by night, off into the unforgiving wilderness of the desert.

When he awoke he knew not where he was. The storm covered the sky and sun so thickly with dust that he could not tell east from west. He made his attempt to travel back towards Jericho, fleeing from the promise the Vire had given him.

He only drove himself deeper into the desert. For five days he walked, drinking the last of his water quickly in the dry heat. Fortunate he was that he had not kept the water skins tied to the back of his mule that first night.

But alas, now his throat was as dry as the desert. His eyes were blind from the light that so constantly bombarded his eyes. He was deaf from the wind that did not cease to howl into his ears. He could no longer feel the ache of his body, his skin burned along every inch.

It was then that he cried out to the heaven's once more, "Oh Vire forgive me! I asked you for this, and every step of the way you have led me here! Yet each step I have fought you! Forgive me, but which way is it that you would have me go?"

It was then, and only then, that the storm began to clear. Not completely, but enough that he could see more than only the few feet in front of him.

Just nearby, only fifty steps ahead of him, was the most brilliant oasis any desert could ever hold. As large as a lake with waters that crystal clear. He thought he would drink it dry that very day.

It was here that he made a camp, and it was here that Fenrin found him once more.

He gave him a handful of seeds and said, "If you work the land they will grow,"

But the man cried out, "How will this bring me joy?"

Fenrin only shook his head, "It was not only joy which you asked for, but the joy of your descendants as well. Joy unto you would have been a simple matter, but joy unto your children, and your children's children, is a difficult thing,"

"Then has he brought me here to live in obscurity, that his failure be unknown to his people?" The man asked.

"It is not an impossible thing for The Eldest. No, it will be done, but first you must sow your seeds,"

Fenrin would speak no more unto him, and by the next day there was no sign that the man in the violet robe had ever been there at all, except for the seeds he had given.

The man obeyed at once, remembering his lesson through the south and the west. He dug through the sand until he reached a workable soil and planted his seeds. He brought water by hand first, before he developed his own system to water them. He cared for the seeds as a father would care for his children.

He did not notice that he had not eaten a single morsel of food since he had arrived in the desert. He was focused on his seeds and nothing more. Today we call it the Founders Fast, and will fast through the first day of harvest in remembrance of the miracles offered by The Vire.

When first they sprouted the beginning of a blade he shouted it up into the heaven's, only noticing later that there had been a stream of laughter with his words. It took him years but he built the foundations of a kingdom. At last he had found his joy, he had built it through pain and struggle with the sand and the dirt.

The Vire sent more men to the desert. Men who were seeking the joy they could not find with Pacelt, and with Jericho, and with the south. Carpenters and stonemasons found him by the field he had made. Blacksmiths who knew the forge and engineers who knew mathematics. Together they all worked, on the foundation of crop that the man had first built they began to set the foundation of a town. Then the town became a city as more and more people heard in the outside world that prosperity was to be found in the desert.

The people questioned it. The desert was a wasteland, what prosperity could be found in it?

Still more men were gathered there, many came and left, thinking they had been tricked, but many more stayed and found that the prosperity they sought was not to have money, but to have joy. It was joy that they found as they worked together, building a great city around that oasis from the effort of their lives.

Years after that man had first established his foundation there came a woman to his city. The people had named him king, and they named her queen the moment he laid his eyes upon her. He loved her, and found that his love made all his hard years seem as only a passing moment.

Together they had many children, and together they led a new kingdom. It took only fifteen years to build the most beautiful city any man could ever see on a foundation of dust and death. Men would say it is impossible, but that man would say that with The Vire all things are made possible.

Ra'Dushree grew. The mountains just outside of Ra'Dushree were said to look as bleak as the desert, but only a few feet below the surface of those stones the mountains flow rich with gold and iron and silver and copper. Any metal that man might need may be found in those mines. I tell you the day will come when men will flock to the desert for those mines. I tell you the day will come when Ra'Dushree will be the richest nation in this world because of those mines.

For now it is not. For now there is strife. For that man had his children, and his own son took his throne after him. Fenrin came once more when the man had stepped down from his throne, giving it to his son long before he would fall into the snares of old age. Fenrin came and took the man and his wife. They became Vannessem, a fitting role for the founder of such a great city.

No man has heard of him since he left for Kazishul. His son, who was now king, became a harsh ruler. Where his father had been kind, leading the people for the good of all, his son became cruel, leading the people only for his own wealth. He became more a slave master than a king after discarding the joy of the desert, and it was Fenrin who returned two years after he had taken our founder.

"For your sin there shall be no aid given to Ra'Dushree in its time of need. No man of wisdom shall come unto you, for you have discarded wisdom to take up the whip. For your king was born of the desert and took only it's cruelty, so shall you receive no blessing of The Vire nor of the Men of Wisdom until the day comes when a new king walks among you, a king born in the prosperous lakes and hills, a king who will know joy and kindness without the death of the desert to force him to it.

"By this sign you shall know it: A storm has come. The winds will roll and the sand will spin around you all of your days, and there shall be no comfort given to you until this king be come. By this too shall you know him, that the winds will die down, that the sands will settle, that the rain will come,"

That storm has not settled in Ra'Dushree in all of my days. The descendants of that king have continued to rule, though none have been so cruel as that first prince, though now there is contention among the people.

Our last king had many children, thirty two sons and forty eight daughters, all by thirteen wives. There is no clear heir, for there are thirteen firstborns, one of each wife, and all but one make their claim to the throne.

The strife within our nation is beset on all sides by The White Kingdom, what was once Pacelt, and The Black Kingdom, what was once Jericho. They come against us in our time of weakness, seeking to take the prosperity we have built within the desert, but they cannot. They may destroy our people but they have not the skill, nor the will, to mine our mountains, or work our fields. Our lives are hard, but we are strong.

But even now our king is on his deathbed, just as I sit before death. It gives me pride that I should meet death before my king, but it dashes my hope into pieces. Why you ask?

There are five kingdoms which desire the prosperous mountains that Ra'Dushree holds. All five kingdoms have thrown their support behind one of the heirs. Ra'Dushree is on the brink of a civil war, and still we must battle against the outsiders. Still we must battle for our kingdom.

I was born to the desert, I was born to death. Soon it will be to death that I return, with pride, but with a heavy heart that cries out for all my people.

***

"Have you heard my story?" Cairith asked when he had finished speaking.

"I have," Seridt said.

"Thank you," Cairith closed his eyes and let his head fall back, but his breathing continued, more labored than before.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I've given you my name," Cairith said, "Would you give me yours? Very soon I will sit before The Vire and he will judge every action I have taken. He will cry out my sins, and he will cry out my crimes, but he will also cry out of my good deeds. When he has finished his speech, but before he has passed his judgment, he may ask if I have any request. I would like to give him your name and beg him to bless you with the strength of the desert,"

Seridt gave Cairith a grim look, though the man's eyes were closed he could feel the tension in the air.

"The Vire has blessed me with a strength greater than the desert,"

"Then I would ask him to bless you with the prosperity of it, which we have found in the mountains,"

"I have already received greater riches than I could have ever dreamed,"

"Then I would ask that he give you what Ra'Dushree cannot," Cairith coughed between his words, "For the wisdom which he has given to the Voyant, and to all the men of wisdom,"

"He has already blessed me with such,"

Cairith open his eyes and leaned his head up to look at Seridt once more. What Seridt saw in his eyes was joy.

"I count myself blessed by your presence," Cairith said, "Is there any blessing I may ask of The Vire for you, for there is nothing more I can think of?"

Seridt thought a moment, "I would ask that I be given mercy enough to find my friends, and see that they are safe. That one day we may help the world to see the blessings that they have squandered from The Vire, as the Desert People have found,"

"I will ask this,"

"Thank you," Seridt said.

"Would you do one last thing for me?"

"What is it?"

"There is a custom within Ra'Dushree, that all the children of the desert would be given up to The Eldest upon their death. It is only a few words, and it is uncommon that a foreigner would speak them for me, rather my wife would speak them upon news of my death, but I see that you know what it is to be born in death,"

"Tell me the words,"

Cairith took a deep breath, the pain of his death was clear in his face now, "Into death was he born, into the arms of the desert did his mother give birth. His childhood he cursed, mourning the day of his birth. The Vire gave him to death before he had breathed his first of life, and thus shall he never die. The desert turned his weakness to strength, and turned his heart to wisdom. With his every breath did he speak your name, and he is not death now, but only has stepped out from this world and into yours. Receive him oh Vire, receive him and judge him well,"

"I will do it," Seridt said, but Cairith could not hear him. He had passed with his last breath, and was now too far from Seridt to hear his words.

Seridt let Cairith's hand drop from his and stood, looking down at the man. He spoke the words Cairith had shown him, closing his eyes as he said it. At the end he added his own words, singing them to the wind, which was beginning to blow.

"The Vire has waited for you, and you for him. May the men of wisdom mark you as wise, and may The Vire see you and be glad to hold you within his arms. Go unto your father, Cairith, he has waited for you since the moment you escaped your mother's womb,"

Seridt laid Cairith's hands over his chest and moved on. The forest was burning fiercely now, and Seridt's errand was coming to a close.

He looked back at the fallen soldier's one last time, "I have heard your story," He said to the still form of Cairith, "Thank you for your blessing,"

Then he was gone. Running across the plains. He could see the forest clearly in the distance. He held his swords at his sides, checking them to be sure they were still there. The wind was picking up, the harsh sound howling across the lands.

Black clouds were building up in the west, moving down from the mountains far in the west, bringing their dark storm to quench the burning forest. The black smoke rose into the sky to meet the black clouds.

The battles were beginning to form together, all the skirmishes outside the forest moving steadily north as a victor was declared by the groans of the dead. The armies were evenly matched and Seridt could see the lightning shooting from the storm already.

No, that wasn't from the storm. It came from the forest, the storm was still too far off. It couldn't be from the storm.

_Then what is it?_ He asked himself, the answer following immediately, _Raytiff!_

He felt the surety that Raytiff was as lost now as he had been on that day seven years ago when they'd escaped the camps grip on his shoulders like the hand of death. He couldn't waste his time on Raytiff, Jason would need him.

He saw the lightning begin to stretch upwards. Shooting at the trees, aimed at the treetops.

"There he is!" Seridt gasped. Raytiff had found Jason. Seridt only needed to follow the lightning to find his friend.

He was sprinting before he could tell his legs to move. He could feel the back of his mind probing for help, for an added burst of adrenaline, something that would make his legs soar faster than the birds could fly. He knew those old habits were searching for The Red.

_The Red's gone, pal._ The thought struck out at him from some outside source.

_There must be some left!_ He heard the echo of his old addictions, still there, still powerful, yearning out for their same old fix. He tried to push his legs faster on his own, but instead they slowed down.

He felt his mind slowing with his body.

_It's gone! I'm not going back to it!_ He shouted through his mind at those habits.

His legs felt like they were going to crumble, his chest felt like it was going to collapse, his stomach felt like it was going to empty everything it could, though he hadn't eaten in days.

_Is this withdrawal?_ He asked through the caverns of his mind. He was surprised when he heard a voice echo back at him.

_Yes. Keep moving._ The voice sounded similar to Fenrin's, but with a higher authority than he was used to hearing. He felt his emotions trying to soar in any direction they could, trying to find the one that would trigger The Red despite knowing that it was gone for good.

One moment he was sprinting, feeling his blood boil, feeling hatred for Raytiff. How dare he come against Jason? It was an affront to Seridt himself! After all they'd been through! After all they'd done to help him, after he'd betrayed them to Mesmer! How dare he!

Then he felt a surge in his heart. What if Jason was already dead? What if Seridt was only running into a trap? He should just turn around, run with all his might in the opposite direction!

How could he ever face Fenrin again after he'd run away, how could he ever face Atask if he didn't bring Jason back safely? He had to keep moving, for fear of his father and his brother.

Rage, fear, worry. They flooded his mind, bringing a dull ache across his forehead.

"The Red isn't there," He said, but the thoughts kept pushing, trying to get some hot blooded feeling to rise in him, something to go beyond the rational fear and anger he felt to something that would feel spectacular, something that would give him strength to do what he needed to do.

"I don't want The Red," He said. The thoughts took a dip, slowing down for a brief moment as he ran, then came back in full swing.

"The Red isn't me! The Red wouldn't save Jason! I have to save him! Me, not The Red! Even if it was here I wouldn't use it! I wouldn't let it control me!"

The thoughts fell to the ground as lightning flung out from the forest. Eight bolts going in every direction. South, east, up, west. One came within twenty feet of Seridt and he could feel the heat that blasted off of it. The smell of sulfur filled the air, causing some of the nausea to return. His hair stood up on end and the blast of sound deafened his ears and sent his body sailing through the air.

He landed awkwardly ten feet away. The body of a fallen soldier broke his fall, and he felt pain rush through his side. The soldier's blade had cut him open.

Seridt clutched at the gash across his ribs and tried to stand. He stumbled back down, his face landing on the soldier's chest. He felt the burns across his neck and arm from the intense heat that had come with the bolt of lightning.

It took him a moment to realize the man he was leaning on was dead. He rolled off the body with a start, shoving with his hands which brought a fresh gasp from his lips as he felt the cut in his side stretch. He felt the intensity of his mind come to a full boil. Screaming out for a release from the intense emotions, the release that The Red would have given him.

The Red would have let him avoid those feelings, it would have taken control of them and fueled them. It would have let him go numb. Seridt had never seen a use for his feelings.

_The Red is gone!_ He shouted into his mind. He was not surprised to hear the echo this time shout back, _Get up! It's up to you now! Jason needs you!_

It did not sound like Seridt, it didn't sound like Fenrin either. Some greater urgency was being thrown over him and he felt his body react. The weight on his shoulder's increased, but the pain in his side and on his neck and arm lessened. It was by no means numbed, but it was directed.

Directed up first. He tried to stand again, "You can do it," He told himself, "It's just a little bit," The agony that his body was screaming in response almost threw him back to the ground again, but he fought it with all that he could, standing on his feet with his torso still hanging limply. All of his weight being balanced through his legs.

He tried to raise his body by a little and felt a fresh sensation rush through him. It felt like his nerves had gone haywire from the electricity that had coursed through the air. Even though the bolt had missed him it had charged the air and made his senses go fuzzy for a moment. Now everything was back online, but not in working order.

One moment he felt pain rush through him, the next there was nothing, and the next it was a burst of energy that helped him keep his balance. He couldn't do much more than stand, but that same voice echoed through his skull once more, yelling, but oddly comforting.

Just one step. Take one step. There's no time left!

He tried and found that his right foot was willing to move again after all. He took another grimacing step, the agony shooting through his body as fast as one of Jason's arrows. In a little time he was back on the move.

He noticed the lightning had stopped, but the forest wasn't too far away. If Jason had been hit there might still be time to save him before Raytiff finished him off. He picked his stumbling walk up to a steady jog, then to a run, then he was bolting across the plain towards the burning trees.

He crossed through the threshold of the forest and stumbled over a root, planting his face flat into the dirt. He felt the blood gush out of his nose as it broke against the hard ground. The pain was intense, but he didn't waste any more time getting back to his feet. He jumped up and took off for the last place he'd seen the lightning strike from.

The smell of sulfur was coming back. Seridt thought it must be a byproduct of the lightning bolts. He wound his way around the trees, the air growing hotter as the fire was spreading closer and closer to the northern border. The heat was painful on his burns, but he kept moving, sprinting and leaping around trees and boulders as he'd learned to do in his forest home with Jason and Atask. He wouldn't fall again.

But he did almost trip over the unconscious form of Raytiff.

He gave a startled yelp, thinking Raytiff was still conscious and would fire another bolt in his direction. After the first, which only nearly missed, he was afraid for another. But Raytiff didn't rise. Seridt peeked around a tree to get a closer look at his old friend. He saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, the uncomfortable position he was in on the ground.

He didn't fall asleep like that. Did Jason beat him?

The thought was still fresh when he heard Jason's voice from farther north. He was talking with someone else. The other man had a deep voice that sounded elegant to Seridt, as if he were speaking of some simple concept that should be obvious to everyone.

Jason sounded dismayed, as if he were making some last ditch effort to prove his point, but knew that his words were useless. Seridt started to turn towards the voices, but stopped and looked back at Raytiff, wondering if he should do something. Something he should be seeing.

_Like what?_ He asked himself, _Carry him off on your shoulders? Or were you thinking you'd just stick your sword in him and put him out of his misery?_

The echo came again, freeing Seridt from his plight, _Leave him. He still has a purpose. Jason needs you._

Then he was off, running to the north. He could hear the steady pace of a fight breaking out. Was it Jason? It must be. He'd heard his voice come from that direction. Was he fighting the man he'd been speaking with? It had sounded like a civilized discussion, not the type that turns to blows.

Seridt heard the twang of Jason's bow and the soft thump his arrow made when it stuck into flesh.

_There it is._ He thought, _It's over._

The sound of harsh movement told him he was wrong. He heard the heavy thud of a big weapon crushing into the ground. He tore through the barrier of the woods in time to see Jason flung on his back. A hulking man with tanned skin was walking towards him with an axe in each hand.

The man said something indiscernible to Seridt's ears. All he could do was rush forward, forgetting to breath in, and whip his swords out of their scabbards.

The man was towering over Jason, his axe raised to the sky. He said, "I'm already regretting this one, I really did like you kid,"

The axe began to fall and Seridt lunged forward, covering the last few feet with his leap and cried out, "No!"

His sword caught the axe just before it could come down on Jason's chest, to both his surprise and to Valkin's.

Jason, on the other hand, was not surprised. He'd heard Seridt coming, though he hadn't known if his friend would make it in time, he was ready to act.

He kicked Valkin in the stomach and rolled away as the other axe tried to come chopping down. Valkin's massive hand batted Seridt away, letting go of the axe in the ground for a moment. Seridt tumbled backwards.

"This is between me and the boy," Valkin said, turning to Seridt.

"Not anymore," Seridt said.

Valkin smiled, "You must be his friend," He laughed, "Good timing I suppose. Very well, let's go," He pulled his axe out of the ground and walked towards Seridt, in no hurry.

Seridt backed away slightly, the man's towering might made his shadow look as long as the trees were tall. His axes looked to be heavy as a boulder, each, yet he swung them with a careful ease that made it appear as if they were as light as feathers.

"Jason," Valkin shouted as Seridt was beginning to regain his composure, "Would you like to make a bet?"

"What kind of bet?" Jason asked. He was on his feet again, but Seridt could tell he had a hard time moving, or standing.

"If your friend beats me then I will accept your offer,"

"What offer?" Seridt asked.

"But if I beat him then you must come with me,"

"Jason, what's he talking about?" Seridt asked, looking over to see Jason considering the offer.

"I invited him to come to Ferinal,"

"What?" Seridt shouted.

"We need to recruit men, and he's the right type," Jason said.

Valkin shrugged, "I suppose I am, but I need a little motivation,"

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" Jason asked.

"My word is my bond," Valkin looked at Jason, genuine hurt in his eyes, "If a man cannot keep his word than he is worthless, even within the White Kingdom,"

"Do I get a say in this?" Seridt asked.

"If you win the bet you can't kill him," Jason said.

Valkin sighed, "I suppose that's fair. Fight for surrender or disarm, but no killing,"

"Then it's agreed,"

Seridt backed away slowly, "Jason, what are you talking about?"

"You're going to have to fight him either way," Jason said, "At least this way you won't get killed,"

"You'd be nothing more than a slave again!" Seridt shouted, if he'd still had The Red it would have come up just then.

"Then don't lose," Jason said.

It was only a moment that their eyes locked before Valkin charged, but in that moment Seridt could see how Jason had changed. The confidence that showed in his shoulders, straight and taut, they looked like they were a bridge that men could pass over to reach up into the sky. The way his hands held at his sides with purpose, not only laying there with nothing to do. His fists were clenched, and Seridt could see how much strength could be flowing through them at any time.

But it was Jason's eyes that held an awareness that gave Seridt the strength that he needed. It was Jason's eyes that showed that he knew what he was doing. They looked like they were doorways into another realm, and Seridt could see that Jason had had his own share of strange and powerful dreams.

Then Valkin was on him, Seridt raised his swords instinctively to block the axes coming down. Valkin was faster than Seridt had thought, and he nearly didn't block the blow in time.

Seridt sidestepped and swung his sword to cut at Valkin's back, but the blade of the axe came down swiftly to block him. They danced together like this, one swinging and the other blocking, as if they were not warriors battling for blood, but expert musicians playing with the sound of their steel ringing together.

"May I use my power?" Seridt asked as he blocked another blow.

Valkin stepped backwards, "I'm hurt that you haven't already," He said, "Victory is not worthy if I do not defeat you at your best,"

Valkin charged once more, one axe coming down above, the other coming from the side. As Seridt blocked he dropped his leg to trip the boy, but Seridt jumped over the kick and swung his own sword at Valkin's neck. Valkin blocked it and tilted his axe as he did, the blades slid from each other and he pushed his hand, still clenched around his axe, forward, punching Seridt in the chest.

The blow had lost much of its force, but it still managed to send Seridt sprawling on his back. Seridt leapt back to his feet, feeling the pain in his side from where he'd been cut by the sword. He started to pull light into himself, preparing to use his power. Valkin charged once more.

The force of Valkin's blow brought a vibration through the blades and into Seridt's arms. He let out a cry of pain and the light he'd been collecting dropped out of him. He moved away, running as he tried to pull light into him once more.

"You can't run fast enough, boy!" Valkin yelled.

"Don't need to!" Seridt said. It was difficult to gather the light. The sun had been covered by the black clouds pouring in from the west, and he could hear Valkin running behind him. The hard stomping feet sending a vibration through the earth and into his own body.

Then he had it. He thrust the light from his hands, making a wall of bending light that reflected his own body. He turned, both himself and the reflection, and looked at Valkin.

"Impressive," Valkin said, "Would it reflect your shadow on a sunny day?"

Seridt nodded, not wanting to speak. His reflection was only light, it wouldn't make a sound. If he spoke it would give himself away.

Valkin kicked a rock at Seridt and his reflection. Seridt moved his head to avoid the rock, but that made his reflections head move right into the rock, giving it away.

Valkin charged again, and Seridt started pulling more light into himself.

"It's a clever trick anyway, it's still distracting me," Valkin said as their blades clashed once more.

"Do you always compliment the men you fight?" Seridt asked.

"Only if they're good," Valkin smiled as their blades continued to clash. Seridt threw a blast of light at Valkin's eyes, but in the same moment Valkin brought both of his axes down on Seridt's sword, sending the blade clattering to the ground.

Valkin almost dropped his own axe to grab his eyes, but held his blades out in defense as he backed away. Seridt took the opportunity to make his own charge. He swung down with his sword, hitting the steel of Valkin's axe.

Seridt aimed for Valkin's blade, pounding down on it with his sword. Valkin tried to move the axe a little, trying to block the blade even through his temporary blindness. He didn't realize Seridt was intentionally hitting the handle.

Then Seridt brought his whole body around with a swing, just as Valkin was beginning to see once more. His swing put all the force of his legs, and his hips, and his arms into the single cutting motion of his blade. It severed through the wooden handle of Valkin's axe, sending the blade to stick into the ground.

"One down," Seridt said. Valkin laughed.

"Looks like we're tied," He said.

Valkin's sight returned to him and he wasted no time in bringing his axe down once more, now using his free hand to try to grab Seridt's wrist. Seridt was holding his sword with both hands, giving himself more control and power with each block and blow.

He began to charge light once more.

Valkin raised his axe high and brought it down towards Seridt's head. Seridt raised his sword to block and shifted his feet to the left. The axe collided with the end of his blade. Seridt used the force of Valkin's blow to send his blade flying around his head, controlling the power of it, and brought it down from the left side on Valkin's axe handle.

It happened too fast for Valkin to move. The weight in each hand was gone, then there was a kick to his stomach, sending him flying onto his back. Before he'd realized what had happened he felt the cold steel pressed against his throat.

"You win," Valkin said.

"Looks like it," Seridt said. Jason was walking over and Seridt muttered, too low for anyone to hear, "Thank you Cairith,"

"Want to take your blade away from my throat now?" Valkin asked, "I'm not going to fight you anymore,"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," Valkin smiled, "Are you going to kill me instead?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do,"

"I would welcome it. You fought well. I lost because you were better, not because I made a mistake, or because you tricked me. If I must die someday I'd prefer it to be at your hand than someone else's,"

"Seridt, put your sword away," Jason said.

Seridt sighed and sheathed his blade, "We should go,"

"What?" Valkin asked, getting to his feet. He rubbed his stomach, where Seridt had kicked him. A bruise was starting to form.

"While I was running here I saw the battle getting bigger, the skirmishes are ending and all the soldiers are starting to form together, and the main battle is moving north,"

"Did you see who's winning?" Jason asked.

"No,"

Rain was starting to trickle down around them. Jason looked north, Seridt looked to Jason, and Valkin looked between both of them.

"We need to get across that river," Jason said, "It looks shallow enough to walk,"

"Don't count on it," Valkin said, "Most rivers around here have that look, but they get deep quick. Are you in any shape to swim?"

"Not really," Jason said.

"We should try at least," Seridt said. He'd come this far to save Jason. He wasn't going to let it end here.

Valkin helped Jason stumble across the field towards the river. Seridt had his hand to the cut in his side applying pressure. Together they came to the edge of the river. Valkin was right, the clear water showed the thin beach went in only a little ways before plummeting more than twenty feet down. The current was too strong to swim over, at least in the condition that Jason and Seridt were in. They wouldn't be able to get across the river before their exhaustion drowned them.

"How do we get across?" Jason asked.

"There!" Jason pointed to a tree, standing alone more than thirty feet on the other side, "Do we have any rope?"

"I can find some," Valkin said.

"I can get an arrow in the tree and we can tie a rope to the end of it," Jason said, he was laughing, "We can use the rope to pull ourselves across,"

"Where are you going to find an arrow strong enough for that?" Seridt asked.

Jason's smile turned straight to a frown. The rain was pouring down on them now, and they could hear the battle as it made its way around the forest. There would be a fresh army on them in no time, and they would be trapped here by the river.

"I'll go find some rope," Valkin said.

"What's the use?" Jason asked.

"I can swim across and pull the two of you over,"

Valkin was already running towards the forest, "What if you don't make it back?" Seridt yelled after him.

"Then you should start thinking of another way to get across without dying!"

Lightning flashed overhead as Valkin disappeared into the forest.

# Chapter 10: To Pass Through Water

Atask and Fenrin had continued walking south after their confrontation with the cult men. Atask had kept thinking back to Ellers as they went, knowing somewhere deep in his heart he'd see that nice old man again, although he wasn't sure under what circumstances.

By the evening after they'd dealt with the cultists they'd crossed the Teminee Bridge, the only bridge that cut across the river for more than twenty miles in both directions. The Carfing River didn't have much need for bridges, being shallow most of the year, and so the Teminee bridge saw little traffic except for in the spring during the brief weeks when the river flooded and in the harvest season when the traffic from traders was higher than usual.

Only it was the harvest season now, and there was still hardly any traffic on the roads. The harvest had been too low to share this year. The most anyone traveled was when a young man decided that he'd had enough of his hungry nights on the farm and thought he'd have better luck in the military. Or with one of the cults that were springing up everywhere.

It was the same all over the White Kingdom, and all over the land of Allseers. Men were giving into the beliefs that were pressed onto them from the highest officials. They began to believe that their real enemy was not the bugs eating at their crops, or their old bones crying out that the work was becoming too hard. They began to believe that the real enemy, the real threat, were the men outside their borders. They heard rumors of the disgusting traditions that were held in Carthik, rumors of how the princes of Ra'Dushree were plotting to take their land. They believed the rumors, and what was worse, they began to look for more rumors to justify their struggle.

Even if a man didn't get up and join the military it was likely that he was starting to blame the outside nations for the bad harvest. Though, of course, no man named it. If he named it he would realize how silly it sounded. How could a nation be responsible for the growth of his beans and his corn?

No, those beliefs stayed silent. Keeping them unnamed allowed them to remain unchecked, the foolishness of them unrealized, allowing those men to continue pointing their anger outward, towards men they had no justifiable reason to be angry with, instead of pointing it in themselves and realizing they'd become lazier over the years. They'd taken less responsibility, done less work, and expected a greater harvest.

The few men who didn't agree with those beliefs, who didn't really listen when men started talking about other nations, they started to speak against them. They'd say it in the local tavern, they'd say it at the market, it didn't matter where, but they'd say it.

_It's your own fault, you know,_ They'd say in a whisper, or sometimes a shout, _If you took responsibility for your own farm you wouldn't be in a such a hard spot! Look at my crops! I had the biggest harvest of my life this year!_

But within a week you could hear the rumors of how that farmer, the one who'd spoken up, had gotten his farm raided, and died trying to defend it. It was the cults, and the people felt justified again. As if the man who didn't agree had gotten killed just proved that they were owed. It proved that they were in the right for blaming their own problems on someone else.

Ellers had been talking about the same thing early on the morning they'd left him. He'd said it in a whisper, and Atask had kept his eyes and ears attentive. He'd nodded his head when he needed, he'd asked a question here and there, but he didn't grasp exactly what was happening, he only knew that it was scaring Ellers.

Atask hadn't thought of Ellers since the moment they'd crossed that bridge. He was worried about the old man, but he'd been preoccupied since that very moment. Since he'd first seen Fenrin's glance out behind them. The worried look on Fenrin's face. That look that told him they had their own troubles to think of, something more than just reaching Jason in time. Something worse.

There wasn't an hour that went by without Fenrin's worried glance striking behind him quickly, as if he could see something way out in the distance that Atask couldn't. Truth be told, Atask kept feeling as if there was something way out in the distance that kept looking at him. It's eyes making targets on his back, telling him that he was a threat, and that threat's didn't last too long around here.

Atask didn't ask Fenrin about it though. He was afraid of hearing an answer he already knew, an answer he wouldn't have said himself, but Fenrin didn't give him that luxury. The first night they'd slept after the bridge Fenrin said what Atask had been thinking all along.

"Something's following us,"

"You mean someone?" Atask had asked. He felt the tremble in his voice, just as he'd felt the tremble in his mind every time the same sentence had passed through his thoughts.

Fenrin shook his head, "I wouldn't call it a someone. I'm not sure it knows how to think like a man, but it's thinking. I can practically hear it coming up the river. It wants us, and it's coming fast,"

"What can we do?"

"We can move faster,"

Fenrin woke Atask up before the sun had risen, with only a few hours of rest between the two of them, it did nothing for the worry for either of them.

"It's going to catch us, isn't it?" Atask asked midway through that day.

"I don't know about that just yet," Fenrin had said, but the quiver in his voice told Atask that he was only hoping against it now, "We should reach the forest, and Jason, before tomorrow evening,"

"Whatever's chasing us, do you think we could beat it?"

Fenrin sat in thought for a long moment. Atask was getting ready to ask again, thinking Fenrin hadn't heard him, when Fenrin answered.

"It's possible," He said. Atask didn't ask anything else.

Fenrin stood and motioned for Atask to do the same. He kicked some dirt over the remnants of their campfire, in the hopes it would look older, maybe deter some of the scent from whatever was following them. Atask was surprised to see that Fenrin had already cleaned up most of the camp, the pots and pans they'd used to cook some of the food were attached to the pack they'd brought from Ferinal. Atask packed his bedroll with the other supplies and lifted the large pack onto his sturdy shoulders.

He'd fallen asleep to the soft sounds of the babbling river beside them the night before, but now it sounded less like babbling and more like shouting. The plains to their left were as bare as they ever were, the tall grass was turning a dirty brown as it prepared for the cold with the winter. Looking to the sky Atask could see the black clouds to the west. A storm was moving in, a big one. The clouds covered the entirety of the horizon, blocking the setting moon.

To the east the stars were fading out as the sun began to climb out of its own bed to begin is ascension into the sky. Atask had no doubt that he wouldn't be watching the sun's descent today. By noon the black clouds would have it covered and the heavy rain would be on his head.

"How big do you think that storm is?" Fenrin asked him.

"Big,"

"But how big?" Fenrin smiled as he looked over his shoulder at Atask, but the smile turned into the bleak look of fading hope as he looked past Atask, at whatever it was that was following them. The thing that Fenrin could see, even through the curve of the earth, but was hidden from Atask.

"The biggest I've ever seen,"

"Would it surprise you if I said the same?" Fenrin said. There was laughter in his voice, but he didn't look back this time. Atask thought Fenrin might be trying to keep him from thinking about what was behind them, and it was working.

"I don't actually know how old you are," Atask said. He had a smile himself.

"Older than you," He said, "Old enough that I've probably met several of your ancestors, more than twenty generations back,"

Atask couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open. He knew Fenrin was older than any normal man could be, but he hadn't known how long that actually was.

"I've never seen a storm that big," Fenrin said. His voice sounded a bit more grim when he said it, "I wouldn't be surprised if it lasted weeks. Maybe even months,"

"Will this river flood?" Atask asked.

"Farther east it probably already has, we're just seeing the run off from that,"

"Will we still be able to cross it after we get Jason?"

Fenrin looked back again. This time he didn't look past Atask. His eyes had a mixture of uncertainty and pride. He hadn't thought of that, and he was proud, as a father should be, that Atask had thought a little better than himself.

"I don't think we'd be able to swim across," A twinkle held in Fenrin's eyes, gleaming purple. He stopped walking for a moment and reached into his pack, "Do you need to rest at all?"

"No," The sun hadn't yet risen past the horizon.

"Are you sure?" Fenrin said, "There is time if you need it. I'll need you to swim across, and the current is already getting stronger by the minute,"

"I'll be fine,"

"If you need to rest tell me. You'll need to be at full strength when we find Jason,"

"Why?"

"I can't answer that, yet," Fenrin said. The gleam in his eye was gone. It was replaced with a tight furrow of his brow and a fierceness in the clench of his jaw. Atask had never seen the look on anyone before. Fenrin looked like a man in that moment. The way a man _should_ look.

"Are you ready?" He asked. Atask nodded and Fenrin handed him one end of a rope, "I'll hold it so you don't get pulled downstream too far. Remember how I hold it," He said. Atask nodded again.

Atask started to turn away and Fenrin grabbed his shoulder, "One more thing," He pulled the boy into a tight embrace, and the firmness of Fenrin's hands holding him told him there was nothing in the world that could hurt either of them in that moment.

"What are you do-," Atask started to ask, but Fenrin cut him off.

"I want you to know something," He said, "I love you and your brother's very much. That day we met, I was going to the forest to find the three who would change the world. The Vire told me they were there, but I never expected three young boys to meet me. I expected men who were full grown and knew their purpose, and the importance of it,"

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you," Atask said, his own arms wrapping around Fenrin.

"No," Fenrin's word was harsh, "I was not disappointed, not even for a moment. I didn't find three great and strong warrior's, I didn't find three men who would tell me how to change the world, who I would follow into battle. I found three young boys, who had never known kindness, and had never known the love of a father.

"I was brought from my own mortality to be a Voyant while I was still young, I never had a wife, and I never had children of my own. You three have blessed me these last two years. I know now what it is to be a father, and I want you to know how proud I am of you, of all three of you,"

"Why are you saying this?"

"I'll tell you later," Fenrin said, letting Atask go, "For now let's see if we can do this,"

Fenrin wrapped the rope around his wrist so that it could not be pulled out of his grip without taking his whole arm off, "See how I hold this?" He asked, Atask nodded, "Remember it,"

Atask felt hypnotized by the sudden change in Fenrin's tone. It had gone from a tender embrace to a rushed lesson, and Atask had no idea why.

"Wrap the rope around your waist and tie it like this," Fenrin said, "can you remember that?"

Atask nodded once more.

"Show me,"

Atask undid the knot and tied it again himself.

"Good, now practice the wrist,"

Atask did.

"Good job," Fenrin smiled. Atask thought he could see tears forming in the old man's eyes, but he couldn't be sure, Fenrin moved his gaze away too fast. He looked across the river and said, "Ready to swim?"

The current had grown considerably since they'd been talking. Atask was surprised at how deep the river had become. When they'd crossed the bridge he would have sworn it wasn't even deep enough to wet his knees, but now it reached a foot taller than he was in the middle, and the edges reached above his waist.

As soon as the water was up to his waist he felt the pull. He tried to compensate by walking against the current and he was almost pushed backwards. He struggled as the water got deeper, swimming as hard as he could, feeling the rope tightening around his waist as the river tried to take him down stream. Even swimming as hard as he could it took him almost five minute to reach the other side, twenty feet from shore to shore.

Finally he made it, his arms felt tired, and he wished that he'd taken Fenrin's offer to rest before trying to swim across, although he supposed the current and depth would have picked up significantly in that time.

"Should I pull you across?" Atask shouted to Fenrin across the river.

Fenrin did not answer. He looked up stream and whispered something to the wind. Atask heard a low rumble through the earth and the river picked up speed, the water rose two feet in under ten seconds.

"What are you doing?" Atask shouted.

Fenrin undid the knot on his wrist and threw his end of the rope across. He looked at Atask and smiled.

"Find Jason," Fenrin said, "He needs your help, Seridt too. Tell them what I told you, of how proud I am of you,"

Fenrin turned and started heading east.

"Where are you going?" Atask shouted. His heart was thumping hard in his chest.

"To buy you three all the time I can. By the time it's done with me the current will be too strong," Fenrin looked back at Atask, "If you can't make it back to Ferinal then find Ellers. He'll help you until the rivers are back to normal,"

"No!" Atask screamed, "Let me help you!"

Fenrin smiled, "If you want to help then get your brother's and keep yourselves safe. I'll find you when this is over,"

"What if I just go back to the bridge? You can't just leave me here!" Atask screamed again. He felt his voice rising, turning shrill as his panic was reaching a full boom in his chest.

"That'll be flooded over by the time you get back there," Fenrin said, "Go on, don't waste more time trying to convince me. You're already stuck over there, and I'm already stuck over here. No go get Jason and Seridt so that whatever's been chasing us doesn't have a chance to get to them too,"

Atask tried to shout again, but his voice caught in his throat. Fenrin gave him one last stern look, but the effect was lost as he couldn't help but smile, "I'm so proud of you," He said before he turned to go. He was off at a run, back towards whatever was chasing them. Atask didn't see a single line of regret in his face.

Atask screamed again, this time his voice forced it's way past the lump, but Fenrin didn't turn around. He kept running until he was nothing but a purple blur in the light of the morning. Atask fell to his knees and cried.

He felt like nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard, and Fenrin had been the queen. The star player. The powerful one who was going to get everything taken care of. Now it was just Atask. Just a lonely pawn as the single defender against the onslaught of the enemy.

His tears poured to the ground. His hands clutched at his face and his stomach, simultaneously wiping away tears and clutching at the growing pain where he thought his food would start to burst out of him. How could he go on? He hadn't been on his own. Never, not once. He'd always had Jason or Seridt to help him. Then he'd had Fenrin.

No, that wasn't it. His tears started to slow, then stop completely. It wasn't that Jason and Seridt were just there to help him, he was there to help them. It was hard not having anyone else, not because his pain was so bad, but because he felt so useless. He could bear his friends pain, but he couldn't bear his own.

In the same moment he felt again like a pawn, but it wasn't so bad. It wasn't a pawn about to be swatted by a knight, or a rook, but a pawn getting ready to make the final step through the threshold and onto the other side of the board, where it would become a more powerful piece. A more influential piece.

Atask was afraid at the loss of Fenrin, but his friends still needed him, and he still needed them. He couldn't get home on his own, so he would have to help them. He would have to save them first. Then they could all help each other, just as they'd always done. Though Atask had the feeling that it wouldn't be exactly like it always had. Things had changed now.

As he got to his feet he thought of his chess analogy once more, a brief fading instant. Yeah, he was a pawn. So were Jason and Seridt. Just pawns in training to be knights and rooks and bishops. And Fenrin was the queen, the most powerful piece on the board. But then, who was the king?

The thought faded almost as quickly as it had arrived. He was on his feet again, wiping the tears from his eyes. He looked out to the west with the same look on his face that he had seen on Fenrin's. He didn't look back to see if his father had passed over the horizon yet, he knew he had.

"Okay," he said to himself, "It's time to go,"

Then his hands flashed to his stomach once more as he bent over and vomited on the ground.

***

Atask was approaching the forest. He'd chose to run instead of walk, trying to finish off the last stretch of his journey without needing to stop another night. He needed to use the effort to keep his mind off of Fenrin anyway.

The old man might have given his life for their errand, and Atask wasn't ready to mourn yet. Didn't want to be ready to mourn yet. He kept on running.

The rain was pounding against his face. The black clouds had covered the entirety of the sky now, blocking out the sun until the day looked like night. Atask couldn't tell what time it was anymore. He wasn't sure if there would be any difference when the sun set.

The crash of lightning from above rattled the ground around him. He was sure that the bolts were striking only a short distance away, maybe setting parts of the plain on fire. On fire like the forest was. For a while he'd only been able to see the black smoke, even when the forest had popped into view he couldn't see any of the flames. The fire had been condensed to the center of the forest. That had changed quickly.

The flames licked up at the trees, spreading hot and quick until half the forest was blazing. If Jason was in there...

No, Atask didn't have time to think about that. He had to get as close as he could. The river was now rushing too hard for him to even have a chance to swim across, his only hope was to get to the northern side of the forest and shout. Shout for Jason, or Seridt. Shout for all the volume his lungs could bring.

Lightning crashed again. The rumbling sent him to his knees, and the slipping mud sent him flat on his face. The dirt stuck to his wet face as he continued to slide. He felt his body moving down towards the river. He tried to kick his feet to push himself up again, but they slid backwards, shoving his face back into the mud.

His hands clutched against the ground, trying desperately to catch his body as it slid a little too close for comfort towards the river. The water wasn't just flowing anymore, not just rushing, it was pounding its way through rock and stone, forging a new path for the river. It had gone from a brook to rushing rapids in just a short afternoon.

He caught hold of a root sticking out of the mud and felt the flow of water splashing against his ankle. He gulped deep, his hand to his chest to hold his heart from bursting out, and pulled his body away from the water that had turned into a weapon just as dangerous as the burning forest.

When he was a safe distance away from the river again, and not in danger of slipping back down, he pulled himself to his feet and wiped the mud from his eyes. For the first time since just before taking his fall he looked to the forest.

He was shocked to see the flames had progressed so far in such a short time. Ninety percent of the trees were on fire, and most of them were going full blast. Ten thousand tall figures looked down at him with power and rage.

He could see the armies battling back and forth, like the waves of the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs outside Ferinal. The waves crashed against each other, recoiled back into formation, then charged up to crash again. Each time growing larger as more soldiers were pouring out from the burning forest to avoid the fire. The battle was moving north.

_Good timing,_ Atask thought. If Jason and Seridt _were_ there they'd be smart enough to avoid the battle. They'd be moving north or were already too far south to be in danger.

Or they're dead.

He shook his head violently, trying to get the thought to fly out of the back of his head, but he'd heard it, and he couldn't deny it. That was possible. It didn't help him to worry about it now, but he kept on worrying about it anyway.

He heard a sound that should have sent his worries away right away. It was the sound of Seridt, he was shouting something incoherent. Atask thought it might be something close to a death rattle, and took off at a run. He was sprinting down the side of the river, mindful of the muddy patches that could cause another slip, one that might actually put him into the river this time.

Then he heard Jason, his voice rose slightly above the wind, but a stroke of lightning drowned out all but the last word, "Hurry!"

He thought Jason might have seen him, or heard him, and he pushed his legs to move faster, letting all his worry fall out of the back of his head as if it was being blown off of his shoulders by the wind.

A sudden thought occurred to him. He was downwind from his friends, and in this wind there was no way that Jason had heard him, even with his heightened hearing. There was no way Jason could have seen him through the rain either, Atask knew that much from their time in the forest, when there had been several great storms they'd had to surpass.

Then who was he yelling at? Maybe Fenrin had beaten him there! Maybe...

He dismissed the thought before it could touch his heart with hope. There was no way. Fenrin wasn't old the way others were but Atask was still faster.

It wasn't possible.

Still he ran as fast as he could, seeing a single tall oak on his side of the river. He aimed for it as the rain was growing harder. It only took him a few minutes to reach it, but in that time the wind picked up a few paces, blowing and whipping against his face. The thunder roared louder still, the lightning growing more frequent. It sounded as if the sky was cracking and breaking above him, and the ground was shattering it's cry in return.

Atask reached the tree, his breath falling out of his lungs faster than he could hold onto it. The wind was stealing the air away from his mouth before he could breathe it in. He put his hand against the trunk of the tree, his eyes clamped shut, trying to catch what he could from the air to still the fire that was growing in his lungs as fast as the fire was spreading through the forest.

Finally he had it, his lungs cooled a little, and a stitch started to form in his side. His skin may have been solid as a rock but his insides were crying and screaming out for some rest. He'd been going at full speed with Fenrin since they'd left Ferinal, getting the bare minimum they'd needed each night. Now it was catching up to him. He didn't think he could take another step.

He proved himself wrong when he opened his eyes and peered across the river. There they were, standing just on the other side of the rushing waters. His friends, his brothers. Jason and Seridt hadn't seen him. They were looking out towards the forest, the black smoke looked like it was just going into the sky to feed the storm. A bolt of lightning struck right through the smoke and onto the ground.

"Jason!" Atask shouted, his voice rasping, but he projected as best as he could, "Seridt!"

They didn't hear him. The thunder had cut him off. He tried again, but they still didn't turn. He looked around, trying to think of a way to get their attention. He picked up a rock, more boulder than rock, and threw it as hard as he could.

It plunked into the river with nearly as loud a bang as the thunder. Jason and Seridt turned at the same time to look and Atask shouted again. Their gaze went from the splash zone and up the river to see Atask. Neither smiled. Their eyes hung open as wide as their mouths. Their shock kept them as still as could be in the raging storm.

Jason tried to say something, his mouth flapping up and down uselessly. Seridt closed his mouth and continued to stare, Atask thought he could see Seridt's lips start to tremble, a few tears rolled out from his eyes and were lost in the rain.

Finally Atask shouted, "Anything to say?"

The two almost forgot the river as they ran forward, stopping just at the edge of the water. They were smiling and waving their hands.

"We're stuck on this side until Valkin can find some rope!" Jason shouted.

"Who?" Atask's voice was lost to the wind.

"I have some rope," He shouted instead, "Come on!"

Jason shook his head before Seridt could utter a favorable response, "We need to wait for Valkin,"

"Who?" Atask's voice carried this time, and Jason had a worried look come over his face.

"We'll explain later," Seridt shouted, "We need to get him here first! There isn't much time left!"

"I know! I saw the army moving north!" Atask shouted, adding, "What are you doing way out here?"

"Later!" Jason shouted back.

Before Atask could shout anything back Seridt and Jason had turned towards the forest with their hands cupped around their mouths.

"Valkin!" They both shouted at once, "Come back!"

Atask tried to look out towards the forest. He could barely see it anymore through the rain, but it was still burning and he could see shapes moving around in the shadows. Something was coming, though he wasn't too sure what. He tried to stand on his tiptoes and craned his neck to try and get a better angle, then yelled at himself mentally for thinking such a stupid tactic would give him any better vantage.

Lightning struck down at the forest. Atask didn't notice. His attention was focused on trying to strain his eyes so that he could see what it was that might be moving through the distant shadows of the forest. The battle couldn't have progressed far enough north for those shadows to be from the men fighting each other. They would come, but not so soon.

Lightning flashed again and Atask shouted, "We have to go now!"

Jason shook his head, "I won't leave without him,"

Before Atask could try and argue Seridt started shouting again, "Valkin! Hurry up! We need you!"

A lumbering giant burst from the forest. Atask's mouth hung open, surprised at his girth.

Valkin moved across the plain from the edge of the forest to the river with ease, unhindered by the rain. He stood before Jason and Seridt, alone with his black hair hanging in damp curls around his face. His dark skin shined from the rain, even in the darkness of the cloud cover. He ignored Atask completely.

"I could not find any rope,"

"That's alright, our friend has some," Jason said. His strain to stand was visible. Atask looked over his body and could see, even from across the river, how his weight was shifted on his legs to avoid as much pain as possible, without tumbling over.

Atask could see the gaping wound in Seridt's side, and the burns across his neck. His friends had been broken and bruised, they would need rest. Atask tried to think of just how long it would take them to get to Ellers's inn from the river, but the distances were fuzzy.

"Atask!" Seridt brought him back to reality, "Throw us the rope!"

Atask tried, keeping a firm grasp on one end of the rope, but the wind caught it and pulled it into the water. Atask tugged it back to try again, making a knot in the end before he threw it to give it an added weight.

It helped, but the rope still fell into the water. He tied another knot in and spun the rope above his head, giving it as much momentum as he could, then launched it across the water. Seridt leapt forward and caught it before it could take another dive into the river.

Atask shouted, "You'll all need to come across together! If we waste time then the river will flood too wide for the rope!"

Jason nodded and gave the rope to Valkin, "You'll need to hold us," He said, "We'd be fools to think we're still strong enough to get through on our own,"

Seridt nodded his agreement and Valkin undid the knots and tied the rope around his waist. Atask showed him from across the water how to tie the knot so it wouldn't come undone in the water.

Valkin picked up both boys and Atask tied the knot on his wrist like Fenrin had shown him, then got ready to pull as Valkin took his first step into the river.

The rope was pulled taught immediately as the current tried to pull Valkin down river, with Jason and Seridt in his arms, "I can't swim like this!" He shouted between gasps for air between the rushing waves, "Pull me! Fast! I can't keep their heads above the water!"

Atask pulled on the rope as hard as he could, the current trying to bring him into a watery grave. He dug his feet into the earth and leaned all his weight backwards, trying to swing Valkin and his brothers to shore a little ways down the river.

Valkin was almost to the other side when Atask felt his weight shift. His grip slipped slightly and he was pulled sideways onto the ground. He began to fall towards the river just as Valkin stepped out.

Valkin dropped Seridt and Jason, gasping for air, onto the muddy beach and gripped the rope with both hands. He gave it a hard whip to the right, which rode down the length of the rope to Atask and pulled him by his wrist a foot, just enough to stop his fall towards the river.

Valkin helped Seridt and Jason to their feet, rushing over to help Atask, when they heard a shrill voice scream out across the water.

"You can't escape!" It was Raytiff, Atask recognized, but his mind couldn't connect the disgusted face, filled with pain and anguish, with the loving and caring face of the boy he'd once known. There was little resemblance. Wherever Raytiff had been in the past seven years it had not been kind to him, and it had not left him with any kindness either.

"Let it go Raytiff," Atask said. He kept his voice loud enough for Raytiff to hear over the winds without shouting. His mind continued trying to connect the figure before him with his old friend.

If he took away the eyes that were sunken with the dark circles underneath, the lips that curled upward, parting enough on the edges to expose teeth as gray as his lips, and the veins that seemed to burn with color through his skin, then he could start to see the resemblance. But those features were all so prominent. Atask couldn't imagine what might have gone wrong in his head to bring about this change, but he knew it was there, not just his skin, but all the way down into his heart, maybe even to his soul.

He could hear it in those few words. They sounded exactly how Raytiff looked. _But which one came first?_ He knew the answer. Raytiff had turned his mind to evil long ago, and his body had followed shortly after.

"No! You have to stay!" Raytiff screamed again.

Atask had always been merciful, had always been compassionate, far more than either of his friends, but now he felt nothing but disgust. He wondered if it was possible to throw up from a sound, and the squeezing in his stomach told him yes.

"We're leaving! You can't stop us!" Atask heard the sound of his own voice, but did not recognize it.

The contrast to Raytiff's was remarkable. His words carried over the wind, without the need to shout, as if the wind parted before the sound to make way for its magnificence. He had never heard a voice that sounded like the roar of a lion with only a whisper. His surprise didn't have a chance to reach his face, though. The moment he'd realized it was his own voice speaking he'd let the thought fall out of his head, keeping his focus trained on Raytiff.

He was wary of his old friends power.

Raytiff held his hand up, holding it like he was holding an invisible ball. Before Atask's eyes a dim light began to form, then expand, blue sparks popping off of it as if it were igniting the air. A small string of lightning branched off and connected with Raytiff's finger, Atask could see the flesh burn from the electricity.

"Give me Jason," Raytiff said, his voice was quiet, but there was no control in it.

"What happened to you Raytiff?"

Raytiff didn't answer. He threw the bolt of lightning across the river, aiming past Atask where Valkin was trying to shelter the two boys, who were on the verge of passing out. The injuries they'd sustained were enough to make a grown man break down and weep, but they'd kept fighting. Atask knew they would be okay, but they needed to rest, and yet Raytiff was aiming for them.

Aiming for the weak, like a mangy wolf aiming for the old and diseased that were falling to the back of the herd. Atask was sure that Raytiff would learn that there was no such weakness in any of them. He would learn it someday.

Atask stepped into the bolt as it thundered across the river, rattling the ground. He felt it hit him with enough force to have caused him to be thrown backwards through the air on a normal day, but this was not a normal day. He was here to save his friends, his brothers, and he refused to fail.

He felt the bolt of lightning course through him, his muscles spasmed and he felt the shudder running through his bones as the electricity displaced into the ground. As he felt the last of the built up mass of energy leave his feet he closed his eyes. He felt a stiffness move through his shoulders, pulling them back, his back straightening.

When he opened his eyes he saw the look of horror that was painted over Raytiff's face. He shook his head, "We were your friends," His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried across the river as if it were a shout, the force smashing against Raytiff's body, "We went through trials and struggles together, and you chose your path, and we have chosen ours. I wish I could help you, but I think you've already ruined yourself. I don't think you've realized it yet, and I don't think you'll realize it for a very long time, but you have. You've forfeited everything you were made to be,"

"Shut up!" Raytiff screamed back, his voice felt powerless as it fell on Atask's ears, "I am the very definition of power!"

"You aren't. You could have been, but you aren't," Atask's voice was rising, "You could have done so much good. You could have saved the world, but you're making it burn instead, but the world will heal. You made your choice, Raytiff,"

Atask turned as Raytiff screamed, "You think you're better than me?"

Atask looked over his shoulder, "Raytiff, I was your friend. I always thought you were better than me, always smarter, always more determined, always more confident, but you've either lost those qualities or turned them to evil. You were a good person, but not anymore. You've just become a walking corpse, rotting from the inside out,"

The wind took Raytiff's last words, bringing nothing but garbled nonsense to Atask's ear. The storm had given Atask the last word, though he hadn't cared to have it.

"Let me take a look at you," Atask bent over Jason, examining his leg.

"I can't tell if they're broken or not, but you shouldn't be walking on them," Atask said, "Valkin, can you carry him?"

Valkin nodded, "I can,"

"Good, we'll need to move fast. We need to get as far from the river as we can tonight," He knelt over Seridt, "You need medicine," He was looking at the cut in his side, "Your burns don't look too bad. They'll peel, and they'll itch but don't scratch them, they'll be fine on their own, but that cut is going to get infected if we don't do something soon,"

Atask helped Seridt to his feet, keeping an arm around him to hold him up. They weren't able to move as fast as Atask would have liked that way, but at least they could move.

"I'll get you to safety," He said, setting his next objective. He thought of Ellers as he said it, and wondered if he wouldn't be bringing some safety to Ellers as well, though he couldn't place exactly why the thought had come into his head. He was too distracted with helping Seridt to think of the connection.

As the quartet hobbled along north, away from the river and away from the burning forest, Atask could still hear Raytiff shouting after them. Coherent words rambling off of his lips and into the air, but turning to the incoherent mush that entered Atask's ears even before they could completely cross the river.

He didn't shoot any more lightning, Atask thought that it was probably to avoid having Atask block it again, to avoid that punch to his ego. He'd want to avoid losing that arrogance completely, that much was certain. Atask wondered if that little bit of confidence in his power was all that Raytiff had left.

Then even those thoughts started to droop and drip out of his head like a leaky faucet, all the irrelevant things breaking away from behind him, slowly, as long as he kept on walking. Seridt wasn't saying much, by the look on his face it seemed most of his effort was just going towards his focus on putting one foot in front of the other, undoubtedly a hard task at this point.

Valkin wasn't speaking either, though Jason had now passed out in his arms. Atask didn't think it was the injuries that had put him to sleep, Jason had a strong will, after all he'd been running and fighting on those legs of his, as damaged as they were.

Atask wondered if it was the exhaustion, not from the physical exertion but from the emotional one, that had put Jason out. He smiled as the last thoughts about Raytiff got left with his footprints in the mud. His thoughts had turned to the love for his friends once more, as his thoughts so often did. He'd get them looked at a bit more closely once they stopped for the night, which he thought should probably be soon, he could even see a small patch of trees cropping up in the distance.

They set up a small camp, the best they could do, under the cover of the trees. The lightning had lessened a little but the storm was still raging outside. A fire was out of the question, but Atask passed around the dried meats that he'd brought from Ferinal. He looked at Seridt's wound more closely and shuffled through his pack. He was sure he'd brought something that could disinfect a wound.

He bandaged Seridt's side and took a closer look at the burns, his initial diagnosis of 'Not really a big deal,' was close, but not close enough. Atask pulled up a few plants that grew around the tree roots, mixing a couple of plants, sherith root and meadows kiss, together with the abundance of water that was falling from the sky to form a light paste that he covered the burns with.

Seridt's sigh as the pain was soothed was the last sound he made before his own exhaustion took him. Atask moved on to Valkin, disinfecting and putting bandages over the wounds Jason's arrows had made. When he finished he looked the large man in the eye and asked, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Jason asked the same thing," Valkin couldn't suppress the smile that split his handsome features in two.

"And what did you tell him?"

"You don't,"

Atask sighed. It had been the longest day of his life to date, but he couldn't let himself go to sleep until he trusted Valkin enough not to kill them in the name of The White Kingdom.

"You don't need to worry about me though," Valkin said, making Atask wonder if he could read his thoughts, "That boy has saved me. Each step I took away from that dreaded army felt like a step towards freedom. I'm not sure exactly why I was never able to realize it before, just how awful it was, but I do know that I owe my life to this young man,"

"He saved your life?"

"Not exactly," Valkin thought for a moment, "No, he did exactly that. I'd never lived my life until today, it is as if I have been born for the first time, and already I feel happiness, the kind that they say comes from doing what you were made to do,"

"Who says that?"

"The scholars of the White Kingdom, though I don't think they know how it feels. They say it because every man will think that his neighbor feels that way, and will fake it to avoid being cast out,"

"That's what it's come to?"

"The stories I could tell you, boy," Valkin looked out to the south east, towards the capitol city of the White Kingdom. A look of longing was in his face, but also a look of hate.

"Can I take your word that you won't hurt us in our sleep?" Atask asked after a lengthy silence.

"That's a silly question,"

Atask's face brightened, thinking that Valkin meant it should have gone without saying, but Valkin corrected it, "You're asking for my word that you can trust my word,"

"You're right, that is silly,"

"But you can," Valkin said, "And I won't,"

"How do I know?"

"Because I love the boy for what he's given me," Valkin said, "I would sooner give my life for him than take another step, if that be possible,"

Atask accepted the answer and let his own exhaustion take hold. Valkin followed some time later, after using some spare clothes and the rope to tie together a makeshift shelter for them. He made it well, the wind and the rain were almost completely cut off, and the boys were given a chance to rest easily, and earn warmth.

None of them were sure just exactly how long they slept for, but it was a deep sleep on all four counts, filled with a great variety of dreams that could have gone almost completely without mention. Except, perhaps, for Jason's.

# Interlude: The Prophet

"Do not be afraid that they will be alone,"

Fenrin did not speak. It was only a few weeks until the boys would be tested, and even The Vire did not have all the details to give him.

"Even after you have left they will draw others to them. The Sentinels are strong. They wield a greater power from the towers than even the men of wisdom, though they do so unintentionally. Any who has a greater purpose will help them, they will feel drawn to them from across the nation, even from across the mountains in the east. They will be hidden from the sight of The Vail for a time. They will not be forced to face an army that they cannot defeat,"

"I know that you are right, and that you are just. I know they will be tried, and that they will grow and overcome, but I am still afraid,"

"What is it you fear?"

"I fear that they will forget the time they were given to rest. I fear that they will never rest again, that the rest of their lives will be nothing but pain and struggle, as was their former life. I am afraid that these two years they have had with me will be the only time they ever have to be young, to be youthful, to be happy,"

"Are you happy?"

Fenrin nodded. For the first time he found his words struggling before The Vire. In all his years he had been able to speak so eloquently, so easily, but now his words felt weighted down.

"I have seen how youthful you are. Do not worry. Peace will come to Allseers one day, and Atask and Seridt will have their rest. They will have their families, and they will know the love of a father, and of a grandfather,"

"But what of Jason?"

"I will give him dreams of her, and he will visit with me here. He will have peace, though of a different kind,"

"Her?"

"The prophecies mention her. Two of the sentinels never married in their first life. But one was betroved, and The Elder Days gave her to the same rebirth as the Sentinels, the same rebirth that keeps a prison over the one who could not be imprisoned,"

"So there were five,"

"The Elder Days gave up their own freedoms in order to offer this gift to the Sentinels, for though the Guardians were all capable of long life, The Sentinels were only man, and were doomed to death. The Elder Days gave The Sentinels the solution, and to imprison the Man Who Should Never Have Been, and to the wife of the first Sentinel, who was reborn as Jason,"

"Do you mean to say..."

"No. When he is ready he will find her here, in the great hall. His dreams will bring him here often, just as they will bring her here. He will not be alone,"

Fenrin smiled.

"Thank you," he said.

"It is the very least I can do for Jason. His life will be harder than Seridt's or Atask's, and he will have no wife in this life to bear his pain. No wife to help him find his rest, or to find his peace. It will all be on his shoulders, but it is such a great destiny. I cannot give it to him alone. I will bear it with him, and I will guide him directly when I can, so long as he lets me in. For his sake, and for hers, I will take his pain and his fear, and I will turn them to strength within him,"

# Chapter 11: The Thief

Quin could have heard the ruckus from outside town. He sighed.

"Can't he keep out of trouble?" He asked out loud. The rain was pouring, like it had been all week, and he was soaked, like he had been all week. He was homeless, had been for the past seven years, along with his only friend in the world, Karik.

Karik, of course, was never a good influence. He always found some way to get himself in trouble, and was always getting bailed out, by Quin. Now was no different.

Quin Kaleb was listening from an alley, eating an apple he'd lifted from a traveling merchant. He hadn't eaten much else today, or this week. Quin actually couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and now his meal had been interrupted.

"You're gonna pay for that," It was a tall man. Quin could see him from the alley, waiting for his call to come on stage.

"What are you talking about?" Karik was never a good actor. He couldn't help but smile through the lie.

"Give me back the apple, boy," Not just a tall man, but also a very large man. He had the muscles of a man who regularly does very hard work. Karik wasn't exactly big, or tall.

Karik didn't even hit past five and a half feet tall. Quin sighed again. He was getting tired of pulling Karik out of tough spots. The kid wasn't any good at picking pockets, he wasn't good at stealing, he wasn't good at tricking anyone.

"Or what?" Karik said. Quin smacked his forehead, _idiot._

"Or this," The tall, strong, threatening man with rage in his eyes said. Quin had enough. Karik would complain later about Quin butting in but it was better than having to bury Karik.

Quin stepped from the alley as the tall man started moving. It was a fast, angry walk. The man had a sword at his side, but he had yet to reach for it.

"Last chance," he said, his fists clenched. Quin considered just letting it happen, hoping it might knock some sense into Karik. _No,_ Quin thought, _Just knock the last few screws loose. That's all._

Quin had his knife ready just as the man had closed the last step of distance to Karik, who was backing away with his hands held out in front of him. Quin reached up to grab the man's thumb, twisting it backwards so that his fist opened and his hand became pinned to his back. Quin pushed the tip of the knife up against the man's side, not enough to draw blood, but enough that the cold steel tip could be felt.

"Move and die," Quin said. He didn't mean it, but he was a much better actor than Karik. His voice was cold and calm, sending a chill down his own spine.

"I don't want no trouble," The man said.

"Sure you do!" Quin said, his voice sounded pleasant now, as if it were just a chat between old chums, "You just don't want any with me,"

The man's left hand was moving down his side, reaching for his sword. Quin twisted his thumb harder, pulling a yelp from the man.

"Don't even think about it," he said, "keep your left hand on your heart so I don't think you're doing something stupid. You wouldn't want me to get jumpy, would you?"

"Alright," The man said, his voice was calm but there was a tremor running down his arm. Karik was still standing by, a broad smile spreading across his thin face, "we can just forget this whole thing, all three of us can go along our ways, no one has to get hurt,"

"No, we can't," Quin said. He felt the man tense up, as if he expected the knife to burst through his abdomen, "Karik, what did you get off him?"

"Please, don't," The man said, Quin wasn't sure if he was begging for his life or his supplies, probably both at once, "I've got a family, we need this. I can't let my kids starve,"

"Hear that, Karik?" Quin asked, "He's got a family. How does that make you feel?"

Karik shrugged, a puzzled look was painted on his face, "I don't know, why are you..."

"You don't know how it makes you feel? It looks like this guy is ready to cry cause he's afraid his kids are gonna die! How would you like to be the one to put the knife in him?"

"I..." Karik lost his grin, fast, "I don't want to hurt him, Quin,"

"Really? How about you hold the knife to his kids throat instead? Cause that's just what you're doing by taking whatever it is you took,"

Karik's face started to go pale, "What are you..."

"You know exactly what I'm saying," Quin said, then smiled, "Or don't you? Did you never think about what happens to the guys you steal from? Didn't you ever think what kind of effect you had on them?"

"What's gotten into you, Quin?" Karik's voice was pleading.

"Think about it right now, Karik," Quin said, "Think about exactly what might happen if you take even one stinking apple from this guy, even one little apple,"

"I don't think anything would happen,"

"Really? Hey man, tell me what happens if I steal even a single apple from you," Quin asked.

"I have one less apple for me to eat, or more likely my kids, because my wife and I would probably let them have the last bit of food if it came to that. One less apple means one less meal. One less meal means we might actually not make it far enough to harvest. The chances of that were slim even just three years ago, that we'd run out of food before harvest time, but they've picked up every year since. I came to town to sell my wife's jewelry for food, just to give us the chance of making it through the winter, and now this storm is setting us back. We don't have much time left to get in our last sowing before snowfall,"

Karik looked horrified.

"Didn't you know that's what happened?" Quin asked.

Karik shook his head. Quin put his knife away and pushed the guy, by his thumb, forward so that he fell on his knees, "Give him back his apple, Karik,"

Karik fumbled the red fruit out of his back pocket and handed it to the man before running off.

"Go home, hug your kids, I'm sorry if I scared you," Quin sighed, "Had to teach the kid a lesson,"

The man nodded and said softly, "It's alright," he sounded like he was in shock.

Quin was willing to bet that in fifteen minutes, after the man had the chance to process the whole event, he wouldn't think it was so alright anymore. He might even come back to town hoping to teach Quin a lesson, but Quin didn't mind. It was worth it.

_What am I doing?_ The thought came quick. He'd stolen an apple himself earlier that day. He'd been eating it when he'd seen the confrontation starting.

_What happened?_ He asked himself, not realizing Karik was asking him the same thing. Not realizing they were already moving between the buildings, away from the man.

"Quin?" Karik's asked, his voice timid, "you okay?"

Quin didn't respond at first. His hand wiped at his face unconsciously, "I'm not sure,"

"What was that all about?"

"I don't know," He really didn't know. It was like something had pulled some long discarded moral up from the depths of his past. Something he'd pushed away by justifying stealing with his hunger.

There was still something there though. Some pull that was telling him he had to go, telling him he had to do... _something._

He couldn't exactly place what that something was. _Why?_ He asked it, internally. _That's the only part that matters. It doesn't matter what it is, exactly, just why. Only the why matters._

It felt good to think that, although he'd never thought it before. Those words felt like they hit home, more importantly, those words felt like they were home. A home that Quin never had, a home that he always thought was out of reach, too distant to even dream of.

_What does that even mean?_ He thought. Something was happening in his head.

"Quin?" Karik asked, startling Quin back to the moment. Back to the world outside his head. He was surprised to see they'd walked all the way across town, straight to the little shanty they'd built from stolen leather and rope between a couple of trees outside town. No one ever came back here, they thought there was a pack of wolves that was hunting nearby. Quin and Karik had actually done that, Quin had thought of it of course. They howled every couple of nights, tearing down their tent before they did and hiding around. Everyone heard the wolves, but no one ever found them, so everyone stayed away.

"What is it?"

"You've been real quiet," Karik said.

"Sorry,"

"Were you listening?"

Quin's eyes gave a momentary flash, to say he was surprised at the question, "listening to what?"

"Me," Karik said, his eyebrows lowered, he squinted at Quin as if he was trying to put him in better focus to examine his thoughts, "I've been talking the whole way home,"

"Oh," Quin said, there wasn't really any surprise in his voice. Karik rarely shut up, this was nothing new, "I guess I wasn't. No, I wasn't,"

"I think you'd better listen up, then,"

"To another one of your conspiracy theories?" Quin smiled down at his young friend. He'd met Karik while they were both still little boys. Karik was five, on the streets by himself, alone, starving. His mom had passed a few weeks before and he didn't have any food left. He'd left his house too, not realizing it was really his to keep.

"They aren't theories," Karik said, "This one's different,"

Quin smiled, his thoughts turning back to his past involuntarily. He wanted to try to listen to Karik, if for no other reason than avoiding his past. He didn't like to think about the slave camps, but he did it anyway, far more often than he'd like to.

"Do go on," Quin said, his smile perking up on his face. His brown eyes flashed between the strands of hair that were starting to dread from his dirty lifestyle.

"You been hearing about those cults?" Karik asked. That actually did sound interesting to Quin, although most of Karik's weird theories started with something interesting, then turned to something crazy.

"Yeah, I suppose I've heard a whisper or two out in Daudrydale," He said.

"What were you doing way out in Daudrydale?" Karik asked, forgetting his theory for the time being.

"Nothing, don't worry about it,"

It hadn't been nothing. Quin had gone out there to see if there was anything valuable he could steal and hock off a few towns over, buy a loaf of bread or something. Times were getting tough, they weren't able to live off just stealing food any longer, although Quin never needed to go all the way to Daudrydale for the chore. He never even stole anything. It had been more like a pull had brought his feet step by closer step against his will.

Except it hadn't been against his will. He'd been pretty excited by the whole ordeal, and couldn't resist trying to figure out why he felt like he was being pulled.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not important," Quin could feel a thumping in the back of his head. That pull?

No, it wasn't the same. It was more like a click. Like a switch had been thrown in his head, and he had just become part of something bigger. Something he could... almost see...

Then it was gone. The flip went back down. He swore he heard something whisper

( _He's not ready yet)_

something inside his head.

"Fine," Karik said, "Don't tell me," Karik was facing their makeshift tent, looking around for the easiest thing to sell for a quick bit of change while he talked about his theory. He didn't see Quin's hands fly up to his head, clutching it in pain.

The switch hadn't flipped again, but he was suddenly seeing the vision it had brought as clear as day. As if there had been a short delay between receiving the vision and actually being able to see it.

It was a young man, not much younger than Quin, with dark shaggy hair and bright blue eyes, the color of clear skies. He had a bow on his back, and scars all over his body. As Quin watched the boy turned to look at him. Quin felt like that young man was looking into him from very far away, but looking into him nonetheless, as if he could see who Quin really was. As if he could clearly see every thought that Quin was thinking, everything he'd ever done, everything he'd ever dreamed, and something more.

Quin thought that young man saw where Quin would be going. Every last one of Quin's defenses and filters were stripped away and the young man could see right into Quin's mind and soul.

It wasn't the pain that brought Quin's hands to his head. There was pain, yes, as every filter was moved out of the way, and every last bit of who he really was, who he was meant to be, and who he should have been started to come pouring out. He held his hands to his head to try and capture the image. He had to focus all of his energy to remember that face, and there wasn't much energy left to focus. It seemed that vision had used most of his energy just to appear, but he had to remember that face.

That face was the first he'd ever seen that understood him. The first he'd ever seen that actually knew, actually saw, what was really going on underneath that cold surface that Quin tried to keep in tip top locked up shape.

Karik was saying something, but Quin had passed out of caring what Karik had to say long ago, and was just now passing out of how Karik might feel if he knew Quin didn't care. His hands were clutched to his head so hard he was worried that he might actually fracture his skull, or his head might just burst like a melon.

His head didn't burst, and the pain receded. He'd successfully burned that strangers

(Do I know that face?)

face into his head.

Quin shook his head to wipe the image away, now that it was committed to his memory there was really no need to keep looking at it. He started realizing that it had been like a wave rushed over him, a big one full of energy, and it had just started to recede again. He was feeling like his old self, which felt pretty lousy as a general rule.

He realized, too, that Karik had been staring at him.

"What's going on with you?" He asked.

"I dunno, I feel like something just hit me, hard,"

"Like a two by four to the back of your head? Cause I was just about to do that to wake you up,"

"Naw, not like... Well, kinda. Only on the inside of the head, not the back. Like something was trying to wake me up way deep down,"

"Huh," Karik eyed his friend closely.

"No, it's not that," Quin said, "Nothing like that,"

They both remembered their former partner who'd gone crazy and killed four people.

"You sure?" Karik asked.

"I'm not crazy and I'm not gonna be killing anyone," Quin said, and before Karik could mention it, "that was just an act earlier, I wouldn't have actually stuck the knife in him,"

"Well you scared me something good," Karik said, "What were you thinking?"

"What do you mean?"

"We could have probably gotten a few more apples off him, maybe a couple loaves of bread,"

"It wouldn't of been right," Quin surprised himself with the word.

"Since when do we care what's right? It's about what's fair. He's got food and we don't, you call that fair?"

"Yeah," Quin said, "Because we do have food, and we didn't earn it the right way," Quin rubbed his head. That type of language was what turned a good thief into a bad one real quick. It got you feeling guilty, and guilt got you feeling clumsy, and a case of the clums (as Karik liked to call it) got you caught and, more often, killed.

Except Quin had always felt guilty, somewhere deep down. He'd never tried to justify it the way Karik did, he'd just let those feelings stay right where they were, and he'd tell them to hush when they decided to lurch up on him. Sure, they stayed, sure, they grew, but he kept them back down with a bit of a promise to himself. A promise he'd made back in the slave camps.

I'll make something better one day, and I'll help out all the kids who are like me, get them back on the straight and narrow. I'll even repay for all the bad I've done, one day, but right now I can't get onto the straight and narrow. There ain't no alley to jump back through to get on it, you gotta keep going on the dirty trail until someone's willing to pull you up.

That declaration was almost always followed by another: _No one's gonna pull a schmuck like you up._

And on the heels of that thought came the last: _Then someday I'll find a way to pull myself up._

"How can you think it's fair?" Karik asked. His face was starting to turn red, and Quin wondered if he wasn't just scared of feeling guilty himself.

"Because they work for their food, and we don't,"

"I work for my food!"

"Lying doesn't take work,"

"It takes work to jiggle a lock, and it takes work to steal stuff out of a home. You think it's easy?"

"Then why can't you do regular work?"

"Because I..." Karik didn't have an answer to this one.

"Karik, buddy, if you can do the work to live a life of lies then you can do the work to live a life of honesty. You know what the real difference is?" Quin asked.

Karik didn't say anything, but Quin kept going, "The real difference is responsibility. That's the one I struggled with for a while. I kept on trying to figure out why it was so hard for guys like you and me to give up our past. That's why Forill went crazy. He couldn't handle the responsibility, and then he had us, and he tried to do it, and he couldn't. I realized it the day he left,"

Karik had a look that he might try and take a swing at Quin, but Quin wasn't worried about it, "That's why I been taking responsibility for you, kid," Quin said, "Cause I don't want my life to end up either being killed or being in a cell. I want an honest ending, and that needs an honest life,"

"You think you can go on and change then?" Karik's voice was cracking. His face had turned the shade of strawberries, and Quin was worried that he'd get too angry and his whole head would burst, "Why don't you go and do it then? If I'm such a burden, why not go and live that life you want?"

"I want you to come with me,"

"Don't try that. I know when you're lying,"

Karik was right. Quin was lying. He didn't want Karik to come with him, not the way he was now, but he did want the kid to grow up a little. He liked Karik, just about as much as you could like your own brother. He just hoped the kid would wise up someday, with or without him.

"Alright," Quin said, "You don't gotta get all worked up, you know,"

Karik opened and closed his mouth a few times, getting more flustered at each attempt to draw out a few words to throw back. Finally he kept it closed and used his feet to do his talking, stomping off into the little tent and closing the leather folds they used as a makeshift door. Quin heard the little rawhide knots being tied together and had to choke back a chuckle. It wouldn't take much to break through that knot and come into the tent, but he got the point. Karik was mad.

Quin sighed, he figured he'd give Karik a few hours to simmer down before trying to talk to him again. He decided to go back into town, wondering if it wouldn't be possible to get a job as a farm hand.

Nah, that wouldn't work. The farmer's had a low harvest, and the storm came at just the wrong time now that they'd have a low sowing as well, which would mean another low harvest next year.

Quin considered the military, but something in the back of his head screamed against the idea. It felt similar to the one time he'd considered joining in with one of the cults that roamed around the kingdom.

He dropped the idea of the military as he continued walking through town. He'd taken the main street, but he didn't really have a destination. He wondered how long he'd walk for, and then he shrugged.

"For a while I think," He said. The words spilled out of his mouth of his own accord.

When he hit the edge of town he kept walking. He had a brief image flash in his head of glowing ember that had a dozen rays of light spilling out of it. He watched the image play out in his mind as one final ray burst out of the center, stronger than all the others. It went straight up into the sky, while all the other rays just wavered off. Slowly, one by one, each of those different rays started to turn upwards towards that center one.

The image was fascinating to Quin, so fascinating that he kept on walking without realizing that it was dark out. He kept walking until after the sun had risen again, still thinking about that brief image. He started to feel like one of those rays, and he never noticed that the click had gone off inside his head again, pulling up all the things he'd left to drift in the back of his mind.

# Chapter 12: The Runaway

Sara wasn't fond of this place. She had been, back when her grandfather had still been alive. She'd enjoyed his company in the house, even though her parents complained about him on a constant basis. He would tell her old stories of strange men, with strange powers, and strange ideas.

She could still remember the smell of his workshop. The smell of sawdust wafting up in the morning as he began constructing a beautiful work of art, a work that only the two of them really knew was art. Everyone else only saw a table, or a bookshelf. But the two of them saw the stories he'd told her as he built them.

She could remember him saying, as he began sanding a chair, "Sara, did I ever tell you the story of the Good Dragon?" she'd shook her head, but he hadn't seen it, and continued anyway, as he always did.

"This one dates way back to the beginning," She remembered that a lot of his stories had started like that. Way back at the beginning, and for a while she'd thought it was some kind of key, though she hadn't pursued it much.

Those weren't the ones sticking out in her mind now. No, those had fallen pretty far back on the wayside after her grandpa had been dead and buried. She'd found it hard to keep doing much of anything since then.

He died in June, on the twentieth, which had been his seventy sixth birthday. She'd spent the morning by his side and hadn't said a word. For a while he hadn't either. His eyes had just been roaming around the room, not really seeing anything there, except for her of course. It had looked to her like a man in the most urgent moment of his life, when every word must be so carefully chosen, so carefully placed, or the whole world could be rocked out of its skin.

"Sara," He'd said at last, "I'm sorry,"

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Grandpa," She said, holding one of his great big workman's hands in her two small ones. She meant it. She was scared that he'd be leaving her soon but there wasn't even a small insignificant part of her that blamed him for it.

"I suppose not, but still," He coughed then, a deep aching cough that sent shivers down her spine, "I wanted to apologize for my timing. If I'd only been three generations later maybe I could have told you a different sort of story,"

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Hush now, child," His eyes said it more than his words. She kept her mouth closed. Her grandpa was the only man in her life who had the authority to tell her that, even her own father couldn't tell her to be quiet without a backlash from her tongue, which most boys said had a razor's edge to it.

"There are things coming, big things," He'd said. His breath was raspy, but his words worked their way out anyway, "I wish I'd been in your shoes, being the one prepared instead of the one preparing,"

She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he'd told her to hush up, and she stayed hushed.

"Yeah, big things coming, girl," He smiled then, a weak smile, but a good smile nonetheless, "And it's you who's gonna be right in the middle of it. Not alone, that much I've been promised, but I can't be there with you, and that pains my heart more than old age ever could.

"You remember those last stories I told you?" She did. He'd told them while he'd been crafting the very bed he was laying in, "Keep those in the front, the rest can go in the back, but don't you go dropping any of them. You'll need 'em all, every last one," She nodded.

"You remember those tricks I taught you?" She did, and nodded again. He'd taught her quite a few things from his days as a carney. She'd always loved it, learning to juggle, to balance a tight rope, to throw knives. Her mother had never approved, even tried to forbid her from learning them, under the pretense of it being so very unladylike, but she was never the type of girl who could be forbid from anything she really wanted to do, so she'd kept on going anyway.

"Good, keep up the practice," She nodded again. She had kept up the practice since he'd died, through wind and rain, and through curse and scream and slap of her mother's hand, who tried to forbid her once more, saying there was no use now that grandpa was dead.

Sara hated her for that. Her mother turning that against her, trying to use her pain and loss as a weapon, but she supposed her mother was one of those people. The ones who will do anything to get there way, claiming selflessness when it was the single most selfish thing she could do.

"Then I've got one last story for you, and I'm sorry that this one doesn't have an ending," He'd said, "And be sure to listen, keep quiet and just listen, I've only got time enough for this one, and a quick goodbye, and then I'm gone. You hear me?"

"Yes sir," She nodded, a quick nod that summed up every ounce of respect she had for that weak old man, whom she'd watched from the time she was just a toddler and he was just finishing out the prime of his life all the way to this final hour of his.

"It's about the man with the bright blue eyes, the ones that look like they hold the entire sky in them. The man who battled against the first great evils, The Vail, and will battle against the last great evil. His story's only just started. He's the man who gave his life for his friends, and would gladly give it again,"

He'd talked nonstop for that last hour of his life, and she remembered every word, though she didn't recall them now. It was too painful. Instead she kept up her practice with her knife, from dawn till dusk, throwing it straight at that target, pushing herself for a bulls eye.

She visited his grave every day, and every day the visit got harder. She got up early to go out and look at the stone, trying to tell her own stories. She'd tried because of his last few words. She remembered them all too clearly.

"This is my last story, Sara, but it's your first. You're a part of this one, I tell ya," He'd said, trying to sit up in the bed, "No matter what your mother might say, it's yours, and she can't have it. I tried to raise her right, but her mother put tradition into her head, and I lost her, but I won't lose you, Dearheart,"

He smiled then, and squeezed her hands, "Last chance to say goodbye," He said.

"Should I go get ma' and dad?" She asked him. He shook his head.

"They don't have nothing to say to me that they wouldn't rather say to my gravestone, when I can't give them a reply. They'd like that better, though they'd never admit it," She didn't smile, nor did he. Tears had started to spring forth from her eyes and she'd grabbed his neck in her arms and cried into his shoulder.

"It's alright Sara," He patted her head, "I'll still be with you,"

"How?" She sobbed, "I don't want you to go!"

"All those stories I told you," He said, "I didn't start them, and I didn't write them, and I didn't star in them, but I told them. Just cause of that they've got plenty of me in them. If you ever need to talk to me again, need to let anything out, you just come to my grave, and remember one of them, it'll be like I'm still talking to you, and then you just let all your words out, and wherever I am, I'll come to listen," He kissed the top of her head, "Even if I can't tell you then, I'm telling you now, I'll come and take a listen to whatever you need,"

So she did. Just like she was now. Standing in front of his grave and remembering those last moments before she let her words break the silence over the graves.

"Mother wants to sell your workshop," She said, "She says that we need the money," She gulped, "She blames me, I know it. She won't ever say it, but I know. She's just selfish, like you say. She says it in her own way, of course. Saying, we gotta sell it, so we can feed all _three_ mouths. That's just how she says it, that emphasis on three, as if she's really trying to say that we'd only have two if it wasn't for me,"

She cried then, letting her tears fall on the ground, "Grandpa, I don't know what to do,"

She thought she could see him then, so clear it was like he was really there. It was just a memory though, a memory of one of the stories he'd told her. The story about the great storm, the one that had come long ago, and was just itching to come again. The one just waiting to be called by the man with the blue eyes.

Then she remembered another, the one about the great wall up north, the one that men weren't allowed to visit, the one that every man knew had to be out there somewhere, although for either their stupidity of the wall's cleverness, no man could ever seem to find it.

And the story of the dying forest, with the three young men running for their lives and their survival, with the man in the purple coat, and the slave camp with Eefrit the Beast.

He'd told her a lot about The Vail, and he'd always said it like they were still out there, still a threat, although almost every story ended with the man with the blue eyes, the one that had so much life to live and so much life to give, or one of his friends, locking them up in some of the strangest prisons. He'd told her about the four guardians, defending the four towers.

"What do I do?" She asked the grave.

She wasn't really expecting an answer, although an answer did come.

Leave.

It wasn't her grandpa's voice that delivered it, but the voice had all the same wonderful tones, all the same wonderful meanings. The intention in that one word clear. Not just what it meant to leave, but why she should, and why the voice wanted her to, and just how exactly she could do it.

The only thing missing from that still small voice that had resounded through the back of her mind was how she was supposed to make that kind of decision. To just leave? At the time when her mother needed her the most?

That wasn't true. She knew it. It was just the reflection of the voice, going sideways in her mind and finding some justification, any excuse at all, not to listen to it. Her mother didn't need her, just like she'd never needed her. She always saw her daughter as a burden, though it was a secret that she would never admit to herself, regardless of how many people knew it.

Sara knew that once she left her mother would cry, and scream, and shout, but it wouldn't be for Sara. It would be for herself. She'd scream because it was the only way to convince that last part of herself, the part that just wouldn't take no for an answer, that she was screaming over her lost daughter, not her lost pride. Not her lost chance to bring up a good woman who would make a good house wife, whom she could brag about to all her friends.

No.

Sara would need to leave, and she would need to do it soon, because every moment she stayed she was prolonging her mother's ability to guilt her. Her mother wouldn't use words, no, those were a tool only a righteous man like her grandfather could use, not this fool of a woman who couldn't even admit her own desires to herself. She'd use her actions.

Waiting until the dishes had become a dirty pile to start washing them, just as Sara arrived home.

Waiting until her father had left for work to decide that moving the furniture was urgent and that Sara would need to help her.

Waiting until Sara was home to break down about how much she missed Grandpa, and how hard it was to sell his workshop and all the land that went with it. Crying so hard, even though the actual sale of the property had gone so smoothly, so without any sign of guilt unless Sara was right there.

Waiting for Sara to start eating to comment on just how much money they would need for food.

She would guilt her at the very same moment that she would subtly blame her for their lack, and their want and their need. It was all summed up together in that two part scene, where in the opening she would say, "Daughter, love, we have to sell grandpa's workshop. We need the food to feed _three_ mouths, after all. We simply can't afford the sentimental value," followed after dinner by, "Oh, Daughter dear, would you please help me to clean all these dishes? Oh, thank you, I don't know what I would ever do without you,"

It was something Sara had begun to call the "Double Bladed Slap," capable of showing such a great need, and such a great hatred, in two swift movements, bringing up a wound of guilt and insecurities with such a small amount of effort.

_So I'll leave,_ Sara thought, surprised at how easily the idea was considered. She sat down in front of her grandpa's grave and put her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees.

_But where do I go?_ She thought, trying to imagine the world outside her small town. It looked scary in her mind's eye, scary and ill formed with lots of strangers, most of them looked like pretty shady characters. She could probably forget her idea of the outside world, her mother had instilled that one in her, and anything from her mother was probably some trap to keep her around, and keep her miserable. The world was probably actually filled with the friendliest people she'd ever met.

Her imagination flew around her in swirls, thinking up nice old men like her grandpa, and hardworking young men like her dad probably was when he was younger. She thought of pretty maiden's in nice dresses, kind old spinster's sticking to their sewing and elderly chats with a big band of old folks.

The image was pretty nice, and she still doubted it was right. She tried, instead, to imagine a world that was a bit more like the stories her grandpa had told her about, full of magic and wonder, with more bad people than good people, but mostly just filled with people who tried really hard not to choose a side. The good guys were strong, and they usually won, she knew that. They were strong because they were determined, and they lived for something more than themselves. The bad guys were really numerous because it was really easy to be bad, didn't take much thought at all really. The rest of them, the ones that didn't really pick a side, were scared of being bad and scared of working hard enough to be good.

Yeah, that looked more like it. She smiled at his grave, "Thanks again, gramps," She said out loud, then felt foolish for talking to a gravestone and blushed. Sara's face became supremely red when she blushed, from the white of a wedding dress to the red of a rose in under a minute is what her dad always said.

Thinking about her dad broke her resolve, just a little bit. He was a kind man, a very kind man who had no business being with a dreadful woman like her mother, but Sara supposed that's how she kept him around. Using his kindness on him like a weapon. That's probably close to how she'd keep Sara around too. Using her love of her father to keep her in line.

She couldn't just let it go on. It was women like her mother that kept the world from good. Sara couldn't bring herself to call her mother evil, not exactly, but she didn't call her good either. She just thought of her as one of the people who made it harder for good people to do good, and wondered dimly if there was a fourth category to put people in that were really bad but just couldn't be thought of as evil.

There wasn't, but she tried to figure it out anyway.

"I could really go for a cool slice of pie," She said after giving up on the thoughts of justifying her mother. There really was no justification, "Yeah, pie sounds good," She smiled and blew a kiss to her grandfather's grave and waved goodbye, "I don't think I'll get to visit you again, but you said you'd always be with me, so I don't think I need to all that much,"

She had a broad smile on her face, bringing it to that shine that all the boys in town couldn't stop talking about, but just beneath that smile her teeth were clenched. She didn't say it out loud, but she did know, that pie she'd have tonight would be her last meal at home.

She spent all day trying to figure out everything she would need when she ran away. She talked it out loud, but she said it as if she was trying to convince some invisible spectator that there was nothing strange about her behavior.

"Just sorting my clothes," She said as she removed several shirts and slacks out of her closet. She didn't grab the dresses. Those would just get in the way, and she didn't think she'd be posing as a farmer's daughter, or going to a formal dance.

"My hair really has just gotten in the way lately, time for a little trim," She said as she took a rough pair of scissors to her flowing blonde hair. She cut it short because life on the road was, undoubtedly, tougher on a girl than it was on a boy. Better to dress the part of a boy than be noticed for her beautiful hair.

Her last meal was a fine steak that her mother had been saving for a special occasion. Sara didn't think her mother would really care all that much, she might secretly be happy for the added excuse to be upset. She ate it with peas and carrots that she boiled over their wood stove. Her mother and father had both gone out to run a few errands, and would not be home until long after the sun had set.

Sara ate that slice of pie she'd been craving earlier, and when the sun finally set she spoke her mind, fully, for the first time, "What's done can't be undone," She said, "Guess I'll get to skipping out, mother dear. My time has come, and you've wanted it for a while, I could always tell, but you couldn't ever admit it. You hate me, and I don't expect you to cry for me, although I'm sure you'll cry for you, at all your loss. I really do hope you figure out how screwed up you've made yourself and change, but I doubt it. I don't expect to ever see you again, and I'm pretty sure that makes me happy, although there's a lot of mixed emotions running around this place tonight. A fair bit of longing, some regrets, some anger and a fair bit of hatred that I've gotten used to throwing back in your direction,"

Sara looked around and laughed, "I'm saying this is my last good bye mother. Even if I'm only saying it to the walls of this place you've worked so hard to keep pretty, even while we were short on food you made sure that you were never short on your decorations, or your jewelry, or your pretty dresses. Always having to keep everything in tip top shape, mother dear, everything except for your daughter. You saw me as your possession, and now I'll prove to you that I never was, by leaving. You see my choice? You see that I'm the one making it? Yeah, I'm sure you don't,"

The walls of the house didn't utter a response besides the slight groan of the windy night. The moon was rising just over the horizon as she threw her pack on her back and stepped out of the door. She'd laid her pillows under her sheets, even if her parents checked on her in the night they'd never notice her absence. It was a good start. She'd be ahead of them by a few hours, and could take the forest paths that she knew pretty well. No one would expect her to take them. She was a young lady, supposed to be proper and prim. They'd never expect her to prefer trouncing through the mud and the grime to taking a ride in the nicest stage coach.

She'd taken the strands of her hair she'd cut off and buried them in the garden so that no one would realize how different she might look if they came across her. She'd put on a pair of slacks and a loose shirt to hide her breasts. She'd make it just fine looking like a boy. She'd smiled as she looked at herself in the small silver mirror her mother owned. She thought she looked much better in this outfit. It was more _her._

She'd taken the mirror with her, along with some other fine pieces of jewelry and expensive gifts that her mother always kept hidden away in one of her many drawers. Sara wondered if she would even notice the absence of such a thing. Her mother kept them hidden far away from the glance of her eyes, both desiring to own them and loathing to look at them.

She took her one last look at the door and smiled, "Catch ya later," She said. She tried to think of some last great speech to give, but nothing came. _Speeches don't come when you're looking for them,_ She thought _._

She liked the thought, and filed it away in the back of her head for later use. She liked to collect nice little quotes like that, little truths to life, but she'd never had access to many books, so she mostly just remembered the ones her grandfather had told her or the ones she'd made up herself.

She smiled, imagining herself becoming a writer, her quill jotting across a page in quick motions by the light of a candle in a nice cozy little house somewhere in the north, or the west, or the south. Just not the east. Anywhere but here, she thought.

She came back to her senses when she hit the forest. She stood in front of it for a long time, fidgeting with the pack she had slung around her shoulders.

"This is it," She said, "Last chance to turn back," but of course she knew that she could turn back at any time, and that's what made it so hard to keep going. She sighed.

"That's why there aren't so many good guys. Cause you can turn bad whenever you want, no matter how far you've gone, you just have to pick the easy thing, the one that helps you right away and hurt everyone else for a while to come. It's that simple to just turn back, tell my parents that I decided to cut my hair for no real reason, and live my simple little life,"

She felt like she was just trying to help the trees understand her plight, help them see why it was that a sixteen year old girl was standing in front of them, her eyes wide with both wonder and horror at once. She hoped they'd understand if she decided not to spend any time with them. She also hoped they wouldn't throttle her in the dark.

She shook the idea out of her head. She was always an imaginative girl, but now it was starting to be a real nuisance. She had a choice to make, and yet the same childhood stories kept popping up in front of her. The ones where the hero gets lost in a deep dark forest and the trees come alive and try to strangle him in his sleep.

"No!" She said, keeping her voice both firm and quiet, but still felt the slightest quiver jump through it, "I have to go through with it. They need me,"

Her lips stopped moving and she rummaged through her mind, "Who is they?"

She couldn't find the answer, but she knew it was there somewhere. There was a they involved in her story, and she knew that she knew, but she wasn't really sure how exactly she'd started to know in the first place.

"Now I'm just confusing myself," She said, "I'm sure Grandpa would have known how I know, but I can't remember who would have told me that, but I'm sure that I know it. There's a they, and they need my help,"

Her resolve built up, Sara held the straps of her pack with her hands, keeping the cloak with the hood she'd brought clutched tightly over her brow. She was ready to move, and started to tell the muscles in her feet to get going, but nothing happened.

"Oh come on," She said, "it's just the forest, Sara! You've been in it a thousand times before! There's nothing to be scared of!"

Her legs still wouldn't move.

"Fine!" She said, "I'll do it myself!" She reached down and lifted her legs with her hands to get them moving, and walked into the forest at the very same moment that Jason Niles was walking out and away from Ferinal.

# Chapter 13: The Man Who Should Have Never Been

He was in that hallway again, that long stretching hall that went on farther than even his eyes could see. That hall that had no ceiling to show the beautiful night sky and those dancing colors. Only this time he was close to the end. There was a door less than a hundred feet from him.

After seeing the hall the first time he thought seeing the end would have been impressive, but the door was meaningless compared to what was floating above it.

It had the look of a swirling flower, it's petals made of the purest and whitest light. At the center was not a hole, but a well. A well that was producing every particle that ever would exist, and had produced every particle that had ever existed. The sight of it was like looking into the face of creation, and realizing that there is nothing so beautiful as creation. In that moment he knew everything that had happened, every moment and every action. He knew, from watching it, every single thing that was happening all throughout the world. He understood the four towers, their purpose and their position. He saw clearly the men of wisdom and the men of misery, and understood how foolish men could be. In that same moment that he recognized this, the simple, most beautiful thing any man or woman could ever peer at, he knew that he would never find a woman in his life as Jason Niles. He knew there would never be a love, and he knew exactly why. The reason made him smile, and that smile held all the understanding in the world.

He knew also that he was sleeping. He knew it was all just a dream, but that didn't make it any less real. He knew also that he would have no memory of this dream when he woke. Perhaps only a fading feeling that he'd seen something magnificent, but even that was too small a word to describe the swirling vortex that brought all creation to be. He knew, from looking at it, that the other end of the hall contained the most hideous thing he could ever witness. On this end there was the vortex, a white hole spilling out all the particles of creation, and not only the physical ones. Those particle's ran through the hall and went through the doors and people were made, men were born and acted. Nothing here was predetermined. It was all purpose pouring out, but that didn't mean it would all be used.

That's why there was the other end of the hall. That's why the hall didn't only stretch on forever. Jason knew what was held at the other end. The Void.

Where every particle of purpose went when it wasn't used. It was the epitome of uselessness, of wrong and unjust. It was the very representation and the very embodiment of laziness and evil. It was the exact anti productivity of the world.

Jason watched the Vortex work before him. He watched purpose flow like a river. He smiled up at it, and laughter escaped his lips. He felt joy with his understanding. The Void would be taken care of one day, and the hall would be left to stretch onward forever. The Void was temporary, but the Vortex was eternal.

He heard the click of the doors as they began to open one by one. He watched as men and boys stepped out and followed his gaze to stare at the Vortex and knew exactly who they were.

"They are me, and I am them," He said. They all had Jason's eyes, and his nose, and his chin. They were exact replicas of him, or he was an exact replica of them.

No. He knew who they were, and who he was, from looking at the Vortex. From watching the small particles of white light fall from it and pass into him. One by one they turned around and looked at him, their eyes all met together, and he knew them all. He knew where they were and why, he knew their purpose, and he knew that after seeing this they couldn't deny it. Just as he couldn't deny his.

The Hangman? He was just a small part of it. There were bigger things, and he knew it. He wouldn't remember this dream when he woke up, but he would keep that change. He could see it all in the Vortex.

Then their gaze looked past him, and he followed with his eyes. Down the hall, the endless hall, was a man coming towards them.

"So good to see you again!" The man shouted. His hair was blonde and combed back to show his forehead. His eyes sparkled green in the dim lighting of the hallway. His jaw jutted out in sharp angles with a light shadow over them, as if he could never shave his chin far enough down. He looked, to Jason, as if he were the most handsome man that had ever lived, and everything about him seemed attractive. Women wanted him and men wanted to be him. Jason was glad he'd looked into the Vortex before he saw this man, because now he knew that everything about him was a lie.

Jason didn't want to respond, but seeing another orb pop out of the Vortex and work its way towards him, not one of the others who looked like him, he knew that he should.

"Don't lie to me," Jason said. In the same instant that he knew why those words were so powerful he saw how powerful they really were. A flash of anger crossed the blonde man's face, and in that simple moment he wasn't so good looking anymore. It was the single ugliest thing Jason had ever seen.

The moment passed, and the blonde man recovered his composure. It was visibly obvious that keeping his face straight and handsome was a physical stress for him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," The blonde man said. His voice sounded like honeysuckle tasted.

"Sure you would, but don't do it," Jason said.

"No need to be so disrespectful, son,"

"Don't call me son, either," Jason wasn't too surprised to notice that he'd turned his whole body, shoulders squared with his feet, towards the blonde man. He knew, by the power of that Vortex he reckoned, that the blonde man was only a part of a whole.

"Do you know what I'm here for?" The blonde man asked. His features were tight, his lips drawn sharp over his teeth. He didn't like Jason any more than Jason liked him.

"Sure, but you won't get it," Jason pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door on the end. He remembered what it said, or realized, he wasn't really sure which was which in the hallway.

"You don't think so?" The blonde man started to walk again.

"I know so,"

"How can you know such a thing? How could anyone know such a thing?"

"Because I'll stop you if you try,"

"I'd like to see the day when you can stop me from getting what I want, boy,"

"Don't call me boy,"

The blonde man was moving fast. His version of a walk reminded Jason more of a run, but it was still walking. Jason watched as hundreds of tiny white orbs flew at the man, sinking through his flesh, and Jason realized that man couldn't see the Vortex. He didn't know what Jason knew, and he sure couldn't understand it.

"You better step back," Jason said.

"Or what? What do you think you'll do, buggaloo? Think you can stop the bad man from doing the bad thing? I doubt you can, and if you think you can then you better start watching out for squirrel's, cause you're nuts,"

"We'll see," Jason said.

The blonde man stopped in front of Jason and leaned down until his nose was inches from Jason's, "Move it, kid. Grownups gotta go to work,"

"Nope,"

"Well lookit you! Lookit you! Got a heart of gold, do ya? Or maybe it's a heart of stone? Neither one's gonna suit you too well if you don't get out of the way,"

Jason shook his head. The blonde man put a hand on his shoulder. Jason turned his head to look at the hand.

"Think you can stop me?" The blonde man asked, "I ride with the crazies, kid, and if you think you're big enough to stand in my way then you've got another thing coming. Just you watch it, and that mouth of yours too. You better keep an eye on it,"

Jason grabbed the man's hand by the thumb and pulled the hand off his shoulder and placed it on the knob of a door next to them. The door didn't have a number, like the ones in his previous dream. Instead it said: YANKEE STADIUM.

Jason didn't know what that meant, but he turned the knob anyway, while the blonde man was trying to say something else. Jason figured this version of the blonde man only got a bit of the whit, a bit of the manipulation, but not much of the power. He probably had to survive on his threats and his manipulations.

"Don't do it, kid," The blonde man said as the door opened, "You won't like what'll happen if you send me through _that_ door. The one at the end is different. You want me to go through that one. I can make you a king. I can give you all your hearts desires. Want The Hangman's head on a platter? Want a nice pretty wife? Want a great estate with all the comforts of home? I can get it for you, if you just get out of the way and let me through that door,"

"Shut up, already," Jason said and pushed the door next to him open. He heard a roar of cheering as the blonde man fell through the door and screamed something inaudible back. The door slammed shut the next moment.

Jason turned to look at the others. They all nodded in approval and moved back through their doors. The threat had passed, though it wasn't too big of a threat. One of them went through the door that said YANKEE STADIUM and smiled over his shoulder at Jason.

He looked back up at the Vortex, wondering what was next, and knew it at once. He went for the door the blonde man had come for. It read, in bolder letter than the other doors, STEP ONE.

Jason turned the knob and passed right on through to the other side.

###

# Thanks

Thank you, reader, for taking the time to (I hope!) enjoy this novel. I would encourage you to check back for more, as the series will continue in The Tower of Allseers II: The Cults of The Vail. If you've enjoyed this book, please leave a review for it. That allows more readers to decide if they'd like to try a new author, and could even enable me to spend a greater focus of my time to my writing. That means you get new books faster.

If you'd like to leave a negative review, please do! I appreciate constructive criticism, and laugh at deconstructive criticism! I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day.

Keep reading! It helps your brain!

John Jeremiah

# About the Author

John Jeremiah is an engineering technician from the Fox Valley area in Wisconsin. He has been constructing a world of fantasy from the time that he decided he would grow up to become a writer, at ten years old.

John believe that there is a deep importance to writing, and especially believes that every bit of art is an expression of the artists interpretation of truth, which is impacted on the reader. John works intentionally to create both an entertaining story as well as a moral story to avoid causing damage to the thought process of his readers. He believes that future generations may benefit from authors and artists who are intentional about the truth they portray, and God help the authors and artists who just don't care.

